The Treasures of Saint Germain

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

Drake and Dahl struck the remnants of Webb’s mercs hard as Alicia, Mai and Kenzie raced past. The jet was moving a little faster now, still trying to taxi to the right position for the runway. Beau hadn’t moved, and was clearly the last line of defense as Webb no doubt continued to mix his potions.

So Beau would die for Webb’s cause? Drake couldn’t comprehend it.

Dahl ducked behind a girder fixed into the ground at the end of a hangar. Bullets ricocheted past, sending sparks into his exposed cheeks. He fired around the girder, blindly. Drake peered out low, almost prone. The angle confused the mercs and he took two out.

“Last one,” Dahl said.

Help came from the skies as a chopper descended fast, men firing on the mercs’ hiding place. A scream and a thud and someone yelled “all clear” and Drake emerged at pace. The chopper disgorged its SWAT contingent.

Drake saw the women converging on Beau and took only one second to consider the volatile three-way melting pot seething around that confrontation, before noting a change in the jet’s engine note.

“Now that can’t be good,” Dahl muttered.

“Summat’s not reet,” Drake intoned a little broad Yorkshire.

“The nose is all lined up,” Dahl said. “You ready for a sprint?”

“Balls, it feels like I’ve been sprinting all day.”

“You beat me, I’ll teach you how to drive a boat!”

“Hey—”

But Dahl was already off, running directly for the plane as it taxied away. Drake accelerated as best he could, chest still throbbing from the bullet’s impact. A couple of the SWAT guys joined them and the chopper pilot decided they might need a little backup, especially if the plane got away. He lifted his skids and glided along at their side, now the pace vehicle of their race or a goal to reach.

Drake and Dahl came up to the plane fast, running alongside, but within seconds it had started to pull away.

Both doors were latched shut, but then the one just behind the wings cracked open and a tattooed hand appeared, holding a gun. Bullets flew haphazardly, not aimed but intentionally causing concern among the runners. Drake tried to aim his rifle then his handgun, but the jogging destroyed his aim.

“Fuselage,” Dahl suggested. “Cockpit.”

Engines roared.

“No time!”

Drake knew he needed to get closer. Without hesitation he leapt for the wings, seeing the open door and the unseeing arm as a way inside. The only way. His jump was timed just right. As he landed on the rounded edge of the wing and grappled for the flaps to pull his body up, the plane accelerated again, leaving Dahl’s jump two feet too short. The Swede hit the asphalt hard.

Drake worked his fingers into the flap, praying it wouldn’t close, and heaved his body upward. First chest, then hips, then knees; he wriggled and hoisted his bulk onto the smooth wing. Rushing air battered him like a living thing, like an enemy. Loose clothing flapped and tried to throw him clear, and at this speed falling onto the runway would be a killing blow.

Drake crouched and looked back, saw Dahl picking himself up and signaling the chopper. Then he stared at the door. The huge arm was still there, popping off shots at random. Steadily, he crab-walked up the wing toward the plane, careful to keep his footing and lean into the tearing wind.

Dahl’s voice crackled through the comms. “Problem, mate. They’re not going to let the plane take off. They’re gonna destroy it rather than risk Webb escaping. You have only a little time to get clear.”

Drake cursed. The decision had been made only when the plane hit a certain speed. There was now a real chance it could achieve a clean take-off and the next step was fighter jets shooting it down in the air — which nobody wanted to risk. Drake clambered forward another three steps.

“Is it your bird alongside?”

“Yeah. We have missiles.”

The Swede sounded happy at that. Drake cursed.

“Mate,” Dahl said. “You have less than two minutes and then we destroy the plane.”

Alicia came to a deliberate slow halt as she approached Beau. There was no recognition on the Frenchman’s face, no glow of guilt nor flicker of regret. She knew he would likely kill her, but didn’t falter for a second.

It was ironic then when the two people she found backing her up were Mai Kitano and Kenzie. Of all her colleagues around the world these were the two she least trusted and had most contention with. She backed away from Beau a little if only to catch their eyes.

“You’re kidding me here, right?”

“This man can only be beaten by a team,” Mai said. “Acting together. Today, that is us.”

“No enemies here,” Kenzie said. “For today then.”

Alicia felt a rush of pride, of companionship. Together, they would prevail against the unbeatable. She met the dead eyes of the Frenchman.

“Better go fetch your armor, motherfucker. You’re gonna need it.”

They burst into motion. Mai took Beau head on, her Ninja skills as lightning fast as his own. Alicia came in from the left, striking suddenly and as hard as steel. Kenzie jostled to the right, swirling her katana in a blur as much to distract Beau as to assail him.

If they were hoping Beau would fold quickly or have a bad moment they were disappointed. The slim body weaved and slid among them, smoke in motion once more, and sent out finger strikes like knife blades and punches as hard as boulders.

Mai deflected a throwing star that Alicia didn’t even see until it hit the ground. Kenzie struck downwards with her katana but then held it, shuddering, in mid-air as Beau somehow managed to push Mai’s arm into its arc. The freeze motion left her open to a triple strike, sending her to her knees, gasping and groaning, the sword lying on the floor.

Beau skipped around her, using her shoulders to shift a straight run into a pivot and spin, landing both feet on Alicia’s stomach and sending her tumbling. Mai faced him then, jabbing and striking and dealing out kicks that would fell a lion. Beau took them and gave back even more, bruising Mai’s ribcage and thigh bones, making the recently healed scar across her face burn brightly.

Another shuriken saw light, whipped underhand and embedding its razor-sharp blades into Mai’s wrist as she flung a hand before her face. The Japanese woman left it there and flung herself at him, striking with the wounded arm, Beau’s own shuriken blade slamming down into his skull. The blades bit and blood flowed. Beau staggered away.

“First blood,” Mai said. “To me.” For now the shuriken had closed its own wound.

With Beau falling back, Kenzie rose and came forward with the katana. A feint to the left, a double spin of the blade to the right and then she struck hard and fast, straight at the man’s nose.

Beau held up an arm to ward the deadly blade off.

Kenzie brought it down grimly, sparing him no mercy. Her mouth fell open in shock when the katana struck Beau’s arm, but instead of severing the limb, it only glanced away. For the first time Beau gave her a tiny smirk.

“You are no match for—”

Alicia was having none of it. She blitzed her former lover, hitting every part of his body she could reach, bloodying his nose and breaking a finger. He twisted an ankle as he fell to one knee, then thrust with an uppercut that left her jaw shaking and brought blood from her gums. Alicia spat the red into his face. Beau punched her so hard she fell to the ground. Her own previously shed blood smeared her face.

Mai hit out at Beau twice more, the embedded shuriken tearing the flesh from his cheek right down to the bone. Then Kenzie struck fast, the katana slices sending him stumbling away and, finally, looking worried.

Alicia crawled after him, snagging an ankle as he tried to skip away. Her outstretched arm tripped him. Mai came down knees first onto his solar plexus, a finger jab simultaneously smashing his exposed throat so hard he wouldn’t speak for a week. Then Kenzie struck third and with perfect timing, the katana unsteady in her bruised hands and the pommel catching him squarely on the forehead.

Beauregard Alain lay beaten, defeated. Alicia tried to stand but her legs were jelly. Mai swayed in place. Kenzie looked over at both of them.

“What… what do we do now?”

“Tie the idiot up,” Alicia panted. “They’ll want to know why he defected. Twice.”

“And you?”

Alicia made a face. “The old me would like to see his French onions sliced. But new me? She says put the asshole behind bars.”

“With what?” Kenzie said quickly. “I don’t carry cuffs, do you?”

“Nah, only for pleasure.” Alicia rested on her knees.

The defeated Beau came for them again. Rising up, he dismounted Mai, then undulated himself like a snake across the ground, finishing with a kick that took skin from Alicia’s cheek and whipped her head to the side. Scissor-kicking his body upright, he landed on two feet and faced a shocked Kenzie.

Plucked the sword from her hands.

Alicia stared up at the indomitable figure. “Beau,” she said. “Why?”

He paused then, blood coating his face and the gleam of bone showing through, his brow matted with sweat. “Ask Michael Crouch,” he said. “He is the key.”

Alicia stared. Crouch was Drake’s old boss and her new one; the well-loved, well-respected, ex-leader of the British Ninth Division. No man stood higher in her opinion. “What does that mean?”

Beau didn’t answer. He threw Kenzie’s katana twirling into the air and caught its pommel on the way down. Then he struck left and right at her, diagonal slashes that almost shaved the hairs from her arms. Alicia jumped up with a surge of adrenalin.

Mai screamed as she ripped the shuriken from her wrist. Blood spurted forth in fountains, splashing the ground. But she ran for Beau then, ducked under his katana thrust, and buried the metal star through the meat of his throat. Beau dropped the sword and then all three women fell too; exhausted, bloodied and beaten.

But winners.

Alicia’s eyes finally refocused and found the final battle. “What the fuck is that? Hey girls, there’s a movie title right there.”

Kenzie shielded her eyes. “What?”

“Drake’s on a plane.”