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  “We’ll lead them away from my flat and then loop back,” she said. “Come on.”

  A man stepped out of a niche, a hefty military knife already clasped in his right hand. He swung the weapon at Carrie’s head. She managed to duck and fall to her knees quickly; the blade sweeping inches over the top of her head. Spinning around on her knees, she delivered two swift jabs to the man’s legs, deadening the thigh muscle. He grunted and staggered. The knife sliced towards her. She caught his arm, twisted and broke it, pulling him down. Then Tom was upon him. He scooped up the knife and thrust it between the man’s ribs. Carrie leapt to her feet and set off once more.

  “You could say thanks,” Tom said.

  “I had it covered.”

  “Still… you’re looking rusty.”

  She hissed angrily and turned her head. “I am not rusty.”

  Three men were now chasing them, about fifty feet back. Two raised their handguns. Carrie ducked behind a rubbish bin as Tom dived headlong. Shots echoed loudly and flew wide. Tom took a moment to fire back, slowing their pursuers before Carrie took off again. The end of the alley came up fast.

  She slipped around the corner, putting the brick wall at her back, reviewing their options. A café sat to the left, big blue umbrellas lined up outside to offer some shade. The road and the sidewalks were cobbled, the building’s facades white stucco and colourful. Mini tree planters stood everywhere, as if placed at random. She saw the Threadneedle Street Mall and a pair of large wooden gates beside it.

  Tom joined her. “I slowed them.”

  She glanced over. “Are you panting already?”

  “No!”

  His reply was too fast, too indignant. Carrie smiled and shook her head. “There,” she indicated the gate. “If you can handle it.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she ran across the road, leaped at the wall beside the gate and used it as a fulcrum to spring and grab the top wooden lip. She heaved herself over the top and dropped lightly to the other side. Eight seconds later Tom joined her, landing awkwardly and rolling to stop his forehead smashing into the floor.

  Carrie stared. “You okay?”

  “Don’t you dare fix me with those big puppy-dog eyes and an innocent expression. I know you too bloody well.”

  She peered through the gap between the double gates. “Luckily, they didn’t see you.”

  “Can you pick them off?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not dark yet and there are civilians everywhere. Let’s keep this as low key as possible.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “Standing out and looking stupid. The usual. At least they’re hiding their guns.”

  She watched the three men take their time surveying the street, walking out into the middle of the road, checking shop windows and then pulling out cellphones. Tom made an unhappy noise.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “We’re trapped.”

  She turned, getting her first look at the far end of the alley. An unscalable, twelve-foot-tall, sheer block wall stood a few hundred feet down. She’d led them into a kill box.

  “They haven’t found us yet,” she said, returning to her surveillance.

  “I have to say,” Tom crouched at her side. “I’m impressed. Amazed that you haven’t lost a single step. In fact, if anything, you’re quicker.”

  “The army wanted a weapon,” she said. “They got one. No matter how hard I try I can’t discard the person they made me.”

  “It’s your calling,” he said.

  “No,” even though her expression didn’t change winter filled her heart. “You think my calling started when I saw my parents murdered?”

  “I didn’t mean-”

  “Of course, you didn’t. Because you don’t think. Like coming here to see me. Asking for my help because it suits you. Go and be a saviour yourself next time.”

  Tom held up a hand. “Shit,” he said. “They’re coming over here.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Carrie rolled behind the wooden gate, concealed from sight. Tom was close; their hips briefly grinding together. It reminded her of old days and nights long past. The deep relationship they had shared.

  She pushed it aside, something she’d become good at through the years. Compartmentalizing. Deal with it another day.

  She heard the gate rattle as one of their pursuers peered through the narrow gap. She heard his breathing. The guy sounded out of shape. She guessed he belonged to the gym-going fraternity that went to impress the ladies rather than improve their fitness. She waited, holding her breath.

  The gate rattled. The man turned away and keyed a radio. “Clear.”

  Tom tapped her shoulder, waited a moment and then whispered in her ear. “There’s a door half way along that leads to the mini-mall. Probably for deliveries.”

  She nodded. They couldn’t stay here hoping they weren’t discovered, especially as it sounded like their pursuers were calling in reinforcements. If they were after Tom and working for the Three Old Men – as it seemed they were – their resources would be vast.

  “Give it a minute,” Carrie said. “There’s a hell of a lot of them around, and they’re not shy with their weapons, which begs the question: what the hell is going on?”

  Tom ground his teeth. “I thought I had more time to explain and enlist your help before going down to Miami where, supposedly, I’m to kill one of the treasurers.”

  “For the Old Men? And that reminds me – how’d you finally catch on to their disloyalties?”

  “Yes, for them, because they needed the best for this mission. It’s a big one. And I accepted what I’ve been denying for years. They’re dirtier than swamp water and all the bloody rumours are true.”

  They ran soundlessly up the alley, pausing at the side door. Tom pushed down on a bar, hoping it wasn’t alarmed. The door separated as he pushed. Carrie went through first, finding herself inside a bustling, dingy area full of market stalls. The noise levels were high.

  “Perfect,” she said.

  They made their way to the back, threading through several groups of shoppers. Carrie, watching the front of the mall, saw the first of their pursuers enter, closely followed by a second.

  “Move it,” she prodded Tom.

  “Hey, that hurt.”

  She tried not to smile once again. Hearing him speak made it hard to associate him with the type of grim, merciless killer the Hellfire Club normally used. She knew he only acted like this around her – it was their way and, if she had to rely on anyone to watch her back, it would be Tom Freeman.

  Stop thinking like an operative.

  Her inner voice was right. She was slipping back into the fray far too easily.

  A man wearing a denim jacket pushed past her. A woman carrying a baby shouted in her left ear, calling out for a friend. A seller tried to attract her attention, waving a fake Rolex in her face. She let Tom be the battering ram, following in his wake as he forged a way through the crowd, and kept a watch on the front of the mall.

  Then, Tom stopped. Sensing tension enter his body, she slipped around his right side and took stock. Two men had entered through the back of the mall, and were now staring at him. Both had hands inside their jackets.

  Carrie stepped forward. “Not here,”

  Neither man cared. The first, a stick-thin youth, withdrew his hand, bringing a wicked looking knife into view. The second, a bald bruiser, held up a switchblade. As one, they moved forward.

  Carrie wanted as little upheaval as possible. Not only because of the civilians, but so they didn’t attract the attention of the men at the front.

  Getting up close to the thin man, she clamped his knife-wielding hand and held it between their bodies, forcing the point of the blade toward the floor. She hooked an arm around his other limb and pulled. Now they were so close it looked to any bystander as if they were hugging. The flow of people streamed around them, men and women oblivious of the tussle in their midst.

  The thin man delivered
a head-butt. She inclined her head, letting him smash his forehead onto the top of her skull. The impact made no noise, though it rocked his body. Grimly, she fought to keep the blade neutralised, though every muscle in his body strained against her. To her left, Tom was engaged in a similar battle. Outwardly, the two men appearing to be greeting each other like long lost friends. Only Carrie could hear their guttural breathing.

  Thin man wrenched his arm up. Carrie managed to hold on, although the blade twisted and nicked her wrist. She tried to turn the blade toward his abdomen, but their awkward position and his strength prevented her. His teeth were bared. Any second now he was going to forget the macho bullshit and shout for his team.

  “Now.”

  Tom spun and threw his man. Carrie did the same. Both opponents staggered several steps before falling into a market stall, sending it and dozens of perfume bottle crashing to the ground. Before the men even hit the ground, Carrie and Tom were sprinting for the exit.

  They pushed through the doors and hit the street. Carrie turned right. This street wasn’t properly paved, it was all concrete. Residential homes and lean-tos stood to the right. Several rusting vehicles sat inside the makeshift garages. The buildings were sun-worn, unkempt and aged. Carrie ran between the buildings until she came to a large parking area where several hundred cars sat under the setting sun.

  “We can lose them here,” she said. “And then swing east back to my place.”

  They raced among the rows and rows of cars, additionally shielded by dozens of randomly planted palm trees. They stopped sporadically, dropping for cover behind vehicles, checking all directions. When Carrie saw their pursuers had also entered the car park, she dropped behind a light blue Cadillac.

  “Twenty seconds,” she whispered. “And we move.”

  “I need more than twenty seconds,” Tom wheezed a little.

  “That’s not how I remember it.”

  “Oh, funny. You’re dissing my stamina in more ways than one.”

  “Army humour,” she shrugged.

  “I always wondered,” Tom turned serious and sank even further to the ground. “You’ve been gone two years. Did you contact your parents?”

  She glared as if he’d asked the stupidest question ever. “You’re asking me now? Here? We have to go.” She started to rise, to give the area a once over, but then sighed and shook her head. “Look,” she said. “No, I haven’t contacted my foster parents. It’s… hard after everything I did to them. They showed me love and I rammed it in their faces.”

  “They still love you, you know.”

  “I know. Stop it with the fucking guilt trip.”

  She moved away, staying low, not checking whether he followed or not. Three cars further on she lifted her head to look through a side window.

  The parking lot was clear in all directions. It didn’t ring true.

  She stared hard at Tom.

  “They’ve gone. Don’t you think it’s weird?”

  “Yeah,” he raised his head cautiously. “I do.”

  “It’s you they’re after, Tom. It must be the Hellfire Club. How did they find you?”

  “Shit, Carrie, I don’t know. I’m good at this, remember? Almost as good as you. I swear nobody tracked me once I landed at Sanford. Yes, I rented a car but removed the tracker. My luggage never left my side. My . . .” he paused, angry. “I don’t have to tell you all this. I’m the best, What the Three Old Men class as a Tier One operative.”

  She wondered for the first time if MI6 had been watching her all this time. It was a spooky thought. That they’d been observing her from afar. But it just wasn’t possible. She had protocols, safeguards, rules and a clever modus operandi, devised by herself, that she followed to a T. Over a two year– even a two week – period she’d have picked something up.

  They ran between cars, keeping watch, and making the far side of the lot in two minutes. The last vestiges of a reddening sun lit the western skies, throwing shadows between buildings. Carrie knew exactly where she was. King Street lay ahead. They could thread through several alleys to reach the back of her building. The encroaching darkness would make it easier.

  “I can’t say I’m not shocked at this,” Tom said softly as they walked. “I never figured you for this life.”

  Carrie kept a lid on her anger. “It’s not what I want. It’s what I’ve been driven to. And it’s a lot better than being given no-questions-asked missions, compromising my morals every day of the week and hiding every emotion from power-crazy bosses.”

  “The old men use MI6,” Tom agreed with her. “I believe the old rumours, now. I saw the final proof when they sent me on this mission. It’s not MI6 sanctioned. I checked after the Old Men took me into their confidence. And now they want to kill one of our friends. They’ve gotten good soldiers killed for their own wars. You found out the hard way and ran. I wish I’d believed, and split when you offered me the chance. Well, I’m here now. What do you think about that?”

  “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

  “I want to quit the Three Old Men. Expose them and the Hellfire Club and the fact that they’ve been using MI6 as a resource.”

  “Well, that’s good. You don’t necessarily need me for that. But there’s another reason too.”

  “I’ll get to that. We need privacy.”

  She judged that it was safe to cross King Street and took a steady jaunt, linking arms with Tom. If anyone was observing from more than a few yards distant they’d look like a couple wandering in the early evening.

  “You mentioned the Three Old Men contacted you,” she said. “Did you get descriptions? Names?”

  He shook his head. “Nobody ever does. It’s the same as it ever was. They still communicate through dead drops. Anonymous emails and go-betweens.”

  “How many old men are there to choose from at Six?” she wondered.

  “More than you’d think,” he admitted. “Plus, the ‘old’ part could be a cover. And so might Six. They could be using Five, or any of the faceless splinter agencies.”

  They climbed over a white gate and then continued to walk in the deep shadow of a nearby building. “How far to your place?” Tom asked, clearly lost now.

  “Twenty minutes,” she replied. “We’ll take the long route.”

  Nothing moved in front or behind them. Carrie paused when she heard low voices, but it was just a conversation between a restaurant’s chef and a waiter taking a smoke break. They continued in silence for a while as Carrie tried to sort through her feelings and stem the surge of upheaval that threatened to shred her much-needed focus.

  Finally, Tom placed a hand on her arm, stopping her in the deepest shadows. “I came about Juliani.”

  Carrie searched his eyes. “All right, what about him?” Juliani was an old friend and contact who’d helped them both out of some tight spots in the past. More than that though, they had shared personal time with him and knew his family.

  “He’s my first target. They sent me to kill him.”

  Carrie tried to hide her shock and fear, but her poker face wasn’t as good these days. “You’re the assassin, and Juliani’s the treasurer? Oh, that’s bad…”

  Tom nodded. “That’s why I came to you. But it goes way deeper than Juliani. This time, the whole world’s in danger.”

  “So that’s why you came? Not just for Juliani but because you needed someone with the skills to succeed in taking out the Old Men? And why me?”

  “Like it or not, you’re the best. You saw it before anyone else. I can’t trust anyone else, just you. Are you ready to listen now?”

  Carrie stared wistfully into the last remnants of daylight, saw them eaten by the night. “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s hear it.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rex Herron clenched his fists in frustration. It was all well and good being the leader of the British branch of the Hellfire Club, but he was also one of the principal figures in the British MI6, meaning he had to travel to work every miser
able day of the working week. No amount of columns in his bank balance could change that. Not yet.

  Not for the first time he wondered if he might shut down MI6 for a while – one way or another. Pet project, he thought with a small smile. A large explosion would do it. It would help to further conceal his identity too. He was well aware that rumours of a covert organisation operating within MI6 had been floating around for years. Luckily, it was the same everywhere. Take a powerful, decision-making establishment with history and you got countless rumours. They were good, to a point. They helped conceal the truth.

  The truth?

  It was a commodity he rarely engaged in these days. The Hellfire Club had engaged his services eight years ago and had been carefully honing and expanding their strategies ever since. They had a grand purpose, an all-encompassing goal, which was to gain influence in every powerful organisation in the world. Ever since, Herron had been using MI6 operatives to carry out their orders on an infrequent basis. Not enough to arouse suspicion beyond the rumours. He had kept the inner circle close – restricted to his two colleagues and a few top-flight agents, team leaders and assassins who were constantly kept in readiness. Only these few knew the real agenda, both the Hellfire Club’s and his own.

  He stood once more in front of the window as another long day ticked down, watching as rain and dark clouds plunged the day into premature darkness, as people ran and took shelter and as cars threw sheets of water onto the sidewalks.

  It was a grim scene. Far worse in fact than some of the men and women who worked for him were currently experiencing. Take the three assassins for example. Nathan was in Naples. Tom was in Florida. And Blake Mclean was in Amsterdam. The next three treasurers on the list would soon be dead, thus sowing further chaos, suspicion and hostility around the world and particularly among the warring criminal organisations. A small token of proof would be left at the murder scenes’ pointing to rival gangs’ involvement, but this was purely misdirection, hardly necessary. All they needed through all this turmoil was to place the three archangels where they belonged.