Page 148 of The Last Kingdom

COTTON HEARD NO MORE GUNFIRE.

“I was just informed by text,” Fenn said, “that three of my associates are here. A gate has been destroyed and there is a vehicle parked just past it. My men are driving this way and will investigate. I told them your two men are out there as well.”

“Between them, they can deal with any problems,” Ming said. “In the meantime, Mr. Malone, how about bringing that sledgehammer over here and let us see what’s through the Venus mount.”

He had to stall, hoping the commotion outside came from the side of right and might. But more operatives on the scene could not be a good thing. He still had two here with guns to deal with. So he eased over and gripped the sledgehammer. One of the smaller ones with a short handle, but a solid business end. He followed a narrow walkway that led around the lake to the stage where Fenn waited. That same narrowness existed there, too, not much room for anyone to perform.

“During the 1920 restoration I am told this plaster wall was repaired extensively for large cracks,” Fenn said. “I am thinking, during that work, something more was added, behind it.”

“What do you want me to do? Smash it up?” he asked.

Fenn shrugged. “Why not?”

But where? This was one big mural.

From this new vantage point Cotton noticed the ceiling above where Ming and the two guys with guns stood on the other side of the small lake. Bunches of faux stalactites, reflecting more of an overriding compulsion to build and create the illusion of a cave, hung from the ceiling.

Lots of them.

Could he do it?

Sure.

Should he?

Why not.

* * *

LUKE WATCHED FROM THE TREES AS THE CAR STOPPED RIGHT BEFOREthe two men lying on the pavement. They’d left them there on purpose and the diversion worked. This new threat had to be dealt with, but preferably without any more gunfire.

The doors opened.

Three men climbed out,the driver stayed inside, keeping the engine idling. They waited for two of the men to crouch down and check the bodies, the third keeping a watch. Then he, Koger, and Toni pounced. Each zeroed in on a target. He took the lookout, throwing his hip into the guy, flipping him up and over his shoulder. The body landed hard. But a kick to the head kept him down.

He turned.

Toni’s arm streaked up like a piston, the fingers of her hand curled back to expose the heel, which she smashed into one of the men’s jaw. She then delivered a fist below the rib cage, knocking all the wind out of him, paralyzing breathing. She shoved the guy onto the car’s hood. Two more punches to the face and down he went. She added a kick to the head for good measure.

“You’ve got some anger issues,” he told her.

“Yeah, I do.”

Koger was finishing his man off with a kick to the spine that spun the body over and down to the snow like a sack.

A shot rang out.

He whirled.

The driver’s-side door hung open, the fourth man staggering back with a gun in his right hand. To his left, on the other side of the car, Trinity stood with her weapon aimed. The driver had taken one round from her and was trying to gain some semblance of control, swinging the gun back around for a shot, but Trinity fired again and dropped him to the ground.

They all three stared at her.

She stood motionless, arms extended, both hands gripping the stock.

“We appreciate that,” Koger said.

No time for reflection or sentiment.