The tattooed man walked forward, flex-cuffs in his hand. As he bent down to restrain Tom his head jerked back, a spout of blood ejecting from his left temple. Tom sprang up and flung himself at Snake Lips, just as the second man, who’d turned in the direction of the suppressed discharge, was hit in the neck. He collapsed to his knees, his hand grasping his shattered carotid artery, as blood gushed over his fingers.
Tom had hit Snake Lips in the solar plexus with his forehead, winding him and pushing him backwards. As the Frenchman fumbled for his MP7, Tom launched himself into the air. He brought his knee up and simultaneously clasped the man’s head in his hands, pulling his face down onto his rising lower thigh. His thigh impacted Snake Lips’ nose with a loud crunch, and Tom knew the bone had shattered. As he collapsed sideways Tom finished the Frenchman off with a hook to the jaw. Snake Lips hit the ground in a twisting motion, groaning. Tom stooped down and pulled the gun strap over the man’s head before slinging the weapon over his shoulder. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
He crouched back down again. “Parlez-vous anglais?” he asked, quietly.
“Yes,” Snake Lips grunted, face up in the dirt and leaves.
“You wanna live?”
“Yes.”
“Good answer.”
Lester stepped out from behind an ivy-clothed tree trunk. A suppressed Marine sniper rifle, the bolt-action M40A5, with a scout sniper day-scope, held before his chest, the strap still wrapped around his left forearm.
Looking over, Tom said, “Nice shooting.”
“Old habits,” Lester replied, his face showing no emotion.
“Our French friend here would like to stay alive.”
“He better be a talkative Frenchy, then.”
“I don’t think there are any other kind,” Tom said.
They half carried the injured man into the surrounding undergrowth, and onto the edge of an evergreen forest about thirty metres from the rest stop. Lester secured him to a tree with a length of rope, the man’s head lolling to one side, the blood still falling in clots from his broken nose.
“You do that so you ain’t the only ugly one?” Lester said to Tom, gesturing to the man’s broken nose.
Tom smiled.
After walking back to the rest stop, he and Lester carried the two corpses into the forest. Stripping them down to their underwear, they hid the bodies among nettles and long grasses. They picked up their fatigues and weapons, and walked over to where Snake Lips was tethered, squatting down either side of him.
Tom grabbed the man’s cheeks with his hand, pushed his head back against the gnarled trunk roughly. “My friend here is going to work on you if you go dumb on us. Understand?”
“Yes,” the man said, his eyes rolling as if concussed.
“Let’s keep it short and painless and you’ll survive this. You have my word. And my word is good. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Tom leaned in close. “Is the Secretary of State still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Do they intend to kill her today?”
Snake Lips nodded, dimly.
Tom slapped his face. “Stay with me. When?”
“Half an hour or less.”
Jesus, Tom thought. They’d brought the timeframe forward by more than four hours. “How many men are guarding her?”
“Nine.”
“Be specific.”
“Two on the gate. The other seven are dispersed inside. One is a tech.”
“At the chateau close by?”
He nodded.
“Weapons?” Tom asked, grabbing the man’s jaw and jerking it up ninety degrees.
“Same as me. MP7s.”
“Where is she in the chateau?”
“Basement cell.”
“Locked?” Tom asked, staring into the man’s eyes.
“Yes.”
“Who has the key?”
The man closed his eyes, clearly feigning unconsciousness. Tom jabbed his finger into the pressure point under the Adam’s apple, where the trachea passed just below the surface of the skin. Snake Lips began spluttering and shook his head.
“Proctor,” he croaked.
Tom let go of him. “Proctor. An American?”
“English.”
“Where are the DCRI operatives?”
“Dead.”
“Whose orders?” Tom asked, readying himself to inflict more pain. But it wasn’t necessary.
“Proctor’s,” Snake Lips replied.
“How did he know they’d be here?”
“I don’t know. I swear.”
Tom believed him. “You did good,” he said, patting Snake Lips on the shoulder. “You’ll live.”
“You mean it?”
“I mean it.”
He sighed long and hard. “Merci.”
“But if you’re lying, my friend will come back and give you a double tap. Understand?”
“I understand.”
“Don’t forget that now, Frenchy,” Lester said.
Tom and Lester stood up and began to undress. They changed into the fatigues and walked back to the Land Rover, the dead men’s MP7s over their shoulders.
“You drive the van,” Tom said to Lester.
“You okay, Tom?”
“The CIA man I mentioned told me where to hook up with the French,” Tom said, referring to Crane.
“He did?”
“The only person who could’ve turned this rotten is him. He thinks I’m working alone, so they were only expecting me.”
“You figure he’s some kinda double agent?” Lester asked.
“I’m not sure what he is. But I now know he’s not to be trusted. And, Lester–”
“Don’t say it. Just between us.”
“Thanks, man.”
Driving back to where Karen was waiting with the equipment, Tom rang Birch on his hands-free. He told him what had just transpired and how Crane had to have set him up. “He’s a traitor, sir. I don’t know who else in the CIA might be involved, so I suggest we keep it in the DS.”
“I don’t get it. Crane called in French Special Forces. No question,” Birch said.
“I guess he was covering his ass. He knows they won’t get here in time.”
“They will, Tom. I’m sure of that.”
“I …”
“What is it, Tom?”
“She’ll be dead by then.”
“I’m telling you not to do anything by yourself. You could endanger Lyric’s life. And if you do, I won’t be able to save you. That’s a direct order, Agent. Stand down.”
“Yes, sir.”
But given the reduced timeframe, Tom knew he had to act.
He spent the next five minutes putting together a simple rescue plan. He was glad that Lester had pushed to show them how to use the weapons, because, apart from sounding seriously effective, they were of the disabling variety rather than lethal, and there was no way of knowing whether or not the secretary’s location inside the chateau had changed.