At the top of the hill a dark, narrow alley led away to the left up to an expansive graveyard and large church. The main road crested the hill then swooped down at a sharp angle, widening to create an impressive thoroughfare with stores to either side and market stalls all along the bottom. Little cafés with names like Frog Restaurant and Little Mo’s and Penny’s Coffee Bar revealed Sunnyvale’s small-town nature as much as the tiny stores, community boards and handmade signs. Another sharp hill led off to the right toward the castle, Drake knew, with still more dissecting it.
Their opponents could be anywhere. They embraced the shadows for a time, letting their eyes wander and delve, and then begin all over again. The fact that it was still early and people still roamed the streets would not deter a master assassin. Collateral damage was a factor of their occupation, and one sometimes used to their advantage. So whilst Dahl was muttering about passers-by being so frivolous and devil-may-care, Mai was watching the shadows behind the passers-by and the ones that lurked ahead of them.
Dahl finally broke out the tracker. Its tiny flashing lights actually caused a potential security threat to the user, as they could be seen for yards around, but might also be useful.
Mai made a face. “Thing’s pretty useless.”
“Not entirely,” Dahl disagreed. “We can fix their positions every twelve minutes and see if we can’t figure out a pattern.”
“And they’ll be doing the same to us.”
“Won’t help ‘em,” Alicia pointed out. “I have no pattern.”
“It is pretty useless,” Drake said. “Every shift on that screen, every movement, can be second guessed to be a ruse or a threat. But hey, if you wanna feel important, Dahl, then go right ahead.”
The Swede ignored him, taking stock of the flashing lights then turning the device off.
Drake spoke up again. “You think Coyote will make good on her threat? The nano-vest thing?”
“I do,” Mai said. “She has never given us any reason to doubt her cruelty.”
“We would be best served by thinning out the field before her arrival,” Dahl said.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Torst,” Alicia said. “We need to find the crafty bastards first. Killing ‘em will be a whole new ballgame.”
Mai shrugged. “One of your favorite pastimes, I hear.”
“Killing?”
“Ballgames.”
“Fuckin’ sprite. Focus. Y’know. Drake, your bitch sounds frustrated to me. You not performing regular enough to keep her tame?”
Mai’s eyes flashed even in the dark. Drake held up a hand. “There.”
It seemed their patience had paid off. A shadow slinked up the hill past a few doorways and passed out of sight, a shadow wearing all black and moving like a prowling panther.
“Move.”
They crept forward. Mai cautioned them that it could still be a trap. Newly procured weapons ready, they inched ahead until an unlit sign stopped them. Painted white and in the form of an arrow it pointed to the left, down an alley to a flea market. Darkness pooled down there like the midnight waters that swept the Mariana Trench, but at the far end a wide glass door reflected distant light. The image it reflected was still, lifeless.
“Looks like a bloody trap,” Drake said.
The faintest of scrapes echoed up the alley, something that could have been mortar crumbling, a crisp packet rustling, or a killer drawing a blade. Drake readied himself and hugged the near wall, taking Dahl with him. Mai and Alicia slinked along the other. Closer to the flea market’s entrance they crept, passing a stockade of trash cans and a row of wall-mounted air-conditioner units.
Drake put his hand on the flea market door.
“Open,” he said. “Someone’s inside.”
“We’d be stupid to follow,” Alicia said.
“Agreed,” Dahl whispered. “I believe we should—”
The door slammed into Drake as a figure hit it hard from the inside. The Yorkshireman stumbled back, surprised. A black-clad man squeezed through the gap and was suddenly among them; striking, punching, kicking with lightning speed, pushing his sudden advantage to the max. Drake stumbled beneath a flying kick. Dahl deflected a killing blow with a lucky uppercut. Mai reacted faster than even their assailant had imagined, stopping the blow that might well have fractured several of Alicia’s ribs.
Alicia was gawping. “Beauregard! Shit!”
Drake jumped up. The Frenchman was unmasked, but also the only contestant apart from Coyote that might think he could take all four of them at once. Drake struck, but the assassin appeared to have some kind of sixth sense, evading blows from the side and behind, then using his opponents’ surprise to his advantage.
Drake staggered, a knee having raised fire inside his right thigh muscle.
Alicia cried, “Watch him! He’s as slippery and slimy as an oyster.”
“Why, thank you,” could be heard as Beauregard actually glided underneath Mai’s offensive and came up kicking on the other side. Dahl lunged hard, but Beauregard unbalanced the Swede, spinning and sending him into a plastic trash can. Dahl’s forehead connected hard, and left a great imprint and a huge crack. The mad Swede barely felt it.
Drake found his handgun at last, feeling that whole minutes had passed since Beauregard had started his assault but knowing it was mere seconds. “Stop,” he said. “I don’t want to have to shoot you.”
Laughter crept all around him as the French assassin weaved and twisted from side to side. A black gloved hand knocked the gun to the floor. “Damn,” Drake breathed, trying to keep track of the ghost.
“He’s just smoke and shadow,” Mai said. “Nothing more. One good strike will scatter him.”
A gunshot rang out, loud in the alley. Dahl had drawn his own gun and fired at the darting shade. Drake heard the thunk as the bullet lodged in the wall at his back. In another second Beauregard had scurried high, using the trash cans and air-conditioner units to gain the roof in a matter of seconds.
“Jesus,” Drake said. “That was close. Hope you measured that shot to the millimeter, Dahl.”
The Swede grunted. “Worth the risk.”
Drake gritted his teeth. “Everyone okay?”
“So that was Beauregard Alain,” Mai said. “The stories may be true.”
“What stories?”
“Really. You don’t want to know. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Well, that just fills me with confidence.”
They exited the alley and moved back cautiously into faceless rows of storefronts. Mai tapped the folder they’d been given.
“We should get acquainted with the other assassins,” she said. “Before we rush headlong into another fight. We need knowledge, a plan. We need to force them to react, not us.”
Alicia pouted. “You mean we’re gonna have to do some reading?”
Drake nodded, already reaching for the file. “Yeah. And fast.”
Dahl leaned back against a wall. “So tell us about the people that accepted the offer, and would love to get rich by killing us tonight.”
Vincent, The Ghost, was a contract killer that hired himself out to the highest bidder. Didn’t matter if the person that had hired him was subsequently gazumped by the person he’d been hired to kill; Vincent went with the money, providing you could dish it up. More than one story existed of Vincent marching a target to some safety-deposit box, clearing it out and then fulfilling the hit, but on his original employer.