Two men came over, bending double to avoid the fire that continued to ring out.
I listened as he gave them orders. A third of his men were to provide covering fire, while the rest were split into three sections to storm the next line of defenses, which were silhouetted against the fiery red backdrop.
I crawled over to Sara. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Never better,’ she said, breathing heavily.
‘Stay here. I’ll come back for you when we break through.’
‘If you get through.’ Her face was drenched in sweat. ‘I’m coming with you, Matt.’ She bit her lower lip till blood dripped from it. ‘Just one thing. If I…if I don’t make it…’
‘You’ll make it,’ I interrupted. Now it didn’t seem to matter what she’d done in the past-the fight for both of us to survive was all. I pulled myself up.
‘We are ready,’ the colonel said, clutching a Kalashnikov.
I nodded, my eyes still on Sara. ‘Stay close to me,’ I said, my mouth to her ear.
She smiled slackly. ‘I always have been, Matt.’
I had just enough time to register the truth of that before the guns opened up on either side of us.
Thirty-Two
Heinz Rothmann watched as the men in fatigues and turbans charged across the open ground in three formations. It was brave, proving that untermenschen could sometimes fight as Aryans, but completely insane. They went down like ninepins, some screaming and others immediately caught in contorted positions. Apollyon had placed him at the front of the ramparts, with a man holding a bayonet to his back, seemingly unconcerned if he took a bullet from the men who were firing from the rear-the attackers themselves didn’t have time to loose many shots. Fortunately he remained unscathed, at least until a burst rattled off the wall in front of him. He looked down and saw Matt Well’s persecutor with the short blond hair point a Kalashnikov at him. He moved to his right and heard bullets thump into the chest of his captor.
He ducked down behind the low parapet, trying to understand what was happening. Another burst of fire chipped stone from the wall. The woman was still aiming at him-he could see that from a space between the bricks. Then he took a boot in the side, was knocked flat and pulled upright again.
‘Hiding like the heretical rat you are!’ Apollyon shouted, before letting loose fire from his machine-pistol.
Heinz Rothmann stood beside the new Master of the Antichurch, willing bullets to cut the bearded man down. He couldn’t see the blonde woman anymore, but Matt Wells was leading a small group of turbaned soldiers toward the wall on the right. What was the Englishman doing in the same attack as the woman who wanted his soul?
‘Stand fast, you cowards!’ screamed Apollyon, shooting over the heads of defenders who were running toward the door in the huge red screen to the rear. ‘Stand fast!’ The assassin pulled Rothmann down as more fire was concentrated on them.
‘I think…I think we’re on our own,’ Rothmann said.
‘I’ve still got plenty of clips.’ Apollyon slotted another into his weapon.
‘I can help. Give me a gun.’
‘And lose my life instantly?’
‘I won’t shoot you. That woman is the dangerous one. She’ll kill us both.’
The bearded man dragged him over to a low wall that had been built to provide cover. ‘All right. Take the pistol from my belt. Do you know how to use it?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Rothmann racked the Glock’s slide and ducked his head as the woman came onto the roof.
Boots pounded up the stairs on the other side and clipped commands rang out.
‘They’re behind that wall, Matt,’ the woman called. ‘Apollyon and Rothmann.’
The bearded man stuck his weapon above the wall and fired in her direction.
‘Not even close,’ she taunted. ‘You’re losing your touch.’
‘Apollyon!’ Matt Wells shouted. ‘Send Rothmann out. I’m not interested in you.’
‘Maybe,’ the assassin yelled back. ‘But the blonde bitch is.’
‘Send Rothmann out,’ Wells repeated.
‘Fuck you. The heretic is mine.’
Heinz Rothmann kept his head down. He was in what looked like an impossible situation, but he still had some cards to play. All he needed was the courage to make the first move. He mouthed a prayer to the Lord Lucifer and thought of his dead sister. It was time he exacted the blood price for her.
Faster than he believed he was able, Rothmann put the muzzle of the pistol to Apollyon’s abdomen and fired three shots.
Peter Sebastian was no fool. When he received the summons from Valerie Hinton, he declined to meet her at the rural Maryland diner. Even if he hadn’t been a devotee of spy movies, he would have known that going to a rendezvous in an out-of-the-way place with a CIA operative whose orders you’ve disobeyed was asking for trouble. He told her that he would meet her in a large all-night cafe near Union Station in half an hour. That would put her in an even worse temper, which he could work to his advantage.
Before he left the Hoover Building, he called Arthur Bimsdale into his office.
‘Where are we with the list of Rothmann’s backers?’
The young agent opened a cardboard folder. ‘For the foreign-based companies, I’ve asked our local people to provide full reports ASAP.’
‘Full reports, as in what illicit activities we can use to put the squeeze on them?’
Bimsdale gave him an uncertain look. ‘Are you sure we should be proceeding in such a-’
‘Do you want to ask the Director about that?’
‘Em, no, sir.’ Bimsdale looked at his watch. ‘We should hear from the Far East in a few hours.’
‘And the American companies?’
‘There are only three. The financial crime unit is working up reports on the hedge funds Escorial and Lemas, and I’ve got the San Francisco field office on Tuffet and Co.’
‘There are more, of course. Sir Andrew didn’t give us them all.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Bimsdale said, closing the folder. ‘If you say so, sir.’
Sebastian got up. ‘I’ll be out for an hour or so. You should get some sleep.’
His assistant smothered a yawn. ‘Maybe I will get my head down on your sofa, if that’s okay.’
‘Whatever.’
As Sebastian drove the short distance to the railway station, he tried to come up with a strategy. Assuming Valerie Hinton knew about Sir Andrew’s death, she was going to be seriously unimpressed. Then again, maybe he was tying his gut in knots unnecessarily. How would she have heard already? It wouldn’t be the first time she had presented him with information that was classified within the Bureau. Except, in this case, she would probably have heard from her contacts in the British Embassy. The Agency had its fingers well up the asses of all the U.S.’s allies.
Valerie Hinton had already arrived. Wearing a black hat with a low brim, she was sitting at the rear of the joint, a tall cup in front of her.
‘You’re late,’ she said accusingly. ‘And it’s the middle of the night.’
‘At least you didn’t have to drive out to Maryland.’ A waitress put a cup on the table for him and filled it with coffee.
The CIA operative waited till they were alone and gave him a piercing look. ‘You owe me an explanation. What was Sir Andrew Frogget doing in the Hoover Building?’
Sebastian knew he had a little room to play hardball. He had no idea if Valerie had kids-he suspected she was married to the job-but even she might have a conscience. ‘He was caught abusing a thirteen-year-old girl.’
Her expression didn’t change. ‘Who your team just happened to be monitoring.’
‘No, we were monitoring him.’
‘After I specifically told you to keep away from him?’
He raised his shoulders. ‘Sometimes you have to do what seems right.’
Valerie Hinton spat the green liquid she was drinking back into the cup. ‘Don’t give me that shit, Peter. At all times you have to do what we tell you. Otherwise, adios career.’
‘Woodbridge Holdings was dirty-brainwashing, a Nazi militia, the attempt on the President’s life. Ergo, the people who backed the company are dirty, too. I wouldn’t have thought the Agency would be so interested in protecting them.’