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“Our luck?” Drake said. “We’d miss him. Beside, cops are looking at the three possible places.”

Mai tapped Smyth’s shoulder. “And also, what if he’s en route? Our presence could tip him off.”

Smyth grumped in silence, throwing out a questing glance at Lauren. The New Yorker’s face was open, slightly smiling. He smiled back.

Drake followed Dahl into the Magick Lounge. The wide open doors threw them all a little, but once inside, again, there was no sign of Webb. Hayden made the instant decision to move fast on the remaining businesses.

“Split up,” she said. “We’re at the last chance saloon here.”

Nobody balked, nobody lingered. There were instant movements and dozens of pairs of legs raced out of the door. Locations were followed on hand-held GPS devices. Drake and the team arrowed straight toward the nearest. A guess had been put forward that they were less than five minutes behind Webb. The narrow streets between shops and restaurants, some abandoned, some crumbled no doubt from Katrina, although the French Quarter had gotten some extra protection from reinforced levees, were a maze, a boiling warren of coffee smells, piled-up rubbish and stinking corners. Drake sweated hard beneath his helmet. Hayden shouted out that their final destination was a minute away and the team slowed.

But they did not stop.

They cut down an alley so narrow it rubbed their shoulders on both sides, then emerged carefully opposite a shuttered shop that ran two stories and sported three balconies around its height. To Drake, it looked closed but that very fact put him on alert. An American flag hung suspended in no breeze, attached to one of the railings. A row of well-tended plant pots lined another balcony. The odd layout of the streets, from shop to restaurant to private garages to beautifully painted, shuttered homes to rough drinking venue was never more apparent as Drake stared at a row of conflicting images. But the shop?

It sat quiet and sunstruck, its paved sidewalk faded, and its windows secured as if ignoring the world. He moved out into the open and held up a hand, signaling a pause. Two crowds of tourists sauntered to the left, several catching sight of Drake and pausing to stare. The main group came closer.

And then parted.

Webb and Beau emerged slowly at first, looking bored, but then made a beeline for the seemingly closed shop. Maybe they had called ahead, promised more money for privacy? That was how it was done, wasn’t it? In wealthy circles?

Drake lowered his HK. “Hey, knobheads!”

Webb broke into a sprint. Beau flung something from a closed fist that cut brick above Drake’s skull, showering him with dust. A second projectile followed, confusing the Yorkshireman and then the Frenchman was there, a ninja in black, the persona of shadowy death, and Drake felt the HK twist from his hands.

He struck low, catching Beau in the ribs. Alicia pushed at his back, trying to force him away from the narrow alley, but Beau held him there, striking almost as fast as his mind could work. The assassin hit brick as often as he did Drake, but none of the blows fazed him.

Drake found his only recourse was to fling himself past Beau. That allowed Alicia to come to the fore and made Beau concentrate on her. The man’s face, familiar and sometimes smiling, sometimes grim, but part of their team, now bore no signs of recognition, empathy or mercy. He might as well have been a robot, programmed to kill.

Alicia kicked at shins and punched at the stomach and groin. Beau danced beautifully, a master puppeteer. Spins and sweeps put Alicia on her back, then Drake was at his heels, Kinimaka trying to emerge from the alley.

Shit. The big Hawaiian’s bloody stuck!

As calamitous as ever, Mano Kinimaka could not move forward as brick walls pinned him in from both sides. Soldiers chaffed behind him, Crowe and her entourage at the back. Drake dived at Beau, striking thighs, and Alicia kicked out, but the Frenchman buried a pile driver into Kinimaka’s stomach that effectively turned him into a gasping, unmoving blockage.

Hayden cried out: “Webb’s already inside!”

The barrel of a gun pressed under Kinimaka’s armpit, but Beau twirled away before shots could be fired. Kinimaka groaned loudly as Dahl pushed at his back. Flesh nipped and material tore apart. Beau skipped between Drake and Alicia, trying to keep them down.

Drake slammed a fist against the man’s thigh, ecstatic to fetch a heavy grunt. So the fucker was human after all! Then Beau somehow managed to jab him below the eye with a finger and kick him in the stomach at the same time. Drake folded, rolling away.

Alicia was up, but Drake saw Beau jumping after Webb now and figured freeing up the rest of the team was the best bet. Not looking the Hawaiian in the face, they grabbed his jacket and tugged whilst Dahl pushed.

Alicia’s face was set to impish. “Better hope this works, big man. As a last resort I’m gonna be tweaking those nuts.”

With a scream of terror and a whoosh of air out of Mano’s mouth he was falling amongst them. Dahl and Hayden immediately hopped out, followed quickly by the rest.

Beau ran into the shop.

Drake cast an eye around the area. Minimal escape routes, large crowds. Kenzie appeared at his shoulder.

“Have you seen a proper sword shop around here yet?”

“Umm, no love, I haven’t. You sure have no love for the gun.”

“Tool me up properly I’m a firecracker.”

Drake coughed. “Right. Cheers. I’ll remember that one for sure.”

With no sign of Amari and the tourists backing off, Hayden ordered an assault of the shop. As one the team bolted, ranging out in a protective shroud. Drake wrenched at the door. Dahl and Smyth barged in, guns up. Hayden followed, then Drake squeezed in an instant before Kinimaka. Inside, the shop was dim, tricking their eyes for several seconds. Drake saw Webb screaming at a man behind the counter. He saw the madman rifling through a crate that the proprietor had placed on the counter; vials, packets and small tubs flying everywhere. He saw Webb turn in triumph, clutching a bright red packet.

“Where’s the others?” he said. “The ingredients. Quick now.”

Drake leveled his gun. Where was…?

The shadow fell upon them as if from out of the skies. Webb shrieked laughter. Beau landed on two feet from his perch above the door, kicked and punched and sent them against one another. Weapons scattered but jackets broke their falls. Webb snatched up another red packet and screamed.

“You don’t have the salt? That’s the easiest component!”

Webb took hold of the man’s shirt and used it to throw him aside. Then he bolted around the counter, heading for the back. Beau kicked out at Mai who had just come through the door, sending her backwards into Kenzie. Then, like living smoke, he was gliding after his boss. Drake reached for his gun, forcing down the frustration. Both he and Dahl managed to squeeze off a shot but they were speculative and aimed high because of the fallen shopkeeper.

“What are you idiots trying to do?” Alicia moaned. “Drop a shelf on the bastard’s head?”

The team ran; Drake and Dahl racing around the counter, the others filing after them. A narrow passage led to a back door, thrown open. They were forced to slow in case Beau was waiting with another nasty surprise, but then emerged into a small yard that backed straight onto another shop.

Rear door smashed in.

Another race, turning into a chase as they caught sight of Beau streaking through the curio shop ahead. A different door banged aside and then the open street again, barging through pedestrians and crashing through another door and another store. Bright sunlight and dimmed interiors. Blue skies and flashing, multicolored lights.

The team thinned out, then bunched up, then broke for a minute before reforming inside a costume shop. Through this one and then among a large yard filled with Mardi Gras paraphernalia. Twisting between floats and hanging figures that looked like demons; black goats and gaudy men in top hats swaying as if they were alive.