Ahead of them was a gatehouse. Hawke studied it and frowned. His mind began to fill with various strategies they could use to storm the building.
“What’s the problem?” Scarlet asked.
“I was just thinking about what sort of charge we’d need to get through those gates. They look pretty substantial.”
“We don’t need any bloody explosives when we have this,” Scarlet said, holding up her fist.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Scarlet tapped on the gate as cool as ice. A security guard opened a small wicket gate which was around head height and squinted at her in the darkness.
“Què vols?” he said gruffly in Catalan.
“I seem to have lost my way,” Scarlet said, doing all but fluttering her eyelashes.
The guard switched on a powerful electric light above the gatehouse and leaned closer to the small opening for a better look. He liked what he saw, and made no effort to hide his leering, stubbly grin.
“Estàs sol, anglesa?” His eyes swivelled quickly as he scanned to see if the woman was on her own. Thanks to the others hiding up against the curve of the wall, it looked like she was.
“I really just need a telephone.”
He peered around the sides of the wicket gate once again and then slammed it in her face.
“Oh excellent,” Lea whispered. “I see your charm worked just like usual.”
Scarlet scowled. “Well maybe we wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t been so bloody secretive about those research files!”
“No — wait,” Hawke said. “He’s opening the gate.”
The heavy gate swung open and the man nodded his head with satisfaction as Scarlet stepped through and drew nearer to him. He seemed less amused when she pulled a gun on him and pressed its muzzle into his sweaty neck.
“Take me to your leader, Vaquero.”
Before she had finished the sentence Hawke, Lea and Vincent stepped out of the shadows and emerged into the broad inner courtyard of the château.
“Good evening, sir!” Lea said, walking past the guard.
The man moved forward slowly, not lifting his anxious eyes from the gun which Scarlet was now pointing at his crown jewels. As they passed the end of the gatehouse their captive made a bid for freedom, diving inside on the floor and slamming his hand down on a button fixed to the bottom of the desk. Seconds later an alarm boomed all over the château.
“Oh, sod it!” Scarlet said, booting the man across his face and instantly knocking him unconscious, but it was too late. Searchlights were activated and moments later Sala’s goons were running all over the château, armed and ready for action.
They headed for the cover of some bushes which were growing up against the north side of the main building. Inside their shadows, Hawke saw a wooden door tucked away a few yards further down the wall. Outside in the yard several armed men were now congregating and starting their search in an attempt to track them down.
Hawke aimed his gun at the door’s lock. “Time for us to exit stage right, I think.”
“Just get the bloody thing open,” Scarlet said. “They’re getting closer.”
“I count at least ten,” said Vincent.
Hawke fired once and blew the ageing mechanism from its housing. Immediately the men knew their location and began to run over to the door, screaming orders in Catalan and waving their guns and flashlights in all directions. Somewhere in the distance behind them Hawke heard the unmistakable sound of two or three Alsations barking wildly.
They ran inside and slammed the door shut behind them. They were in a small, damp hall with a corridor leading away to the east and a circular staircase of white plaster and stone leading both up and down.
Hawke saw a heavy chest against the wall. It was filled with old boots and walking sticks but before he could touch it Scarlet had already wedged it against the door.
“That should keep the tosspots busy for a while,” she said, dusting her hands off.
The second she said it, they heard someone trying the door, and then after a few more orders were barked in Catalan, the men outside began ventilating the door with their submachine guns. Dozens of bullets ripped through the old wood, blasting the panels to shards. Moonlight poured in through the holes until all that was left was a shredded mullion in the shape of a cross.
“Time for another one of our exits, don’t you think?” Lea said.
But it was too late. Suddenly, the small space was crawling with Sala’s men, the barrels of their guns flashing in the moonlight as they poured into the hall. Hawke jumped into the fray, smashing the butt of his pistol into the lead man’s face and breaking his jaw.
Lea winced when she heard the cracking sound and then she, Scarlet and Vincent piled in behind him and started to get their hands dirty.
Hawke grappled with another man — a tall individual with wild, staring eyes and greasy black hair. Whoever he was, he was good and knew more than a few moves. For a second he got the better of the Englishman, wrapping his arm around his neck and choking him, but then Hawke managed to force him backwards until he lost his footing and fell back against the chest.
The man released his grip to try and get his balance back and stop his fall, and in that second Hawke rammed his fist up into his jaw. Then he brought his other hand around in a classic haymaker, wildly swinging a second clenched fist down hard into the bridge of the man’s nose. Another terrible cracking sound as the nose gave way, and then Hawke finished the job by yanking an old Tassel loafer from the top of the pile in the chest and striking the man hard around the side of the head with its heel, instantly knocking him unconscious.
One of the men saw him get knocked out. “Deprez!”
The other men glanced over but fought on — obviously Hawke had taken out their leader, and a moment later he recognized the name. The man he had just knocked out was the serial killer Eden had warned them about.
Vincent was grappling with a man on the floor, each armed with a hunting knife and trying to cut the other man’s throat. It was a fight to the death, but the Frenchman was never in any doubt who would win. His superior strength prevailed as he forced his heavy arm down against the man’s weaker arm muscles and killed him on the stone floor.
Across the room Scarlet was elbowing a man in the face. He staggered backwards giving the former SAS officer time to plant a hefty spinning heel kick in his groin. He groaned loudly and moved his hands down instinctively to protect himself, at which point she aimed an axe kick with lethal accuracy at his face and knocked him off his feet. He landed with a smack on the stone floor and Scarlet muttered something about him being lucky that she hadn’t debagged him instead.
Lea ended her struggle with the last man by planting her knee in his groin and introducing the butt of her Glock to his face at the same time. He staggered back and the Irishwoman finished the point by sweeping her boot behind his ankles and hooking him off his feet. He tipped back and fell down the steps into the darkness.
“That’s them done and dusted,” Scarlet said, wiping the dirt and blood from her hands. “Now for Sala.”
“And that bastard, Smets,” Vincent said. “He treated me like shit in the Legion, and now he pays for it, hein?”
They ran up the steps to the upper levels of the château. From the scarce information Velasco had given to Eden, they knew Sala’s private apartments were on the top floor, and deciding to start there was the obvious choice to make.
At the top of the steps they went through an archway and found themselves staring down a long corridor with a marble floor and an impressive vaulted ceiling. They made their way along the corridor, checking the various rooms they passed for any signs of Sala or his study. They knew the alarm would have alerted him some time ago to the presence of intruders, and it wouldn’t take him long to work out who was behind the intrusion.