Khenbish Hadan relished the rain and the thunderstorm crashing above her. It made her blood run hot and her skin tingle with anticipation.
It reminded her of her childhood, in the gers of her family out on the steppes. She recalled watching storms roll across the landscape and the herds of small, tough horses drifting across the endless vistas. Although she was the nameless one, the one nobody wanted, she had still been able to ride before she could walk. She was never more at ease than when she was on a horse.
She had watched these people as the light came, and seen the two from the tent make their way across the yard, splashing through water under a vast umbrella. Hah, she thought. Weak. What harm could rain do to them? She sneered her disdain, and then touched the gelding into an easy walk down the dirt road to the house, even as the man and woman disappeared inside and shut the door behind them.
"On, Batu," she murmured softly. "Let us see what these people are made of." Batu flicked his ears back and listened.
She had called him Batu … the 'loyal one' … after she had slit the throat of the man she had taken him from, the man in the far south of Australia who had beaten the horse to within an inch of the animal's life. People were nothing to Khenbish Hadan … but a good horse was life itself.
She rode easily through the downpour, and she saw lights on in the house. He was in there, she knew. The man she wanted … the man she would kill. Bringing Batu to a halt in front of the house, only ten yards or so from the veranda, she settled into the unfamiliar stock saddle and patted Batu's rain-drenched neck. The gelding, obedient and stolid, immediately relaxed and stood hip-shot, resting a back hoof and ignoring the rain and the lightning as it crackled and flickered above them.
She was noticed less than a minute later.
"The weather … I have never seen anything like this!" Nate said loudly over a thunder-rumble as he burst in through the front door, guiding Sophie in past him and shaking rain off the umbrella, leaving it upside down on the veranda to drain and dry a little.
"You've obviously never been to Scotland in the spring," Sophie muttered as she took off her scarf.
Effie emerged from Eliot's room and yawned. She had sat with the Oklahoman for a couple of hours and it was 'way past her time to begin breakfast, so she was running late.
"Mister M and the Missus are in the living room," she sighed. "This weather'll put a block on anything those bastards over at Albany can do, I betcha, so it's going to be a day for plotting rather than doing," she added. "Oh … by the way … the nipper's over in the barn with your two young 'uns. Bloody horse decided to foal, so they took her over a couple of hours ago, so no worries, alright? Charlie's there along with the boy."
Nate raised his eyebrows. Was there no end to the surprises Wapanjara could spring on them?
"Well, I have no doubt we'll hear all about it when they come back," Sophie sighed. "You do realise that it's going to be difficult to leave here now?" she added. "Lizzie just loves this place."
Effie snorted good-humouredly.
"So she bloody should. Half of it'll be hers one day." She rolled her shoulders and yawned again. "Righto – breakfast. We maybe under siege here, but there's always time for breakfast."
Sophie grinned.
"Want a hand? You must be worn out. I'm no cook but I can help –"
"Go sit down, Duchess," Effie grumped, amused. "I'll have coffee sorted in a jiffy and I'll get something started for the tiddlers when they come in – they'll be hungrier than a wombat on a diet." She wandered through to the kitchen, still talking. "Those kids'll eat us out of hearth and home, so they – bloody hell!"
Sophie and Nate hurried through to the kitchen to see Effie staring out of the window at the water-drenched yard. Following her gaze, Nate paled.
Khenbish Hadan sat quietly on her horse, gazing at them through the rain-spattered glass.
"Oh shit!" Nate swore, and almost ran through to the living room. "Soapy – are you armed?"
Soapy, who was sitting in his old armchair gazing into a lingering fire in the hearth, frowned and stood up, his hand straying to the old Webley in its army holster buckled around his lean hips.
"What? What is it?" Jo said from her seat by the living room table, dropping her crossword and pen on the polished wooden surface. Her green eyes were instantly full of alarm.
"Hadan. Hadan's outside in the yard." Nate growled, and turning on his heel, headed for the front door, Soapy close behind him. They both peered through the small glass inserts beside the door. The woman and her big horse hadn't moved.
"What's the bitch doing?" Effie hissed as she emerged from the kitchen with Sophie. Effie was holding one of her iron skillets, and she hefted it with every intention of using it if Hadan came anywhere near her people.
"Just sitting there," Soapy murmured, and he checked the load in his old Webley. The revolver was nearly ninety years old, but Soapy kept it in good condition and the .38 cartridge easily had the power to knock Hadan off the horse at this close range, especially if Soapy aimed for her torso. It would be the safest kill shot, he knew, and the calibre was enough to blow her heart apart.
Nate cocked an eyebrow at the pastoralist.
"Want to go find out what she wants?" he asked quietly.
Soapy shrugged.
"Why not? She's just sitting there cluttering up the yard and looking wet. If she wanted to take us out she wouldn't just be parked out there, now would she?"
"Soapy love –" Jo stood in the living room doorway, fear now vibrating through her. "Don't you bloody dare do anything daft, you old fool!"
Soapy, black eyes bright with anticipation, grinned at his wife of over forty years.
"Now, now, old girl … I won't take any pointless risks, I promise. I think … I think she's just here to talk."
"We did say that Albany would probably make an offer rather than come in, guns blazing. Let's just find out what she has to say," Sophie added. "Lady Eloise Stanton will be available if required," she smiled evenly.
"Is Eliot okay?" Nate asked before he headed out of the door. "Maybe someone should keep an eye –"
"The young shite's sound asleep," Effie grumbled. "Don't worry – he'll do for now."
Looking around at these people he loved, Nate opened the door and stepped warily out onto the veranda as the lightning ripped through the sky and the thunder sounded as though the very fabric of the world was being torn apart around them.
Eliot had awoken with a start.
He had slept most of a day and a night, and while he was still in pain and the remnant of the fever lingered, he felt better. His headache had lessened and his sight was clearer, and he shifted, managing to sit upright in his bed.
He was alone.
"Huh," he said, surprised. No Lizzie and no watchdog growling at him to shut up and go back to sleep.
The deep rumble of thunder and the battering rain against the window told him what had woken him from a dreamless sleep. But it didn't explain why the chair beside the bed was vacant and Lizzie's cushions and comforter lay empty on the bed cover, along with her book and pencil.
He heard voices … voices redolent with anger and concern.
Eliot frowned, wincing as the cut above his ear burned. There was something wrong. Very, very wrong.
This time when he tried to get out of bed, he managed to get himself upright, and then he gritted his teeth and hanging onto the headboard, levered his aching body onto shaky, weak legs. The dizziness hit him like a freight train and he almost had to sit down again, but he hugged his wounded side and waited for the world to straighten itself out. So far, so good, he thought.
Inhaling a few deep breaths, Eliot took a chance and let go of the headboard. Surprisingly, he didn't fall over, and within moments he was able to move over to the open door, using the wall as a prop. His bare feet made no sound, and he flattened himself against the wall and listened.
Soapy stood like a rock, the old Webley aimed and ready, his right hand cupped by his left and the revolver held close to his chest. The pastoralist had lost any hint of amiability. Right now he was a soldier, an elite sniper of the SASR, with fifty-two kills to his name. And he had Khenbish Hadan firmly in his sights.
Nate eyed the old soldier and for some reason had the same vibe from Soapy that he always had from Eliot … that aura of deadliness which brooked no opposition.
Hadan gazed almost benignly at Nate and Soapy. She didn't look particularly threatening on the face of it, Nate thought. She was tiny … no more than four feet ten or eleven, and slightly built, almost boyish, androgynous and angular. Her eyes had the tell-tale epicanthic fold of her people, but her skin was wind-blown and tanned with exposure to the elements, and the only thing that made her stand out was her eyes. They were a curious olive green, and even from yards away, Nate caught the glint of gold flecks in her gaze. Her shapeless, soaking clothes were old and well-worn, and she wore what appeared to be dull green hessian boots. Her skull shone wetly, glistening in the torrential rain as water ran down her shaven head with its stubble of black hair.
Nate took a deep breath and spoke, loudly and clearly over the groaning thunder above.
"What do you want?" he said, standing straight and defiant in the shelter of the veranda.
Hadan smiled, showing even, white teeth. Her eyes glittered, amused.
"Don't you know?" she replied. Her voice, unlike the rest of her, was soft and gentle, with only the tiniest hint of an accent.
Nate's smile had a chill to it.
"Humour me," he said.
Hadan cocked her head to one side and studied Nate and Soapy for a moment.
"I'm here to kill Eliot Spencer," she replied, and her eyes grew cold as she said it.
Eliot had heard enough.
It took him two tries to lift his jacket off the door hook and then it was a bit of a struggle to put it on over his bare torso, but he managed it. Zipping it up to hide the damage to his body, he then put on his stetson, careful of his head injury. He studied his boots for a second or two where they sat under the washstand, but realised that he had absolutely no chance of putting them on without ending up in a heap on the floor, so he decided he could do this barefoot. He had no choice.
He worked his way over to the window and opened it wide, and grimaced at the weather. He was going to get soaked. But if it meant deflecting Hadan's attention from his family, then he could bear it.
He was about to hoist himself over the windowsill and do his best to drop to the ground without passing out, when he had a thought. He moved stiffly over to his katana and lifted it off the ironwood stand.
Now he felt a little better. The old katana felt solid and reassuring in his left hand, held just under the neck of the koshirae, his fingers sensing the ancient inscription carved into the surface. Holding the sheathed katana with the cutting edge facing upwards and ready for use, he struggled but succeeded in working his way out of the window, and then dropped silently to the ground seven feet below.
The impact almost made him pass out with the pain of it. Leaning against the house supports to catch his breath and to fight back the agony and black spots encroaching his consciousness, he waited for a moment, his bare feet chilled instantly by the water-drenched earth.
Taking a couple of deep breaths, Eliot levered himself away from the house and stumbled towards Gertie's paddock shelter.
"Wh-what? Hadan? You're kidding, right?" Hardison stood in the pelting rain and stared, unbelieving, at Charlie. "Right?"
Charlie had stopped the little group in its tracks and pushed them back against the kitchen extension, well out of Khenbish Hadan's eyeline, and the two children huddled together between Hardison and Parker, trying to shield each other from the rain. Both of them looked frightened out of their wits.
"No way, mate – that … that woman's just sitting there like a bloody statue in the rain, just staring at the house!"
Parker instantly took in her immediate surroundings. They couldn't get into the house via the veranda and front door, but there was the exterior door to the kitchen.
"We have to get the kids inside," she hissed, "out of this rain. We either get into the house or head back to the barn."
Hardison shook his head, sending water droplets through the air from his soaked hood.
"No – we don't split up. There's no sign of anyone else, right?" He raised a sodden eyebrow at Charlie.
"Not a soul. Just her, sitting there." Charlie replied.
"So it's into the kitchen, then," Parker said.
"The door'll be locked," Charlie fumed. "Effie's manic about keeping the house safe until she's begun breakfast, and by the look of it she hasn't started yet," and in his heart he wondered why.
"Pfff!" Parker snorted. "Give me fifteen seconds."
And before anyone could answer she was delving in a pocket and quietly making her way up the wooden back steps to the little deck in front of the kitchen door. Effie's old wooden chair sat there, her favourite place to be on a sunny day while dinner was cooking and a hot cup of tea was freshly poured. Parker slipped the lock-pick into her fingers and began.
It took the little thief precisely six seconds to unlock the door.
Grinning, she turned and waved the little group up the steps, holding a finger to her lips to make sure the children were as quiet as possible.
"Where the hell's Gertie?" Hardison hissed, annoyed. "I thought she'd be givin' that bi … that woman … a good telling off!" he continued lamely, mindful of little ears, although with Effie about he suddenly thought such concerns were far too late.
"In her humpy, probably," Charlie whispered as he herded Lizzie and Kip into the cavernous kitchen.
"A humpy? What's a –"
"Have you ever seen a wet camel? It's not a pretty sight," Charlie answered, silently shutting the door behind them. "Gertie hates rain and she's frightened of thunder, so Eliot built her a humpy … a shelter … in her paddock. She'll probably be in there, complaining to herself and Buster, silly old bint," he added.
"Damn!" Hardison swore, quietly working his way through the kitchen to the doorway to the small hall. He listened carefully, and he could hear voices coming from the veranda. Angry voices … voices with worry running rife though them. He chastised himself – he had no idea what was going on, and Hardison hated being in such a position. And Eliot … dear Lord, Eliot was vulnerable and hurt, and -
"We gotta put the kids someplace," he said urgently, his voice low. "Eliot's room. We'll put 'em with Eliot, then we can find out what she wants."
"Eliot! Is he okay? Is that woman going to hurt him?" Lizzie asked, a tremor in her voice. She started forward but Parker put a hand on her shoulder and shushed the little girl.
"You have to be quiet," she said, "and we'll check on Eliot right now, okay? But you have to be quiet!"
Lizzie, eyes wide and frightened, nodded, and she crowded next to Kip, who in turn clutched his father's arm.
"C'mon now, nippers," Charlie cajoled softly, ruffling Kip's hair, "it'll be perfectly alright as long as you two do as we say. Let's go see Eliot," he said, and smiled reassuringly at his son and Lizzie.
They worked their way along the short corridor to Eliot's room, and as expected, the door was ajar.
The trouble was, Eliot was gone.
"The stupid, stupid sonofabitch!" Hardison cursed.
"Where's Eliot?" Lizzie began to wail. "I shouldn't have left him, Alec! I should have been here –"
"SHHH!" Parker insisted, and, crouching down, pulled Lizzie to her in a hug. "Don't worry now … you know Eliot … he's tough. Tougher than anything," she added, eyes narrowing in a feral smile. "And besides … he's armed," she added.
"What?" Charlie said, confused.
"His sword's gone," Parker said, unwrapping Lizzie from her hug and turning the little girl around so she could see the empty place on the ironwood stand that had once held Eliot's katana. Lizzie looked at the hooks by the door and saw Eliot's stetson was missing. Her best friend was wounded but upright. She huffed, gulping back tears.
"He went out of the window," Charlie said, peering out past the curtains at the blustery sheeting rain outside. "Holy dooley, he's one silly bludger," he added under his breath. It was a nearly seven-foot drop to the ground straight into Gertie's paddock. How he had survived the drop and stayed conscious Charlie had no idea.
A crack of thunder drowned his words and was immediately followed by the arcing fingers of lightning stitching across the roiling clouds overhead. Pulling his head back inside before he became soaked, Charlie tugged the window shut but didn't latch it, just in case a quick escape was needed.
"What's going on?" he asked as Hardison crept back out to the corridor.
"Nate's talking … I can't hear what he's saying though. You guys stay here with the kids – I'll go find out what's happenin'," he muttered, and before Charlie could answer Hardison was gone.
"Where's Eliot, Parker?" Lizzie whimpered, and sat down on the empty bed. "He's sick and he's hurt and he should be in bed! Not out in the rain where that … that woman is! What's he going to do? What if she –"
"Lizzie!" Parker was being firm now, because it was obvious Lizzie was becoming distraught. "You have to have to keep it together now, because if your mom and dad have to worry about you getting upset or if Eliot thinks you're in danger, you could put them in danger, okay? So trust them – they know what they're doing, so you have to stay here with Kip and be as still and as quiet as a mouse! No-one is coming into the house – you're safe. So just hang tight and we'll wait to see what happens."
And Parker held both children close to her, and hoped to God she was telling them the truth.
Nate was a little confused, a feeling he detested. Nate Ford was a man who organised, manipulated and controlled, and he had expected a formal visit by either Rickenbacker – or better still, the people behind the whole mining project, so he could have a look at them and see what information he could glean.
But, he knew now, something else was going on.
"I can drop her from here," Soapy said sotto voce, "quick and clean."
"I don't think she's armed, Soapy," Nate replied. "She has nowhere to hide a weapon. She looks like a half-drowned rat."
"Don't care," the old pastoralist muttered. "She's openly threatened a member of this family, and I've killed for less," he added, his face like stone.
Nate held up a placating hand, but his eyes sparked with understanding.
"Hang on a minute, Soapy … let's see what she has to say. We might if we're lucky learn a thing or two," he cautioned, and Soapy scowled.
"Fine," he growled, "but I keep the gun on her. If she makes any kind of threatening move, I'll bloody well blow the heart out of her."
"Fair enough," Nate agreed, and thought about Lizzie and Kip, and his gut churned at the very idea of this woman being anywhere near the children. But, he decided reluctantly, now was the time to return to business.
"Care to explain what Eliot did to put your nose out of joint?" Nate called out to Hadan, although he had to admit to himself that it didn't take much for Eliot to piss people off.
Hadan allowed a small frown to creep onto her face, even as the rain streamed down and dripped off her chin in a steady, endless flow.
"His name was Rafe Eades," she said finally, and it was then Nate knew why Khenbish Hadan was here to kill the hitter.
"Means nothing to me," Nate shrugged. "And to be honest, I don't really care."
Hadan touched the gelding's sides with her heels and moved forward a step or two, which made Soapy's finger tighten on the Webley's trigger.
But she halted and studied Nate, seeing the chill in his blue gaze.
"He was my lover," she said starkly. "For seventeen years we worked together and slept together. He was …" she hesitated for a moment before continuing, " … my partner. Nearly five days ago, Spencer broke his neck."
Nate shrugged.
"So? Both of you had been hired to take care of Eliot and Charlie Jakkamara. This Eades was stationed at the bore specifically to kill either or both of them. But the tables were turned and he paid the price." He grinned mirthlessly. "It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, Ms Hadan." The name was almost an epithet. "As far as I'm concerned it means there's one less murdering bastard in the world." Nate leaned back against the door jamb and relaxed, crossing his arms.
Khenbish Hadan smiled. The lines around her eyes crinkled, and but the implied humour didn't reach her odd green eyes.
"My employers wish to speak to you," she said, now businesslike and clipped in her speech. "They will visit you tomorrow. But after that, I will return and Spencer will be here. If he isn't … I will kill your woman, and then I will kill the old ones. And then the girl with the quick hands and the sharp eyes … yes, I will kill her slowly … with a knife. The men will be next. And then I will kill the children. I will kill them in front of you and Spencer, and I will skin them while their hearts still beat."
Nate heard Soapy growl with fury, but he forced himself to stay still and relaxed, and put his hand on Soapy's shoulder, staying any reaction the pastoralist had.
"I swear to God –" Soapy fumed, and Nate could feel the tension thrumming through the man. Soapy was on the edge, and Nate knew he soon wouldn't be able to stop him from ending Khenbish Hadan right here and now.
"You won't touch a hair on anyone's head, Khenbish," came a voice through the drenching rain and pitched to be heard over the storm howling around them.
Both Nate and Hadan turned to see Eliot standing twenty yards away at the edge of the yard, Gertie beside him. He held tightly to her bosal with his right hand, but in his left was his Hanzō sword, still sheathed, but Nate saw the hitter's thumb rest against the old sword's tsuba, ready to free it from the koshirae.
Now Hadan's smile was genuine, and she studied both man and camel.
"It's an honour," she said. "I have heard much about you. Your death at my hands will be both satisfying and fitting. Although," she added with a little surprise, "I had heard you were dead."
Eliot gave a feral grin from beneath his stetson as the rain pooled around the brim and trickled onto his jacket. He was freezing cold, soaked to the skin and he could barely stand, but he was damned if he was going to show it.
"Yeah … well … you were misinformed," he countered. "I heard the same about you. Shame it ain't true."
"Ah," Hadan agreed soberly, "yes. These things are sent to try us, are they not?"
But Eliot didn't answer as he slowly made his way towards her, and she could see the white knuckles of his right hand as he hung on to the big camel, who sensed his loathing of the slight woman on the big horse. There was nothing Gertie wanted more than to charge at the hated human, but she knew Eliot needed her … he was bleeding, she could tell … and the coppery scent made her nervous, especially since she was out in this hated, terrifying rain and thunder. But she remained steady and true, and Eliot was thankful for her good sense. Without Gertie, he would be a useless heap on the water-soaked ground.
When Eliot was just a few yards away from Hadan, he brought Gertie to a halt and managed, teeth gritted and trying to stop himself shaking, to let go of Gertie's bosal and stand on his own two bare feet, balanced and ready.
Gertie bared her teeth and growled, chomping angrily, and the big roan gelding fidgeted nervously. He had never seen a camel before, and Hadan dropped a hand to his neck, soothing him.
She looked at the katana and raised an eyebrow in appreciation.
"I see you have brought the Sword of the Okuri-Inu*. I have heard it is exceptional … a legend, and it is certainly most magnificent. When I kill you, I will honour you by taking it as my own," she said graciously.
Eliot shrugged, trying not to let her see how much it hurt him.
"Yeah, well … you gotta come get it first," Eliot grunted, and Hadan heard the snick of the blade leaving the koshirae as his thumb pushed against the tsuba, loosening the weapon ready for it to be drawn in battle.
Hadan raised her other eyebrow as the world flickered with electricity, lightning making the dull day dance with energy. The thunder sounded as though it would bring the house down.
She studied this man whose reputation was as fearsome as her own, and Hadan was known throughout the underbelly of society – as well as many governments – as one of the world's deadliest assassins.
He looked pale, and she suddenly noticed a watery red stain spreading on the hip of the thin sweat-bottoms he wore. It was only then that she saw his feet were bare. Eliot Spencer, the world's best retrieval expert, was hurt and bleeding. Eades … her Rafe … had left his mark.
"No! No, you don't touch him!" A male voice rang out, desperate and angry.
Aw hell! Eliot groaned internally even as pain almost took his breath away.
"Hardison!" he growled, frustrated. "Just shut up, will ya!"
Hadan's gaze turned to the veranda in time to see a tall young black man burst through the doorway and down the veranda steps, stumbling to a halt at the bottom. His dark eyes were alive with fear, but they also held something else. Anger, she thought. Anger and determination.
"He didn't touch that shitty, murderin', horse-killin' bastard!" Hardison said as he stood straight and tall, fury evident in every inch of him. "It was me!" he shouted, defiance in each word. "I killed him, not Eliot. An' I would do it again in a moment!"
Eliot leaned wearily against Gertie, who honked at him, worried. He sighed, irritated beyond belief.
"God-DAMMIT, Hardison!" he said.
To be continued …
Author's notes:
* Okuri-Inu – the 'escort' or 'guardian' wolf of Japanese legend, which would make sure travellers found their way home if they showed no fear.