Scene 11
In the absence of a better plan, Joe and Amanda headed for the highest ground on the estate. Perhaps, Joe thought, they would be able to see from there if there were any obvious escape routes off the rear of the grounds.
Before long, Joe understood the value of taking a horse. Amanda steered the Volvo headlong into the dark, repeatedly surprised by ditches, streams, and dense underbrush. Amanda showed no concern for the welfare of Methos' property. The headlights were vital in the moonless night, but didn't illuminate far enough for the speeds Amanda set. Additionally, their light blinded them for seeing anything else. The car was visible and noisy.
"Turn off the lights, Amanda," he advised.
"And have no idea where I'm going?"
"You already have no idea where you're going!"
Amanda killed the lights. They were immediately blinded in the night, and Amanda reflexively slowed, for which Joe was grateful. He took advantage of the relative quiet to listen.
"That way!" he pointed. "I hear a chopper!"
Their course intercepted a dirt drive, and, since it seemed to head directly for the sound of the helicopter, Amanda took it. It led them to the crest of a hill. Amanda slowed as they approached light and noise, and halted the Volvo just short of the entrance to a helopad. The ground lights on the pad illuminated the scene.
The helicopter on the pad was well past runup, Joe saw, and able to launch immediately. Five men lay strewn upon the ground, dead or unconscious. One of them must have yielded his weapon, for MacLeod, silhouetted tall among the bodies, held a gun. He was preparing to surrender it, however, for, though he stood between the chopper and Pouchet and Delanoye, Delanoye held a gun to the head of Madeleine Pouchet.
"Papa!" she screamed.
The sound of the Volvo's arrival had been masked by the chopper noise, and, with the headlights off, they were, so far, unnoticed. And they clearly had to be the cavalry. Amanda began struggling to load and cock an unfamiliar crossbow in the dark.
"Joe," she whispered, pretty calmly, he thought, for someone who was about to enter a modern melee with a medieval weapon, "can you drop him from here?"
"And miss Madeleine? Not a chance!"
"Do you know where to shoot to disable a helicopter?"
"Not with a handgun!"
"Get ready to give it a shot, anyway." Her white teeth glinted in the dark. "So to speak."
Joe shook his head. He had long ago learned that the problem with shooting at an enemy was that they usually shot back. He guessed the helicopter had no one in it who was armed, or they would have shot MacLeod by now, but he wasn't going to stake his life on it. The Highlander could have been shot and still be standing.
He needed better cover than a windshield. A plan would be useful, too, but he'd operated without those before.
Amanda had managed to open the car door soundlessly, before she slipped into the shadows, so he gave it a try. He used his cane to lever himself to the ground where he could pull himself beneath the car. Cars made problematic cover, he knew, but it was better than nothing. And he couldn't go far. His prostheses on the gravel were far from soundless. Peering out from under the grill, he surveyed the scene again.
MacLeod's gun was no longer in his hand, and Delanoye moved the rigid Madeleine forward. He gestured at the Highlander with his gun, and MacLeod backed further off. Pouchet followed the appraiser and his daughter, holding something portrait-sized. Delanoye yelled, but Joe couldn't hear him through the sound of the chopper blades.
Well, when was he supposed to shoot? And what could Amanda do, anyway, with a single shot from a crossbow? If he shot and startled Delanoye ... He needed Delanoye to take his gun from Madeleine's temple, and he needed him to be near MacLeod when he did it.
As if MacLeod had read his mind, the Highlander moved. He made a calculated feint, just enough to draw Delanoye's attention and bring the gun around to point at him. Delanoye yelled, and gestured again with the gun. MacLeod did not move. Joe recovered his bead on the helicopter, but just before he squeezed off a shot, a crossbow bolt flew from somewhere to his left and buried itself in the dirt a few feet in front of Delanoye. Startled, the man fired wildly. Madeleine struggled, kicking.
An almost forgotten discipline kept Joe from the temptation to change targets from the helicopter to Madeleine's captor. Madeleine might get free of Delanoye, and then ... no, MacLeod was there. Trust your buddies to do their parts, a sergeant's voice from his past spoke in Joe's head. And the helicopter was lifting.
His heart aching with fear for the struggling girl, Joe fired four braced, carefully aimed shots at the climbing chopper. The sound of a second shot from Delanoye snapped Joe's frightened gaze back to the fray, where he saw MacLeod stagger to one knee. Delanoye swung his weapon around, his back to the wounded Highlander, past Madeleine, whom he now held only by the hair, searching for the source of Joe's shots. Joe still couldn't be sure of missing Madeleine if he tried a shot.
Pouchet broke and ran, heading for the other side of the clearing. Joe saw, to his surprise, that once the chopper had cleared the cluster of people, it had begun settling on the far side of the clearing. For a moment Joe thought he'd been spectacularly successful at something which really only worked in the movies, but then he realized that the chopper pilot had simply rearranged the playing field, like a football game where the goal suddenly switched ends. And Pouchet still held the portrait.
Joe aimed for Pouchet, but a shot from Delanoye pierced the radiator above him and sprayed him with scalding, hissing fluid. Goddamn! He pulled back, ran a hand across his face, spat out the sickly sweet taste of antifreeze, and aimed again. He had no fear of another shot from Delanoye. He knew something the appraiser didn't.
Behind Delanoye the dark-clad Highlander rose like an avenging angel. He swooped down upon the horrified man and had him disarmed and immobile in seconds. MacLeod then had to contend with the furious Madeleine, who began pummeling Delanoye in the Highlander's arms, her wild hair a flickering flame in the groundlights. But Pouchet was out of range, his escape assured. Damn! With him went Neal's fate.
His fortune changed in seconds. From out of the forest came a spectre from another time. A mounted man with spear and shield, he lacked only a helmet to be a Roman cavalryman. The white horse and light colored clothing made a ghostly contrast to the dark trees behind. A sudden wind set the forest to whispering and stirred something wild in Joe's blood. Sweet Mother of God.
Methos held the spear pointed at the starlit sky, steering a magnificent borrowed mount with his knees, blocking every move Pouchet made toward the helicopter. Pouchet gestured widely, and the helicopter lifted again, a dark dragon, canting toward the thickest forest. A distant part of Joe's mind - the part not enthralled by the sudden eldritch scene -saw with delight the black stream of fluid trailing from its fuselage, glinting pink when it hit the light. A bleeding dragon.
In the startling silence left by the chopper, Joe heard every word. "Out of my way, you idiot!" Pouchet ordered. He continued trying to pass Methos despite the departure of the chopper. Joe realized Pouchet had only to reach the treeline and their chances of catching him in the dark became slim to none.
"But M. Pouchet, M. MacLeod still wants to talk to you," the apparition replied mildly, still irritatingly maneuvering his horse to be always just in front of the man.
"Do you think you can stop me with a spear and a horse?" Pouchet mocked.
Methos laughed. It was not a mild sound. It sent shivers down Joe's back.
"Oh, M. Pouchet," he replied, "don't get me started." His smile was not mild, either.
What the hell? Joe snapped back to the real world. This was Adam! Wasn't it?
Pouchet, who was much closer to the smile, stumbled backward a step. Slowly, Methos lowered the spear tip to aim it at his heart.
"Adam!" Still holding Delanoye, MacLeod sounded horrified.
Pouchet ran. With trees on three sides, he had a choice of havens, but something had badly shaken him, for he ran toward the origin of the crossbow bolt. Methos merely raised the spear to a ready position; rider and mount wrapped in a shroud of stillness, waiting.
Fascinated, Joe watched for what Methos must have been expecting. Amanda, the final player on this stage, appeared from the trees. The wind had blown back the cowl of her fashionable short cape, revealing her yellow-white hair. The cape waved like dark wings as she held the crossbow aimed at Pouchet's chest. Her smile held malice, too.
Joe couldn't hold back an evil grin. Oh, buddy he thought with awe,you are in such deep kimshi.
Pouchet reversed course. In his panic, he dropped the portrait. Even running, he shouldn't have been a difficult target for her at such close range, but she didn't shoot.
Methos gave chase. Joe's blood ran cold at the sight of his bookish friend turned charging killer.
With the spear leveled at Pouchet's hapless back, bent low over the horse's neck, Methos bore down.
"Adam, don't!" MacLeod sounded desperate.
At the last moment, Methos reversed the spear in a beautiful, practiced motion, and, as he thundered by the man, tapped him with the horse's momentum, sending him sprawling to the ground. The horse pivoted back at his rider's command, as if, jousting, they had reached the end of the lists. He pranced.
Joe breathed again. That was it. They had won!
He began pulling himself out from under the car, reasoning that he couldn't afford the moments of pleased awe at what they had accomplished; not if he wanted to join the others in time to not miss anything. Fortunately, the open car door helped get him up. He reached in and added the Volvo's headlights to the field, then started toward MacLeod, his gun in one hand, watching for movement from the still forms crumpled near the helopad.
Amanda brought the portrait, and Methos brought Pouchet. The man was pale and shaking as he panted. "Get him off me," he begged. Methos was on foot; holding the man in an armlock, and he looked for all the world amazed at Pouchet's plea. MacLeod took charge of him, and Joe didn't miss the dark look he gave the other immortal.
"Papa, how could you?" Madeleine wept.
"Madeleine, are you all right?" Pouchet gasped.
"What do you care?!" Then her French came so fast and virulent that Joe couldn't translate it anymore. She started kicking Delanoye again. Now holding both Delanoye and Pouchet, MacLeod couldn't restrain her. Amanda and Methos didn't try.
"Get those guys," MacLeod ordered, tilting his head toward the unconscious men on the ground.
Amanda dangled a pair of handcuffs in front of MacLeod. "What, you left some alive?" she queried, innocently. MacLeod snatched the cuffs for his prisoners.
"Trust you to travel with handcuffs, Amanda," Methos chuckled.
"Trust you to bring a spear to a crossbow fight."
"You didn't even reload that crossbow," he accused.
"But in the dark, who could tell? I don't think that thing has been oiled in a century. It's a bitch to cock." Amanda and Methos moved away, dealing with the men MacLeod had already defeated. Five on one, Joe thought, impressed. And they were armed.
"Who are you people?" Pouchet asked. He was still badly shaken; a very different man than the one who had challenged Methos on the horse. Joe knew he wasn't imagining the ... the pleasure he had sensed in Methos. MacLeod had seen it too. Only Amanda seemed unconcerned.
"We're Cartier's guard ghosts," MacLeod answered him, as he tried to stand between Madeleine's assaults and Delanoye. The appraiser had curled upon himself, as much as he could in MacLeod's grasp, to protect himself against her blows. She wasn't strong, but she wasn't kidding, either.
MacLeod looked helplessly at Joe. "Joe, could you ..." he nodded toward the furious Madeleine.
Joe returned his gun to a coat pocket, and put a hand on Madeleine's shoulder. "Madeleine, Madeleine," he murmured, "that's not fair."
The girl ceased abusing her ex-fiancé and turned to cry on Joe's shoulder, almost overbalancing him. He gave the Highlander a wry look. MacLeod smiled his thanks, and cuffed the other two men together. Released from Madeleine's violence, Delanoye also turned a shaken face on MacLeod.
"I shot you," he said, wide-eyed.
"No, you didn't," MacLeod responded, tying the free hands of the two men with his belt. The movement necessary to extract his belt revealed his blood-stained sweater beneath his coat. Delanoye stared at the non-wound, in wordless horror. MacLeod glanced at Joe.
Joe moved Madeleine back, and started removing his own sweater. "Madeleine, help me with this," he said. The crying girl obeyed, supporting Joe when he had to move his cane from hand to hand. Beneath his sweater Joe wore a light turtleneck. Joe feared MacLeod would protest, but the Highlander removed his own sweater and accepted Joe's wordlessly. His unmarked torso was bare to view for a few seconds, and Delanoye repeated, "I shot you."
"No, you didn't," MacLeod also repeated, smoothing down the new sweater.
Amanda and Methos rejoined them. "Say Dad," Methos asked, cheerfully, "if the horse follows me home, can I keep him?"
MacLeod grabbed Methos by the bicep and shook him. "No. What the hell was that?" he growled. Methos blinked and shrank.
"What was what?"
MacLeod released him. "You know what," he scowled.
Methos moved away, into shadow. "I'll go take the horse and the weapons back," he said. "I'll check on the police, too."
"Actually, Duncan," Amanda said, giving MacLeod a peck on the cheek, "the constabulary and I are not on the best of terms."
"Go, go," MacLeod said. "Take the car." He handed her the bundle of bloody clothes, which she accepted with apparent distaste. "We can say Joe came with me."
"That's not what they'll say," Joe pointed out, indicating the prisoners.
Methos returned to the light, leaned down to Delanoye's face and gave him That Smile. "But who'd believe them?" he asked.
"Get going!" MacLeod said, stepping toward Methos.
"Going! C'mon Amanda."
"I'm coming. Too bad the helicopter got away."
"It won't get far," Joe said. Everyone looked at him. "Not leaking hydraulic fluid like that. And the police won't have much trouble identifying it when it comes down."
Methos and Amanda looked pleased, but MacLeod, who probably knew how truly impossible such a shot was, looked impressed. "Damn, you're good, Joe," he said.
"Just lucky."
Damn I'm good.