Alison took advantage of the chaos to take in the situation. In addition to the man on the balcony, four more were visible blocking the exit to the front hall and the servant's passage to the kitchen. All five men were wearing military style clothing, including Kevlar vests and black balaclavas, leaving only the eyes exposed. A little extreme for thieves, she mused.
The crowd had settled, no longer trying to leave but murmuring amongst themselves in frightened whispers. The group's leader fired off another short burst of automatic fire, regaining the attention of every person in the room.
Sir Morlowe, host of the evening, approached the foot of the stairs and called up to the armed man. "What is the meaning of this? How dare you barge in here and order us to-"
"I do not wish for this to be a long and involved process," the man interrupted. "Let me make myself clear: we are here for your guests' valuables and cash. If they are given up freely, we will leave without bloodshed. Everyone please place all items of value on the floor and lie down on your stomachs. NOW."
No one argued. As much as it galled her to do so, Alison followed suit, removing her jewelry and watch and setting them in a small pile next to her on the floor. She lay down but kept her head up, watching every move the men made. She turned to see how the Baroness was reacting, but the woman was gone. Figures, she fumed. Takes off at the first sign of trouble.
There was no doubt about it– they were professionals at this. The way they moved and carried their guns spoke of long practice with this type of activity. None of the other men spoke; they simply waited for the guests to finish before moving about the room with black bags, collecting the various items scattered along the floor.
The leader came to the bottom of the stairway and gestured to one of his men, who stopped and looked up expectantly. "Time to find the storage room, I think. These ladies must have their purses somewhere."
Alison's stomach sank. If they searched everyone's purses, they would find her gun and military ID. She had brought her standard issue card along to facilitate the transport of her weapon. Now it seemed like they would get her into trouble rather than out of it. The men probably wouldn't be too thrilled about the idea of an American soldier being present to witness the event. But what will they do about it? She wondered.
The leader scanned the room. "Take one of the guests with you to help."
Alison couldn't pass up the opportunity. She shifted just enough to draw the man's attention with her movement. As she had hoped, his gaze settled directly on her. She met his eyes briefly, trying to look frightened and intimidated.
"Her," the man ordered, gesturing at Alison. The second man pulled her to her feet and tore off her mask. She flinched. He didn't laugh, but simply pushed her toward the main hallway. She cowered back from his touch, but didn't speak, walking out of the ballroom. He held his gun loosely in her direction; not quite threatening, but ready.
She saw immediately that there was another man stationed at the front door. Sir Morlowe's two security men were bound and gagged on the floor nearby, along with one of the footmen. Her captive nodded at his coworker. "Still all clear up here?"
"All clear," he responded. "The R Sigs must have gotten the decoy. We won't hear a peep all night."
Alison stumbled for a moment, stunned. The R Sigs? Why would the communications branch of the Special Air Service be monitoring a group of thieves? The answer hit her almost immediately. These men are IRA.
She considered the possibility. The Irish Republican Army was well-known for activities like this all across Britain and Ireland. It was a major source of their funding for arms and their political movement, the Sinn Fein.
Not that it changed anything about the situation, but... Alison held a very strong dislike for the IRA, having lived in Dublin while working on her Master's Degree. She had witnessed the after effects of bombings and other attacks, and had even been held hostage for a short time with a small group of classmates once. Her stomach roiled at the thought of the group's continuing violence and crime. Damn it Alison! She swore to herself. Aren't you part of the best anti-terrorist group in the world? She began to plan.
The hand on her arm jerked her to a stop. "Where were the purses and jackets taken?" Her captor asked.
She nodded toward a hallway to the left of the main entrance. "Down there, I think," she replied. "I don't know which door, though."
He pulled her along, ducking his head into the rooms as they passed, exposing pantries and linen closets. She waited until he was about to push open the next door, and purposefully tripped. Her sudden shift pulled the man off balance, and he tried to steady her by reflex.
He threw out his gun arm as a counterweight, and she sprang upwards, bringing the flat of her palm hard to the underside of his chin. His head snapped back and he hit the floor. She jabbed him in the side of the neck, knocking him unconscious. She had made hardly a sound, but listened for a reaction from the front hallway. Nothing.
Alison opened the cloak room door and dragged him inside. It was a large closet, but there wasn't a lot of extra room to maneuver. She scanned the garments and quickly found what she needed. Using the belts of various coats, she bound and gagged the man, then ducked back into the hallway for his weapon.
She placed the automatic rifle under a pile of wraps and cardigans and groped through the nearby purses until she found a cell phone. She dialed 999 for the British police emergency service and waited.
A woman answered on the third ring, and Alison explained the situation. "This is Alison Burnett calling from Sir Morlowe's home in Saffron Walden. A number of men with automatic weapons have entered the house. There are approximately one hundred people here in attendance at a party. The men haven't hurt anyone yet, but..." But what? She wondered. If the terrorist branch of the Metropolitan Police shows up, there could very well be casualties. They had said they wouldn't hurt anyone if we cooperated, and I'm not exactly cooperating, am I?
The woman made her repeat the information, then handed the phone to someone else. The man identified himself as a member of the Specialist Operations branch of the Met, and asked her to describe the men.
She told him about the military gear and face masks, and there was a long pause on his end of the line. When he spoke again, he said, "Alright, miss. I'm going to transfer you to Corporal Hart. He's with the SAS. They've been keeping tabs on this group– he'll want whatever information you can give him. Are you in a safe place?"
It took her a moment to answer. Corporal Hart? What are the odds? "Yes, I think I'm safe for now."
Another man came on the line. "Miss– Burnett?-- This is Corporal Hart. I understand you're at Ian Marlowe's property right now?"
"Yes, in Saffron Walden. I don't know the exact address-"
"That's fine. We know where you are. In fact, I and a section of men are on our way right now. We've been monitoring communications from this group for a while. Can you tell me how many men there are?"
"I saw six, though there might be more outside. I have one of them tied up here, though, so I suppose that leaves five inside."
There was a long pause. "Did you say you tied one of them up?"
"Well...yes." She sighed. Time for the big admission. "I'm with the American Army. I was afraid they would find my ID..." she ended weakly, reluctant to mention her gun.
"May I ask if you are active right now?"
"No, I'm on leave. Does it really matter?" Alison responded.
"No... It's just that we have two of your military men with us right now. Just curious. Miss, I must ask that you do not take any further action. You do understand that there are lives at stake?"
She gritted her teeth. "Yes, I do. And now there's one less man left to hurt these people." And it seemed like a good idea at the time, she added to herself.
"Are these men IRA?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Did one of them say something that gave you that idea?"
"Well, you're SAS, aren't you?" she replied. "And yes, one of the men mentioned a decoy transmission picked up by the R Sigs."
"I see. How long do you think before they notice their missing man? Can you stay hidden and keep this phone available?"
"I was supposed to help collect money from the guests' purses. They'll probably be wondering where were are soon."
"Can you move to a safer location?" he asked her.
"Yes, I think so."
"Good. Find a hiding spot and stay there. Call us if you hear shots from inside the house or if anything changes. And be careful." Corporal Hart ended the call.
Alison took a few calming breaths. She considered taking the man's gun with her, but her outfit wasn't exactly a dearth of hiding places. Instead she found her purse, and tucked her own gun in the back of the band around her hips. She tucked the cell phone in, too. Okay, so long as they don't get a good look at me, I'm fine...
She looked out into the hallway. Clear. Moving as quietly as she could, she reached the opening to the main front hall. Crouching low, she peeked around the corner to check the status of the man guarding the front door.
The man was unconscious on the floor. The Baroness stood over him with a knife, ready to strike. Alison sprang from her crouch and hissed, "Baroness! Don't you dare!"
The other woman swung around, knife held at the ready. When she saw who it was, she lowered the blade and said, "Oh, it's you. Really dear," she kicked the man on the floor. "You have too many scruples. What do you suggest?"
Alison sighed. "There's another man tied in the coat room. Let's put him there." She walked over, stopping near the bound security men and footman. "I'm sorry, but I can't untie you," she told them. "If someone sees the men gone, that's one thing. If they see you untied, they'll know something is wrong. You'll be fine."
She ignored the pleading look in their eyes and bent to pick up the unconscious attacker. The Baroness followed behind as Alison carried the man to the other room. They left him bound with the other, covering them as best they could with coats. Anyone really looking would see them fairly quickly but a in a hurried search might miss the two bulky forms.
"Baroness. Leave the gun. You're just making yourself a target," Alison told her companion.
"Not a chance, darling." The Baroness clutched the second man's automatic rifle in her hand.
"If those men feel threatened, they may start shooting. You must have friends here– that's really stretching the term, by the way– do you want them to get shot?"
The Baroness shrugged and tucked the gun under the pile of clothing.
They made it to the front stairway and onto the second floor. Alison pulled the other woman into an empty room and closed the door. She glanced out of the window, but the night was black, and she could see nothing. She stood for a moment, contemplating the situation.
A soft rustle of fabric was Alison's only warning. She spun around and sidestepped out of the Baroness' reach. "What are you doing?" She demanded.
The Baroness regarded her coldly. "You tell me to leave the gun behind, and now I see that you're armed. What am I supposed to think, you two-timing Joe?"
Alison stood with her back to the wall, refusing to give the other woman another chance to make a grab for it. "Where exactly would you hide an automatic rifle wearing that outfit?"
"Fine. What do we do now?" The Baroness stood, arms crossed, glaring.
"Nothing. There's a Corporal with a section of SAS men on their way. We wait."
The Baroness stared at her incredulously. "You are going to sit around waiting for a group of men to rescue you? And then what– go home and tell your CO that you stood around doing nothing while a group of six men who wouldn't even make it through the first week of Cobra training robbed every guest at the party, including you?"
Alison narrowed her eyes, responding quietly, "I am not on duty. I am also not a vigilante. These men are IRA, and yes, I am going to wait for the SAS to do their job."
Her statement earned a sneer from the other woman. "Scarlett would have all of these men hanging from the chandeliers by now."
"Oh, that's it!" Alison hissed. She moved forward, but stopped mid-motion as she saw the door open. One of the thieves stood looking at them with open amazement. He had been searching the rooms for loot, and was completely taken aback at their presence.
Before he could recover, Alison pulled her gun and yelled to the Baroness, "Duck!"
The blast of gunfire echoed in the tiny room. "Shit," Alison muttered. She walked to the man on the ground. Her shot had taken him in the shoulder, precisely as a shot to disable should. Perfectly by the book. If she wasn't technically a civilian right now, that is. Different books tended to apply to off-duty soldiers in foreign countries.
The Baroness was climbing to her feet. She glanced at the man, then looked to the Joe. "Nice. I think they may want to investigate that. You're the expert at retreat here. Now what?"
"Shut up." Alison forced open the window and looked down. The outdoor balcony leading to the ballroom was below. It was a drop of about fifteen feet to the railed ledge, and another ten to the ground.
She climbed up on the sill and turned to her temporary ally. "Good luck with this in those boots,"she called, dropping off the edge.
The Baroness swore and followed after, pausing long enough to remove the injured man's rifle and sling it around her shoulder..