Alison landed on the balcony with a soft thump, her sandals absorbing less of the impact than her combat boots would have. She swore softly and ducked against the wall of the house, hoping her feet would stop stinging soon.
She watched as the Baroness landed next to her. She swore again; the woman had brought along the man's gun. Terrific, she thought sarcastically. This is just where I want to be right now.
In truth, her blood was pumping and she felt good. She had been dreading the evening, planning on writing it off as another torturous session of boredom and forced joviality. But, she had to admit, things were certainly not boring now.
She signaled to the Baroness, pointing up at the window, then over the railing. She got the point. They hopped over the marble rail and landed next to each other in the soft dirt of a flower garden. Moving quickly, they crept along the side of the house and around the corner. And hopefully out of sight of anyone looking for the person responsible for leaving one of the men bleeding in an upstairs bedroom.
They paused to catch their breath and to plan the next step. "Okay, Baroness. You win. This has gone too far to just sit and wait for the cavalry to arrive. I say we take out any guards on the outside first, then move back inside to take care of the others."
Her long-time enemy regarded her over the tops of her glasses. "Is that an order?" she asked haughtily.
Alison rolled her eyes. "It was a suggestion. Do you have a better idea?"
The Baroness didn't answer, but simply rose and headed toward the front of the house. Alison followed, willing to let the other woman expose herself first to the possible dangers ahead.
They reached the front corner. Under the light cast by the half-moon, they could see at least three more men. One was standing near the 'getaway car,' in this case an armored jeep. He was apparently also monitoring communications; they could hear the static of a police radio coming from inside the vehicle.
The two other men were spread farther apart. One was near the guests' cars, going through them and searching for anything of value. The other was on lookout farther down the drive.
"I'm going to take out the watchman. Wait until I'm close enough, then take out the man near the jeep. Once they're down, approach the man going through the cars. Act like you don't know what's going on; he'll probably believe you." And if he doesn't, she added silently, I'm not gonna cry about it. "Just keep him distracted until I can reach him."
She looked her companion in the eye. "Do I need to remind you that noise is not a good idea?"
To her surprise, the Baroness didn't argue. She merely nodded, already planning her strategy. She ghosted away, leaving Alison to head around the shrubbery and down the drive.
Alison waited for the guard to shift positions and turn away from her. She stepped onto the pavement. I'm not going to be able to sneak up on him, so…
The man turned back toward the house and saw her immediately. She could see his eyes widen, and he raised his gun, leveling it at her midsection.
Alison raised her hands, walking a few steps forward. She got just close enough for him to see her clearly, and said in perfect Irish Gaelic, "An Ireland of Equals."
He visibly relaxed upon hearing the motto of the Sinn Fein political party. After all, they did have supporters everywhere.
She stepped closer as he lowered the gun. He watched her calmly and asked, still in Gaelic, "What did Sean send you out here for, then?"
She smiled and moved a step closer. "They're almost done. Bit of a hang-up with Sir Ian, that's all." She continued to smile as she grabbed his rifle and punched him in the face as hard as she could.
He fell on his backside, leaving her in possession of the gun. She swung it around and brought the butt of the gun against his temple. He fell, and she crouched next to him, checking for a pulse and feeling relieved that he was still alive. It was always dicey: hit a man hard enough, and he could die; don't hit him hard enough and he could kill you.
She looked down at the weapon in her hand. Not much sense in stealth now, she thought. Might as well bring it along. She slung the strap of the rifle over her shoulder.
Alison cautiously made her way to the parking area. The Baroness was standing near the third terrorist, who looked suspicious and angry. He was gesturing back to the house, and she was shaking her head emphatically.
Alison moved between the cars, getting as close as she could to the man. He was standing near the driver's side door of an antique Bently. She snuck around the front of the car, moving toward the open door.
The man looked down in surprise as she slammed her shoulder into the door, swinging it shut. It caught him in the stomach and knees, but he recovered quickly, shoving the door back and knocking her against the hood. She fumbled to stay upright, fear gripping her as the barrel of the gun swung towards her.
Then the man crumpled.
Alison looked up, shocked. The Baroness stood above the man, rubbing the side of her hand. "Beautifully executed plan," she sneered.
"Eh. I could have taken him."
The Baroness let out a short burst of laughter. "Whatever you say, dear." She turned and walked back toward the house.
Alison followed, grumbling under her breath.
They climbed back up the balcony outside the French doors of the Ballroom, figuring it would give them the best view of what was happening inside.
The three men that were left were standing in a tight group; the leader was gesticulating wildly, pointing to the top of the stairs and obviously berating his men. They all seemed uncertain, especially since they had no idea who was behind the disappearance of the others.
"So," the Baroness whispered casually, "Where's your precious SAS? Stuck in traffic?"
Alison ignored her, thinking. If she were in the man's position, she would have the two subordinates make another round of the house together while she stayed with the guests. Or she would make certain that it turned into a hostage situation. The number of terrorists who got away clean was higher than most people thought. Things like this happened all the time, all over the world.
She watched in amazement as the two men instead began picking up the bags of valuables. They headed toward the front door.
"Unbelievable. He's going to try to run," she whispered.
"And we're not going to let them." The Baroness replied.
Alison looked over at her. "You're beginning to act suspiciously like one of the good guys, you know that?"
"Hmpf. It's a matter of principle. They tried to rob me."
"Oooookay. Whatever you say. You know, the Joes could use-"
"Pshaw-- in another dimension, dear," she replied sarcastically. "I'm loyal to Cobra. Well, Destro, anyway."
They were moving together around the side of the house again, hoping to take the two men by surprise. They reached the front corner, and were about to glance around the edge when both men stepped into view, guns leveled.
"Shit," Alison and the Baroness said together.
They put their hands up, unable to feign innocence as both of them had rifles stolen from the terrorists themselves slung over their shoulders. Oh, please don't let me die next to her… Alison pleaded silently.