Chapter Twenty

Porthos had switched the alarm off on the front door of the property; to an intruder, it would look like the result of a forgetful mind. But he had left it locked. If Mendez wanted in, he would have to work for it. He could come in at any point, of course. He could just shoot his way in. But guns were not his thing. That had been established.

They could wait for Mendez to enter and just blast him where he stood. But that was not what they wanted. They had all discussed this. This had been the sticking point as they thrashed out their strategy.

They wanted to play him at his own game.

This was a true cat and mouse game. One Mendez knew well and one they wanted to play him at. It was reckless, true. That had been the basis of their argument. But they had all finally agreed; they were reckless. Always had been and always would be. Especially if the stakes were high, as they were now.

They had not been entirely honest with Treville as to the nature of their eventual engagement. He had sanctioned their plan. He had even provided the blacked out van for their subterfuge. He knew where they intended to confront Mendez but they had not told him exactly how.

There had been no need to wish each other luck, or tell each other to be careful. They all knew the stakes.

The pizzas were ready and Porthos grabbed a cloth and pulled them from the oven. He found a steel cutter in a drawer and plates in an overhead cupboard. He smiled to himself as he turned one of the plates over and read the maker's name in gold lettering. Only the best for Athos. Better be careful with them. Next, came the black matt tray and a couple of napkins, also black. For a moment, he forgot why they were there in the face and smell of the impending meal, but by the time he had loaded the tray and made his way to the library, he was all focus.

oOo

As it turned out, Mendez's interest was taken by a window that was almost lost beneath a twisting vine, hidden from view. He took out a thin blade; much thinner than his combat weapon, and put it to use, prising a pane from its mounting. A thin alarm wire ran around the edge, and that was quickly severed. Once he was finished here, he would walk out through the front door, but for now, he would choose surprise. He enjoyed that part of the kill.

His slight frame was easy to push through the opening and he dropped quietly into a small lobby that held outdoor wear and boots. The door was old oak panelling with a lift-up catch, which he lifted cautiously. He eased the door open slightly, putting his eye to the crack.

The aroma of bread hit him and he could see ahead, through an open door, to the lights of the kitchen.

That was fine. He had killed in kitchens before. He would be able to wash his hands afterwards.

The kitchen though, was empty.

He ran his fingers lightly over the glass oven door. It was warm, but empty. So, he would need to find the lounge, or the dining room. His blood began to sing in his veins, as it always did as he closed in. His eye caught movement then and he was drawn to a console on the worktop. The house security system. Walking closer and leaning in, he watched the two men in the bottom corner of the screen, eating pizza and laughing.

His eyes narrowed as he watched. A pool. Interesting. He could see there was a spiral staircase to the left of them. He would need to find that.

Turning his attention back to the kitchen, he saw there was a door at the end of the room. He had not passed a staircase when he exited the small lobby, so it made sense that this door would lead to the rest of the house. When he moved to the window and looked out, he saw the kitchen was on an elevation. Looking down, the patio was some way beneath him. There was a floor below.

The door led to a library. So where was this staircase? Frustrated, he quietly walked the length of the shelves, before he realised one section was out of alignment. Putting his fingers between the shelves and the wall, he pulled. A book on the shelf shifted slightly and he smiled. Reaching out, he pulled the book forward and the unit moved silently a few inches toward him, just enough to see the black metal of a spiral staircase beyond.

Satisfied, he stood listening.

Below, he could hear de la Fere's voice, talking to du Vallon about the pool. The dark-skinned Musketeer who had brought him from the hospital in a blacked-out van was hoping no doubt, to keep him from further harm.

Yes, he knew that aristocratic voice well, he had listened to it often. It was the background of his murders in their supposed "safe house." He had replayed his camera footage in the privacy of his home many times. He had enjoyed the inflections in the voice, from uncertainty to horror as de la Fere and his colleague had found his handiwork that morning. Seen the blood. He would have enjoyed seeing the face in reality too, back then. He had researched these men and had used this one's image to make the fake id that gained him entry to the house, but the camera he had left in the room that day had focussed on the bodies. It had therefore been a pleasure to see that face in reality when he had met him in the wreckage of his car on the streets and again, in the hospital. Good things come in threes though, they say.

Just then, his reverie was broken by the sound of ascending heavy footsteps on metal and he realised he would be discovered if he did not move. Turning, he made his way back to the kitchen, and then to the lobby, where he pulled the door closed and waited.

He heard the sound of plates being put on the worktop and water splashing into the sink. Then, a mobile phone went off and du Vallon stepped out of the kitchen into the hallway, talking. Mendez dared to open the door just enough to watch. The man sounded frustrated as he ended the call and dropped the phone into his pocket. Then, he flipped the latch on the front door and left, closing it behind him.

Mendez waited, but the light on the porch went out and it looked like du Vallon was not returning. A little later, he heard the van engine fire up.

Smiling to himself, he pushed the lobby door open and listened.

All was quiet.

Walking back to the kitchen, he leaned on the counter and studied the CCTV image of the pool once more. His quarry seemed to have his head in a book. As he watched, he placed it on his lap and began to move the chair slowly away from the seating area, toward the far end of the pool.

There was a half empty bottle of red wine on the counter next to the kitchen sink. Mendez picked up one of the newly washed glasses and poured himself a measure.

Swirling it around, he breathed in the aroma.

"Good vintage," he murmured as he drank it down slowly, savouring it.

There was no rush.

Rinsing the glass out, he placed it back on the counter before reaching into his jacket and pulling his favourite weapon from its shoulder holster.

Turning the knife in the overhead lights, he gazed at the blade, aware of his muted reflection in the steel.

Straightening his jacket, he licked his lips and turned toward the library once more.

This was going to be so easy.

To be continued ...