Chapter 4! (shooorter chapter). I hope you like this one :)
Thanks for the reviews :)
Secret society castle, Blake's p.o.v.
Blake wiped his sweaty brow as he finished installing the last explosive charge. That one was particularly important; it would allow him to cut the power inside the building, in case Solo needed to escape. He had been pleased to discover that the castle, which looked ancient from the outside, was actually equipped with a modern electrical system. The other explosive charges he had disseminated throughout the castle would help create chaos and an effective diversion. As soon as all hell broke loose, Kuryakin, who had stayed near the car, would take care of the guards outside to facilitate their escape. Once he had managed to sneek into the castle undetected, Blake had first located the room where Solo's initiation ceremony would be taking place. It was situated underground, in the castle crypt, which had apparently been converted into a huge reception room. That meant no windows, which would also be convenient in case he needed to rescue Solo. Then, as he was placing the charges, Blake had scanned the place for potential exits and strategic hiding places. He also had managed to come up with a rough estimate of the number of guards and their approximate positions. He adjusted the headset of the portable listening device he was carrying in his backpack. The thing was slightly cumbersome but it did the job. He focused on the sounds coming out of the speakers. Apparently Solo was still walking around the reception room. Blake made a mental note every time Solo made a descriptive comment about the layout of the room. A loud, rather unpleasant laugh occasionally rang in his ears. Probably Davies. He checked his watch. Now that he had finished installing the charges, the best thing to do was to get as close as possible to the reception room - without getting caught - in case he needed to intervene. He was just about to leave when he heard a loud ringing noise though the headset, it sounded like some kind of bell. He frowned…then froze. The ringing bell suddenly wasn't the only sound he was concerned about.
Company…
Although the end of the corridor he was in was partly enveloped in shadow, it didn't offer much concealment and it was too late to get to a better hiding place. He quickly removed the headset, set his backpack down on the floor and left it conspicuously in the middle of the corridor. Then he retreated in the shadow. Judging by the sound of the footsteps, it was only one guy. After a few seconds, the man came into view. The fact that he kept his gun trained on the backpack clearly indicated that he was not a professional.
Foolish little fellow…
Blake silently fished a single 9mm cartridge out of one of the pockets of his tactical vest. With his other hand, he slipped a knife out of the sheath strapped to his leg. He waited for the man to bend down and examine the backpack. Then he threw the cartridge as hard as he could against the opposite wall. As he had anticipated, the inexperienced man jumped to his feet – probably losing control of his bladder in the process – and swung his weapon toward the noise. As the guard started turning his back to him, Blake was already moving. He swiftly closed the distance between them, clamped one hand over the man's mouth and nose and used his other hand to stab his knife into the side of his throat. Then he twisted the knife and jerked it out of the wound. He felt the man's knees buckle and gently lowered him to the floor but kept his hand over his mouth and his nose pinched shut to keep him silent as he waited for him to die. Blake then dragged the body into the shadowed part of the corridor. Wasting no time, he knelt down and put the headset back on. He listened for a few seconds, frowned…then hurriedly scooped up his backpack and stood up to leave.
Let's hope I'm not too late…
That's when he felt a subtle displacement of air right behind him, and soon after, something hit him in the back of the head.
Shit…
At the same moment, reception room, Napoleon's p.o.v
As the cult members dragged Marshall closer to the center of the room, Napoleon noticed the cuts and bruises on his arms, chest and face. He had obviously been beaten up, and more than once, but he didn't seem to be severely injured.
Napoleon tore his gaze away from the CIA agent and turned toward Davies.
"Who is this young chap?", he whispered.
"Ah don't worry about that, you don't need to know who he is."
You're right, I don't. But Blake does…
Napoleon shot a furtive glance at Cleary and his robed associate. He really didn't like the avid look on the cult master's face.
"What are they going to do to him?"
"Oh, they are not going to do anything.", Davies answered with a wink. "You are."
The two men and their prisoner finally reached the table at the center of the circle formed by the guests. As he spotted the table with the restraints, Marshall started struggling harder, kicking out at his captors. His efforts elicited a few laughs from the assembly of guests. Two other cult members came to the rescue, one of them clamped an arm around his chest, holding him upright and the other drove his knee into the agent's gut. As Marshall gasped and doubled over, two of the men grabbed him under the armpits while the two others grabbed his legs and they laid him down on the table, fastening the restraints around his wrists and ankles. The four men stepped back into the crowd and Marshall immediately started struggling against his bonds, tugging at the restraints, twisting his body from side to side. Again, a few laughs erupted from the crowd of cult members.
"Look at him, wriggling like a worm on a fish hook.", Davies said with a hearty laugh.
Napoleon forced a chuckle.
Please tell me this is not what it looks like…
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen."
The crowd fell silent at the sound of Cleary's voice.
"As you all know, we're welcoming a new member into our community tonight."
He turned toward Napoleon.
"Mr. Carlyle, if you will just step this way…", Cleary said, pointing at a spot next to the side of the table.
Napoleon obliged and, as he stepped around the table, he seized the opportunity and discreetly pressed a button on his watch in order to send a distress signal to Blake. At that moment, Marshall, who had not noticed his presence before, stopped struggling and Napoleon saw the agent's eyes grow wide as saucers. Thankfully he almost immediately recovered from his surprise and started tugging at his restraints again, all the while staring at Napoleon with a convincing frightened gaze. The door at the far end of the room opened again and a cult member appeared. As the crowd parted to let the man through, Napoleon saw that he was carrying an object, apparently wrapped in a piece of cloth. He handed the object to the cult master who removed the cloth, revealing what looked like an ancient stone dagger.
Dammit…
Adopting a solemn expression, the cult master raised the dagger and a reverent murmur arose from the assembly. Then he positioned himself next to Napoleon and held out the dagger to him. Napoleon hesitantly reached for the stone blade.
What the hell is Blake doing?...
He made a show of nervously fiddling with the dagger.
"All right. Human sacrifice. Very well then..."
"One of our most treasured traditions.", Cleary commented. "Regular offerings are meant to ensure the prosperity of our community."
"I see…"
"Is there a problem, Mr. Carlyle?"
Time to improvise…
"No, I…this is a little embarrassing. I…I've never done this sort of thing before…would you mind walking me through it?"
Napoleon cringed inwardly at the sound of his own quavering voice.
At least ridicule doesn't kill anyone. A dagger through the chest on the other hand…
An amused murmur spread through the crowd of spectators. He saw the cult master roll his eyes and spotted Davies's perplexed expression. Even Marshall was watching him with a skeptical look. His fellow agent's eyes seemed to be telling him "I hope you have something better than this…"
Working on it, pal…
Cleary silenced the crowd again.
"Well, Mr. Carlyle, it's fairly simple. You plunge the blade into this young man's chest, he dies, you become one of us."
Napoleon cursed inwardly. Even if Blake had not recognized his distress signal, he had clearly mentioned human sacrifice. Granted, Blake didn't know that the poor fellow about to be sacrificed was Marshall but it seemed reasonable to assume that his partner wouldn't just sit around and wait while he was forced to perform a human sacrifice, regardless of the victim's identity.
No worries, he'll be here any second now…
Napoleon gripped the dagger with both hands and started raising it. Then he pretended to hesitate and turned the blade as if to examine it.
"What kind of blade is this? Are…Are you sure this thing is sharp enough?", he said as he brought his finger close to the blade to test its sharpness.
"Careful!", The cult master barked. "You'll taint the sacrificial dagger. Only the victim's blood shall cover its blade."
Napoleon briefly considered "accidentally" cutting his finger to render the dagger useless but he doubted it would be enough to stop the ceremony. Besides, the crazy bastard probably owned the whole cutlery set, complete with stone sacrificial teaspoons.
"Sorry… Do I need to kill him on the first try or can I stab him multiple times?"
The look on Marshall's face would have been hilarious had the situation been less perilous.
"You can stab him as many times as you want, Mr. Carlyle. Although once is usually enough."
"Good…"
Napoleon raised the dagger again and let it hover over Marshall's body, as if he were trying to decide where to stab. After a few seconds, the cult master lost patience.
"What's wrong now?", he snapped.
Napoleon turned to him with a sheepish look on his face.
"I don't know where…", he let his voice trail off.
Again his words provoked a few laughs and jeering from the more unrefined members of the audience.
"Want us to mark the spot for you, Carlyle?"
"The man's a bloody halfwit!"
"Kill him already!"
Napoleon glanced at Cleary. The man was smiling and seemed to find the situation amusing. The cult master, on the other hand, looked furious.
"Enough!", he roared.
With an exasperated sigh, he snatched the dagger from his hands and for one chilling moment, Napoleon thought that he was going to stab Marshall himself. Instead, the man placed the tip of the dagger over the agent's solar plexus and hastily carved a small X shape into his skin. Napoleon refrained from wincing in sympathy as Marshall let out a small grunt of pain through gritted teeth.
Sorry, Marshall…
The cult master handed the dagger back to him and for the third time, Napoleon raised it. Slowly. He had run out of ideas. He saw a flicker of fear cross Marshall's eyes. He raised the dagger higher. He could see the younger agent's upper abdomen pulsing faintly, in time with the frantic beat of his heart. Napoleon stared at the bloody X-shaped cut… Of course he wasn't going to kill Marshall. But that meant his cover would almost certainly be blown.
Dammit Blake!...
End of chapter 4 :)