Chapter 3

Bishop rapped his knuckles on the door to Marcel's room. "Sirs, there's a little problem in here."

Moment later, it opened, the pair of guards entering with their pistols pointed at Marcel, who laid still on the bed. He stared at the bottom of the mattress above him, ignoring them.

"Sit up." One of the produced a pair of handcuffs.

Marcel swung his legs over the side of the bed, holding his hands out in front of him. "What did I do?"

The guard looked at Bishop, who smiled. "It's not Mr. Fontaine, good sirs. I mean, I wouldn't say it to someone's face like this, but...it's the two of you."

In one swift movement, he twisted the handgun out of the hand of the guard closest to him, discharging it under the guard's own chin, and blowing the other guard against the wall.

Marcel raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're not with Kingsman?"

"Do I look like a snob?" He pried the pistol out of the other guard's hand and handed it to Marcel.

He flicked the safety off pulled the slide back. "There's about two hundred guards between the two of us."

"Wrong. One hundred guards."

"What, you killed half of them with that plane?"

"Don't be silly, the other half are on our side." He poked his head out of the doorway. "Clear. Let's go."

Still reeling, Marcel followed him.

Gawain sat down next to Caradoc at the oblong dinner table that was identical to the old one in their castle, and switched on her glasses. A conference call was pending, and she activated it, green, holographic figures springing up in each of the chairs but her own and Caradoc's.

Roland, at the table, adjusted her spectacles. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm sure you've all heard what happened just an hour ago. I'm assuming control because Arthur's called in sick and I've other work to do, so make it quick."

If you're referring to the incident at the prison, then yes," Galahad said. "But that's really not why we're here, are we?"

"No, it's not," Gawain said. "We just managed to capture an important member of the Cabal."

Lancelot sat straight up in her chair. "I'm going to assume you stuck to protocols and screened her. Has she said anything?"

"Only that the Cabal aren't responsible for what happened at La Santé. She thinks it's a third party."

"Any you believe her?" Agravain asked from his seat next to Roland. "She could have tracking gel on her."

"We tested for that, and it's negative. Her car was also rented locally, under a false name and witch cash, so no-one is following her."

"What about visually?"

"Neither Maleagant or Tristan reported any signs of surveillance," Caradoc said. "It's highly unlikely she was being followed."

"You said she thinks it was a third party," Roland said. "She co-operated with you during questioning?"

"I was about to get to that," Gawain said. "Miss Vex has...offered a list of names comprising of Cabal members which she wants us to eliminate. It should appear she has no love for them, even the ones she's deemed to be good to her."

Agravain shook his head. "You're going to trust a woman who was responsible for the death of our entire Stockholm team? This isn't even accounting for your late boss, Gawain. And Charlemagne."

"She's the only lead we have," Caradoc piped up.

"And she's a terrible one at that." Agravain scratched his chin. "There are just too many opportunities for her to strike at us."

"Currently," Gawain said. "She's in a straightjacket in a soundproof, lead-lined room. There's no way she can contact anybody outside."

"Gawain is right," Galahad said. "If we want to get back at the Cabal, this is it. An eye for an eye."

"And what if...I don't know what she's planning, but what if she succeeds?"

"Then we find out what it is and deal with it before it happens," Lancelot said. "I agree with Eg- with Galahad. This is out once chance at hurting the Cabal - we'd be stupid not to take it."

"You know what's even more stupid? Walking right into what is obviously a trap."

"Do it," Roland said.

"Madam-"

"Your opinion is duly noted, Agravain. Caradoc, Gawain, do what you can to glean the appropriate information from Miss Vex." She narrowed her eyes. "But I get the feeling you already have."

"We have," Gawain confirmed. "And she has given us our first assassination target. The Prime Minister of Singapore."

"Crikey," said Galahad. "She wants us to kill the bloody Prime Minister?"

"If we don't, she'll refuse to reveal the others, and we'll be back at square one. Maybe we can fake her death."

"Perhaps I should send Pellinore over there," Roland said.

"I think it's better if she co-operates with us," Caradoc countered. "That way she's less likely to throw us off."

Agravain rolled his eyes. "Maybe she already has."

"We'll know by tomorrow," Gawain said. "Oberon and Maleagant are doing a background check on her - result should come by morning."

"And in the meanwhile?" Galahad asked.

"We'll keep talking to her, see what we can get," Caradoc said. "Maybe she'll slip up at some point."

"That's that," Roland said. "Anything else, everyone?"

"One more thing."

"Yes?"

"David Estok arrived at the safehouse today."

"The man without any records?" Lancelot asked. "You let him into your safehouse?"

"Not me, Maleagant did. She thought it would be a good way to keep him with us, so we can investigate him."

"Just arrest him," Agravain moaned.

"He hasn't done anything wrong, so we can't."

Roland nodded. "Find out what you can and get back to me. But right now, Miss Vex is your priority. Everyone is dismissed." She took off her glasses.

Gawain pulled her own spectacles off, folding the legs and sliding it into her lapel pocket, next to her pocket square. "I was kind of hoping that was over."

"So was I." Caradoc slumped back in the chair.

"I'm going to go and ask Oberon and Holly about the PM. You can take Diana now if you like."

His finger wrapped around her wrist just as she stood up. "I was thinking about what happened last year."

"And?"

He stared into her eyes. "I don't want to lose you."

"And you're not going to. Antoine is dead."

"He can't be the only one, can he? We've this before. One of us might still be a mole and we don't even know it."

"That's what you need to be careful of. Diana managed to turn Geraint against us. She can probably do the same to you."

"That's because Geraint was a willing participant in his sessions. I'm not willing."

"Just be careful. I don't want to lose you either."

He smiled. "If only Uther could hear us now."

"He'd decommission you right away, you know. Putting me before the primary objective." She returned the grin. "I love you."

"I love you too." He glanced at his watch. "Come on, we've still like, nine hours before sunrise, and I don't think I can talk to Diana for nine hours. A movie or two?"

"Holly can probably pirate something. But I was thinking we could go back out and...finish what we started."

"Grand idea. That first or last?"

"First, or all the shops will be closed."

"But then you'll have to come back to Diana and it'll be horrible." She stood up. "We don't need to go to any shops or cafes, just the pier."

"You make a good argument," he said, getting to his feet and pulling the door open. "Ladies first?"

Amidst the chaos of the guards firing at each other, Marcel crept slowly around the corner of the prison block after Bishop. He clutched the empty pistol in his hand, as if there was any comfort in the action.

In the darkness in front of him, he saw the gate. "Is it locked?" he asked, but knew full well Bishop already had an answer.

"It is, but that's about to be fixed. How good are your reflexes?"

"Uh...very? I'm an ex-soldier."

"So am I. And good, because you're going to have to use them."

"Maybe you should have told me in my room before you told the pilot to crash into the entire south side."

"Nah." Bishop's hand went to his glowing earpiece, and Marcel heard the ghost of a conversation, drowned out by the rapid automatic fire in the background. "What would be the fun?"

"You are completely out of your mind."

"Who isn't? Oh, get ready."

"For what?"

His question was instantly assigned an answer when a the rhythmic drum of a helicopter's rotors was suddenly over their heads, and a sleek black shape cut through the equally dark sky.

"The moment they drop the ladder, you jump and grab it as far up as possible, understand?"

Marcel nodded.

"Start running when I do, or you'll miss it." Marcel looked around the corner. "Okay, clear enough, ready?"

"Clear enough? What d- hey!"

Bishop exploded out of cover, pumping his legs in a the fastest sprint Marcel had seen in his life, ex-soldier or not.

Marcel, recalling his words, did the same, tearing across the yard, leaping over the dead bodies that littered the ground and towards the rope ladder that hung from the descending helicopter.

Bishop was off the ground, hanging from a rung of the ladder by one hand.

Marcel took a running leap off one of the bodies, reaching out and taking Bishop's hand in his own. His other hand secured itself around another, lower rung, and he was lifted into the starry sky. Below, the prison grew smaller.

"Well done!" Bishop shouted over the roar of the rotors.

"I need to know: who are you?"

"What? Speak up!"

"Who are you people?!"

Bishop smiled at that. "We're MI6!"

"It's hopeless," Caradoc said. "She's clammed up. As in, put herself into some sort of meditative trance."

"You can do that?"

"She's doing it right now. We'll just wait, I guess. Let's go."

Jonas poked his head around a corner. "Wait, you guys going out? You mind if I do too?"

"Ask Oberon," Gawain said. "If he and Holly want to go out as well then you have a problem. We need someone to watch her." She pointed at the cell door with her chin.

"Actually," Holly said, poking her head out next to Jonas. "I'm going out too. There's a...thing I wanna do."

"I can stay," Oberon said from his seat in front of the main terminal. "Already took the anti-sleep drugs."

"Me too," Estok added.

Caradoc put his hand against the wall. The plates blocking the staircase from above slid away to reveal the dark garage. "Fair enough."

They filed up the steps in a row, and Gawain flicked the light switch as she passed, illuminating the empty room.

Or at least, she expected it to be empty.

An Arab man, whose pinstripe suit was torn and dirty, looked up at them with pleading, bloodshot eyes. "You have to help me," he croaked and reached up with one hand.

Gawain took the hand in her own, her eyes sweeping over the Kingsman signet ring. "What's your codename?"

"S-S-Saladin."

"Middle Eastern team? What the hell happened?"

His eyes were suddenly filled with fear. "They killed us all."