Chapter 12

"Bad news," Holly said, slamming a folder with a single sheet of paper onto the lab table. "Very, very bad news." She opened the cover, displaying the title of the document nestled inside.

Palamedes.

"No fucking way." Gawain snatched the printout from her, and scanned it. Full name: Antoine Dufour. Age: 32. Status: Deceased. "He was one of Valentine's guys. All of Valentine's guys blew up."

"Except for Garth," Caradoc said. "And apparently Antoine too."

"So we're dealing with a rouge Kingsman agent now? Great. Just great. He's already killed one of us."

"How's Oberon?"

"How's he? He's fucking comatose, that's what. We've just lost our online support and our only secure contact with the other teams."

"Val, calm down."

She took few breathers, before sipping her tea. "I'm sorry, it's just…"

"Save it. We can deal with this later. Now we need to move; it's not safe here."

"Where can we go?" Holly asked.

"Not the safehouses," Gawain said. "If they know we're in the castle, they might know about all our places. Homes too."

"Let's take the van, then," Caradoc suggested.

"Won't they know about the van?"

"I don't see any other options. Plus, we can all work in there."

"The van it is. Where do we put Oberon? We can't just lug him around until he wakes up. If he wakes up."

"He'll wake up," Holly whispered.

"I've an idea," Caradoc said. "We get one of the Brits to take him. Perceval or Lancelot or Galahad can sail here and pick him up and then take him to safety."

"You forgot that we have no idea how to operate the secure channels," Gawain said. "If Garth picks up our message he'll just get Antoine to blow up the ship or something."

Holly meekly raised her hand. "I could encrypt it."

"How will they know what key to use?"

She lowered her hand.

"I still say we risk a transmission," Caradoc said.

"What if we drive to Paris?" Gawain asked. "Charlemagne's team can cover for us."

"If we cross the border, they'd know. They have our safehouse locations, they know our fake IDs. Unless...unless we get new ones from a local."

"Harker is the only one still operating," Caradoc said. "Do I really have to see him again?"

"We need to get Oberon to safety. You know what? We'll go see him together. I can get him to give it to us."

"I'm telling you, that guy is a complete dick. He'll shoot us on sight."

"He doesn't know me," Holly said. "I can talk to him. He won't shoot me, right? Plus, with all his guys with Garth he won't stand a chance."

Caradoc nodded. "Sounds good to me."

"That's it then," Gawain said, standing up. "I'll ready the van."

It was the fastest Jonas had run in his life. The Frenchman was fast. Really fast. So fast that he cleared the few hundred metres that was the bridge as quickly as what he felt was Olympic-level speed.

The sweat from his palms soaked through the cuff of his shirt, and dripped down the grip of the TT-30 pistol he had taken from Sagramore's limp body. He'd seen the video feed from the lobby, of the Frenchman taking out Klaas' bodyguards, and then knocking out the receptionist with something launched from his umbrella.

Jonas knew he was outmatched. But he had to try.

He slid over the hood of a passing car, ignoring the driver's angry shouts, and rounded the corner of the street. Ahead, the Frenchman took a running leap onto the hood of a car, and then leapt again, grabbing the railing of a fire escape.

Jonas raised his pistol and pulled the trigger a few times, but his bullets simply ricocheted off the metal. He ran over, grabbed the rungs of the ladder and pulled it down, climbing and and aiming again.

The Frenchman vanished over the edge of roof.

Jonas' footsteps rang on the metal as he sped up the flight and flights of stairs of the six-storey building. He led with the gun and poked his head over the edge.

Just in time to see a suited figure jump off the roof.

Cautiously, he walked over to the edge, and looked down.

The Frenchman had just landed, rolling, on an adjacent roof. He turned around, and flashed a smile at Jonas, before raising his silenced gun.

Jonas ducked as bullets flew overhead, pinging off the concrete edge of the roof and raining particles of paint and rock down on him. When the shooting stopped, Jonas looked over the edge again.

The Frenchman was gone.

In front of the castle, the the evergreen blades of grass shuddered. But it wasn't the soft breeze that regularly blew through the area. Instead, the grass moved apart, a uniform fissure widening right down the centre of it.

Under the grass was concrete, and then metal, and then the hood of a navy blue news van as it sped up the ramp, and onto the grass.

Gawain drummed her fingers on the leather seat absently, as Caradoc turned them onto the road in silence. Her other hand fiddled at a loose strand of hair on the side of her head, half-attempting to push it back into the bun she had tied.

"Remember when Oberon was going to get Geraint's report?" Holly asked, glancing a little at the unconscious man on the floor of the van.

"Yeah?" Gawain turned in her seat to see her protégé squinting at the computer screen inside their van.

"Turns out he suffered from PTSD. Been going to therapy for a few years now. His psychiatrist wrote here that he got a lot better since he began."

"Clearly, he's not. He killed his entire team except Tristan."

"I can't think of any other res...wait a minute." She the keys violently, bringing up a webpage.

"What is it?" Gawain leaned in, but from her position, she couldn't see the screen.

"This is going to sound extremely far-fetched, but...hypnosis."

"That actually makes sense," Caradoc said. "If someone implanted a trigger in his psyche with a certain codeword, and it was tripped on the boat, he might have...I don't know how it works."

"But who even knows hypnosis? From what I asked Sagramore, Geraint mostly keeps to himself on the boat." Gawain pursed her lips. "We're just getting more questions. Who's the therapist?"

"Er…" Holly tapped a few keys. "A Dr. Edmund Lindblom. He seems solid enough, nothing to do with hypnosis or otherwise. Why?"

"What about days when Dr. Lindblom was absent?"

She scrolled down with the mouse. "A few. Two other doctors. A Dr. Diana Vex and a Dr. Amanda Wallace."

"Look them both up."

As Holly returned to the database, Gawain turned to Caradoc. "You're taking this a hell of a lot better than me."

"Nothing new," Caradoc said.

"I guess you could say that."

"No, what I mean is, before you became Gawain, there was...there was a guy."

"Did you love him?"

"What? No."

"I'm just trying to maintain levity."

"His name was Aaron. Stayed with us till the very end. Except he was checking in with our military contact on three days before we brought you in. Fucker ratted him out to the gangs. They found him...well, everywhere. Grenade launcher, the police said."

"You never told me about this."

"I didn't think it was important. And since you were taking up the title, I didn't want you to think you'll end up like him."

"So why now?"

"Because that day taught me that shit happens. Everything can go wrong, and you can't you a thing about it. Today was bound to happen, with or without us. That's why it's nothing new."

Gawain bit her lip.

"Guys," Holly said. "So I checked Dr. Wallace, and she came up clean. She's even outspoken against hypnotism."

"She could be drawing attention away from herself," Gawain said.

"No, she's not. She's dead. A few weeks after her last appointment with Geraint. The most interesting part?"

"Don't leave us hanging, go on."

"Dr. Vex isn't even a doctor. But this schedule says she covered for Dr. Lindblom the week immediately after."

"So what is she?"

"No idea." Holly took off her glasses, and massaged her eyes. "I found five people named Diana Vex, and none of them have ever been to Sweden."

"So she's using a false name?"

"Either that or someone's erased her from the records. Know anyone who does that?"

"Only Merlin and Oberon. Whoever they're working for they've got a lot of resources at their disposal."

"I've been thinking," Caradoc said, just as they entered the city. "What if their entire purpose is to destroy us? Destroy Kingsman?"

"Then they're royally fucked," Gawain said. "We're not going down that easily."

"Heads up," Caradoc said. "Ten minutes and we're there. Val, you grabbed sniper rifles?"

She picked up the large duffel bag lying next to Oberon. "I got our favourites."

"Holly?"

She held up a black dress on a coathanger. "I'll look horrid in this."

"No way, you'll look great," Gawain said. "Just try not to get shot, alright?"

"Let's do this," Holly said, grinning.

Jonas pulled the trigger on the underbarrel shotgun attachment of the TT-30 the second the elevator doors opened. He heard a grunt, and then a shout, and suddenly the gun was out of his hand, the Frenchman's own weapon jammed into the centre of his throat.

Garth was sprawled on the floor, holding his bleeding shoulder. "Fuck this hurts!" he grunted through his teeth. And then he started laughing.

"Should I kill him?" the Frenchman asked.

"No!" Klaas shouted, walking out of the bedroom. "He still works for me, we can use him t-"

"You predicted well, Jonas, I'll give you that. Antoine, shoot him," Garth said.

Klaas sprinted across the room, slamming into Antoine and wrapping an arm around his neck.

Antoine lowered the pistol, raised it at Klaas and fired three times into his chest.

Jonas tackled Antoine's legs, pushing him to the floor and wrenching the gun out of his hand. He twisted it towards Antoine, and pulled the trigger once.

Antoine shuddered at the force of the bullet blocked by his suit, and then twisted the gun away from his face. "Nice try." He slammed his foot into Jonas' abdomen, launching him across the room.

He picked up the fallen gun and aimed down the sights at Jonas.

"Wait!" Garth shouted. "Throw him over the side."

"Why?"

"It'll look like he killed his boss." He indicated Klaas' limp form on the ground. "And then committed suicide from the guilt."

Antoine mumbled something in French, and pulled the glass door to the roof open, grabbing Jonas and shoving him through it.

Outside, a strong gust of wind was blowing across the surface of Klaas' swimming pool, creating miniature waves. antoine pushed Jonas to the edge of the roof, and pressed the gun to the back of his head. "Jump."

"Not a fucking chance."

The pistol was smacked across his cheek, pain jolting through his skull. "Jump now."

The silencer moved away from the back of his head, and Antoine fired one past his ear. "Next shot is in your head."

"Fine," Jonas raised a foot over the edge of the roof.

"Go on."

Jonas swung the leg back, kicking Antoine in the shin. He ran past Antoine, who was aiming. The next thing Jonas felt was a small impact in his thigh, and before he knew it, he tumbled off the other side of the roof.

As he fell, he raised his middle finger one last time at Antoine.