Chapter 14

As the sound of chirping birds filtered through the door, Gawain woke up. She opened her eyes, and stared at the ceiling fan for a long moment. It spun idly, flicking shadows with its blades across the dim light leaking through the blinds.

"Oh, you're awake," Holly croaked from beside the bed.

Gawain turned her head to the left, just to see Holly, with massive bags under her eyes, tapping away at the laptop. "Did you even sleep?"

"Sleep is for the weak." She chuckled.

"What've you been doing?" She pushed herself into a sitting position. On the screen of Holly's computer was something she recognised almost immediately - a newspaper clipping after V-day, with the death toll and damages written in bold in the top left corner.

"Garth and Antoine somehow survived the detonation signal, yes?"

"Yes, Holly, but you shou-"

"They must have had it cut out somewhere. So I looked for surgeries with their names, or in Antoine's case, his ID, and I found nothing."

"So?"

"So either they got it cut out in some secret facility by the people they work for now, or…" She brought up a well-styled webpage with the image of a portable, stick-like device with buttons. "They used this."

"To be honest, it's more likely they cut it out."

"Bear with me here. If they cut it out, they'd be vulnerable to Valentine's signal. What you see here…" She indicated the object on the screen. "...is a very refined directed EMP device. My theory is that they disabled the explosives in the chip, while maintaining the counter signal."

"Or they could have just cut it out and his in a base like Valentine's. Galahad wasn't affected when he was there."

"Not if they wanted to work during the chaos."

"You're telling me that these people knew what Valentine was going to do."

"Yes, and I'm saying Valentine was one of them."

"There's no evidence to support this." Gawain threw the blankets off her self, and stretched her legs.

"Okay." Holly brought up a couple of pictures on the screen. "Remember this drone? Military grade, only available to the richest countries in the world. What kind of organisation could get something like that?"

"A government agency. Or someone with ties to guys like Harker. Midnight requisition isn't exactly out of bounds, you know."

"It can't be government. We'd be gone by now if a government agency was trying to wipe out Kingsman."

"You really need sleep, don't you?"

"Just...listen to this last part, will you? Here: a guy like Garth isn't government agent material. He's too sloppy. And if they wanted us dead, a government agency would send proper soldiers. Black ops, not mercs like Harker's."

"That's actually a good point." Gawain fell back onto the pillow. "But it's too early in the morning for this, Holly."

"It's three days to Charlemagne. I can figure a lot out in three days."

"I'm going to go take a shower. Sleep, okay?"

Holly opened the mouth to say something, then closed it. She nodded instead.

"Good. Turn the pillow over, though, I think I drooled."

Harker let out a girly shriek as he was shoved against the concrete wall, and clawed at Jonas' hand as if it would hurt him.

"Where're they?"

"They'll kill me, man. Calm down!"

"Where. Are. They?"

"Nassor!" Harker shouted at he top of his lungs.

Jonas heard a door opening, and flung the arms dealer to the side, still rubbing his throat. He turned to a door inside the warehouse, where the African was stood with legs apart, a gun pointed in Jonas' direction.

"Where'd they go?" Jonas asked, raising both his hands in the air. His eyes darted to the crate Harker was leaning against, to the submachine guns lined up neatly on it.

"I do not know," Nassor said. His aim was frighteningly still - Jonas wondered if it was the steel hands of a man who killed for enjoyment.

"Are they out of the country?"

"Yes!" Harker shouted. "They came to me for the passports. Didn't even pay."

"How long ago was this?"

"Seventeen hours. They'd be in Germany or Belgium by now."

"Which one?"

"I don't know!"

"Wait," Nassor said. "I am not sure."

"Not sure about what, big guy?"

Nassor lowered his gun. "Will you go away if I say it?"

"Depends on what you're going to say." Jonas lowered his hands. "So where did they go?"

"The man said something in another language before he left."

"Oh!" A look of realisation washed across Harker's thin features. "Holy fuck, I didn't even realise-"

"What'd he say?"

"He said...he said 'Parlez-vous français?'. He asked if the woman spoke French. Can you go now?"

"You're telling me they're going to France."

"Yes! Yes, now leave! Please," he added meekly.

Jonas looked at the SMGs again. Then back at Nassor. "Fair enough. But if they're not in France, the both of you are dead, you get me?"

Harker nodded repeatedly.

"Good." Jonas suddenly remembered something. "I'm going to need a passport."

Harker groaned. Loudly.

"I'm sor-"

"No excuses, Garth!" The woman in the black dress slammed a fist on the circular table, causing Garth's glass of water to jump slightly. He stared at it, keeping his eyes from locking with hers.

"The mercenaries came highly recommended."

"Well, then you were wrong to trust that recommendation. I'm not going to tolerate another failure."

He swallowed. "Yes, Miss. But I don't know where they are anymore."

"They're getting smart." She walked around the back of Garth's chair, her hand running along the edge. "But that's only because you failed to ambush them when they went back to the castle."

"Dr. Fischer was the prior-"

"You had a hundred men!"

He heard her taking a few breaths, and then letting out a drawn-out exhale. Her slim fingers wrapped themselves around his shoulders, not hard enough to hurt, but rigid enough to stop him getting up.

"I apologise. You're not a strategist. I should have sent Marcel instead."

Garth frowned. "Marcel doesn't know the country. Antoine and I do. He wouldn't operate as effectively."

"Spot on, Garth. But from what I've seen, it's been the opposite of that. I played my part and you will play yours, understand?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Good. Now go and find me my targets."

Caradoc was leaning on the balcony outside when Gawain exited the room, giving one last look at Holly, who was curled up in their shared bed. She assumed a similar position next to him, and took a deep breath.

"I wouldn't do that," he said. "There was a guy smoking down there ten minutes ago."

She nodded. "Five or six?"

"Five. But someone beat me to it. Have you any idea how annoying mechanical keyboards are?"

"That was Holly. I got up at six and a half."

"Jesus. How many hours did she get?"

"None. Stayed up all night trying to find out who Garth works for. Had to send her to bed. Made me feel old."

"Bit of practice is never a bad thing. You'd be a great mom."

She punched him in the arm. "You know that's not how we operate. If Garth or Diana or Antoine finds out about our families we're majorly fucked."

"Well, it's not a rule. You'd just have to keep them away."

"And that worked out so well for Sagramore. You know what happened to his wife?"

"I'd rather not. And now him and his daughter…" Caradoc trailed off, his eyes following a truck as it went down the road.

"Karlien might still be alive. They'll try to use her against us."

"You're going to ask me if I'm willing to do the right thing. For the greater good," Caradoc said, twiddling his thumbs.

"One girl's life, or our own survival. I don't wish it on anybody."

"Yet here we are."

Gawain said nothing. She watched a ten-wheeler rumble down the road in front of their motel, towards the Dutch-Belgian border, disappearing into the trees.

"A lot of people would choose survival."

"Human nature," Gawain replied. "Brings out the best and worst in us. That's how we survived for this long."

Caradoc frowned again. "You think Valentine knew that?"

"Which part?"

"That being human can make us monsters sometimes. Maybe he wanted to end all...all this. Spare the world the future we have for it."

"Everyone is right in a way. Valentine would have saved the Earth, then. How do you think that makes us look?"

"Well, to whom?"

"Holly said Valentine might have be part of the same group as Garth. What if this is all some kind of...glorified revenge plan?"

"Well, the girl's not slept the entire night, so let's take this with a pinch of salt." He left the railing and went to the door of his room. He gave her a little wink before shutting the door.

Gawain made her way down the stairs, and onto the solid concrete parking lot where their news van was. She walked past it and onto the side of the main road, heading towards the tall gas station sign that rose above the treetops.

The cashier gave her a gap-toothed smile as she entered, the buzzer at the doors going off. It sounded distant, which only reminded her of how out of touch she was with normal life. She stalked down an aisle, picking up granola bars and snacks and putting them into a little basket, before looping around to grab the extra-large bottles of water.

The cashier made no comment about her purchase, nor attempted to make conversation with her as she paid in cash and left with a bulging bag of groceries.

It took her a total of ten minutes to get back to the motel, and by that time, Caradoc was outside again, his head half-in the news van.

She dumped the bag in the back. "We can't get saline around here. He's not going to last very long if we don't."

Caradoc pulled a map from the backseat and unfolded it, laying it flat against the floor in the back of the van. "Hospital a few hundred klicks from here," he said, pointing at a red cross on the map.

"We can't leave Oberon there."

"Then we steal the saline. He'll be okay for a few more days, at least. Besides…" Caradoc glanced up to the door of his room. "...he probably needs it more than the people there."

"I'll go wake up Holly." Gawain turned away from him and started for the stairs.

A hand grabbed her shoulder. "No," Caradoc said. "Let her have some sleep. We'll go get the saline."

"Just the two of us?"

He nodded. "Just like the old days."

She felt a grin spread across her face. "Fair enough. Who's driving?"

"You want a go?"

"Hell yeah." She opened the driver's door and climbed in, pulling the seatbelt down and locking it in place. "Did you know my dad raced cars?"

"You may have said it once or twice." Caradoc shifted himself into the passenger seat. "I never really asked."

"Why don't you?"

"I always felt it was a sensitive subject."

"I never liked him," she said. She turned the key in the ignition, making the engine rumble to life.

"Is that why your report said 'estranged father'?"

"Oh, so you did read it." She pulled the gearstick back. "What happened to 'it's what you do that makes you who you are'?"

"I said that to sound like Sagramore."

Gawain laughed, and stepped on the accelerator.