Chapter 22
Caradoc dumped the steel table on its side, and wiped the stream of sweat coming from his hairline. He pressed a button on his glasses. "What now?"
"They've taken the priests hostage," Roland said over the intercom. "A few explosive devices stuck to the floor, but we should be fine."
"They can't get in, can they?"
"No, they can't. Concrete's too thick, and we've sealed off the lifts. Even if they get in, they're going ot have to deal with all of us."
"No fortress is impenetrable." He glanced across the corridor, where some of the staff were crouched behind a similar table, clutching their pistols in their shaking hands. "Garth's people have gotten braver."
"They caught us off-guard in Stockholm and Amsterdam. Not here. Now we know they're coming."
"Is Antoine here?"
"I don't see him. Either he's in reserve, or…"
"...or he's already inside," Caradoc finished. "You're looking at the cameras inside as well, right?"
"Yes, I am. He's not in here. He wouldn't know the blind spots. I'm going to activate the turrets now."
"Go on."
He heard a whirr and a click and the ceiling in the middle of the corridor flipped open, a small light machine gun mounted on a robotic arm folding out. A belt of armour-piercing bullets emerged from its side, extending up into the ceiling.
"Now that is what I'm talking about," Caradoc said. "What if all this fails? What if they've a tank or something?"
"You gotta be insane if you're going to bring a tank into Paris."
"Yeah, but what if they do?"
"Then we use the railway to get to Berlin, regroup with Agravain. Then we order an airstrike."
"And the priests?"
"There's nothing we can do for them now. They're trained not to reveal anything, just like us, so we'll be fine."
"You don't know that yet."
Roland didn't reply.
Caradoc frowned. "Hey, you there? Roland?"
"Sorry," she said. "I just got an incoming transmission. He says he's the leader of the guys upstairs."
"Patch him through."
A series of beeps later, Caradoc heard a man's chuckle, among the static of his radio from above. "Is everyone hearing this?"
"Yes," Caradoc said. "What do you want?"
"To kill you. No, really, it's that simple. I'm sure you can see your friends around here. I'm not going to kill them either, though, or the police will storm this place."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Marcel."
"One 'l' or two?"
"Does it matter?"
"You want the Grim Reaper to spell your name incorrectly?"
"I will get in there. And if you're lucky, you might just walk away with a disability and not bullet in your head."
"To be honest, I prefer the second choice. You wanna come down here, you come down here. We're waiting." He cut the link and re-connected to Roland. "How'd I do?"
"Could be better, if you- wait, I found your friend."
"Which one?"
"Jonas. Sending you the feed…"
In the lenses of his glasses, a small box appeared with high-definition footage of the inside of the Cathedral. Jonas had just entered, and was running down one side of the seats. One of Marcel's men saw him, and turned to fire a burst. Jonas ducked behind one of the stone columns.
"He's going to get himself killed," Caradoc said. "Unseal the lifts."
"No! He should have stayed outside."
"I'm not leaving Jonas out there."
"But you're leaving the priests?"
Caradoc paused as he was about to vault over the table. "No, I'm not. I'm getting all of them out."
"You can't save everyone."
"At least Jonas. Unseal the elevators." Caradoc put one hand on the edge of the table and swung himself over it, sprinting towards the confessional replica and cutting the video feed.
He brushed the curtains aside just in time to see the steel plate retract into the floor, revealing the seat.
"There's a guy standing right in front of your booth," Roland said. "Nobody else is watching him."
"Perfect." Caradoc sat down and put his hand on the grille to his right.
Slowly, the chair ascended, until he became level with the curtains on the first floor.
Caradoc stood up gradually as not to make any noise, and parted the curtains a little. He was met with the back of the soldier's assault helmet, painted black like the rest of his uniform. He thrust both hands out, grabbing the soldier's head, and twisted it sharply, feeling a tiny tremor through his skull as his spine snapped.
The soldier crumpled to the floor, lifeless and his head turned in an odd direction. Caradoc picked up his TAR21, and leaned against the closest column, poking half his face out to check.
Marcel and two other soldiers had their weapons - two rifles and a pistol - pointed at the column he had seen Jonas slide behind.
Caradoc raised his gun at Marcel, dot in the holographic sight frozen solid over the back of his neck. All it would take was a little pressure, and Marcel would be dead on the ground.
And then they would shoot the hostages. He couldn't fire yet. He swept his gaze across the floor of the cathedral, and spied several small, silver cubes arranged in a circle. The explosives.
"We're not going to shoot you if you come out," Marcel was saying. "Really, you two, drop your weapons." He gestured to the two soldiers with him.
They tossed their assault rifles onto the floor, and took a few steps back, raising their hands.
"Your turn, Jonas." Marcel put his pistol down on one of the arranged seats.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, a gun slid out from behind the column, under the seats and into the centre of the aisle.
Jonas himself stepped out from behind the column, a frown permanently encompassing his face. His hands were raised.
"Very good," Marcel said. "Come with us, Jonas. We can g-"
"Where's Karlien?" Jonas cut in. For the briefest moment, he saw Jonas' eyes flick towards the gun in the aisle, and then back at Marcel.
"We'll get to that. For now," Marcel said, unclipping a radio from his belt. "You're going to help me."
"Not a fucking chance."
"Shoot him." Marcel pressed a button on his radio just as his lieutenants drew their sidearms and fired at Jonas.
Too late, he recognised the cubes. Caradoc turned and threw himself back into the confessional, and mashed his palm into the lattice, causing the elevator to descend. A ringing filled his ears as a bright flash leaked in through the curtains.
Caradoc jumped out of the seat into a smoke-filled corridor, and as the ringing faded it was replaced by the sound of gunfire. The automated turret was in pieces all over the ocrridor, the explosives having blown straight through it.
The smoke was too thick to see anything from where he was standing. Caradoc activated the infrared in his glasses with a tap to one of its legs, and saw several bodies lying on the ground in the smoke, unmoving.
A soldier wearing a set of high-tech goggles over his head was stepping over the bodies, away from him.
Caradoc dropped him with a single shot from his rifle, into the back of his spine. He slowly made his way through the smoke, the range of his infrared glasses getting shorter as he entered the cloud. Just as he cleared it, there was the sound of boots on concrete.
Caradoc kicked back and spun around, falling backwards and firing his rifle. He stitched holes across the chest of the soldier who had just leapt down, and landed hard on his back.
He'd only stood up when the second explosion rocked his world and created a new hole somewhere within their base.
"Kay's down!" Roland said. "Pellinore is surrounded, too. Your side is clear, Caradoc. Get to the train."
"We can hold them off; where's Pellinore?"
"She's through the cafeteria."
Caradoc broke into a sprint, pumping his arms, straight into the cafeteria. It was empty save for a few wounded, and Estok, who was bent over a worker and pulling out slugs. He kicked the door on the other side open, to a corridor being held by two armed workers and a suited man Roland had fleetingly introduced as Urien.
"Where is she?" he asked.
Urien pointed his gun down the left of the intersection. "Locked herself in an office. I have to hold this chokepoint."
Caradoc nodded, and turned down the corridor, rifle raised. He rounded a corner, to a small group of soldiers gathered around an office door. The lead man was holding one of the explosive cubes, sticking them to the door.
He sprayed the rest of his clip and flipped back into cover, where he tossed the TAR21 and drew his pistol and one of the brand-new cigarette lighters Roland had handed him. Caradoc was raised his arm and was about to bounce it off the opposite wall when he heard a series of distinctive gunshots. Curious, he poked his head out.
Jonas was standing over the bodies of fallen soldiers, a black Glock 26 in his hand. He lowered it when he saw Caradoc. "Nice to meet you here."
"Save it. Get their captain?"
"Marcel? He's still up there."
"I'm going to kill him." He pointed to the office door the soldiers were trying to blow through. "There's an agent in there who needs medical attention. Get her down the corridor and to the cafeteria, okay?"
"Yeah, I've had enough shooting for today."
"Good." Caradoc plucked the silver cube off the door, and stuffed it into his pocket. "I'll see you when I get back."
Jonas nodded before running off.
Marcel's fingers drummed impatiently on the seat of the chair beside where he had put his laptop, grunting as the cameras attached to the helmets of his soldiers each toppled over and went still. He looked up at the last mercenary standing, whose shotgun was alternating over each of the three holes. "One of them is coming up."
The man nodded, and turned to the central hole.
His head jerked back as a silenced pistol drove a bullet straight through the centre of his forehead, and he collapsed in a heap.
Marcel drew his pistol and emptied the entire clip into the hole. He didn't know, nor care, whether he hit anything.
An black, octagonal shape opened up, and moved up and out of the hole.
Marcel ejected the magazine of his pistol, slapped in a fresh one from his belt and pelted the shape with it.
His bullets simply bounced off the umbrella canopy.
When he ran dry again, Marcel threw his gun away and spread out his arms. "Shoot me then."
"No, you're coming with me," said the man behind the umbrella.
"In that case…" Marcel turned and sprinted for the doors. If he could just get outside, get in front of the cops, then maybe they would shoot him.
Something wrapped itself around his legs, and he fell over, hitting the floor with his palms out. A current ran through this lower body, sapping any strength he had left. The world around Marcel dimmed, and he clawed at the floor.
The umbrella was folded close, its user standing over him. "We could have settled this in a friendlier way," the agent said.
Frowning, Marcel raised his middle finger.
The agent shook his head, and raised his left arm. He fiddled with the watch for a second, and something flew out of it, disappearing below Marcel's vision. Something pricked the skin on his neck, and the world got even darker.
"Now be a good boy and go to sleep."
Marcel put a hand on the floor and pushed, but at that moment his body felt like it was made of solid rock. His hand slipped, and everything went black.