Many thanks to Doubtful Guest for her encouraging words, which inspire and encourage me in this strange but satisfying hobby of mine.
So, what's happening to our heroes?
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CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
The last time Athos had been on his own in this place, he had met Martina. This time, he was prepared to meet someone entirely different, with murderous intent. At some level, he was proud that The Musketeers had become such a threat to these people in so short a time.
He wondered how Aramis was getting on in his attempt to find the cabinet that the key fitted. Too small for a filing cabinet or a desk drawer, the sturdy key fitted something larger, of similar strength. It had to be a cupboard or cabinet of some sort. Shaking the thought from his mind, he hurried down the corridor in the direction of a darker one further along. He needed to find the way out and hopefully, emerge on the right side of the building, close to the hot tubs. If not, he would have to skirt around the back of the clinic, which was lit, however dimly, by the solar lights hanging from the surrounding trees.
Without his jacket, he was already feeling the drop in temperature but he did not begrudge Martina taking it, as her need was greater and she had the torch too; he was also glad of that.
He found the door and pushed through carefully, following the path around to the gym, keeping close to the wall. The narrow horizontal windows at the top of the wall glowed yellow with whatever light the gang had employed. He could hear laughter. Perhaps now was a good time to see just how many they were up against.
There was a low wall at the end of the building and at a pinch, he thought he would be able to climb up and look through the windows. But not yet. First he had to reach the generator shed. However many of these men there were, he and Aramis had despatched two of them and it appeared they had not been missed. Perhaps they had been look-outs of some sort, in which case, the others would not expect them to raise an alarm until there was one, and as their bodies were now ensconced in the freezer in the kitchen, there would be no such alarm.
His dead opponent's gun was now slotted into his belt in the small of his back, but still, he dare not fire it yet, as it would bring them down on him and he wanted to give Aramis a chance, wherever he was. It was a comfort though, knowing it was there and it had a full bullet clip in it.
The hot tubs came into view in the dim light. Thankfully, they would not be of interest to the men in the gym at the moment. He crossed into the tree line, behind the solar lights, so he did not break their light with the movement of his body and alert anyone who may be watching the grounds.
He could hear whooping now and froze, wondering what it meant. It stopped abruptly, so whoever was in charge may have asserted their authority and brought them to heel. By the sound of it, they were still in the gym and he pressed on, the hot tubs close now. He reached them, ducking under the overhead canopy. They were still full of water with no-one to tend them. He almost ducked his hand into one to see if it was warm, before catching himself. However, he had allowed his attention to shift for a second and before he could move on, he was suddenly barged violently aside, firm hands grasping his shoulders.
Off balance, he gripped the edge of one of the hot tubs to keep himself upright and twisted around, coming face to face with his assailant, whose face was covered with a black balaclava mask, only his eyes showing through two slits.
He brought up his good knee and connected with soft tissue, as he pushed himself to the right of the man. The man doubled over with a grunt, but threw his arm out wildly. Athos felt a glancing blow to the side of his head, which did little damage but again threw him off balance.
The man reached out and grabbed Athos by his hair, his fist curling tightly. At the same time, the man drew a gun from a holster beneath his arm. Athos kicked out and connected with the man's shin. The thug let go and dropped the gun and for a moment, everything stilled, until they both came back to life and scrabbled for the gun, now lying on the ground.
Trying not to put too much weight on his bad knee, Athos's fingers touched the cold metal of the gun first, but the man pushed himself up, at the same time shoving his hand under Athos's jaw, forcing his head back. Rather than resist, Athos let himself go limp and fell backward, though awkwardly, his own gun digging into his back. The man reared up over him. To Athos's horror, the gun was back firmly in his hand.
He pointed the gun down at Athos's chest.
"Heart or head?" he slowly smiled. "Your choice, Musketeer," he sneered.
Athos schooled his features and did not reply. He could not see a way out of this. He waited, holding his breath, watching the man, whose cold eyes stared down at him through the two eye holes of his mask.
"Head then," the man said, quietly, his voice deadly.
Athos stared up at him defiantly. He was not going to give him the satisfaction of any response. He curled his fist and waited for the inevitable.
The man's finger tensed and began to ease back the trigger.
Athos refused the close his eyes.
There was a light click in the deadly silence, and Athos waited for the pain and inevitable oblivion.
And then, sound suddenly whooshed back.
The gun had jammed.
Athos blinked, the breath he had been holding exploding from his aching lungs. The man cursed harshly and shook his hand angrily as if that would make the jammed gun suddenly bark into life.
It was a split second of distraction and Athos took it, back in the game and pushing up, high on adrenaline, barrelling into the man's lower legs.
The man fell back with a startled grunt, the useless gun flying off somewhere behind him. He rolled over onto his front and braced his arms to rise.
Athos reached for his gun but instead his fingers curled around the wooden meat tenderiser in his belt, his hand around the top beneath the sharp wooden points. Gathering his wits, he swung it at the man, who was now on his knees and it connected with the back of his head. The balaclava though, gave the man some protection and Athos threw his arm around the man's throat, working at the bandage with his other hand while trying to keep him still by applying pressure on his throat. Panic and adrenaline was making the man a force to be reckoned with but Athos hung on.
The bandage finally came loose from his hand and he grabbed at it, closing his fist around the end, his free hand reaching for the other end. And he had a garrotte.
It was the hardest kill he had ever made. He knelt behind the man, his chest pressed into the man's back, the bandage tightening around his throat, as he hung on for dear life. It seemed to go on forever. His lungs were burning and black spots danced around the edges of his sight but he gritted his teeth and kept up the pressure, so the man was unable to call out. The man's balaclava slipped upward, over his eyes, but his jaws were snapping, his teeth almost catching Athos's fingers as he held on. Slowly, the man stopped fighting, but not before throwing his head back and catching Athos on the side of his head, above his ear. Fighting back stars, the dull pain served to keep up the pressure and the man began to slow. Athos closed his eyes, keeping the bandage taught and finally, finally, the man sagged and dropped, taking Athos with him as they fell behind the hot tubs, thankfully out of sight.
For long moments, Athos lay on his back, his chest heaving, the man half on top of him. Aware of the gun in his belt pressing into his back, grateful for a silent kill. The silence around him was deafening, though his ears were ringing, and it all felt very surreal. Finally, he managed to shove him off, and the dead man rolled away.
Athos was grateful the man wore a mask. He did not want to look into his dead eyes.
Wearily, he rose to his knees, got his bearings and climbed unsteadily to his feet.
/
Aramis bit back a curse, staring at a bank of blank computer screens on three desks. When powered up, he presumed they were connected to the various cameras around the building. He pulled open several desk drawers but there was little of interest. Sitting on one of the swivel chairs, he put his head in his hands briefly while he thought, beginning to feel he was on a fool's errand.
Sighing, he pushed himself up and prepared to continue his search.
Leaving the office, he moved swiftly and cautiously along the corridor to the final door. Standing before it, he reached for the handle, before he saw there was a small, bright sticker at eye level and he smiled. It was a smiley face with a chef's hat on. At last. He could have kissed it. Instead he wrapped his fingers around the handle and turned.
It opened and he slipped gratefully, and hopefully, inside.
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