Dillon turned and grinned at Billy. 'I'm an older guy, you young bastard. I'll go first.'
'Thanks very much. Get going, Dillon.'
Billy, feeling totally insane, pushed him out and dived after him.
There was rain, light mist, and yet the moon, the house and estate were clear below. Dillon hit in no time at all, punched the quick release after a perfect landing, not even a roll, and looked around. He saw the other parachute billowing like some strange flower, ran over, and stamped on it. Billy sat up.
'Are you okay?' Dillon asked.
'I think so. Went backwards and hit my back.' He worked the muscles around. 'But it feels okay.'
Dillon punched Billy's quick release. 'Then come on, move it!
Billy was on his feet in a moment. 'Jesus, Dillon, I can't believe this is happening.'
'Well, it is. Kilbeg all over again, except this time there are five bad guys out there waiting to pounce, so be ready.'
Dillon trawled the gardens with the Nightstalker and saw Cameci over by the terrace. 'Take a look,' he whispered to Billy.
Billy nodded. 'Can't see anything else.'
'I'll go left, you right.'
'I'm with you, Dillon.'
Cameci was by the balustrade, looking out over the moonlit
garden, when the muzzle of an nudged his back. Billy said, 'Make a sound and I'll blow your spine apart.' Cameci said, 'Is that Dillon?'
'No, I'm his younger brother.' Billy called softly, 'Over here.'
Dillon moved out of the shadows, and Rossi, on the other side of the terrace, stood up. It was Billy who saw him. 'Dillon!' he rasped.
Dillon turned, his silenced AK coughed, and Rossi went backwards, dead.
Dillon took Cameci by the jaw. 'Tell me who's inside and tell me now, or I'll kill you.'
Cameci, terrified, said, 'Signores Fox, Falcone and Russo.' Dillon said, 'Excellent. Now what about the American?'
'He's in the tunnel in the cellars.'
'Good. Take us there.'
Cameci led the way through the kitchen, down the stairs and into the cellar system. They arrived at an old oak door. 'That's it,' Cameci said.
'Then open it.'
Cameci did as he was told. Blake, in the water, turned, the light falling across his face, and Dillon said, 'What are you doing, taking a dip? This is no time for fun. Get the hell out of there.'
Blake stumbled up the steps. 'What kept you?'
He was shivering and very wet. Dillon said to Cameci, 'Get your clothes off. The man's freezing.'
'But, Signore,' Cameci protested.
Dillon shoved the muzzle of the AK under his chin. 'Just do it.' He pulled the combat scarf from around his neck and gave it to Blake. 'Dry yourself a little.'
Blake did the best he would while Cameci stripped. Blake pulled on the clothes. Cameci was left in his underpants.
Meanwhile, Falcone, upstairs, had opened the French windows, gone out on the terrace, and found Rossi. He was back inside in an instant to Fox and Russo.
'Rossi's out there dead. No sign of Cameci.'
'Christ,' Fox said. 'He's here, the bastard's here. Spread out.'
At that moment, Dillon shoved Cameci into the room in his underpants, and startled by the sudden apparition, Falcone turned and fired. Cameci went down, writhing. 'Hey, you got the wrong guy,' Dillon called. 'It's me, Jack. Time to pay up.'
'Fuck you, Dillon,' Fox shouted.
They crouched in the hall, the great chandelier hanging from the ceiling spreading its illumination. Falcone whispered to Russo, 'Stick with me. Let's move towards the door to the kitchen quarters.' He saw Fox moving to the right.
'There's too much light,' Russo said.
Falcone fired his Uzi up at the chandelier and brought it crashing down.
'Not any more.'
He ducked, pulling Russo with him.
The hall was a strange place now, only the light from the great log fire picking out the suits of armour, the ancient banners, the great staircase to the left. Dillon, Blake and Billy crept in and crouched behind the great central table.
'Now what?' Billy demanded.
'Just wait, Billy, always hasten slowly.' He took out his Browning and passed it to Blake. 'Just in case.'
'How the hell did you get here, anyway?' Blake asked. 'Lacey and Parry did a low pass, and Billy and I jumped.' 'Dear God, what does this boy know about parachuting?' 'A lot more than he did a couple of hours ago. Don't worry,
there are reinforcements coming.'
A special forces team?'
'No. Ferguson, Hannah and Harry Salter.'
'Christ Almighty.'
'We can make it, Blake. Cameci and Rossi are down. That just leaves Falcone, Russo and good old Jack Fox.' 'So how do we do it?' Billy asked.
'I've told you. We wait, Billy, and let them come to us.'
There was quiet. Falcone and Russo had reached the green baize door leading to the kitchen. Fox had reached another door to one side of the fireplace. He opened it and went up a spiral staircase to the landing, peered down at the hall, and saw a movement behind the table. Beneath his foot, a board creaked.
'The bastard's somewhere above us,' Dillon said. 'Slide off to the right, Billy.'
Billy moved away and Dillon called, 'Why, Jack, here we are again at the final end of things.' He pushed Blake away. 'Get over to the shadows on the other side.'
Up above, Jack Fox moved, crouching by the switches for the wall lights that normally illuminated the collection of paintings that hung on the wall. He paused and reached.
Below, Blake started to move, slipped, and cried out in pain as he fell on his arm. Dillon reached down to pick him up and Fox switched on the lights.
'I've got you now, you bastard.'
He raised the Walther in his right hand and shot Dillon twice in the back. To do it he had to stand, and so did Billy, over to the right. Raising his AK, he pumped ten rounds into Fox, driving him back across the landing. Fox bounced off the wall back to the balustrade and fell over. He lay there on the stone flagging, twitching for just a second. Then there was silence.
Falcone eased open the green baize door and said, 'We're out of here.'
'Where to?' Russo asked.
'The airstrip. We've got to get to London. Don Marco's due in, and we've got to give him the news.'
Russo said, 'Sometimes they kill the messenger.' 'Not now. This is too important.'
They slid back through the door, went down the steps and made the courtyard. A few moments later, they were driving away to the airstrip.
In the hall, Dillon had been thrown onto his face by the force of the bullets he'd taken in his back. Groaning, he forced himself up. Billy ran over, crouching.
'Dillon, are you all right?'
'Yes, thank God for flak jackets. I'll be a little sore, that's
