Pandemonium.
Garvey was screaming orders.
Fire stitched the ceiling, snapped at the timbers. The short-circuited wires were like streaks of fire. Sparks showered around them as they ran through the map room and out the door. Security guards dashed pest them with fire extinguishers.
They ran toward the stairs leading to the dungeons.
Behind them they could hear Garvey screaming, ‘Stop them! Stop them!’
They did not look back. The’ raced toward the stone staircase. As they turned the corner into the stairwell, a gun boomed behind them. Bullets chewed pieces out of the stones and they stung O’Hara’s face. ‘Keep going,’ he yelled as he slammed the fire door leading to the dungeons and bolted it behind them.
They heard the dog before they turned around. It was a foot away. And behind it, Le Croix, a gun in his hand, had just reached the top of the Stone stairway. He was not prepared for what happened next, for Chameleon moved instantly, dove over the dog and rolled past Le Croix.
‘Keep going!’ O’Hara yelled and Chameleon raced down the steps. Le Croix, distracted for a moment, shouted an order to the dog: ‘Le Cou! The neck. And as the dog went after Chameleon, Le Croix turned and fired at O’Hara. But Chameleon’s diversion had given the reporter the instant he needed. Feinting first to the right, then the left, he leaped and kicked at the same moment, his eyes on Le Croix’s gun hand. The pistol roared, bullets smacked the door behind O’Hara as his toe shattered Le Croix’s wrist. The gun flipped out of his hand.
Chameleon jumped the last few steps to the floor of the dungeon and turned toward the grate. The dog was right behind him, its hackles trembling, its teeth bared. But it made no sound. As Chameleon turned to face it, the dog leaped toward his throat. Chameleon dropped in a crouch and rolled on his back. The dog landed behind him, paws scrambling as it twisted around.
At the top of the stairs O’Hara landed flat-footed, stepped in and snapped Le Croix’s head back with the flat of his hand. The scarred man fell, but as O’Hara jumped over him, Le Croix tripped the reporter. O’Hara staggered but did not fall.
Behind him, Le Croix hesitated for a moment. A leash dropped like a snake from his sleeve. It was attached by a small padded bracelet to his wrist. He whirled it like a lasso and it sang through the air as it flicked toward O’Hara’s head, and O’Hara, hearing the whoof of the wire, turned for an instant, saw the deadly noose and ducked, raising his arm to ward it off. The noose snapped over his arm and tightened on his wrist, cutting into the skin. He jerked it and Le Croix fell forward into him. The two of them tumbled over each other down the stairway.
The second time the dog jumped, Chameleon was prepared. He dropped low again, and as the dog soared over him, he reached up and grabbed it by the throat with both hands, slamming it against the stone floor. The dog’s claws slashed desperately at his arms, tearing away the sweater, drawing blood. Chameleon squeezed and twisted the dog in his powerful hands, got his feet under him, and standing, smashed its head against the wall. The dog shrieked once before it died.
‘Kazuo!’ he called.
Drop the rope!’ O’Hara yelled.
The fire door began to give as half a dozen sumo guards battered it.
Chameleon recovered the grappling hook from its hiding place and began to slide the grate back while halfway down the stairwell Le Croix and 0’ Hara grappled, connected together by the thin wire attached to their wrists Le Croix was a brute, but fighting O’Hara was like fighting air. He slipped away, jumped to his feet, hauled Le Croix up by the wire and chopped him across the throat with his free hand. Le Croix fell backwards, dragging O’Hara with him. The patch fell away from his face, revealing a gruesome gray socket, split by the deep scar that ran the length of his face. The one-eyed assassin tried to twist the wire around O’Hara’s throat, but once again the reporter moved too fast. He hopped over Le Croix, pulling his arm sideways. The wire wrapped around Le Croix’s throat instead. 0’ Hara pulled the loop and Le Croix’s hand was jerked against his neck. The wire bit into his flesh. His good eye swelled with fear. He grabbed for O’Hara with his free hand, but the reporter pulled his arm back and the noose tightened around Le Croix’s throat. Le Croix thrashed, out his legs under him and lunged for his adversary’s throat. O’ Hara rolled nimbly, and Le Croix dove over him and skittered off the edge of the stairwell. He seemed to poise for a second, and then he dropped. O’Hara’s hand was tugged violently by the weight of the falling body. And then he felt the wire snap taut and slice into his wrist.
And he heard Le Croix’s neck break, like a dead branch.
The man’s weight pulled him to the edge of the stairwell. Le Croix was dangling grotesquely on the ‘wire, his feet dancing on air inches above the ground, his hand pulled tight against the side of his face, his tongue protruding obscenely, his good eye rolling wildly beside the barren socket. He jerked there for several seconds. The wire bit deeper into O’ Hara’s wrist, blood gushing from the torn skin. Then Le Croix’s eye rolled up and he just hung there.
A moment later Chameleon appeared on the floor below and lifted up the dead man, easing the pressure. O’Hara released the ratchet and the wire noose fell off.
Splinters flew from the fire door. A crack appeared. O’Hara crawled to his feet and ran shakily down the rest of the stairs.
‘Can you make it with just one hand?’ Chameleon asked.
‘I can try.’
‘Go,’ said Chameleon.
O’Hara didn’t argue. He grabbed the rope and dropped into the black abyss.
The door burst from its frame and crashed to the floor. Three guards tumbled through the opening.
Chameleon started down the rope.
O’Hara was sliding down so fast that the rope scorched his hand. He could feel Chameleon on the rope above him. Then suddenly he wasn’t going down anymore. He looked up. The grinning face of one of the sumo guards leered down at him. The man was pulling them back up as though they were puppets.
‘Drop!’ O’Hara yelled and let go.
