chest and knocked him backward across a table in a shower of dishes, glasses and food. He sprawled there, arms outstretched, his legs dangling off the floor.
The dining room went crazy. Screaming guests suddenly panicked and rushed toward the rear doors. Twenty- seven realized he had lost control of the situation. His nemesis was out there somewhere and he was a perfect target in the brightly lit room. He grabbed a chair, threw it through a window and leaped out behind it.
A moment later a sodden Keegan rushed into the dining room. The chaotic mob turned instantly toward him.
He held up a hand. “My name’s Keegan, I’m with the U.S. Intelligence Service. Please . . . everybody stay in this room. If you go outside you’ll confuse things even more. If he comes back instead of me, kill the son of a bitch. There’s a wounded man in the shrimp boat down at the pier. He needs help.”
He stared down at Lady Penelope Traynor. “And keep your eye on her highness there.”
He jumped through the shattered window after 27.
The machine pistol chattered and a string of bullets ripped the mud behind Keegan as he landed and rolled behind a tree. Another burst tore into the tree. Keegan rolled over on the ground, fired several shots into the rainy darkness, then jumped to his feet, ran back to the side of the clubhouse and crouched in the darkness, listening. He heard only the rumble of thunder, the splatter of rain. He worked his way to the corner of the building and waited for lightning to brighten the compound.
Twenty-seven moved backward through the trees like a cornered fox. He too waited for nature to illuminate their battleground.
A jagged streak in the sky. A dark form dodging from one tree to another. He fired another burst of the pistol, was met immediately by several shots in return. He backed into the wall of a building. Startled, he whirled with a cry. Another shot smacked the wall an inch from his head. He crouched and ran along the side of the building, realized it was the indoor tennis court, found the door. It was locked. He smashed the window with his elbow, reached in, unlocked the door and jumped inside.
Fifty feet away, Keegan heard the window break and hurried toward the sound. He saw the door, its window shattered, in the long, low building and raced up to it, flattening himself against the wall. Inching his way to the opening and facing the wall, he stretched his arm around the jamb and fired two shots blindly into the building. They were answered instantly with a burst from 27’s machine pistol. Bullets chewed up the doorjamb. He was obviously across the indoor court somewhere.
Keegan ducked low and dashed into the darkened court. Another burst of gunfire followed him. He felt the hot searing pain as a bullet ripped through his shoulder. But he scampered across the floor and lurked in the darkness next to a scorekeeper’s table, listening. He touched his shoulder and flinched. The bullet had pierced the fleshy part just under the shoulder blade and exited.
He squinted in the darkness. The big room looked ominous, with its tennis net stretched from one side to the other and dark corners offering refuge to his enemy.
In an opposite corner, 27 lurked and waited in darkness, just as determined to get rid of Keegan. He had to quell his anger to keep it from clouding his judgment. He had come too far, waited too many years, to fail completely. His mind formulated a new plan. The operation was not a total loss. First he had to kill the intruder. Ja, he would eliminate his nemesis and then return to the clubhouse. There he would kill Yankee millionaires until his ammunition was gone, then swim across to the marsh and make it to the mainland. He still had funds in New York. With luck, he could make it back to Germany.
But first things first. Where
A hundred feet away, Keegan checked his resources. Too much rain and thunder to hear his enemy breathing.
Keegan slowly reached down to the bucket, took a tennis ball, threw it across the room into a dark corner. Twenty-seven spun immediately and fired in its direction. Bullets ripped into the wall. Then suddenly, the gun stopped firing. There was the unmistakable sound of metal on metal as the firing pin snapped on the empty chamber. Enraged, 27 threw the empty pistol across the room and as he did, Keegan grabbed the bucket of tennis balls and threw them at the Nazi. They bounced around him, bounded underfoot, bounced off the walls and disoriented the German agent. Twenty-seven saw Keegan rise from behind the table and lurched toward him but he stepped on a tennis hail and then another. His legs pedaled frantically under him as he fought to keep from falling. Keegan leaped from the darkness, buried a shoulder into 27’s stomach and they vaulted through the window, tumbled in a shower of glass and wood into the mud outside.
Rage replaced common sense for 27 was insane with frustration and anger.
If nothing else he would kill this Yankee bastard.
Twenty-seven grabbed at his calf, pulled the SS dagger from its sheath. He struggled to his knees and as Keegan jumped toward him, 27 slashed out with the knife. Its blade buried in Keegan’s cheek and sliced upward through his eye socket, biting into his skull. Pain exploded in Keegan’s face and he almost blacked out. But he was too close, he’d come too far. He wouldn’t, couldn’t fail. The pain was nothing compared to Jenny’s pain, to the pain of all of 27’s victims. Keegan grabbed 27’s wrist, twisted it up and away from him, heard the bone snap and saw the dagger flip away. Still hanging on, he smashed 27 in the face with his fist, then hit him again and again, knocking the German backward until 27 pulled free. The Nazi staggered out of his reach. In the flashing lightning, he saw Keegan glaring at him with his good eye, his face twisted in hatred and rage.
Twenty-seven darted sideways and slashed his foot out, burying it in Keegan’s stomach. Keegan’s breath burst from his lips and he was slammed back against the wall of the tennis court. He fell to his knees as 27 closed in on him. Bleary-eyed, he saw the gleaming blade of the Nazi dagger lying in the mud, its handle an inch from his hand. He snatched it up and as 27 grabbed Keegan’s shoulder, the American swung his arm blindly. The blade glittered in a flash of lightning. Keegan felt it strike, rip through flesh as he completed the swing and fell back to his knees.
