The Secret of Excalibur

balcony and the far end of the hall, and had a better firing angle at both.

Though with only four bullets left, he’d have to make each of them count.

The man above saw that he had lost his target. He ran for the stone stairs at the end of the balcony to join his comrades.

Nina reached the top of the spiral staircase. A chill of fear hit her as she saw the gunman on the balcony - but his back was to her as he descended the stairs.

The door leading to Staumberg’s study was only a few feet away. ‘Come on!’ she said. ‘Through here—’

The door opened.

Nina found herself face to face with yet another of Vaskovich’s thugs, a squat man with his hair tied in a topknot. They both flinched at the unexpected close encounter - then the Russian smiled malevolently as he brought up his gun—

Mitchell swept Nina aside, whipping round with shocking speed to deliver a roundhouse kick. The gun flew from the Russian’s hand and spun over the railing. Before the startled man could react, Mitchell kicked him again, driving a heel into his stomach and sending him flying back through the door. There was a nasty crack as his head hit a wall, and he collapsed.

Dominika heard the commotion and shouted an order. The man descending the stairs reversed course, heading back to the balcony. One of her companions fired a burst at Chase to pin him down, then sprinted up the stairs after his comrade, long black coat swirling like a cape.

Chase looked up - and saw Nina and Mitchell, unable to see what was happening on the staircase, running along the balcony towards the Russians. ‘No, go back!’ he shouted - but was drowned out as Dominika and the other man opened fire with their MP-5Ks. Chunks of the pillars protecting him blew apart under the onslaught. ‘Jesus!’

Nina reached the stairs - and stopped as she saw the Russian running back up, another man a few steps behind. Both men were armed, and the only weapon she and Mitchell had between them was a broken sword.

If they couldn’t attack, they had to defend . . .

A suit of armour stood guard at the top of the stairs, empty arms crossed over its chest above a broad shield. Nina shoved the whole display over. The armour tumbled down the stairs, exploding into a cascade of gleaming metal pieces. The steel wave swept the first Russian back down the steps with a pained cry.

The second man leapt over him - and kept leaping, propelling himself off the wall across to the banister, then back to the wall and finally into a somersault that brought him to a perfect landing in front of Nina. His overcoat swirled around him with a dramatic fwumph.

‘ Ah . . . ’kay,’ said Nina, startled by the gravity-defying display. ‘Jack, what now?’

Mitchell pushed past her, hands raised in a martial arts form. ‘I’ll take care of him.’

‘He has a gun!’

‘It’s not his style. Is it, Zakhar? Think you can take me?’ To Nina’s surprise, Mitchell was right, the slick- haired young man slipping his compact sub-machine gun into his coat. The two men sized each other up - then both moved at once, fists snapping out and feet slicing in a flurry of strikes and blocks. They seemed evenly matched . . . but then Mitchell started to be driven back along the balcony.

Chase saw the whirling brawl from below. What the hell was Mitchell doing? But he had no time to think about it as he came under fire again. The oak columns now resembled well-gnawed apple cores, his cover being eaten away. He snapped off two shots, firing practically blind. Only two bullets left now—

One of the double doors in the rear wall flew off its hinges with a crash and landed several feet away. The gunfire ceased. Chase whirled to take in the new threat. The giant scar-faced Russian who had stolen Nina’s laptop - Maximov, ‘the Bulldozer’ - leered through the gap at him.

‘Oh, fuck off, Zangief,’ said Chase, pulling the trigger.

Maximov jerked back, but not fast enough. The bullet ripped into his thick bicep, splattering the remaining door with blood. Chase heard a groan from the corridor.

An almost orgasmic groan.

He suddenly remembered what Mitchell had told them about Maximov’s scrambled nervous system. ‘Buggeration . . .’

The heavy door swung back - and vanished into the corridor, wrenched from its frame. A moment later it reappeared, a huge hand clamped round each edge as the Russian held it in front of him like a shield.

Chase fired his last shot at the centre of the door, where Maximov’s chest would be. The giant jerked and came to a standstill - but only for a second. The bullet had been slowed so much by two inches of dense old oak that it lacked the power to penetrate his ribcage. Instead, the impact only seemed to spur him on. ‘I come for you, little maaaaaan!’

He rushed at Chase, swinging the door like a colossal fly-swatter and sending the Englishman flying, demolishing another suit of armour. Pieces scattered cacophonously around him, the blade of the long-handled halberd it had held thunking an inch deep into the floorboards.

Groaning, Chase looked up. Dominika and her comrade had advanced - but though their MP-5Ks were still raised, their fingers were off the triggers. Both were smiling. They wanted to watch the show.

The man laughed and nudged Dominika, saying something mocking in Russian. Chase sat up, one hand falling on a piece of curved metal - and he hurled the armour’s high steel collar at the snickering man like a Frisbee. Its edge slammed into his face, crushing his nose with a splintering wet crunch. He shrieked and staggered backwards, blood spurting from both nostrils.

Dominika snapped up her gun - but Maximov had now reached Chase. She held fire, waiting for a clear shot.

Blood seeping down his chest where the bullet had struck, Maximov effortlessly lifted Chase so they were practically face to face, grinning at him with yellow teeth—

Chase head-butted him.

And wished he hadn’t. ‘Ow, fuck!’ he gasped as coloured starbursts flared in his vision. The bastard really did have a metal plate in his skull! Maximov’s demented grin widened, a rumbling laugh escaping his throat as he tossed Chase back down into the pile of debris.

Chase yelled as the spike sticking up from the back of the halberd’s axe-head stabbed into his arm. He jerked away, leaving blood on the steel.

Maximov advanced again, plate-sized hands reaching out for him. Chase seized the halberd just beneath the axe-head and tugged it free, bounding to his feet. Dominika raised her gun, Maximov’s proximity making her hesitate . . .

Chase cracked the end of the halberd’s shaft against her kneecap. She stumbled. Before she could recover, he swept it up and caught the woman a vicious blow under her chin. She fell against one of the hanging tapestries.

‘Dominika!’ yelled Maximov, his concern rapidly turning to rage as his mad eyes locked on to her attacker.

Chase swung the halberd again.

Maximov raised a tree-like arm to block it, the handle snapping in two to leave Chase clutching just a stump of wood with a blade attached. He hurriedly flipped what was left of the weapon over to wield it like a hatchet, but unless he took Maximov’s entire head off with a single swipe he didn’t fancy his chances.

He didn’t try. Instead, he grabbed the rope holding up the tapestry with one hand - and slashed the axe-head through it with the other.

Chase was no featherweight, but the weight of over a hundred square feet of thick, richly embroidered cloth on a sturdy wooden hanger was more than enough to whisk him upwards as the tapestry fell. It knocked Dominika to the floor beneath its folds.

Chase grabbed the balcony railing. He pulled himself over and took in the scene below. The man with the broken nose was still blindly reeling as he tried to staunch the blood gushing down his face. Dominika was engulfed by the tapestry, while Maximov scowled impotently up at him, the idea of retrieving one of the guns apparently too complex for his brain to accommodate.

Nina—