The Secret of Excalibur

‘You don’t have a choice,’ Kruglov said. ‘Yorgi, when I count to three, kill her. One.’

‘Eddie, he’ll do it!’ Mitchell said. ‘Just -’

‘Two.’

‘- walk away, right now!’

Chase stepped back and dropped the metal souvenir, which clanged to the ground between Kruglov’s feet.

The Russian looked at it and chuckled, then turned to face Chase, smiling his frog-like smile. ‘Three.’

‘No!’ Chase screamed. Behind Nina, Yorgi moved, about to thrust the knife into her back—

His face blew apart.

Mitchell had whipped out a silenced handgun and fired it almost directly at Nina, the bullet passing so close to her face that it singed her hair. The dead Russian fell backwards, chunks of ragged flesh flapping from the shattered bones of his skull.

‘Get out of here!’ Mitchell shouted—

Maximov slammed him back against the bust of Newton. The gun flew from his hand. Chase spun to face Kruglov, but the Russian smashed the case into his stomach, knocking him to the ground. Kruglov yelled an order, then sprinted into the garden.

A bystander saw the mangled corpse and screamed, panic quickly spreading across the square.

Nina snapped out of her shock as Kruglov ran past her, the case in his hand. She saw Chase struggle to his knees, winded but unharmed. She paused, caught between conflicting impulses . . . then ran after the Russian. If he got away with Excalibur, everything she had been through, all the deaths she had witnessed, would have been for nothing.

Chase stood, and realised Nina was no longer there. ‘Shit!’ He was about to follow her when a metallic sound reached him, clear as a musical note even through the yells of the crowd. Dominika had drawn and cocked her gun, aiming it at him—

Shouting from his right: two policemen running towards them. Dominika’s eyes flicked towards the noise, then she looked back and fired - but Chase had already rolled away, the bullet chipping the pavement. She turned and ran.

The policemen went after her - and were sent flying back as Maximov swung Mitchell at them like a human baseball bat. The three men tumbled to the ground as the Russian bellowed in triumph before lumbering away across Leicester Square, swiping pedestrians out of his path.

Chase was about to run after Nina when another gunshot made him whirl. Somebody had tried to be a hero and attempted to tackle Dominika - and had received a bullet in the gut. The green-haired assassin was sprinting south out of the square. More screams erupted in her wake. Chase snatched up Mitchell’s gun. He wanted to find Nina and Kruglov - but Dominika was the more immediately dangerous target. She had to be stopped before she hurt anyone else.

There was another thought in his mind. He had a score to settle with Dominika.

Kruglov reached the north side of the garden, barging people aside. Nina was gaining, the Russian slowed by the awkward case. Another cheer rose from the crowd outside the Empire, cameras flashing as a limo disgorged its celebrity cargo.

Nina saw Kruglov looking for an escape route. The cordon ran the full width of Leicester Square, completely cutting off the northern end, and all the other streets leading away were jammed with people. He glanced back, to see her running after him. His free hand moved inside his coat, emerging with—

‘Gun!’ Nina screamed, hoping the police - and the pedestrians in the line of fire - would hear and respond. ‘He’s got a gun!’

Kruglov fired at her. Nina dived on to the grass behind a bench, bystanders scattering like frightened pigeons.

The crowd outside the cinema was still cheering, oblivious of the events behind it. Kruglov saw police officers closing from both sides and charged into the crush, battering people with the case and his gun as he clawed his way towards the barrier. Nina jumped up and raced after him.

Dominika ran down a road out of the square. Chase followed, a momentary glance at a sign telling him he was on St Martin’s Street. He knew he was heading in the general direction of Trafalgar Square, but there was no direct route, Dominika’s path blocked by buildings.

Fewer people here. He raised the gun, a silenced Ruger SR9, and risked a shot at the fleeing woman’s legs. It missed, cracking off the road surface just past her. Dominika returned fire over her shoulder. She had almost no chance of hitting him, but the two shots still forced Chase to duck and swerve, slowing him.

She reached a crossroads and went left. Chase pounded round the corner after her, seeing her heading for the glass doors at the rear of the large building to the south.

The National Gallery.

Dominika fired another shot just before she reached the doors, preventing Chase from taking aim as she went through. Not that he would have: he could see people inside, a group of children - she had just entered the gallery’s Education Centre. For one terrible moment he thought she was going to take them hostage, but when he reached the doors he saw her haring up a flight of stairs.

He kicked the doors open and pointed his gun after her, but she had already rounded a corner. Some of the children had seen Dominika’s gun, and his arrival only made matters worse. ‘Everyone get down!’ Chase yelled over the high-pitched screams as he ran to the stairs. He looked up. Dominika was aiming at him—

Chase threw himself backwards as three shots echoed through the room, blasting craters in the wall beside him. He landed flat on his back, sending four rapid shots back at Dominika. She dived for cover as the banister splintered, then scrambled to her feet and ran to the top of the stairs.

‘Clear the building!’ Chase yelled at the gallery staff as they tried to help the terrified children. ‘Get everyone out!’ He raced up the stairs, gun at the ready. As he reached the top he saw Dominika dart down a corridor to the left.

What the hell was she doing? She seemed to be fleeing at random, in a panic - but Chase couldn’t believe Kruglov and his people would have agreed to meet Mitchell in a crowded public place without having an escape plan.

Something was wrong.

He rounded the corner and followed her into the galleries.

Kruglov reached the edge of the cordon, thrashing at the crowd with increasing fury. An enraged man tried to grab him; he smashed the butt of the gun into his face, breaking his jaw. As the man fell back, spitting blood, Kruglov flung himself over the barrier. A nearby security guard saw the commotion and ran to deal with the intruder—

Kruglov shot him. A hole burst open in his chest, showering the crowd with blood. People screamed, the fun turning to fear. All order broke down as they trampled each other in their desperation to get away. Nina threw up her arms to shield her face as she ran into the mob, flailing elbows and feet swiping at her from all directions.

Another gunshot. Through the chaos she saw a yellow-jacketed figure tumble to the ground: a policeman shot in the shoulder.

Nina fought her way forward, and suddenly burst free of the retreating crowd, crashing against the railing. Kruglov was running for the nearest limo, gun raised. Despite the threat cameras were still flashing, paparazzi and public alike capturing the deadly spectacle, a real-life action scene playing out at the premiere of a Hollywood version. The Russian lowered his head in a futile attempt to avoid being photographed as he pointed his gun at the limo driver, screaming at him. The driver didn’t need to know any Russian to understand his orders, and scrambled frantically from his vehicle.

Nina jumped over the railing and ran for the limousine. Kruglov kicked the driver away and leapt into the limo, tossing the case and the gun on to the passenger seat. He rammed the car into drive, looking up as he stepped on the accelerator—

He saw Nina running towards him.

The stretch limo surged forward, ripping up a section of the red carpet and smashing a photographer aside