He thought a moment. 'Yes. I think we do.'
'Go get them.'
'There's one at least.'
'Then go get it.'
'I should be here with Mr Jorgenson,' he said. 'To protect him.'
'Punk!' Rink called him. 'Tell me where the fucking thing is and I'll get it.'
'No,' Seagram made an attempt at regaining face. His eyelids were flickering wildly, so his words didn't do the trick. 'I'll get it. You make sure Bradley is safe.'
'Just get the vest, then get back here,' I snapped. 'Round up any of your men that aren't already dead.'
Seagram got up from his chair looking unsteady on his feet. He moved towards the door, faltered, grappled with his shoulder holster to pull out a gun. A Colt Mark III.38 special. Double action revolver. The famous law enforcement gun. It looked large and cumbersome in Seagram's shaking hand.
He ducked out the door, disappearing along the corridor to our left. I turned to Bradley. 'After this is done, you should take a serious look at the calibre of staff you employ.'
Bradley frowned. But he wasn't thinking about the ineptitude of Seagram. He'd lost his father. Now a cousin had died. The Jorgenson family was dwindling fast, and he was wondering if he was going to be next.
Not my problem, I decided. Marianne was the only reason I was there. Bradley should thank his lucky stars that I hadn't killed him at the first opportunity. Rink's suggestion of waiting until Bradley's back was turned then spiriting Marianne away maybe hadn't been a bad idea after all. She'd have been more angry than reluctant to go with us, but it would have saved us this latest trouble.
Might as well make the most of the situation.
'Bradley, you're going to help us get Marianne to safety,' I told him.
Then I related the rest of my plan.
By the end, everyone was in agreement.
Seagram returned with the Kevlar vest.
I gestured to Marianne.
'Put it on her,' I said.
Seagram reared up. 'But that's for Mr Jorgenson.'
'Shut up, Seagram, you asshole!' Bradley said, and the man just took a step up in my estimation. Bradley snatched the bulletproof vest, turned and held it out to Marianne. She accepted it like he'd just gone down on one knee and presented her with a diamond ring.
The vest was designed for a man, not a young woman, so was rather big and clumsy-looking on her. But it had adjustable Velcro straps. I stepped in close and cinched them tight.
'I can barely breathe,' Marianne said.
'You'll breathe less if a stray round makes its way between the vest and your body,' I pointed out.
She turned back to Bradley and he smiled at her. Touched her chin. She tilted her head and kissed his palm. Sweet.
'Let's get moving,' I grunted.
'Sheesh! Thank fuck for that,' Rink said.
24
The night-vision goggles were an encumbrance now that Dantalion was close to Bradley Jorgenson's house. Lights had come on all over. Floodlights spilling out from the building like it was the finale of a rock concert. Bugs swarmed in the beams, making swirling patterns around the floodlight housings.
'Good move,' he whispered. The people inside knew he was there, and what he'd come equipped with. They were trying to take away the advantage of his goggles by making the area as bright as day.
With old-type goggles a sudden intrusion of light could strike the lenses and momentarily blind the wearer. These Generation Three goggles didn't have that problem. They had integrated flare protection to combat such a thing. Still, with the bright lights surrounding the building, the contraption did feel a little redundant. He took it off. Dropped it on the ground next to him. Moved towards the house.
His Beretta was in his right hand; Petre Jorgenson's appropriated Glock 19 in his left. The extra firepower wouldn't go amiss.
Dantalion had still been outside Petre's house when Seagram had come running out. The man looked ready to vomit. His face was white. He'd jumped into a silver sedan and streaked off towards Bradley's house. He should have shot the man when the opportunity was there, but he'd decided to wait. He regretted that decision now. With Petre gone, Seagram would be Bradley's boy again. He would spill everything. That meant they knew Dantalion was coming, and were setting themselves up to defend the house.
Hunter and Rink.
He hadn't heard the names before. Not associated with his line of business. They had to come from some other discipline. The only yard stick he had to measure their ability with was how Hunter had fared the night before. He'd done well — credit where credit was due. The man had stopped him killing his targets, had shot him in the leg, and then survived an explosion that should have put anyone in a casket. He had to assume Rink would be as good.
He'd better be very careful here on in.
Careful but not cautious.
Caution breeds fear; fear builds an inability to act. Lack of action would kill him.
He crept forwards.
This house was very similar in design to that owned by Petre Jorgenson, in the form of a sideways 'H'. Dantalion had decided on the same approach as before: from the beach to the front of the house. To hell with the EMF meter, he didn't need it. They knew he was coming anyway. This time his advantage wasn't in stealth, but in full-on assault. Movement and noise. Shock and awe.
He came out of his crouch and ran.
From inside the front door a gun opened up in his direction. Dantalion swerved right, then left, bullets punching turf from the ground behind him. He kept moving, bringing up the two guns and firing as rapidly as he could pull the triggers. Three shots from each gun. A half-dozen high-velocity rounds into the partly open doorway.
Unaware if he'd hit the shooter or not, he continued to zigzag his way across the lawn, until he had the corner of the left wing between himself and the gunman. There he didn't stop. His painful leg wasn't a hindrance now. Adrenalin was a good anaesthetic, better than all the ketamine in the world.
He ran along the front of the building, stooped, but peering sideways through the windows. The rooms were deserted. He kept going. Came to the corner. The camera above him was swinging wildly, trying to get a bead on him, but he was below its arc of movement. The camera swung along the side of the building, just as he'd thought it might, and he immediately spun round, running back the way he'd come.
Alerted by whoever was controlling the cameras, the people inside the house had expected him to rush to the back of the building. But here he was approaching the front door again. The lack of bullets fired his way suggested he'd hit the person who'd been guarding the door earlier, or that his ploy had worked and the guard was even now rushing to the rear of the house to add reinforcement to the troops there.
Fortune favours the bold. Sometimes a full-on assault can achieve more than any amount of sneaking around. Bravery, or downright recklessness, had the ability to disarm the enemy.
Dantalion had never been of a timid disposition. He ran at the front door, lifted a boot and kicked the partially open door back on its hinges. He was through in an instant, moving sideways with his back to the wall as he probed the entrance hall for movement. Nobody. But there was blood on the floor, a trail of drops leading further inside the house. Stepping forward, he lifted his guns, one to the front, one to the side, exchanging positions as he moved along the hall, passing doorways.
Further back in the house he could hear voices and the thump of feet. The sound of a vehicle roaring to life. Dantalion was spurred on. He passed through a doorway and into the kitchen. The sounds were now further to his
