Night Moves

emphasized.

Toni and Cooper followed him, and the tight feeling in his bowels was not altogether from his worry about being shot.

Ruzhyo caught the movement in the field during a lull in the rain. It wasn't much, just a dark shape outlined against the distant outdoor light from a neighboring farm, but it was enough to gain his attention.

A few seconds later, he caught another glimpse of something. Could be a lost sheep, maybe. A calf that had wandered away from its mother. But he didn't believe that. Dark shapes coming across the field in the rain? British assault team was more likely. And sooner than he — and Peel — had expected. Since he hadn't heard any gunfire, Ruzhyo had to assume they had gotten past the guards. Not a real surprise. Peel's men were good soldiers, but the estate was too big for them to cover properly.

Ruzhyo moved deeper into the overhang's shadows, circled away from the house, and headed toward the building that Peel used for an office. He could use that for cover until he saw how many of them had come. Then, if he was lucky, he could still slip away. There could be a dozen or a hundred of them, and without knowing where the gaps were, it would be risky to try to run.

Goswell wiped his lips as Peel came into the room, wearing a rather smug smile. Ah, well. Here we go.

He had sent Applewhite upstairs with the maid and Cook and told them to lock themselves in the upstairs office and stay there until he personally told them to come out. The office door was steel, with a stout lock and a policeman's bar behind it, installed as part of a security room under Peel's aegis. Rather ironic, that.

Now he could finish this unpleasant business. He put his napkin back into his lap and left his hands there with it.

'Do have a seat, Major.'

'I think I'd rather stand, if it's all the same to you, Geoffrey.'

Ceoffrey? Good God, Peel has gone round the bend. Somewhat flustered at the overly familiar tone, Goswell sought to collect himself. 'Did you see Bascomb-Coombs, then?'

'Ah, yes, that I did. I just left him in the study. Quite dead.'

'Dead, you say?'

'Yes. A sudden attack of brain fever. Brought on by this.' Peel pulled a wicked-looking little dagger from under his jacket and held it up. The bright steel glittered under the lamps of the electric chandelier.

Goswell considered that. 'Killed him, did you?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'A pity. He was quite brilliant.'

'And he was also a psychotic willing to do your bidding and who also tried to have me killed.' Peel turned the knife this way and that, looking at the steel almost as if hypnotized.

'Did he? Well, apparently his assassins fared no better than mine, then.'

Peel frowned. 'Yours?'

'Yes, of course. I'm afraid perhaps you've made a mistake and poor Bascomb-Coombs has been made to suffer for it. It was I who had people trying to kill you, sir.'

'But — why?' He seemed genuinely perplexed.

'Really, Peel. For conspiring with that very same Bascomb-Coombs you have slain in my study. Did you think me such a fool that I wouldn't remember that someone must watch the watchers?'

'Ah, so it was you having me followed. And that fellow in the bookstore.'

'I am sad that it was necessary. Your father would be most unhappy with you. I thought you were made of better stuff, Major.'

Peel laughed. 'Well, I've got to hand it to you, Your Lordship, I never tumbled to it being your doing. I stand corrected. And it's not as if Bascomb-Coombs was some innocent who didn't deserve his fate. Though I must say, you are awfully calm for man who is about to have his throat cut. A gentleman to the end, eh?'

'I should hope so. Although I confess that I don't expect that end to occur this evening.'

With that, Goswell brought his Rigby double up from his lap and pointed it right at Peel's heart.

The old man was slow and half-blind, and there was a moment there if Peel had moved quickly that he could have gotten around the point-blank line of sight and stabbed Goswell. But such was his shock at seeing the gun come up, so unexpected was it, that he froze. By the time he recovered, Goswell had him covered. He might not be able to hit a rabbit hopping about in his garden fifty feet away, but at ten feet, he'd play hell missing a man-sized target. And a load of even birdshot would be fatal in the right spot.

'Are you going to shoot me?'

'I'd rather not get blood all over the dining room, but if you bat an eyelash crooked, certainly I will. Applewhite would hate the cleaning, but he is very discreet.'

'What, then?' 'I was rather hoping we could step outside, you could have a final cigar and a brandy or whatnot, and we'd… part company there.'

He was serious. Goswell was going kill him. After cigars and brandy.

Not while he had a knife in one hand and a pistol inches from the other hand, the old fool wasn't. He would distract him and bet on his younger reflexes. It was the only way.

'Well, all right. If that's how it is to be. I think I'd like one of the Cubans and maybe a snifter of the Napoleon—'

With that, Peel lunged.

'All I see is the one,' Fernandez said. 'You want me to put a couple of rounds in him? Pick a spot and say when.'

Howard considered his options. The guard had a submachine gun slung and ready, and he might cut loose if he heard a twig snap. Subgun pistol ammo wouldn't pierce their SIPEsuit armor, but it would surely make enough noise to warn people in the house they had company. So would a flash-bang or puke lights. Howard had been expecting a firefight, and in that case, you did what you had to do to control the situation; but so far, with no shooting, it seemed possible they could pull this off without anybody getting blasted. He'd rather do it that way, considering how delicate the politics were. Michaels had gone out on a limb a few times for Howard, the least he could do was return the favor.

'I'm moving up,' Howard said. 'I'll get his attention. While he's focused on me, you take him out. Nonlethally, if possible.'

'Copy nonlethal, E5.'

Howard crawled to within twenty yards of the house, then fifteen. The guard was turning and heading in his direction, and he had to attract and keep his attention long enough for Julio to get to him and choke him out.

He needed a noise that would make the guard curious but not afraid. A cat's meow might do it. He did a pretty good imitation of a kitten looking for its mama. Even if the guard was some kind of pervert who liked stomping kittens, he'd have to see it before he did that. Should be enough time for Julio.

'Meow. Mew. Mew. Mew!'

Sure enough, the guard started heading his way.

'Mew! Mew!'

The man grinned. 'Kitty! Here, kitty, kitty. Aw, you lost in the rain? C'mere, I'll dry you off.'

Good, he was a cat lover.

It was going to work. And it might have, if somebody hadn't fired a shotgun inside the house just then.

The guard spun toward the door, saw Julio coming at him at a dead run, and whipped his gun up.

Well, shit, Howard thought. Then he opened up with his own subgun, a triplet into the guard's back. The guard wasn't wearing armor. He went down.

'Go!' Howard yelled into his comset. 'Back to Plan Able!'

Peel looked at the bloody hole in his belly, felt the burn of the lead, and knew he was not going to recover from this gut shot. Thick smoke clouded the lights, the burned-powder smell was awful, and from the floor, he wanted only one thing: to take fucking Goswell with him. He grabbed at his pistol, pulled it free—

Goswell stepped closer and aimed the shotgun at Peel's face.

'Sorry,' Goswell said.

The next explosion blew out Peel's lights forever.

Howard rolled through the door and into the kitchen. He came up ready but, save for Julio, already on guard,