Hooded Man (116 page)

Robert hit the concrete below badly, but it would have been much worse were it not for the shield and the thick snow covering the street. Tiny shards of glass followed, sprinkling Robert as he watched Mark bend and take the strain on his much younger knees, dropping perfectly beside him. They were somewhere round the side of the warehouse, in a deserted alley. Deserted, that was, apart from what looked like frozen statues lying on the ground. The slowly decomposing dead, who thawed in warmer weather, then refroze when the snow returned.

“Come on,” Mark said, helping him up and looking above him to where the Russian soldiers were now taking up firing positions at the window. “Time we weren’t here.”

Robert couldn’t agree more, but as they rounded the corner of the building they were stopped dead in their tracks. Assembled at the front of the warehouse was a vast collection of jeeps, tanks and other armoured vehicles, and dozens of soldiers with rifles. And they were all trained in Robert and Mark’s direction.

The air filled with the
clack
of weapons being cocked, as Robert saw the new Tsar stumble through the main doors of the warehouse. What had happened to Tanek, he had no clue.

Bohuslav grinned slyly when he saw the scene.

“What are you waiting for? Execute them!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

T
HE FIGHT HAD
been a vicious one, but it had been he who’d been victorious.

He’d often wondered in the time since their last meeting – in the time since their
first
meeting, as a matter of fact – who would be the eventual winner. Both of them were sadistic bastards, quick to kill by whatever methods were available. But also, if time allowed, keen to savour the act of extinguishing life itself.

That hadn’t been an option today, but Bohuslav didn’t care. He’d tried to do this the slow way, to make Tanek and Hood perform a little before their deaths. But now it was over for at least one of them, he felt good. And he felt all the better for having got it over and done with quickly.

When Hood pushed him over that ledge, he’d thought that was the end of it. The bastard had practically kicked him off into the lion’s den. Luckily, Bohuslav knew how to fall – and
who
to fall
on
, making use of a couple of guards and civilians below. He’d walked away relatively unscathed, but that had just been the start of it.

Tanek had been rushing towards him by the time he found his feet again. Bohuslav had just about managed to dodge the first attack, stumbling over the bodies he’d fallen on. As he rose, Bohuslav wielded his hammer, aiming for the big lug’s fingers. Tanek had let out a cry as they opened in pain, his axe flying out of his grasp. With his good hand, Tanek grabbed the length of the hammer and tugged, pulling Bohuslav in for a head butt. It was a glancing blow which opened up a cut over his right eye, disorientating him long enough for Tanek to yank the hammer from his clutches.

Tanek swung it, but Bohuslav ducked, slashing at Tanek with his sickle and inflicting a wound on Tanek’s side. The giant snarled, bringing down the hammer on Bohuslav’s shoulder and almost dislocating it. Bohuslav lashed out with the sickle again, slicing open Tanek’s forearm and forcing him to drop the weapon. The larger man dived on him and they rolled over and over, the floor relatively empty now that the crowds had thinned. People were racing for the exit now that the majority of guards were either dead or wounded.

When they came to a stop in the middle of the fighting pit, Bohuslav found himself on top. Before he could embed his sickle in Tanek’s flesh, though, the giant had thrown him off, flinging the Tsar onto his back.

As Tanek was getting to his feet, Bohuslav was already crawling around him. He slashed at the tendons at the back of the big man’s ankles, severing one and cutting almost all the way through the other. Tanek dropped onto his knees, but still whirled grabbing at Bohuslav.

The Tsar had discovered the axe Hood had abandoned. Seizing it as he climbed to his feet, he ran at Tanek with the weapon. The big man grabbed it just below the blade, squeezing the wood. Bohuslav could feel the power in that hand still, even after he’d struck it with the hammer. Tanek was threatening to break the handle in his grip, or at least snatch it away from Bohuslav. It was time to finish things.

“I
will
kill you,” Tanek said.

Bohuslav jerked sideways suddenly, causing the end to snap off, but he’d put enough weight behind the move that the wooden shaft carried on moving... into Tanek’s chest, rammed through a good few inches. The big man opened his eyes wide, looking down at the wood. “Just... just like the Sheriff...” he said, a slight smile playing on his lips. Lips that were growing redder by the second. “No... I must live... the promise... the –”

Then he fell and Bohuslav stood over him, watching as he breathed his last. To make sure, he bent and cut the man’s throat open from one side to the other. “Goodbye, Tanek,” he spat. Then he began hobbling towards the door, leaving the body of the giant behind.

Bohuslav made it to the main entrance, the last person to leave, and was stunned by what he saw. He’d assumed Hood had already fled, that he’d have to send out a search party to bring the escapee back: one dead, one to go. But here was the man himself, in pretty bad shape by the looks of things, being helped by one of his lot; a lone man sent in to free him. Ridiculous, the arrogance of those Rangers!

What made the picture perfect, however, was the forces already summoned to tackle him – a guard must have sounded the alarm. Even Bohuslav was impressed with the speed with which his men had assembled, the sheer force of vehicles and soldiers that had gathered.

Looking across at Hood and smiling, he gave the order to kill them.

It was only then that Bohuslav noticed the men were not wearing the grey uniforms of his own army. Yes, they were similar –
very
similar, in fact – but there were subtle differences. For one thing the symbol worn on the shoulders of their uniform was different. A symbol from history, familiar yet updated, formed of overlapping squares. A shape that had struck terror into millions during the 1930s and 40s. And the vehicles weren’t of Russian origin either. Not the standard issue they’d used against Hood back in England, nor those he’d been building up since. Bohuslav had become quite an expert in scavenged military gear, and he knew which army had once used these vehicles. Which country.

The deciding factor had been when their commander had ordered for the troops to turn on
him
: turning their guns away from Hood and his Ranger, towards the Tsar.

“Wait,” said Bohuslav, holding up his hands. “Wait a second –”

The commander shouted for them to open fire.

Bohuslav barely had time to breathe out, “God forgive me,” before the soldiers pulled their triggers.

R
OBERT AND
M
ARK’S
mouths fell open.

They’d thought this was it. That death had finally caught up with them. Staring down the barrels of so many guns and cannons, how could they possibly cheat death again this time? Robert felt more sorry for Mark than for himself; the boy had never really had time to become a man, to become the great Ranger Robert knew he would someday. Now all that was about to end.

And now Bohuslav had somehow got away from Tanek and had come to watch. Had ordered their deaths, in fact; obviously too tired and pissed off to want to savour it anymore.

Robert held his breath as Bohuslav told his men to execute them, then let it out, amazed, as all the guns were trained in the Tsar’s direction.

It was only now, with the luxury of not having those guns facing them, that Robert took in what was really happening. Who those forces actually belonged to. He and Mark looked on as another order was given to kill Bohuslav.

Robert couldn’t watch beyond the first salvo of bullets, keeping Bohuslav upright long after he should have dropped to the ground. The gunfire seemed to go on forever. After the last
crack
sounded, Mark touched his arm and Robert jumped, the noise still ringing in his ears. He looked, but couldn’t see Bohuslav – just a red smear against the whiteness of the snow: all that was left after the weapons had done their worst. Robert shivered again, but it had nothing to do with the snow all around.

The German soldiers turned back in their direction. What had happened with Bohuslav had been merely a stay of execution, it seemed. There was no bargaining with the Germans, either. If anything, it made things worse, because he and Mark had just been given a preview of what would happen to them.

As Robert steeled himself, he felt something touch his arm. He assumed it was Mark again, but when he turned his head he saw a rope dangling from above him. “What...” began Robert, looking up, but there was no time for questions. Mark grabbed him, then shoved his foot into a loop at the bottom before winding his hand around the rope already lifting them. Robert grabbed on himself so Mark didn’t have to carry him. He followed the line of the rope up towards a shape above – something dark in the sky; something huge. A helicopter.

The Germans were about to fire, and probably still would have blown them to pieces – had the Russian forces not turned up at that point. Too late to save their Tsar, they nevertheless engaged the Germans on the ground level, their own jeeps and tanks approaching through the streets, soldiers with more AK-47s opening fire. Now the Germans had more on their plate than a couple of escaping men on a rope. One vehicle exploded as Robert and Mark were pulled up and away from the scene – they had no idea whose side it had belonged to. While the rope was being wound back into the helicopter, the battle raged below, and looked like it was going to for some time.

Next thing they knew, the pair of them were at the back door of the chopper, being helped in by familiar faces. Jack was there, taking his hand off the winch lever to grab Robert’s own hand, while Sophie clapped her arms around Mark, planting a huge kiss on his lips.

And there, in front of Robert, was Mary. She smiled and ran to him. The helicopter lurched and he and Mary fell against one side. Robert grabbed onto some netting. He heard a garbled apology from the front of the craft. “Hold on, I’m tryin’ to pull ’er out of range of those bigger guns below, before they drag us into their fun and games.”

“Bill?” shouted Robert. “Where in Heaven’s name did you find
this
?”

He heard a chuckle, then the reply: “Like it? Thought I’d upscale a little. Amazing what those locals up North had kickin’ round at their flyin’ museum. They let me borrow their Chinook for a while. Whoops.”

They lurched again, this time to the other side, but Robert held Mary close. “And how did you know where to find me?”

“That was Mark,” she told him. “Said he thought he remembered overhearing something about Moscow and the Tsar when he was kidnapped. Wouldn’t tell us the rest. Insisted on going in alone, that he was the only one who could find you.” Robert studied Mark’s face, and knew full well that nothing had been overheard. The Native American wouldn’t have been that careless. But Robert fully intended to get the truth out of Mark later on.

For a third time the helicopter lurched, but now they heard a noise from the open back, a whooshing sound as a missile flew past. Bill had lost it. Robert thanked God it wasn’t a heat-seeker.

Next came machine-gun fire, but it was too close to be coming from the ground.

“Look!” Sophie was pointing at two aircraft, jet fighters with crosses on the side: formerly of the Luftwaffe. They were flying in as low as the chopper, on their trail while the rest of the Germans were otherwise engaged.

“Tornadoes,” Jack called across to Robert, frowning.

“Blast,” Robert said. “Just when I thought we might be out of the woods.” That phrase, that sentence, connected with him and he suddenly had an idea. He took out the ash the Native American had given him, and then he shouted for Mark to hand him the pouch on his own belt. The pouch, like Robert’s, which contained foliage and twigs from Sherwood. Well, if he couldn’t get to the forest... Mark handed it to him and Robert quickly mixed the contents.

“What are you doing?” asked Mary, but he didn’t reply. He was too busy willing this to work, praying that, although they weren’t in Sherwood, it might be enough.

“What kind of weapons have you got back there?” asked Robert.

Jack looked at him sideways. “Nothing that can stop those, chief.” But he went to fetch Robert’s usual selection: bolas, arrows – some chemically tipped, Robert was pleased to see – a bow and his sword.

“Robert,” Mary began, starting to look worried. “What are you going to do?”

“What I have to,” he said, strangely starting to feel better as he hooked Mark’s pouch onto his belt.

“Whatever it is, you might need this.” Jack tossed across his hooded top. “Your uniform.”

Robert put it on, then found Mary clutching at his sleeve. “Robert, listen to me. There’s something you need to know before you do anything stupid. The Widow was right, Robert.” She touched her stomach as she whispered the words. “Do you hear me? The Widow was right.”