Reign of Evil

Even Bill seemed worried now. He’d begun to step forward when the sound of a vehicle approaching from behind him caused everyone to pause. It was a pickup with four men in the back and two in the cab. They got out when it came to a stop. The four in back were dressed all in black with body armor and balaclavas. One of the men in front was a civilian. The other was dressed in fatigues. An SAS patch and colonel’s rank stood out against the camouflage.

“What’s going on, Bill? These men refusing to turn around?” The colonel stared imperiously at Ian.

The four men in black brought up MP5s with silencers,

“They have a letter from the Queen which says they should be allowed to pass.”

The man held out his hand.

Ian merely stared at it.

The man snapped his fingers.

“To whom am I speaking?” Ian asked.

“Colonel Wilson Picket. Now give me the goddamned letter.”

Ian handed it over. “You’re a little out of your jurisdiction, Colonel.”

Colonel Picket glanced at the letter, then unceremoniously ripped it in two and dropped it to the ground. “It’s a fake.”

“So you’ve seen one of these before?” Ian struggled to keep the anger from his face.

This stopped Colonel Picket for a moment. But he recovered and said, “It’s obvious. Why does the Queen need someone like you to—”

Ian stuck out his hand, “Colonel Ian Waits. Section 9, Special Services.” He’d watched Colonel Picket’s eyes and it was obvious he’d heard the name before. Even the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth gave him away. “But you knew that already. Let’s cut the bullshit.”

“Yes. Let’s.”

“Someone convinced you to come out here and stop me. I’d like to know who!”

The colonel paused a moment, then shrugged. “You’ll know soon enough. Sir MacDonald swore out a warrant for your arrest.”

“Oh, he did, did he? On what grounds?”

“I’m not privy. All I know is he asked a few trusted men of Sheffield to assist him and he decided to call on me.”

“Us,” Bill added.

The colonel frowned at Bill’s addition but nonetheless concurred. “Us.”

Ian couldn’t help himself. He started to chuckle.

The colonel didn’t like being laughed at. “What’s so damned funny?”

“You’ve been played.” Ian pointed to the four men in black. “Those four are part of a group planning the overthrow of the British government. Sir MacDonald is part of it. A man of Sheffield or not, he’s hitched his tail to a kite being flown by men from an organization called the Red Grove who have brought back King Arthur and the Wild Hunt.”

Everyone was silent for a moment as the words sunk in.

Then they started laughing.

Ian waited for the laughter to die down. “As funny as it sounds, it’s true. I’d like to offer you and your men a chance to surrender to me now.”

Everyone began to laugh once more. Ian and Magerts joined in.

“You ever play poker?” Ian asked when they were done. The colonel responded, “Yeah. Sometimes.”

“Good, then I’ll see your squad and raise a platoon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

A squad of Royal Marines appeared out of the darkness behind the four men. A corporal called out, “Put down your weapons and lay flat on the ground. You so much as twitch I’ll have my men go full auto on your asses.”

The look on the big Irishman’s face was priceless.

But not as priceless as Ian wanted. He took one step forward and delivered a right hook to Colonel Picket’s jaw, delivered with all the outrage of a man trying to save his country only to be delayed by the grossly incompetent. The man fell hard to the ground and landed on his ass. “It means you lose and I win, you pompous ass.”

CHAPTER 40

POINT BRAVO, WARWICK, ENGLAND. 0700 HOURS.

Preeti was beyond exhausted. But there was no way she could sleep. Now that she’d assisted SEAL Team 666 and Section 9, it could be argued that she deserved some rest. But she just couldn’t bring herself to stop. The feeling of helplessness only served to accentuate her fear for Trevor. She’d loved him from the dizzying moment when he’d waded into the group of hooligans and saved her and her brother. Perhaps she loved Trevor too much. She was constantly pulling back, trying to mete out her love, fearful that if he ever knew the true breadth of it he’d run away. Was that a missed opportunity? Had she denied herself and him some true joy because of her fear? She made a promise that when this was all over and he was returned to her she’d confess to him, profess to him, trusting that their love was strong enough.

She’d been organizing files on her server for half an hour before she ran into an audio file she’d recorded. She listened for a moment; then it came to her. She’d heard the Tuatha Dé Dannan speaking once when Van Dyke was asleep. It had sounded like a song. She’d only gotten thirty seconds of it, but she’d wanted to capture it in the event it was something they might need.