Page 133 of The Last Kingdom

Which gave him the second he needed.

He lunged, the heel of his left shoe swinging up and slamming into the chest of the one who’d taken the inkwell, sending the guy staggering back. He then pivoted and slammed his right fist into the other guy’s face, stunning him long enough to allow two more blows to the gut, which doubled him over. He’d guessed correctly that neither had ever been in a real fight, despite their size and fake temperament. He turned his attention back to the first one and took him down with a hard right to the jaw.

His immediate concern was the guns and he spotted one on the floor, which he moved toward, snatching it up with his right hand. Both men groaned and wheezed in agony. They were no longer a concern. Fenn became the problem. The older man had found the other gun, which had clattered across the floor toward the desk.

He was quick.

But Fenn was quicker. “That’s enough. Let your gun fall to the floor.”

He hesitated, so Fenn aimed the gun straight at him. The curator had retreated to one corner, a look of fear on his face. The duke had never moved. Just watching. Cotton allowed the gun to hit the floor.

“You may leave,” the duke said to the curator. “And please make sure we are not disturbed.”

The man nodded and hustled away. The two minders recovered their senses and began to stand.

“Get your weapons,” Albert ordered. “And try to stay alert and handle yourselves better.”

The curator scurried from the room like a fiddler crab, but Albert stopped him for a moment and they exchanged a few whispers. Then the curator hurried off.

“Search him,” Fenn said.

And they found the gun tucked at Cotton’s spine, beneath his jacket.

“Keep watch,” Albert told the two men with guns, who stepped back, able to view both the study and the corridor.

Then the Duke of Bavaria approached. “Herr Malone, I am hoping we can come to an understanding.”

He shrugged. “I do pride myself on being easy to get along with.”

The duke noticed the paper on the desk with an oblong hole in it. “The message from Lehmann?”

He nodded.

“And the cipher part?”

He rubbed his tummy. “I was hungry.”

The duke stood impassionate, his features remaining rock-hard. “I am going to assume that you deciphered it. And that you and Herr Koger decided to keep that information to yourselves.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

The old man finally smiled. “I would have done the same. But, unfortunately for you, I need that information.” Albert hesitated, then said in a louder voice, “Please. Join us.”

From around the corner, out in the corridor, a man appeared. Asian. Middle-aged. With a thin aesthetic face, dressed in a trim-fitting dark blue suit. He shuffled along with a limp, aided by a red-lacquered cane, in the measured walk of someone sure of his thoughts.

Finally. The shadow to all of this had taken form.

“What are you, Ministry of State Security? United Front Work Department? People’s Liberation Army?” he asked, rattling off the various foreign intelligence arms of the People’s Republic of China.

“How about all of the above.”

“Which means you’re pretty high up. You have a name?”

“Call me Ming.”

“How charming. As in the vase?”

“What else?”

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