Page 149 of The Last Kingdom

“Get the guns,” Luke ordered.

* * *

DERRICK INCHED OVER TOWARD TRINITY AS LUKE AND TONI GATHEREDup the weapons, checking the four downed men for any they’d missed. These were not Chinese operatives. These were Europeans. Most likely some of Fenn’s contingent. Trinity lowered her gun and still had not uttered a sound, her eyes focused to where the dead man lay, though the body was blocked by the car.

“First time is always tough,” he quietly said to her.

She stared at him with eyes that, after all the years he’d known her, showed something other than utter confidence.

But only for an instant.

Then she regained her usual control.

But he had to ask, “You okay?”

“He was going to shoot all of you.”

“You did what you had to do.”

She did not seem reassured.

“It’s never easy,” he told her.

And he meant it.

Hotshots never survived long. The best agents were the ones who killed reluctantly, only as a last resort. And who detested it. Men and women who thought more and risked less. He’d just killed two men himself. Both of whom had been trying to kill him. But he still was bothered.

As he should be.

“What now?” she asked.

Luke and Toni came over.

“They’re clean,” Luke said. “We tossed the guns in the woods. They should be out awhile.”

Derrick stared ahead into the darkness.

“Let’s go save the day.”

Chapter 83

COTTON USED THE SLEDGEHAMMER AND GENTLY TAPPED THEMURAL,listening for any changes in pitch. If there was a chamber behind the wall, there should be some difference in sound.

And there was.

A little past left center, just below a reclining Tannhäuser’s chest.

He continued to tap downward and defined the boundaries of the hollow sound. Interesting how an artist worked for months, applying knowledge gained during a lifetime, to create something any fool with a hammer could smash in a second. Obviously, the government was spending an enormous amount of money to repair the roof and preserve everything here. Especially the mural, which seemed the primary focal point in a place loaded with focal points.

“I think you have found it,” Fenn said, still holding the gun, which he motioned with. “Please, open it up.”

He stood with the sledgehammer down at his right side and completed his estimates. The toss would be about twenty feet. Ming and the two men stood on the other side of the lake, directly beneath a cluster of the fake stalactites. His guess? They were fashioned from some kind of webbed wiring, coated with plaster and concrete, shaped to appear like natural formations. Each was big and meaty. Should make quite a mess.

He pivoted and, like a shot-putter, launched the sledgehammer into the air. The handle rotated around the head and whooped upward, its mass smashing into the hanging decorations, ripping through them like a bowling ball into pins.

Fenn’s attention drifted.

As expected.

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