Page 52 of The Last Kingdom

The room’s doors burst open and two men rushed in.

“We are under attack.”

Chapter 28

LUKE HAD FOLLOWED THE BEARDED MAN NAMED FREDERICK FROMthe beer hall, through the snowy streets of Munich, to an apartment building not far from the main train station. The older man had walked at a leisurely pace, seemingly unconcerned if anyone might be interested in him. The book from earlier was tucked away inside a coat pocket, safe from the elements. At least he knew who the man was and where he lived. And he’d managed to snap some clear images of the book that he’d already forwarded to Koger.

All in all, not a bad day’s work.

Time to head back to his hotel and get some sleep.

He hunched into his coat against the raw cold that folded around him and rubbed his face with gloved hands. He was just about to leave when two figures caught his eye. Across the street. Under one of the streetlamps. Dark coats and caps gave them an air of menace, their faces set in determination. No one else was around in the early morning mist and he’d not noticed them before. They must have been hidden down the narrow alley next to the apartment building. He kept his gaze locked on them as they both drew weapons and started to run.

His way.

That couldn’t be good.

He darted off in the opposite direction.

First the shots on the Chiemsee from God knows who. Now this. He’d had no opportunity on the lake to turn things around.

Not this time.

He kept moving, leading them down a dark side street between two buildings, careful with his footfalls on the frozen cobbles. It would be easy to slip, though the soles of his boots were grippy rubber. He kept going, twisting left and right, peering ahead for any signs of more trouble. He turned a corner and spotted a metal fire escape that right-angled up a three-story building. He decided the high ground would be preferable, so he increased his pace and leaped up, grabbing hold of the bottom rung about eight feet off the ground. Momentum swung his body forward and he pivoted upward, grabbing the next rung, and pulled himself onto a metal platform.

He stretched out flat and lay still.

Waiting.

With the air of a spider about to ambush a juicy insect.

His two pursuers rounded the corner and slowed their pace, surely wondering where he’d disappeared to. Darkness was his ally and he used it to maximum advantage, his face pressed against the cold steel mesh of the platform flooring. The two shadows approached closer. His body was primed and coiled, his brain calm and controlled, both ready to strike.

Then another form appeared.

Behind the two men with guns.

Rounding the corner, rushing ahead, attacking from the blind side, driving a foot hard into the spine and sending one guy stumbling forward. Before he could recover, the form spun on the ball of the left foot and rammed a fist into the second guy’s throat.

Sweet move.

The one who’d taken the throat chop gasped for air. The neck was a complex structure. Lots of blood vessels. A windpipe. Esophagus. Vocal cords. Thyroid gland. A whole bunch of stuff that could not take a hit. His hand-to-hand combat teacher in the Army defined the throat punch as a “rapid, unexpected knuckle thrust into the larynx of a douchebag who is pissing you off.”

How true.

The guy below him was discovering just how awful a knuckle thrust could be.

The second pursuer had recovered from the spine kick and whirled to face the threat. But the newcomer did exactly what you were supposed to do and attacked. The form moved quickly, slamming a fist into the left side of the jaw. Luke heard a few agonizing croaks. The newcomer jerked the man forward, wrapping an arm around the neck, digging an elbow into the gut, whipping the head back sharply. A crack signaled something broke. Which had to hurt. A kick to the pit of the stomach and the guy’s breath was expelled with a sharp whoosh. He stumbled sideways, but the newcomer continued the assault, driving the left arm, like a battering ram, into the chest. The man dropped to the ground, his gun clattering away.

The newcomer spun toward the first man, who was still trying to breathe. Not missing a beat, the newcomer’s right leg shot upward in a vicious arc, driving heel to shin hard, sending the guy to the ground.

The form stood, at ready, arms extended, switching attention between the two downed men. But neither moved.

The newcomer relaxed.

“You can come down,” a female voice said.

One he recognized.

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