Page 127 of Dukes Are Forever
"This is where Devoncourt went before he returned to his house," Byrnes muttered, his hard blue eyes locked on the target.
It wasn't much, but it would have to do.
From what Malloryn's sources had managed to discover, the warehouse belonged to the False Dawn Corporation, which was a front, if ever he'd seen one. Thomas Mowbray had once been listed as director, though the position had been transferred ten years ago and the records were currently obscured.
"Think this is where Balfour is hiding?" Gemma asked, squatting on the other side of Malloryn.
Instinct stirred. Too easy. By far.
He couldn't help hungering for it though—an end to this cursed game.
"One can hope." He cracked his knuckles inside the black leather of his gloves. "Kincaid, are you, Charlie and Lark in place?"
Staticshirredin his ear. "Ready," Kincaid replied gruffly.
"We're going in," he replied, then made a swift gesture with his fingers to Obsidian and Byrnes.
The pair of them slipped through the fog, taking up position on both sides of the nearest door.
Malloryn gave the gesture, and then Obsidian kicked open the locked doors and disappeared into the shadows inside, his pistol tracking the room. Byrnes, Malloryn and Gemma were right on his heels, plunging into the shadowy confines of the warehouse.
A pair of guards materialized out of nowhere, and Malloryn put a bullet directly between the eyes of the nearest, as Gemma handled the other.
Shouts echoed.
Only one or two more guards, by the look of it. Obsidian dispatched them coolly, and then glanced around at the pile of crates.
"Not enough guards," Obsidian said.
"Agreed." There was a faint light in the overseer's office and a shadow moving up there. "Watch your backs."
Byrnes grabbed a crowbar and jammed it beneath the lid of a crate. The second he pried it off, he whistled under his breath. "Someone's planning one hell of a party."
"Explosives?" Malloryn glanced inside the box, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline. There was enough dynamite there to destroy half of London.
"I think we just found Balfour's stockpile," Byrnes replied, with a grin.
Seconds later, an alarm blared through the facility, and a pair of eerie red eyes lit up at the far end of the room.
"What the hell is that?" Byrnes demanded, clenching the crowbar in one hand.
"Ask questions later." Malloryn shot it, but the bullet ricocheted into the wall.
A click sounded and a small flicker of fire ignited somewhere around the shadowy figure's waist. It had to be nearly ten feet tall.
"I think you just... irritated it." Byrnes took a step back.
The small spark suddenly ignited into a gush of flames, and then it was streaming toward them.
They all threw themselves aside, heat stealing the oxygen from the air.
"Jesus Christ!" Gemma rolled out of the way. "It's a metaljacket. One of the older spitfire models."
Which should have all been destroyed following the revolution.
The enormous automaton clanked forward, its breastplate stained with soot and slightly dented. That didn't make it any the less dangerous. No. A single spitfire could burn a street to the ground and was virtually unstoppable.
"Draw its attention," Obsidian commanded, tugging a small grappling hook from his belt. Both he and Malloryn had managed to take cover behind a larger crate several feet behind the other two. "I can take it down if it's not locked on me as a target."
