Chapter 12

The car alarm jolted me awake. The wailing, screaming siren announced to everyone within a half-mile radius that absolutely nothing more ominous than a bus driving past had happened. It just announced it very loudly. The fact that it took almost twenty minutes for the car’s owner to turn the damned thing off did nothing to help my mood.

“Jesus, it sounds like Optimus Prime is trying to give birth out of his asshole!”

I hadn’t had much sleep. Even in my bunker, I had found it hard to settle; there was just too much to think about. My phone had started beeping at me within a few seconds of leaving the International Court of Justice, with Jeeves passing on alerts sent from my apartment computer. I was being followed.

Of course, I was being followed. I would have been absolutely astounded if I hadn’t been. The question was whether the Inquisitors following me were working on behalf of the Inquisition or if they were working for the Montreaux Royals. It didn’t really matter either way at this point. Isabelle had said she would pass the complaint on to the Conclave as soon as the meeting was over. Even though she had agreed that extra security would be counterproductive and would give away the ruse, I couldn’t blame her for wanting to keep an eye on the situation. If my tails were from the rogue Royal faction, then even better. I could get the fight over and done with and not have to worry about dragging the threat home with me.

That was the part that bothered me the most. Once again, I had let my anger and bravado do the talking for me, and I hadn’t sat down to think things through. I had seen the challenge so obviously leveled by the Inquisition and their choice of venues, and instead of remaining calm and collected, I had risen to it. Now I had intentionally put a bounty on my own head, if only to see who came to collect, without considering the fairly obvious fact that I was only in the Netherlands for one night.

Then I would have to go home.

The attack on the party had proven beyond any doubt that the rogue Royals had no qualms whatsoever in attacking a public target, meaning they wouldn’t hesitate to attack the Queen’s Head if they tracked me there and thought I was inside. In a moment of petulant posturing, I had put Jimmy, his uncle Bob, Lori - if she was there - and god knows how many innocent patrons at risk.

Whats more, there was no way to undo it. Nor did I have anywhere else to go. It was a problem that I couldn’t fix right now, at least not without a serious amount of thought.

I sighed heavily as I pulled myself out of bed. “Jeeves,” I said to myself. “If I do something like this again, punch me in the face.”

“I’m afraid, Sir, that it is impossible for a non-corporeal representation of your own subconscious to punch anything. Let alone your face. May I suggest a stern warning instead?” My ever sarcastic butler replied inside my mind.

“Do you think it will help?”

“Probably not. But one never knows.”

“Okay, then let’s try that.” I pulled myself to my feet and trudged sleepily into the bathroom to perform the necessary duties of the morning. “How are our friends doing?” I asked as I jammed the toothbrush into my mouth.

“Two are still in the hotel lobby, another three are in a van out front, and another is pretending to be the world’s slowest delivery driver out back.”

“Any idea whose side they are on yet?”

“I’m afraid not, Sir. You received an email from Arnold in the night saying...”

”Who?”

Jeeves sighed one of those sighs purposely designed to show impatience. “My apologies; BOB sent you an email in the night saying that the message has been conveyed as planned and an acknowledgment was received within the hour.”

”Ahh, good ol’ Bob ... Carry on.”

“Interestingly, at least as far as the Inquisition is concerned, there was no agreed plan of action from the Conclave. Usually, in cases like this, there is some plan laid out about how the Conclave plans to reign in the errant Evo before an intervention is agreed to. This message didn’t contain one.”

“I see. And I’m guessing there is nothing from Marco, Uri, or anyone else?”

“That’s correct, Sir. So far, this information hasn’t been disseminated through the Conclave, at least not as far as someone who would warn you ... Yet. Bob has also suggested a code word be given to both sides. The logic is that if you bump into one of their agents, you have a way of finding out if they are working for the Inquisition without the messy unpleasantness of torture.”

“Makes sense. What is the code word?”

“Pumpernickel.”

I blinked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Pumpernickel...?”

“Yes, Pumpernickel.”

“That sounds like it was Bob’s idea.”

“That would be an accurate deduction, Sir.”

I chuckled to myself and carried on brushing my teeth. “Oh well. Nobody is going to forget that. So any ideas for a plan for the rest of the day?”

“Depends on if you are planning on confronting the people following you, or not, Sir. You are in a new city, and your flight is not for another eight hours. May I suggest some sightseeing and, if the need arises, finding a quiet spot to interrogate some Inquisitors?

“And if the need doesn’t arise?”

“I don’t know, Sir. Bus tour?”

I wandered the city for a little while, just idly and aimlessly following wherever my feet led me. The Hague, despite not being one of Europe’s premier tourist destinations, was a remarkably beautiful city. It didn’t have the sun-drenched marble streets of Malaga; in fact, it wasn’t noticeably different from home in terms of weather. But whereas Britain in the winter was a dank, dreary, grey, and wet little island, the brisk early December air seemed to suit this place. The dreariness that usually came with this time of year seemed to be blown out to sea on the fresh continental winds.

One museum, or concert hall, or library or some other municipal building seemed to hold pride of place on almost every single street. This was a city with a thriving and lively cultural undertone where densely packed townhouses wrapped around wide-open plazas and lush green parks. Inevitably, however, my feet led me toward the sea.

“You are approaching the Westduinpark.” Jeeves announced after a few hours of silence.

“Fascinating,” I muttered back sarcastically. “That would be extraordinarily helpful if I knew what the Westduinpark was and why me approaching it was important.”

“The Westduinpark is, as it sounds, the conservation area that lies between the city and the sea. It is almost entirely made up of sand dunes.”

”And?”

“And a noticeable lack of security cameras, Sir.”

“Why is that impo ... oohhh.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m glad you are following. No cameras mean that the computer tracking program will be useless in that area. But...”

“No witnesses, either,” I finished. “Where are they?”

“Two of them are pretending to be an extremely awkward couple, holding hands about forty feet behind you. The van with the other three is two streets to your left. The computer has picked up another two entering the dunes from the beach ... and the delivery driver is still watching the hotel.”

“So, a minimum of seven close by then.”

“Your math skills astonish me, Sir.”

I smirked to myself as I crossed the road and stepped onto the sand. “Well, this is going to be interesting.”

Sand, as it turns out, fucking sucks!

If you so much as look at a beach, even from half a mile away, you will be scraping the stuff out of cracks and crevices you didn’t even know that you had for a week. But more importantly, it is not a substance that lends itself well to ease or speed of movement. But like many natural materials, it is grossly underestimated by people who have never had to deal with its nastier side. Sand looks very pretty when resting comfortably on an idyllic deserted beach, but a sandstorm is one of the most violently dangerous and utterly terrifying forces on earth. Forget getting a few annoying grains in your eyes; that shit will scour the paint off a sitting car in a few minutes. Imagine what it could do to exposed skin. Sand is one of the constituent ingredients in concrete, hard enough to crush bodies, and is the main ingredient of glass, sharp enough to slice a man into pieces. It can bury you alive, trap you in place, scour the skin from your body, and it is a pain in the ass to get out of a swimsuit. It should never be underestimated.

A brief look over my shoulder let me catch a glimpse of the white auras surrounding my two pursuers as they let go of each other’s hands, and whispered something into the radios casually hanging off their ears - as if nobody would notice those, fucking Hollywood! - before they reached into their jackets and each pulled out a sleek-looking black handgun, their barrels elongated by the attached suppressors.

Apparently, the whole ‘bullet-proof skin’ thing had not been taken seriously by their bosses, whoever they were.

Between stamping through the sand with as much grace as a drunk elephant on roller skates and the fact that they were making no attempt whatsoever to hide the fact that they were armed - or looking for me - meant that ... Alright, look. The whole point of an assassin is to kill someone who doesn’t want to be killed. But unlike most of the human population who share this sentiment, assassins are trying to kill someone who expects an attempt to be made on their life. It’s why they invariably employ stealth to get to their targets. Snipers fire from a concealed position away from where the target can see, bomb makers plant their explosives in places unlikely to be checked, and a poisoner poisons food assumed to be safe. Jesus, even Ninjas wore black to blend in with the night. These two ... did not.

It was like fucking amateur hour and, frankly, more than a little insulting.

I sat myself on the ground between two high sand dunes and waited for them. I won’t embarrass them further by pointing out how long it took them to find me.

As soon as they appeared on the top of the Dune in front of me, they raised their weapons and pointed them at my head. “Don’t move,” the man said in German, with my abilities translating for me.

“Wasn’t planning to,” I shrugged back.

“Our boss wants a word with you,” He said, his eyes not leaving me.

“Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

“His most regal highness, King...” The man was cut off as the woman kicked him. “Oh, umm ... Get up slowly and keep your hands where we can see them.”

“But you just told me not to move.”

The man squinted, shuffled uncomfortably on his feet, and glanced at the woman. She rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on her weapon. “Get up ... slowly ... or I will put a bullet in your kneecaps, one in your gut, roll you to the beach, and let the tide take you.” She said slowly and menacingly. “It is not a nice way to go.”

“But then I definitely won’t meet your boss.”

“Wait, you will drag me before or after the tide has taken me? I’m confused.”

The whispered click of the woman’s gun sent a bullet crashing into the sand an inch away from my groin. “I’m not going to ask again!”

“You didn’t ask the first time. But I wouldn’t do that again if I were you. Sand doesn’t like being shot.”

“Sir, the van just pulled up on the street, two of its three occupants are incoming. As soon as they pass the first dune, we will lose visual.”

”Sand can blow me!” The man announced smugly. “Her next shot will hit your balls.”

“Well, that was a quick escalation from my kneecaps. But feel free to ask the sand to blow you.” I nodded to the side of him. “I wouldn’t be too hopeful, though.”

A column of sand, at least as tall as the man and a few times as thick, quickly grew out of the ground next to him, giving him just enough time to blink in confusion at it before it was on him. Barely a second later, another one barreled into the woman as she tried the grab for her friend, smashing her to the ground as it swirled and ground itself over her. A tornado of razor-sharp granules whipped itself over her body as she was pulled and held to the sand dune. Both handguns were ripped from their grips - the man by an anvil of packed sand smashing into his wrist, and the woman by having the skin taken off her hand until she released her hold on it. The guns were carried away by the sand and buried deep in the dune.

The column of sand holding the man, easily the least threatening and most inexperienced of the two, disintegrated into nothingness, leaving him staggering on the slope of the dune, spluttering, blinking furiously, and trying to scrape the sand off his tongue. To be fair to him, he recovered remarkably quickly, blinking rapidly and wiping at his eyes before glancing first at me, and then at the woman being attacked by the beach.

“Now, about your boss,” I said calmly. “Who is he? You said something about a King.”

The man quickly reached behind him, pulling a dangerous-looking knife from the back of his waistband, and pointed it at me.

“I asked you about your boss, and you are showing me a knife,” I squinted at him. “Is it a clue?”

“I’ll fucking cut you!” He barked as he waved the blade menacingly at me before glancing down at his friend. She was still in the maelstrom of the second column and was slowly having the skin stripped from her body. “Let her go, or I’ll drive this knife into your fucking skull!”

“Hmmm, not from all the way over there, you won’t. Here, let me help.” I hopped casually up onto my feet and strode purposefully toward him. The man took a few nervous steps back before steeling himself and lunging forward.

With a flick of my wrist, another pillar of sand shot up from the dune directly beneath his hand, smashing the knife from his grip and shattering his wrist. Part of the pillar jumped into his mouth to smother the scream that was launched from his lips.

I reached forward and grabbed a handful of his hair, spinning him around and forcing his head to look down at his friend. Even between the swirling, grinding vortices of sand, it was easy to see the patches of scoured-away skin and smears of blood covering her arms and face. Her clothes were being stripped from her body, and the look of agony on her face was only muted by the look of terror. “My guess,” I hissed into his ear, “Is that she has about thirty seconds before the sand grinds away something important. You have that long to talk! Now ... your boss!”

“Fuck, I don’t know!” he almost screamed as he watched the woman’s nose being ground away before him. “I was only recruited for this mission! I don’t know anything!”