The Extraordinary Adventures of Alfred Kropp (Alfred Kropp #1)(52)

We parked about a hundred yards away from the lighted circle of stones. Huge spotlights had been set up just outside the circle, and the fog separated each beam as it shone into the center. The air was so cold, I could see my breath. Men in dark suits waited for us just outside the outer ring. One of them came over and said to Mike in an English accent, “No sign of our quarry yet, Mike. We’ve established the perimeter; he won’t get within ten kilometers without us spotting him.”

Mike nodded and clapped the Brit on the back, but Bennacio said calmly, “No, he is already here.”

“I’m afraid that’s quite imposs—” the British agent began, then stopped, because just then a group of robed men stepped from behind one of the larger stones ringing the center. Six of them, in black robes, with a tall man in the middle, wearing a white robe with the hood thrown back.

Mogart.

We stepped into the circle on the opposite side. The guys from OIPEP stood in front of me and Bennacio, seven in all, not counting us two. An even match, except Mogart had the Sword that no army or combination of armies could resist. Mike took one step toward Mogart and raised his hand.

“You’re very punctual, Monsieur Mogart! That sort of thing impresses the living daylights out of me!”

“And you are late, Mr. Arnold,” Mogart answered. “I see you have brought some unexpected guests. How good it is to see you again, my brother knight.”

He bowed at Bennacio, and then looked at me. “And you, Mr. Kropp! How extraordinary that you are here! Please accept my gratitude for delivering the Sword!”

“You can go to hell,” I muttered under my breath. Bennacio touched me on the arm as if to say, Be still.

“Well,” Mike said. “Now that we’ve dispensed with the pleasantries, do you think we could talk a little business?”

“You Americans,” Mogart laughed. “Always so abrupt.”

Mike motioned to Paul, who reached into his coat and pulled out a long white envelope. Mike tossed it toward Mogart. It landed about three feet away and one of Mogart’s men snatched it off the ground and handed it to Mogart.

“That is the location and the account number,” Mike called over. “Deliver the item and we’ll give you the access code.”

Mogart peeked inside the envelope, a sly smile playing on the corners of his lips. He handed the envelope to the guy on his right and nodded to the one on his left. This guy walked into the circle holding something long and narrow wrapped in a golden cloth that shimmered in the glare of the floodlights. He laid it on the ground in the center of the ring and stepped back to rejoin Mogart.

“Okay, Benny,” Mike breathed. “You’re on.”

Bennacio walked slowly past Mike. I started to follow him and he whispered to me, “No, Alfred. Only if I call.”

He walked alone into the center of the ring of stones and knelt beside the bundle lying on the ground, the cloth glittering and sparkling as he unfolded it. He made some motion with his right hand. It was hard to see from where I was, but it looked something like the sign of the cross.

I don’t know everything that happened next, because a lot happened all at once, though it seemed to go in slow motion, like a car wreck. All of a sudden black-robed figures were flying from everywhere, swarming toward Bennacio, swords raised high over their heads. Paul yelled something beside me; I turned, and there was a swirl of black robes and the flash of a long black blade before it sank into Paul’s back. There was the pop of small-arms fire on the other side of me. A head flew past my nose. It was Jeff’s.

A figure in a black robe twirled past me: One of the British agents had him in a headlock, but he shuffled backwards and slammed the agent into one of the stones, breaking his grip, before turning to sink his sword into him to the hilt.

That’s when somebody forced me to the ground, hissing in my ear, “Get down!” A gun went off right next to my ear and my whole head hurt from the explosion. A body fell right on top of me. I rolled him off and saw the bullet hole through the center of his forehead.

I looked to my right and there was Mike, a gun in his hand, lying flat on his belly and staring into the middle of the circle. His left hand was on the small of my back, I guess to remind me to stay down.

I looked around and saw nobody left standing except Mogart and Bennacio. Around Bennacio lay four or five of the black-robed AODs, most of them without their heads, some with their legs still jerking. I could see a thin line of blood trickling down the side of Bennacio’s face where one of the AODs must have smacked him as he knelt beside the Sword.

I looked for the Sword in Bennacio’s hand, but it wasn’t there. Mogart was holding the Sword.

Neither of them moved or said anything for a long time. They just looked at each other, standing about six feet apart, both taking in big gulps of air and breathing out in little jets of steam.

Finally, Bennacio said, “Surrender the Sword, Mogart.” He sounded very calm. “Surrender it now and I will show mercy toward you.”

“Oh yes, how I long for mercy from you,” Mogart sneered. “Sir Bennacio! Gentle Bennacio! The kindest and bravest of knights! The last knight!” The mocking expression disappeared and a shadow fell over his face. “I am the last knight, Bennacio. I am the heir to Lancelot, the master of the Sword!”

I leaned over and whispered into Mike’s ear. “Shoot him.”