Unholy Crusade, part twenty

9

Gretl crept toward the shadows where Allemand had been stood. She half expected that he would still be there, watching impassively as Baron's men dealt with his own. As she stepped off the gravel path onto the scuffed and stained concrete yard, her heart sank. Allemand was nowhere to be seen.

Her fists clenched. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and swallowed her urge to scream. She had been so close! He had been right there in front of her and now? Nowhere. She had lost him again.

He could not have gone far, however. For all his years and all his skill, he could still not fly or just disappear into thin air. He had to be close by. She could still find him, if she hurried.

Someone grabbed her from behind; an arm around her shoulders, a hand grabbing her hair. Before she could react, her head was slammed against a shipping container. She staggered, saw stars, but steadied herself and turned around before her assailant could act again.

She stopped dead when her eyes fell on who had attacked her.

'Hans Allemand,' she said. 'I've been looking for you.'

'Your German needs some work,' said Allemand.

His comment took her by surprise; a fact Allemand played to his advantage. He stuck fast and low, slamming his fist into her gut. She doubled over in pain, sinking to her knees; steadying herself with one hand on the floor, the other clutching her stomach.

'Bastard,' she spat as she fought back the pain. She was well fed that evening, the pain would pass quickly.

As she climbed back onto her feet, he struck again. This time she was ready for him. She grabbed his arm as he lashed out, ducked under it and pulled around to his back, then kicked his right leg out from under him. He fell, and she fell with him; landing on the middle of his back with his arm still in her grip.

For all his skills as a manipulator, Allemand's street fighting needed some work.

'I've been looking for you for a long time,' said Gretl.

'I don't care,' said Allemand. He struggled, but she held on tightly to him. He could not get free now.

'In fact, I've been looking for you since January of 1963. Do you remember where you were then?'

'Get off me, bitch. I'm going to fuck you up!'

'That's hardly an incentive for me to let you go then, is it?' Gretl said, as calmly as she could. 'I'll tell you where you were in January 1963. You were in Harderwijk. One evening, you came to my door claiming you had been robbed and needed to call the Police.'

'Is this going anywhere?' asked Allemand. Gretl ignored him.

'You looked hurt. You were covered in blood. I took pity on you, let you in. Do you remember what happened next?'

'No.' His voice was flat, almost bored.

Her heart sank. She knew it would be unlikely. He probably did all he did to her to so many people. Why would she be different? Why would one more matter to him?

But it mattered to her. She felt a fire in her belly now. After decades of hunting, she had him and she was going to make him pay.

She leaned in close, still holding on to his arm. She would be risking pulling it out of its socket now, but she simply did not care. She put her lips to his ear. She could feel him squirm as he tried to break free.

'Well I remember,' she said.

With her free hand, she pulled a syringe from her jacket and in one swift motion, emptied its contents into Allemand's neck.

10

'Put the gun down,' said Dupont. 'Put it down slowly, and step away.'

'No,' said Cartwright.

'Do it or I'll blow his fucking head off.'

'And then he'll shoot you,' said Seth. 'Or if not him, one of the snipers.'

Dupont said nothing; and at that moment, Seth knew he would win. He lowered his hands and turned around slowly. Dupont was still holding the gun at his head and he did not feel confident enough to challenge him on that just yet, but that time was coming.

'It's over,' he said. 'Put the gun down and come quietly.'

Dupont shook his head. 'No.'

'There's really no good way out of this for you,' Seth continued. 'But it would be best if you came out of it alive.'

'Why? So you can have revenge for your son? Don't think I don't know why you're here. This was never about my deal, was it? It was about payback.'

'You're wrong,' said Seth. 'What you did to my family was terrible, but I'm not here for that now. All I'm here for is to take you in.'

'No,' said Dupont. 'I'll not be some trophy, rotting in prison while you brag to your friends.'

'Look, we can do this– No!'

Seth lunged forward as Dupont turned the gun on himself, but he was too late. The shot echoed around the yard and Seth's glasses smeared with blood and other things he did not care to identify. The dead man fell to the ground, and Seth dropped to his knees beside him.

'No!' he roared. 'Damn you, you bastard! Damn you!'

He pounded the corpse with all his might, pouring his grief and rage into every blow. His hands were red, his soul empty.

When Cartwright eventually pulled him to his feet, whatever had been left of Seth Baron had died.

11

Gretl dragged Allemand to his feet and hauled him into the yard. He staggered along in front of her, his head lolling to one side and rocking as they walked.

Seth was sitting on the bonnet of Allemand's Mercedes. Cartwright stood beside him, smoking a cigarette and looking concerned. By the gates, two men in cheap grey suits were reading three men in expensive black suits their rights.

'You got your man, then,' said Cartwright, bitterly.

Gretl said nothing.

'What will you do now?' asked Seth. His voice sounded distant, like he had become detached from the world.

'We're going to wait for sunrise,' she said.

'Won't that kill you?' asked Cartwright.

Gretl looked at the young man, weighing up the likelihood that he meant what he had just said. She decided he did. He really was not the sharpest tack in the box.

'You never planned to come out of this, did you?' asked Seth.

'No,' she said.

Seth snorted a dry laugh but his face told her he found nothing about the situation all that funny.

'Go home,' she said. 'Go home to your wife. You can deal with this mess in the morning.'

Seth nodded slowly.

Cartwright put his arm around his boss' shoulders and led him away.

Epilogue

1

When they returned in the morning, all that remained was yellow police tape flapping in the wind, and a new charred mark on the concrete.

'Think she actually did it?' asked Cartwright.

Seth stood with his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, staring blankly at the mark on the ground.

'Yeah,' he said. 'She'd spent too long chasing her man. When she got him, what else was there to live for?'

'You see, I just don't get that,' said Cartwright. 'There's always something to live for. It might not be obvious right there and then, but there's always something 'round the corner if you look hard enough.'

He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one and offered the packet to Seth. The older man shook his head.

'Let's hope your right,' said Seth, although from his tone it was clear he did not mean it.

Cartwright patted the old man on the shoulder. 'Come on, let's go and get breakfast. It's my shout.'

Unholy Crusade, part nineteen

5

'Shots fired! Shots fired!'

The panicked cry came through the radio as Gretl ran down a grey-walled corridor toward the fire escape. It was Cartwright's voice, she could tell despite the interference. The guy clearly could not hold his own in a tense situation. He would get someone killed one day, that was for sure.

Hopefully he would not do it tonight.

She burst through the fire escape, grabbed the railing and leapt over it. The gravel crunched beneath her feet as she landed, and again as she dropped into a crouch. Over the commotion now going on in the yard, she doubted anyone would notice. Nevertheless, from here on in she needed to be careful.

Allemand was there. Allemand would hear her coming.

She looked around, scanning the area for trouble; for places anyone might hide now the shit had most definitely hit the fan; for places where she could sneak through the shadows and reach her man. Baron would take care of Dupont and the others, she only needed to deal with Allemand. He was the wildcard the Ministry were ill equipped to handle. If she did not catch him before he made his move, no one would leave the yard alive.

Keeping low and sticking to the shadows, she made her way into the yard.

6

The night was not going as Seth Baron had planned. Then again, few do. He had expected problems, but when the emaciated dogsbody had shot the city's most powerful drug lord, he knew there was no way he was getting the upper hand without a fight.

Cartwright stuck close to his left flank as they approached the entrance to the yard. Seth kept his eyes on the gunman, ready to fire if things turned nasty again. At present, it was stand-off; just lots of angry chatter, nobody wanting to make the first move. That was fine by him.

Cartwright moved to the left side of the entrance. Seth took the right side. Crouched and with his gun drawn, he waited for his backup to move in.

7

'That was a brave thing you did there,' said Dupont. 'There are going to be many men after you tonight.'

Jeremy Pellier looked down at the corpse piled at his feet, then at the fat man in the expensive suit. He was right. People would be out for his blood, and not just tonight. From here on in, he had to watch his back.

'You're going to need help just to stay alive,' Dupont continued.

'That sounds like an offer,' said Jeremy.

The Frenchman snorted. Jeremy did not understand the response.

'What do you want?'

'Fifty percent. Of everything.'

'Pull the other one,' Jeremy sneered. 'No one in their right mind would take that. Try harder.'

'Mister Pellier, I am trying to be reasonable here. The cost of setting you up in this town will be significant. If you want to work with us – and I assure you, you do want to work with us – then you have to accept our terms. Fifty percent, or you can take your chances out on the street.'

Jeremy looked down at the old man's body. It had been so simple. Would his end come so easily?

'Thirty five,' he said, mustering as much force as he could convey.

The Frenchman shook his head.

Jeremy felt his grip on the gun slipping. His palms were hot and sweating; his shirt clinging to his back. He needed to finish this and soon, before more problems arose.

'Fine,' he said.

The Frenchman smiled. 'Then let's do business.'

8

'We're in position now,' said Travis through Seth's earpiece.

Seth said nothing in reply, but looked over at Cartwright, who nodded to him. Seth held up three fingers: move in on three. Cartwright nodded again.

Three.

Two.

One.

'Armed Government Agent!' called Seth as he stormed into the yard. 'Hands in the air!'

Pellier turned quickly, his gun raised. Cartwright shot him in the shoulder before Seth could react. The gun fell to the floor with the heavy thud of metal on concrete. Pellier clutched at the wound and screamed obscenities, but Seth hardly noticed. His eyes were fixed on Dupont. No one else mattered now.

No one except Allemand, wherever he might be. He was the rogue agent in all this. If the vampire woman did not hold up her side of the bargain, Allemand could prove their undoing.

He put those thoughts out of his mind and walked toward Dupont, his gun raised; ready to fire at the slightest provocation. Cartwright and the others cold deal with the monkeys, he wanted organ grinder all to himself.

Come on, you bastard. Give me an excuse.

But the fat Frenchman just stood there in his expensive suit, sucking on a cigarette and holding his hands up on either side of his bulbous head. His grey eyes followed Seth's every move but other than that, he said and did nothing.

'Marc Dupont, I am arresting you on suspicion of conspiracy to the murder of David Baron,' the words cut deep in Seth's throat. He held the gun so tightly it shook in his hand. Do something, you bastard! Give me a reason. GIVE ME A REASON!

'You do not have to say anything,' he heard himself say. 'But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court.'

The fat man sniffed, and lowered his hands. 'Is that it?' he asked. The tone made it sound like he was almost bored.

Seth grabbed the man's arm and forced him against a packing crate. He reached into his jacket for handcuffs when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Suddenly he was spun around and a black gloved fist smacked into his face. He lost his footing, and fell; his gun slipping from his grip.

'Cartwright!' he called as Dupont's guard came at him again.

A shot rang out. The guard's eyes glazed, and he crumpled. Behind the falling man, Cartwright walked forward, his gun pointed at Dupont's head.

'No!' cried Seth, scrambling to his feet and pushing Cartwright away. The younger man fought to keep his footing, but at least he was pointing his gun at the ground now. 'He's mine! I want him alive!'

He could feel tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He brushed them away. There would be time for grief later. Right now, he had a job to do.

He felt the gun on the back of his head, and went cold.

Unholy Crusade, part eighteen

Chapter Seven

1

After the first target arrived, time passed so slowly Seth could almost imagine he felt his fingernails growing. This was the worst part of any job: knowing something is going to happen but being unable to interfere lest you make it worse, or stop it happening altogether. They had to hold off until the purpose of the meeting was established, and it became clear just what kind of crime was being committed. Without that, they were powerless to act.

The next car arrived twenty minutes later, amidst radio silence. Seth watched the silver Toyota pull into the yard and four men climb out. He did not recognise them immediately, but Cartwright did.

'That's Dupont,' he said. 'The one in the blue suit.'

Seth sipped his tea. The lukewarm liquid coated his dry throat, seeping its way through tensed muscles.

Dupont. The man who had ordered the hit on his son.

He would be his priority.

2

Gretl scoured the screens before her, searching for any clue about what Allemand intended to do. The old man was hiding the shadows between two storage tanks, near enough that he would be able to see and hear everything that happened at the meet, but far enough away that anyone in the yard would never spot him. He stood motionless, a feat rarely achieved by mortal and immortal men alike. She wondered how long he had practiced.

The radio crackled. She ignored it; paranoid that the moment she turned away from the screens, Allemand would disappear. She had come too close to let him slip away now.

'Black Mercedes on Woodrow Lane, heading to junction with Strathclyde Road,' said the radio.

Another voice crackled over the channel. She did not recognise it. 'Any word on the occupants?'

'Three men,' said the first voice. 'Looks like Dixon and Pellier in the back. Unknown male driving.'

'Here we go,' Gretl told herself. Leaning forward, her head almost pressed up against the largest of the monitors, her eyes fixed on Allemand. 'Let's see you get out of this one, you bastard.'

3

'We should be there in a minute, sir,' said the driver.

Reggie Dixon said nothing. Jeremy Pellier shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The gun the German had given him was taped uncomfortably to his thigh, hidden under his trousers but still conspicuous in how it made him walk. He wanted this over with quickly before anyone spotted anything amiss.

'When we get there, you keep close to me,' said Reggie. 'I don't trust this French tosser to play straight, so when he makes his move, I want you there to deal with 'im, got it?'

'Got it,' said Jeremy. God, he wanted this night over with.

The car pulled into the yard. There were two other cars already parked there, at the back; cutting off a clear run into the building. That was okay by Jeremy. What he wanted was a clear run out of the yard if things got bad.

'Here we go,' said Reggie. 'Remember: stick close to me.'

'I'll remember.'

4

'Mister Dixon,' said Dupont. The fat bastard was all shining teeth and crocodile smiles tonight, Jeremy noted. 'We meet again.'

'Dupont,' Reggie replied, making no effort to pronounce the name correctly. If Dupont minded, he made a good show of hiding it.

'Let's get straight to business, shall we?' said the Frenchman. 'I take it you have the money?'
Reggie grunted. 'I have it. Do you have the goods this time?'

'You need to ask? Mister Dixon, I am shocked. I really am.'

'After the shit you pulled, you're damn right I'm asking. I lost good men because of your fuckup.'

Dupont stepped forward and seemed to grow in size. 'I don't care for your insinuations, Mister Dixon.'

'Fuck you,' Reggie spat. While Jeremy had fought against his instinct to grab at his gun when Dupont moved, Reggie had not so much as flexed a pinkie. 'You want to make this trade or not? I don't have all night.'

'I'm afraid not, Mister Dixon. Not with you, at any rate.'

For the first time, Reggie's mask slipped and Jeremy saw the morass of range that boiled beneath the surface. In a blink of an eye, it was gone.

Jeremy knelt and made as if he was fastening his shoelaces.

'What are you talking about?' asked Reggie. 'You want to deal in this town, you deal with me. There's no one else. Get up, Pellie. For fuck's sake try to look professional, will you?'

Jeremy stood. 'I'm sorry, Reggie.'

'So you bloody should be. For fuck's sake man, we're supposed to be...'

His voice trailed off when his eyes latched on to the gun in Jeremy's hand. He began to ask what Jeremy thought he was playing at, but he did not have the time.

Jeremy squeezed the trigger three times. Reggie's body shuddered as each bullet cut deep into his chest.

He sank to the floor, coughing up blood and curses.

Finish him. The voice echoed in his head. He recognised it but did not know from where. Remember what he did to you. Finish him now!

He raised the gun to the old man's head, and fired.

Unholy Crusade, part seventeen

4

Seth watched as his men took up position on the roof of the factory across from the target; in the café down the road and in vans parked in several key points down the road. When the time came, they would be able to block off the street quickly and take out anyone who tried to resist arrest.

Cartwright fidgeted in his seat. The younger man was poor company on a job like this. Seth's usual manner of working was to relax into an almost meditative state; clear of mind but alert enough to respond quickly when the time came. Cartwright's incessant fidgeting and impatience ruined all that.

'How long do you think we've got to wait?' Cartwright asked.

'Half an hour, maybe more,' Seth replied curtly.

'Time enough for a brew, then.' Cartwright unbuckled his seat belt. 'Want one?'

Seth sighed, squeezed the bridge of his nose. It had been a long day. Maybe a cup of tea was not a bad idea. 'Sure. Black, no sugar.'

As he waited for his tea, Seth settled into stakeout mode. He sat impassively, breathing slowly, watching the world go by. A cat walked along the high wall surrounding the factory. It reminded him of Tom; the cat he had had as a child. He put the memory aside for now, not wanting any distractions. A man walking a German shepherd passed him without a second glance. Seth watched the man in the rear view mirror as he walked his dog down the street, in case he was a lookout for the targets. The man turned a corner into a housing estate and disappeared. Probably just some guy out walking his dog, Seth decided. He gave him no more thought.

Cartwright climbed back into the car, a cardboard drinks carrier in one hand and a paper bag in the other. He passed a cup to Seth and proffered the bag. 'Doughnut?'

Seth took the cup but declined the food, as tempting as it looked. 'I'm coeliac.'

'Shit, sorry. I forgot.'

'It's okay. What did the guys in the café have to say.'

'They've seen nothing so far. They'll radio if anything comes up.'

Seth nodded. 'It's early yet.'

They sat in silence, sipping over-hot tea and waiting. Time lost its meaning as Seth slipped further into stakeout mode until suddenly a voice came over the radio.

'Black Mercedes approaching,' said Porter. 'Plates registered to a van reported stolen two months ago. Occupant matches description of Hans Allemand.'

Seth turned on the microphone on his lapel. 'Roger that. Hold position until my signal. Let's see what he does.'

The Mercedes rolled into view at a leisurely pace, keeping just under the speed limit. It passed the factor gates and headed on down the road. Seth waited. A drive-by inspection of the area before starting business was not unexpected under the circumstances.

Gretl's voice crackled over the radio. 'Baron, the target is here.'

'I know,' Seth replied. 'We just saw him go past.'

'No, I mean he's here. In the factory.'

That was quick, Seth thought.

'Do you think he suspects something?' asked Cartwright.

'It's unlikely,' said Gretl. 'It looks like he's finding somewhere to hide.'

'Come again?' asked Seth.

Gretl did not reply right away. When she did, her voice was distant, like the radio was a secondary concern and she was paying more attention to something else. 'There's more going on here than we thought. Stay where you are for now.'

'I don't think that's an option,' said Seth, readying his weapon. 'The bad guys are on their way in.'

Unholy Crusade, part sixteen

2

Jeremy Pellier pulled up behind the deep blue Mercedes and climbed out, turning up the collar on his jacket and wishing the rain would ease up for a while, give everyone a break and a chance to dry off a little. He hated weather like this. Why he had ever come back from France was a mystery right now. Better weather, cheaper food, good drink. Oh, how he wished he was back there instead of being here in this cold, wet, miserable country.

The rear door on the Mercedes opened with a clunk. He rushed over and climbed inside.

'Jesus, it's wet out there,' he said. He could feel himself shaking and tried to convince himself that it was just because of the cold. An attack of the nerves would not be a good thing right now.

The man in the driver's seat passed a plastic bag over his shoulder to Jeremy. 'You'll be needing this.'

Jeremy looked in the bag. Inside was a 9mm Glock; several rounds of ammunition in standard black clips; and one tarnished silver clip.

'Remember our agreement,' said the driver.

'Yeah.' Jeremy's voice was flat, betraying no emotion. 'I remember.'

He slipped the bag under his jacket, stepped out of the Mercedes and headed back to his Toyota.

By the time he had fastened his seat belt, the other car was gone.

3

Gretl had set herself up in the video room of the factory whose yard was to be the meeting place for that night's deal. Getting in had not been a problem. She vaulted the rear wall of the warehouse next door, climbed its fire escape and jumped onto the factory roof, then let herself in through an access point put there to make maintenance of the factory's flat roof easier. Now the guards were unconscious in a corner and she was sat in front of a bank of monitors. She pulled the bluetooth earpiece out of her pocket and fastened it to her ear. It felt uncomfortable; she imagined people would get used to them if they used them enough but she hated it, always would.

'I'm in,' she said.

'Good,' said Seth through the earpiece. His voice was crackled with a little static but the message came through clearly. 'We're almost in position. Keep this channel open.'

'Will do.'

She sat back in the chair and waited. It was up to the enemy to make their move now. All she could do was wait.

Unholy Crusade, part fifteen

Chapter Six

1

'I don't see her,' said Cartwright. 'Think she's actually going to come?'

Seth kept his eyes on the street ahead. The rain had eased off during the afternoon but showed no signs of abating entirely. 'Of course she'll come. She wants this just as much as we do.'

They sat in Seth's black sedan and waited, watching the rain fall and the pedestrians hurry down the road in the hope of getting out of the weather quickly.

The minutes dragged by and Seth was beginning to give up hope when he spotted a redhead in black glasses walking toward the car. It took him a moment to recognise her, but he did. All his training coupled with years of on-the-streets experience had made him an expert in recognising people. It had been three days since they had met in person but she was still fresh in his memory thanks to spending days analysing photographs and other records. Her hair might be different and her spectacles changed the eye-to-face ratio slightly, but her overall face shape was the same. She may be able to fool the average person with her disguises, but he was not having any of it.

He unlocked the car doors and she climbed into the back.

'We were starting to think you weren't coming,' he said.

'I got delayed. Let's not hang around here. You were easy to spot; chances are I'm not the only one who saw you.'

Seth turned the ignition, pulled out into the road and headed off at a steady twenty miles per hour. There was no sense drawing attention to them by speeding.

'What was the delay?' asked Cartwright.

'It doesn't matter,' Gretl replied, sounding edgy. 'It won't affect tonight.'

Seth hoped Cartwright knew better than to push for more information. He glanced in the rear-view mirror, noted the vampire's smarter appearance: black suit, black blouse; all neat and ironed. She had even brushed her hair. Maybe she had been telling the truth about how important tonight was to her.

'So what have you found out?' Gretl asked.

'Dupont is meeting with Reggie Dixon again tonight. They're trying for another deal. What about you?'

'Allemand will be there too. So will his new lackey.'

'What new lackey?' asked Cartwright. 'Why didn't we hear about this?'

'His name is Pellier. He's been sniffing around town, asking about me for the last couple of days. I just found out tonight that he's working with Allemand.'

'If that's true, tonight is going to be more complicated than I thought,' Seth said.

'It doesn't change the plan.' Gretl's tone was firm. 'Everyone we want is going to be at the meeting tonight. If we're going to hit them, tonight is the time to do it. The last thing we need is to give them time to work out what's happening and go to ground. Agreed?'

'Agreed,' said Seth.

'Then let's get our gear ready and get in there.'

Unholy Crusade, part fourteen

7

Gretl rinsed her hair with the shower attachment of her bath, leaning over the side in a most undignified and uncomfortable position as she did so, and wondered why so many women felt the need to go through this process regularly. It made no sense to her; such a rigmarole for little real gain. If she had no pressing need to change her appearance after the fight at the warehouse, she would never in a million years want to have to waste time on this.

Still, it beats the old methods, she thought. At least now it's just a case of rinse, soak, rinse.

She squeezed as much water out of her hair as she could, grabbed an old towel and dried herself off. Her hair was still damp but that was fine. She looked at herself in the mirror, making sure she had covered every patch of hair she could see, picked up a pair of scissors and began cutting her hair into a short, spiky style. It would not look great since she was doing it herself, but it would be passable and that was all she needed for now.

There was only one thing left to do: fake tan. She had not been looking forward to that; it was even more hassle and undignified posturing than the hair dye.

It can wait until I've had a cigarette, she decided.

Unholy Crusade, part thirteen

5

Gretl pulled up in the car park outside a large supermarket and finished her cigarette as she watched people going in and out of the giant building. She needed a change of clothes after last night's escapades and in the early evening, most shops were closed. This place sold clothes that looked cheap but at least she would not stand out amongst the regular crowds. It would do, for now.

She tossed the cigarette butt out of the car window, checked herself in the passenger side mirror, and climbed out of the car.

The choice of clothes was surprisingly large and better than she had expected. She selected three black trouser suits, blouses is a variety of colours and two pairs of decent, black shoes with low heels. The idea was to look like she was an average office worker; the kind of person one would not think was out of place where she would be hanging out. If she wanted to look like a street urchin or a student, her current clothing would serve perfectly well.

With her outfits chosen, she headed for the hair and makeup aisle and bought tanning lotion, makeup to suit a darker complexion and hair dye in as natural a red as she could find. She passed by the optician then stopped, turned around and headed back. She had never needed spectacles but they helped change the face enough that anyone not paying real attention might mistake her for someone else. Every little helped.

On her way to the checkout, she picked up more orange juice.

6

Jeremy sat in the King's Arms, nursing a pint of Sovereign ale and waiting for Reggie to show his face. He had been there for almost twenty minutes, which was par for the course for the old bastard, but tonight he was not in the mood to be messed around. If he didn't turn up in the next ten minutes, there would be hell to pay.

'Jeremy my old son,' Reggie called from across the room. 'It's good to see you looking so well.'

'I've been better,' said Jeremy. 'What did you want to see me about.'

Reggie took a seat across the table from Jeremy and leaned in close. Horton, his stocky minder took up position watching the crowd.

'Someone set us up last night,' said Reggie. 'And I think I know who.'

Yeah, I bet you fucking do, thought Jeremy.

'Oh yeah?' he said.

'There's a guy in Broughton called Simon Trafford. You know him?'

'Can't say I do.'

'No, I thought not. He's small time, but he makes a little on the side as a police informer. I've had my eye on that little shit for a while now, and he's been good for me; telling the rozzers what I want them to know and all that.'

'What's this got to do with last night?'

'Hold your horses, old son. I'm just getting to that.' He nodded to Horton, who passed an envelope to Jeremy. 'That was on my desk this morning.'

Jeremy opened the envelope and pulled out two photographs. Both showed a middle aged man with receding hair and very little chin talking to a short woman in a long coat.

'I assume this bloke is Trafford,' said Jeremy. 'The woman looks like the bitch from last night.'

'Right on both counts.'

'So what do you want from me?'

'Isn't it obvious? These two wronged us last night, old son, and if we are wronged, should we not be avenged?'

Reggie stood up and made to leave. 'Give me a call when this is sorted out.'

Jeremy looked at the photographs again. This made no sense to him. Reggie had been the setup merchant. He had seen that, had he not? So what was this?

He downed his pint, stuffed the photographs and the envelope in his pocket and headed out into the street. He needed to think this over.

Unholy Crusade, part twelve

3

Gretl sat on the roof of the Victoria, a pseudo-Victorian building in the centre of town. It had been a theatre in the 1960s, a cinema in the 1980s and was now a trendy wine bar on the ground floor with a cheap and nasty nightclub occupying the two floors above it. If there was anywhere to pick up scum in this town, the nightclub in the Victoria was the place.

The night was still young and she had barely woken but already the craving was threatening to overwhelm her. She had been hooked on cigarettes when she died and the need for nicotine had been tremendous. Her body ached, her mind pulsed with every heartbeat and she felt herself become so tense whenever she could not get one more draw on those little white sticks. She experienced the effects of withdrawal whenever it was a choice between cigarettes or little Claus having a new pair of shoes, or the right books for school, or any one of a hundred other things a growing child needs. Money had been tight, but she could always fight the cravings when things got too bad.

She would give anything to feel those cravings now. Compared to the hell she faced each night, they were paradise.

She scanned the crowds that were starting to form outside the more popular pubs and clubs. Somewhere in each crowd there was a target. She just needed to find one. Which unlucky sod would it be tonight?

Outside the Victoria, a man in a white tracksuit sauntered over to a blue Fiat, looked both ways, then leaned into the passenger-side front window. Gretl watched him talking to the driver; saw him pass something over to him and receive something in return. Then he stood up, patted the roof and walked away.

'Dealer,' she thought, keeping her eyes on the car. 'Perfect.'

4

'Allo there, darlin',' the dealer grinned. His smile was crooked, like he's taken one too many punches to his already less than perfect face while growing up. 'What can I do for you?'
His eyes flicked up from her chest for a brief second, meeting hers. It was all she needed. As his jaw sagged in the vacant way that told her he would do anything she asked.

She smiled. 'Let's go for a ride.'

He started the car and headed out of town. Gretl looked around the car as they drove, taking in the black jacket slung on the back seat and bulge in the dealer's trouser pocket. Either money or drugs. She hoped it was money, drugs were useless to her.

'Stop here,' she said.

The dealer pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car.

She leaned over toward him, put her hands on his shoulders and whispered in his ear. 'Sleep.'
He closed his eyes and went limp, his head falling forward. She pushed it to one side and bit down hard on his neck. The blood flowed slowly, but it was warm and the pleasure centre of her brain stepped into overdrive as its sharp, iron taste flowed over her tongue. Her heart raced, her pupils dilated. She sucked at the wound, gulping the warm, red liquid as fast as she could. She had to get as much out as possible before the wound clotted. It was a personal rule; one bite per victim. Any more and she risked killing the poor sap.

Killing was Allemand's territory. Despite everything he had taken from her, she still had her conscience.

The blood stopped. She licked sorrowfully at the young man's neck, savouring the last of his precious, life-giving fluid, then slumped back in her seat and let it work its magic on her. The wounds that had not healed since the night before closed, leaving no trace. She looked whole again. Human. The spectre of death lifted.

Her business concluded, she searched the man's pockets, finding a roll of twenties, a half-empty packet of cigarettes and a bic lighter. She took them all, pulled him out of the car and drove back into town.

Unholy Crusade, part eleven

Chapter Five

1

Cartwright paced back and forth in front of a large window overlooking the street. He was flicking through a grey file, one of a seemingly endless number of similar files Seth had until now kept locked in the drawers of his office cabinet. The old man had been working on this case for far too long, and from the look of some of the documents he was reading, cuttings from newspapers from all around the world, he had not been working alone.

He finished reading an article about a serial killer in Adelaide in the 1920s and looked over at Seth. He was sitting at his desk, pecking at his keyboard with two fingers. He had been working here for longer than Cartwright had been out of school and yet the guy had never found time to learn to use a computer.

Seth looked over at him. 'Seen enough?'

'I don't know,' said Cartwright. 'It's hard to believe one guy is responsible for all this. It goes back decades.'

'You saw Gretl. How do you explain her?'

Cartwright looked at the older man. 'You think she's a...hell, I don't even know what to call her.'

Seth began tap-tapping on the keyboard. 'I think she's a vampire.'

'No way,' Cartwright snorted. 'No fucking way.'

'I saw her skin burn up in the sunlight. She started to look normal after drinking blood. Her death certificate is sat on my desk. What more proof do you want?'

'I saw a kid with a sunlight allergy on the television once.'

Seth looked up from the computer. 'Did she drink blood?'

'You can't honestly think that was real.'

'Why not? What else was it?'

'It could have been anything! The girl's clearly a fucking loon!'

Seth turned back to the computer. 'Keep reading.'

'Why? What am I going to find?'

'Enough evidence to make you change your assumptions about the world.'

Cartwright turned toward the window and looked out at the late afternoon skyline. There were dark clouds on the horizon and there was a chill in the air already. The night was going to be long, cold and unwelcoming. Just what he did not need.

2

'Condition one,' Seth had said. 'We share everything. No secrets. If you find something out, I want to know about it.'

He had not expected her to provide so much so quickly. Hand-written notes, scrawled on scraps of paper in the most illegible writing he had ever seen. She must have been collecting this crap for years, and now all he had to do was write it up in a decent form, then cross-reference it with everything the Ministry had in its computers. That would take days, but who cared? It was necessary, and he had people to do it for him.

He had chosen to type it all up personally, so he had a chance to read everything as it was going in. It would take all day to sort out the scraps of paper, put them into a coherent order and then type them up but there was nothing more important to do.

He finished typing the last sentence of a file on Allemand's movements in the 1980s. Places he had lived, people he had worked with. Some of this tied in with investigations Seth had run years earlier, but he had never heard of Allemand before.

'He works through intermediaries,' she had told him. 'Don't expect to turn up anything on him directly.'

He was chasing a ghost on the word of a woman who stank like a latrine and whose skin fell off in bright light. He was taking a lot on faith, that much was certain.

She didn't smell as much after she drank blood, he thought. What other surprises is she hiding?

Cartwright burst into the office, carrying a file in one hand and a coffee in the other.

'Got him,' he said, dropping the file onto the desk and jabbing at a photograph.

'Who?'

'Allemand. He's a sneaky fucker but he can't hide forever.'

Seth looked at the photograph. It was in a newspaper clipping from a French newspaper in the late 1960s. In the background of a picture showing the aftermath of a car accident was a tall, thin man with light coloured hair and a beard. The printing was too low quality to give any more information.

'What makes you think it's him?' Seth asked.

Cartwright handed him a printout of a photograph. 'I found this on a website charting the history of the Scholz family in Munich.'

'Who are they?'

'Nobody important, until you see him.' Cartwright pointed to a young man, likely the eldest son of the family. 'This was taken around 1901, before the family were called Scholz. The young lad there is called Hans Allemand.'

'So what happened to him?'

'Apparently he went off to fight in the first world war and never came back.'

Seth stared at the photograph. The boy could not have been more than thirteen when the picture was taken.

He handed the photograph back. 'It's a start. See what else you can find out about him.'

Unholy Crusade, part ten

2

Jeremy felt like he was floating, detached from everything around him. The world swam around him in a haze of dark clouds and confusion. Somewhere, he could not tell if it was close or afar, a gunshot sounded. He saw flashes of light, shouts and cries, snatches of barked orders. None of it seemed to register fully in his mind.

The girl was there; the one from the meeting. She was fighting someone. Had he also been at the meeting? Was this the meeting, going on right now? He could not be sure. The man pulled a gun, fired at the girl, hit her full in the chest. She staggered backward, almost fell but righted herself at the last moment and lashed out at the man, hitting him square in the face with the palm of her hand. Now he staggered backward, lost his footing and fell.

The girl dropped down on top of him, landing with her knee on his chest. Jeremy heard a cry of pain. Was it from the man? He could not tell. It did not matter. In Jeremy's mind, none of what he was seeing or hearing mattered. The man on the ground lashed out with his fists, sometimes connecting with the girl, sometimes not. She did not seem to care.

She reached out with both hands, took hold of the man's head and twisted.

Now Jeremy was looking up at the girl, seeing her in detail for the first time. She was attractive, but it was not her looks that made her so. She looked plain, the kind of girl he wouldn't give a moment's thought if he passed her in the street. But there was something else also, something that held his attention. He couldn't put his finger on it.

She took her hands off him and stood up. He could not breathe. He could not move. His thought tightened as he gasped for breath that would not come. He could feel his mind going cold and numb. His body felt like it was no longer part of him. It was lost in a sea of agony. The bitch had broken his neck! He was going to die, and she was the one that had killed him.

She walked away, and he saw she was no longer the girl from the meeting. Now he looked more closely, he could not believe he had thought she was a girl at all. It was Reggie. Reggie had done this to him. The old bastard! He'd set this whole meeting up to get rid of Jeremy and his men.

The world lost focus and once again Jeremy was floating in the cloudy realm where nothing was real. His mind burned with rage. He thought he could trust that old bastard but he had been wrong. Now Reggie was going to pay.

He woke in a cold sweat, sitting in the leather chair by a fire that was no more than barely glowing embers now. The whisky glass was still in his hand. He looked at it like it was alien to him.

'Then why was he not there?'

The German's words echoed in his mind. How had he known? Who could say.

All that mattered right now was that Reggie Dixon was going to pay for what he had done tonight. Good men, loyal men, had died because that old shit had ratted them out.

He would pay dearly.

Unholy Crusade, part nine

Chapter Four

1

Jeremy Pellier sat nursing a whisky. Reggie wanted him back in town but he was too drunk to drive. He would get some rest and head back first thing in the morning. A hangover would be the least of his problems and he knew it all too well, but that problem was hours away.

He downed the whisky and poured himself another. What harm would one more do?

He heard the study door open, and turned to see a tall, thin man with thick blonde hair entering. The man closed the door and walked over to where Jeremy was sitting. He took the other of the two leather armchairs by the fireplace.

'Who the fuck are you?' Jeremy asked.

'We have a mutual acquaintance,' the man said. His voice carried the subtlest hint of a German accent.

'You obviously didn't hear me. I'll ask again: who the fuck are you?'

'You can call me Hans,' said the man. 'I am told Monsieur Dupont was disappointed by tonight's meeting. I would like to know why.'

'Tough shit. Now get out of my house.'

Hans leaned back in his chair and looked at Jeremy like he was assessing him.

'Mr Pellier,' he said. 'You disappoint me, clinging to these outdated notions. Your house indeed! How can any of us claim ownership of something that may very well stand for longer than we ever could?'

'What the hell are you talking about? Get out, you babbling prick.'

'Possessions, Mr Pellier, are an illusion. We cannot own anything, not one atom. We merely take charge of them for a time; then pass them on when we ourselves pass on.'

'Look, fuck off will you. I'm a busy man.'

Hans leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and looking James straight in the eye. James found himself transfixed, unable to tear himself away from the other man's piercing gaze.

'Tell me what happened tonight,' said Hans.

The blonde man's stare burned into James' mind. His eyes prickled, his skin crawled, but he could not turn away.

'Where do you want me to start?' he asked. The words seemed to flow out of his mouth without his mind controlling them.

'Who told the girl we were coming?'

'I don't know.'

'Very well. Who knew about the meeting?'

'Only those who were there,' said James. The words seemed distant, as if heard through cotton wool. He felt as though he was floating a little way behind his body. 'And Reggie.'

'Who is Reggie?'

'Reggie Dixon. He runs the Blexham Green Boys. But he wouldn't rat us out. He had a lot of money resting on this deal.'

'Then why was he not there?'

Hans sat back in his chair and seemed to visibly relax.

The clouds lifted from Jeremy's mind and suddenly he felt more aware of himself. The chair solidified around him, his hands gripping the arms. He felt dizzy and a little sick, like he had just stepped off a fairground ride and was still spinning on the inside.

'What the fuck?' he said. 'What did you fucking do to me?'

'Nothing whatsoever,' said Hans, watching him closely.

'Look, just get the fuck out will you?' Jeremy blustered. 'I'm a busy man.'

Hans nodded. 'Very well.'

He stood and made his way to the door. Jeremy watched him go, flustered and with beads of sweat forming on his brow.

At the doorway, Hans turned and smiled. 'Good night, Mr Pellier. No doubt we will meet again.'

He left, closing the door behind him.

'Not if I see you first,' Jeremy muttered.

Unholy Crusade, part eight

6

He could have pushed to stay outside. Some other men would have. Another time, he might have but not this time. The way her flesh had burned in the sunlight, even the low light of the early dawn; the way that rotten stench had clawed at his lungs, getting worse by the second, as the dawn light grew stronger. In the end did he really have a choice?

Not if he wanted to know what was going on.

He followed her back inside. She opened the heavy metal door like it was hardly there. He closed it behind them, pulling with all his strength. The hinges were rusted and almost immovable. How much strength was hidden in her gaunt body? She'd done the seemingly impossible right before his eyes.

Cartwright had pulled his gun on her when she opened the door, but he didn't get the chance to fire. Seth grabbed the weapon as soon as he saw it, twisted the man's hand and disarmed him. The stupid bastard obviously needed a lot more training.

They walked down the stairs and back to the empty flat in silence. Questions could wait until they were out of sight of any prying eyes. People would be getting up to go to work within a few hours; chances are some were already up and about. No sense in letting ones self be overheard if you could help it.

Gretl headed straight for the kitchen, pulled a bag from her coat pocket and poured the contents into the glass on the counter. With her back to the door it was hard for Seth to see what exactly she had been carrying.

She picked up the carton of orange juice, shook it and put it down again.

'It's empty,' said Cartwright, nursing his right shoulder. 'We checked.'

'Pity,' Gretl replied. 'It takes the edge off.'

She sipped at the contents of the glass, keeping her back to the two men.

'Look,' Cartwright continued. 'Can someone please tell me what's going on here?'

'Ask your boss,' said Gretl. She downed the last of the glass's contents and started to cough. Seth stepped forward to help her. She raised a hand, stopping him. 'I'm fine. Tell your friend why you're here.'

'Not until you explain to me what the fuck happened on the roof.'

She turned and looked at him. Her skin looked smoother, less blemished. The sores were closing, healing, right before his eyes. 'We talked. What more is there to say?'

'Let's start with someone telling me what exactly you are,' said Cartwright. 'Cause I'm pretty sure dead people don't walk the streets and I've never in my life seen someone go from looking like a disease-ridden tramp to someone who's almost healthy in the blink of an eye.' He grabbed the glass from the woman's hand and sniffed the contents. 'What the hell is this stuff anyway?'

'Blood,' said Gretl. She looked from one man to the other and back again. 'Don't you two know anything?'

Cartwright stared at her, not sure whether to laugh or leave. Seth folded his arms and simply waited for her to continue.

'Look, I thought you were after Allemand. Clearly I was mistaken. So why are you here?'

'Why would we be after Allemand?' asked Seth.

'I asked first.'

Seth shook his head. 'Doesn't work like that. If you want my help, you'll answer my questions.'

'Got im Himmell,' Gretl muttered. She ran a hand through her hair. Seth noticed it had grown back and now looked full of vigour. 'He's the head of a cartel that spans Europe, Russia and parts of the Far East. Nasty little shit, too. Works through local crime mobs, keeps out of sight whenever he can. Very hard to track down.'

'And he's coming here?'

'I'll make sure of it. After the way the meeting at the docks went down, his favourite lap dog is already here. I can use him to lure him out.'

'So that's why you were down at the warehouse?' asked Cartwright.

Gretl nodded.

'You upset months of planning for us, you know.'

'Do I look like I care?' She turned to Seth. 'Are you going to help me or not?'

'You're sure Allemand is the one I should be going after?'

'Dupont is the one who ordered the hit, but he does nothing without Allemand's say so.'

'What are you talking about?' asked Cartwright.

Gretl ignored him. She kept her eyes on Seth, watching him for any hint of what he was thinking.

You don't get the man who killed him. Thanks to this bitch you'll never get the chance.

But you can get the man who sent him. Is that enough?

I honestly don't know but there's only one way to find out.

Seth nodded. Perhaps it was tiredness, or the realisation of what he was getting himself into but he felt every one of his fifty-three years.

'We'll help,' he said. 'But there are conditions.'

Gretl leaned against the counter, appraising her companions, weighing up their strengths and weaknesses in a glance. 'There always are. Name them.'

Unholy Crusade, part seven

5

The morning light began to brighten as the Sun rose over the horizon. Gretl raised her arm to shield her eyes from the onslaught. Seth hardly registered the change, but found the reaction of his quarry intriguing.

'Do you really expect me to believe you're dead?' he asked, matter-of-factly.

Gretl looked at him through eyes that were now barely open, mere slits in puffy, red skin. 'What you think of me is unimportant. What you want to do about the man who killed your son is all I'm concerned with.'

Seth stared at the woman. She certainly smelled dead, and she seemed to be unconcerned with the open wounds and sores that covered her skin. She was clearly not in complete control of her faculties, so her claims to be deceased could be easily ignored.

But then there was the death certificate. And the newspaper reports, with photographs showing a woman who looked exactly like her. Insane or not, those would be difficult to fake.

Cartwright thumped and kicked at the heavy metal door trapping him inside the building. Gretl glanced at the door, then at the horizon. She looked distinctly ill at ease.

'Something wrong?' asked Seth.

'Make up your mind,' the woman snapped. 'Do you want to deal with the man who killed your son, or do you want to scurry away home?'

Don't rise to her, he told himself. She's trying to provoke you.

'Tell me who this man is.'

'Sollte nicht hier aufgekommen haben,' Gretl muttered.

'What?'

She sighed, and looked down at the gravel. 'His name is Allemand. Hans Allemand.'

'I don't recognise the name.'

'There's no reason you should. He works through other people. Stays in the background. He is hard to find.'

'Which is why you want my help.'

She looked up at him. Seth thought for a moment that there were more sores on her skin now, but dismissed the notion as nothing more than his imagination.

'I did not come here to find you,' she said. 'You came to find me.'

Seth folded his arms. If she didn't want to be here, that was something he could play to his advantage. 'So why are you here?'

'There's no time for this! Maybe later, but not now.'

'Gretl,' Seth said, keeping his voice even but stern. 'Why are you here?'

She sighed and turned away. 'Because Allemand is coming.'

'I meant here as in here, on this rooftop. Why bring me up here when you obviously don't want to be outside?'

She kicked at the gravel. 'Are you going to help me or not?'

'Not unless you tell me what's going on.'

She turned around quickly, her face a picture of anger. 'Fine! I brought you up here to kill you. You broke into my home, you had a man outside watching me and you won't leave me alone. I brought you up here and trapped you so I could kill you then kill your friend.'

Seth's first instinct was to go for his gun and blow the bitch away. He suppressed it for the moment.

'Why?' he asked.

'Because I thought he sent you.'

Seth glanced at the horizon. 'It's going to be dawn any moment.'

Gretl nodded. 'I need to get back inside.'

'I think we need to talk more.'

She shook her head. 'Not out here.'

'Why?'

She pushed up the sleeve on her left arm, revealing bare skin as white as chalk. It began to turn red almost immediately. Blisters arose, turned to sores and wept a deep, red-black puss.

'Jesus!' said Seth. 'What the fuck?'

Gretl pulled her sleeve back down over the damaged skin. 'If you want to talk, we do it inside.'

Unholy Crusade, part six

4

The heavy metal door to the roof stood open at the end of a short corridor with bare, grey walls and a dull brown carpet. Outside the early morning sunlight was beginning to creep over the horizon. The rain battered the flat, gravel-coated rooftop and pattered on the ceiling.

Seth glanced around, saw no sign of the woman, and hurried out onto the roof with Cartwright behind him, out of breath from running up the short flight of stairs.

'Gimme...a minute,' Cartwright puffed. He leaned against the wall at the top of the stairs. 'I need to catch my breath.'

Seth went on without him. He stepped out into the rain and looked around. The woman was nowhere to be seen.

'Shit,' he muttered.

From the corner of his eye he saw a shadow move. He turned around. There was nothing there.

Behind him, he heard the crunch of wet gravel.

He spun around, ready to catch the woman this time. Something struck him in the chest. He staggered backward, away from the door.

The woman stepped forward, grabbed the door with one hand and slammed it shut. Inside, Cartwright hammered on the metal but the door did not budge.

'Now we can talk,' said the woman. 'But make it quick.'

Seth straightened his tie, a ploy to buy some time while he got his bearings and assessed the situation in his mind. He was on the top of a three-storey building with one clear exit route, currently blocked by a woman who was clearly fast, strong and in need of a hot bath. His companion was trapped inside, and his other companion was dead in a car. Had she killed him? Now was the time to find out.

'Why did you kill Thomas?' he asked.

The woman looked at him blankly. 'Thomas who?'

'George Henry Thomas,' said Seth, pointing down at the street. 'The man in car down there.'

'That's nothing to do with me. I haven't a clue who you're talking about.'

Cartwright hammered on the door. It did not budge.

'You want me to believe there's a man dead outside the building we know you've been living in, and it's has nothing to do with you being here? That beggars belief.'

'I'm not the only person living here. Now do you have any better questions? I have other things to do, you know.'

'Fine. We'll get the CCTV and find out what happened ourselves.'

'You do that.'

The woman turned to leave.

Seth sighed. 'Greta, wait.'

The woman stopped, looked around at him. 'What now?'

'Why are you here?'

She looked at him, appraising him, judging his worth.

'Who are you?' she asked.

'I'm with the Ministry--'

'No,' she said, sharply. 'Who are you? Not who are you with.'

'I'm Seth Baron. The man trying to break through the door is Stephen Cartwright.'

'Baron...' Greta mused. She chewed her lip as she thought. Seth noticed one of her teeth was pointed, like it was chipped or had lost a cap. She looked up at him suddenly. 'Any relation to David Baron?'

'My son,' said Seth.

'I'm sorry for your loss.'

'I'm sure you are,' Seth sneered. 'Thanks to you his killer will never see justice.'

Greta shook her head slowly. 'It wasn't justice you were looking for.'

'And how the hell would you know? You don't know me.'

'Because I'm looking for the same thing.'

The woman walked forward. The rain coursing over her was doing nothing to rid her of the stench that clung to her like a second skin. She looked him in the eye like she could see into his soul.

'The man who killed your son is still alive. Mark First was not the one who called the hit, he just pulled the trigger. I can help you find the man responsible for your loss.'

'Why would you do that?'

'Because he's also the man who killed me and my family.'

Unholy Crusade, part five

3

They waited. Outside, rain pattered on the windows. In the lounge, water leaked in through a damaged seal around the window frame. The flat became icy cold.

Cartwright buttoned up his jacket and stuffed his hands in his pockets. 'Bloody hell. Nobody could live in this place. It's like a fucking freezer.'

'Shh!' hissed Seth.

Footsteps echoed up the stairwell.

Seth crept to the kitchen door and pressed himself up against the wall, hiding as best he could from the view of anyone entering the flat. Cartwright did the same in the lounge.

A floorboard creaked outside the door to the flat.

The handle clunked, the door cracked open. The men waited, straining to hear and sound.

None came.

They waited. Still nothing.

No choice, Seth thought. Got to check.

He risked a glance into the corridor. The door was open, revealing wet footprints on the carpet in the stairwell. The carpet in the flat was bone dry.

He looked down the corridor toward the lounge, saw Cartwright staring back at him. Seth motioned toward the stairwell. Cartwright nodded his assent.

The men crept toward the door, with Seth scanning the carpet outside. There were footprints outside the door, leading up from the stairs to the left. After that, nothing. The trail seemed to simply end.

Seth stopped at the doorway and looked around. There was no sign of life outside the flat. No noise. No movement. Nothing. He stepped out into the stairwell and looked around.

A woman was crouched in the corner at the far end of the hallway, by the stairs leading up to the roof. She stared at him, her face completely devoid of emotion; her eyes wide. She looked like a fieldmouse that had been cornered by a cat.

'Why are you here?' she asked. Her accent was strong, but Seth could not place it. Dutch perhaps, or German.

'I would ask you the same question,' said Seth.

'That's not an answer.'

Seth stepped forward, his hands raised in front of him. 'We're not looking for any trouble. We're here about the warehouse.'

The woman stood up slowly as he approached. She was in her late twenties, medium height, scruffy and malnourished. There were burn marks on her hands and face. Her short, blonde hair was matted and dirty. She stank of stale sweat mixed with a sickly sweet aroma.

'What about the warehouse?' she asked, eyeing him warily. She looked ready to bolt at any second.

Seth stopped walking, but kept his hands raised. 'We just want to know what you were doing there. That's all.'

She pulled her grimy overcoat tightly around herself, hugging it close like it offered some sort of protection. 'None of your business.'

Cartwright walked up beside Seth. 'Men died there!' he hissed. 'Of course it's our business.'

'Stay back!' she ordered.

'He's right,' said Seth. 'We need to know what you were doing there.'

The woman shook her head.

Seth lowered his hands. 'Look, maybe we can make a deal. You tell us what we want to know, and in exchange maybe we can help get you sorted out.'

'I'm fine.'

'You don't look fine,' said Cartwright.

Seth glanced at his subordinate. 'Cartwright, you're not helping.'

'I was just – hey, wait!'

Seth turned back just in time to see a shadow dart across the wall. A metallic echo sounded from the floor above.

'Shit!' Seth shouted as he ran toward the staircase. 'Come on!'

Unholy Crusade, part four

Chapter Three

1

Cartwright drove at just under the speed limit, saying little. The radio played some kind of jazz music, as it often did at this time of night. Seth sat in silence, half listening to the awful music, half staring blankly ahead and trying not to get his hopes up. This could well be a dead end.

The rain was easing off when the car pulled up behind a blue Ford. Seth recognised the registration number. Thomas had already arrived.

Cartwright nodded toward a building a few metres further down the road. 'That's the place. Third floor.'

Seth looked over at the building. A window on the second floor shone light out into the street, through thin curtains. The rest of the building was lifeless: no lights, no open windows, no sign of activity at all.

Cartwright pulled a gun from his shoulder holster and checked it.

'You won't need that,' said Seth.

'It makes me feel better.'

'Just don't go for it. It won't do you any good.'

'Yeah. I got that much from the CCTV.'

The younger man slipped the gun back into its holster and they both climbed out of the car.

Cartwright pulled his coat tighter around himself and turned up his collar. 'Bloody rain. Feels like it's been raining for days.'

Seth walked over to the blue Ford and knocked on the driver's side window. There was no answer.

'Maybe he's already inside,' said Cartwright.

'Unlikely.'

Seth knocked again. No answer.

He opened the door.

Thomas sat motionless in the driver's seat. His safety belt was fastened, his hands were folded on his lap. His head lolled to one side.

Seth reached in and felt for a pulse. There was none.

'Shit,' he muttered.

Cartwright reached for his gun. Seth shot him a stern glance.

Cartwright lowered his hand, sheepishly. 'Sorry. Instinct.'

'It'll get you killed,' said Seth.

He reached around, unfastened the safety belt, and slipped his hand into the dead man's jacket. Thomas's gun was still in its holster. He flicked off the strap that held the gun in place and pulled it out.

'Two bullets missing,' said Seth.

'So he wasn't killed here.'

'Most likely.'

Seth slipped the gun back into its holster and closed the door. 'Let's check inside.'

2

The building was an old, run down block of flats in the centre of town. Seth tried the door, found it locked, and quickly had it open. The lock was an old Yale type, providing little resistance to anyone but an honest man.

It was cold inside and smelled of mould but at least it was dry. Seth looked around, taking in all the important details quickly. Two doors, both closed and no spy holes. One set of stairs leading up. One set of double doors leading into a communal area of some kind. He turned to Cartwright and pointed up. The younger man nodded.

They took the stairs one at a time, sticking to the outside, along the wall, to minimise the chance of creaking wood giving away their presence. The first floor had four doors leading off from it, all closed, all with spy holes. If anyone was at home, there was a chance they would be seen.

He decided it was a risk worth taking.

They continued up the next flight of stairs, leading to an identical set of four doors. Muted sounds of talking and music came from behind the closest door. Seth pictured the layout of the building in his mind and determined the sounds were coming from the room with the lights on that he had seen from outside. Would they be a problem? It was certainly possible, but it was a risk he would have to take.

Cartwright nodded toward the door, a questioning look on his face. Seth shook his head and pointed upward.

Another flight of stairs, another set of identical doors. Seth looked around. Nobody there. He glanced at Cartwright, who pointed to the door marked '3c'. Seth nodded and the two men took up positions on either side of the door.

Seth reached out and tried the handle. It turned. He opened the door gently and stepped inside.

The flat was small, poorly lit and unfurnished. An empty carton on orange juice, sat on the counter in the kitchen, beside a tall glass. Seth picked up the glass, sniffed at it, and set it back down on the counter. It smelled of orange but the dried remnants in the bottom were tinged with red.

Cartwright entered from the hallway. 'There's no one here.'

'There was,' said Seth. He drummed his fingers on the counter. 'Question is: have they left for good?'

'So what do we do?'

'We wait. Maybe she'll come back.'

Unholy Crusade, part three

Chapter Two

1

Jeremy Pellier poured himself a double whisky, downed it in one, and poured himself another. His hands were shaking, the bottle clinked against the glass. He needed to pull himself together and the alcohol was not helping. It should, it always used to, but it was not.

How could this have happened? he asked himself.

Lights glided across the bar. Outside, gravel crunched beneath heavy wheels. An engine ticked over, then turned off.

He downed the whisky, pushed himself away from the counter and headed over to one of the plush leather chairs beside the fire. Better they found him looking relaxed than cowering over a bottle.

Low voices murmured at the door. He could not hear what they were saying. The front door closed. A moment later there was a knock on the study door.

'Enter!' he called. He hoped his voice was steady.

Dupont entered, flanked by two men in grey suits. Jeremy stood up, smiled a warm smile.

'Monsieur Dupont,' said Jeremy. 'How nice to see you again.'

'I wish I could say the same,' said Dupont. His thick Parisian accent made his words difficult to understand. 'I assume you know why I am here.'

Dupont walked over to one of the leather chairs and sat down. Lost for words, Jeremy sat down also.

'Now,' said Dupont, fixing Jeremy with a stare that bore through him. 'Explain to me exactly what happened tonight.'

Jeremy sat forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. 'Why don't you tell me.'

'Tell you what, Mister Pellier?'

'Oh, I don't know. How about why you sold us out?'

Dupont's associates shifted marginally closer to their boss. Dupont raised a black-gloved hand. The men backed off again.

'I did no such thing,' said Dupont.

'They knew we were coming!' Jeremy shouted. 'I was lucky to get out of there with my skin.'

'This was not my doing.'

'Then who's was it? Nobody else knew about this meet.'

'Mister Pellier, my associates and I are not in the business of selling out those we are trying to make a deal with. It is not good for business. If there was a problem with security, it came from your side, not ours.'

'All my men were totally trustworthy.'

'Were you followed?'

'Of course not! I'm not a fucking amateur.'

'Then I suggest either you pay closer attention to those you associate with, or you get stronger security. Either way, you have a mole; or a spy.'

Dupont stood up. 'Either way, our business here is concluded. Good evening, Mister Pellier.'

As the men walked to the door Jeremy leapt to his feet. 'Now just a fucking minute!'

Dupont turned around slowly. 'There is nothing more to discuss.'

'I'm out two million on this fucking deal. I lost good men tonight, loyal men, and more product than I care to think about right now.'

'That is your concern, Mister Pellier, not mine.'

Dupont walked out, his guards blocking the door so Jeremy could not follow.

'This isn't over!' Jeremy shouted. 'You fucking hear me, you French bastard!'

He stood at the window and watched Dupont's car drive away, then pulled the telephone from his pocket and called Reggie Dixon.

'Pellie, my son,' said Reggie. 'Tell me you've got good news.'

'Sorry, boss. The frog didn't want to hear any of it. Said it was our fault the deal went south, then left.'

'He's an arrogant prick but he'll learn some manners pretty sharpish when I'm through with him.'

'What do you want me to do, boss? He said we've got a Wally.'

'You'll do nothing, sunshine. That little prick's trouble now he's in with that kraut, Allemand. Just get back here tout sweet.'

Reggie hung up. Jeremy slipped the telephone back into his jacket and went to pour himself another drink.

Unholy Crusade, part two

3

The rain bleeched down, chilling the air and destroying any evidence that was still to be found on the pockmarked concrete floor. Seth stood in the middle of the warehouse's yard, his umbrella providing only minimal cover from the downpour, and surveyed the scene. Thomas wondered if the old man saw something here that he and Cartwright could not.

'Let me get this straight,' said Cartwright. 'We're here looking for evidence that a dead person wandered in here and killed a man we've been hunting for years?'

'That's pretty much it,' said Thomas.

Cartwright shone a torch around the floor, not sure anymore what he was looking for.

'But that makes no sense. The dead don't go around killing people. I'd have noticed.'

'Oh I don't know about – hold on! What's that?'

Thomas' shone his torch at the wheel of a truck. Cartwright followed suit.

'I don't see anything,' said Cartwright as the two men headed toward the truck.

Thomas crouched by the wheel and felt under the cab. 'Got it.'

He pulled his hand back, opened his fist and shone the torch onto the palm of his hand.

Laid on the worn leather of his glove was a bullet, silver and flattened on one end. The specks of dried blood covering its surface liquified in the rain and ran off onto his palm.

Thomas slipped the bullet into a clear plastic bag and called out: 'Mr Baron! We've got something you need to see.'

4

Seth turned the packet over in his hand and stared at it. Silver alloy. Compacted tip.

'Hollowpoint?' he asked.

Cartwright shook his head. 'Unlikely. It hasn't fractured.'

'Something doesn't add up here,' said Seth. 'If it's solid, there's no payload. If there's no payload, he couldn't kill her. We're missing something.'

Seth clenched his fist around the bullet in its packet. The younger men looked at him expectantly.

'Maybe the police found something?' Thomas suggested.

'Maybe. Get their report.'

Seth stuffed the packet into the inside pocket of his jacket and headed back to the car. The other men followed close behind. As he reached the car, he turned.

'And put out a search for anyone matching Lune's description. Maybe we can find where she's been hiding.'

5

The police report revealed nothing of use. Seth dropped it onto his desk, ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply.

'So close,' he said, talking to himself.

He looked over at the window, saw his reflection; the night sky turning the glass into a mirror. His gaunt face, all thin wire glasses and grey-black stubble, stared back at him through tired eyes. God, he looked old. When had that happened?

He reached into the lower drawer in his desk and pulled out a bottle of Glenlivet. The bottle had been a birthday present from his son. It still had a message attached, tied around the neck with a piece of string.

'Happy fiftieth,' the message read. 'Here's something to finish off your liver with.'

He had intended to open it when he caught the bastard who killed his son, but that would not happen now. He was in the police morgue. That bitch Lune had got to him first.

He looked at the bottle. It glinted in the light from his desk lamp. He was about to open it when someone knocked on his door.

'Come in,' he said, slipping the bottle back into the drawer.

Cartwright entered, holding a pale blue file.

'You're still here?' said Seth. 'I thought everyone had gone home.'

'This just came in.' Cartwright handed over the file.

Seth flicked through it, scanning the pages quickly; absorbing the gist. He looked up and smiled.

'I've already called Thomas,' said Cartwright. 'He'll meet us there.'

Unholy Crusade, part one

Chapter One

1
'Run it again,' said Seth.

The technician's fingers slid across his keyboard, lightly tapping a sequence of keys. On the large screen mounted on the wall, a video began playing.

Seth Baron leaned in for a closer look at the grainy footage. The CCTV cameras at Pearson's Holdings had not been the best model available and the film was far from high quality, but it was enough to see what had happened. One person, most likely female, entered the warehouse yard, upsetting a drug deal. When the dealers attacked her, she killed all but one of them; then left, taking the survivor with her.

'Stop!' he said.

The video froze. Seth pointed to a man firing a pistol. He was so close to the woman that missing was next to impossible.

But Seth had already seen what happened next. The man must have missed; and the woman broke his neck.

Seth squinted, trying to make out the man's features in the unfocussed footage. He knew him, he was certain of it.

He pointed to the man. 'Can you zoom in on him?' he asked.

The technician drew a box around the man on the screen, and tapped a few keys. The image shifted, became less focussed. The man was little more than a black-suited blur on a grainy, grey background. Then the image shifted again, became more clear as the software processed the video. It was not enough to make the man crystal clear, but it was enough.

'These cameras are shit,' said the technician. 'We're not going to get anything more from this.'

'We've got all I need,' said Seth.

He turned and hurried out.

2
'Thomas,' called Seth. 'Get Cartwright and meet me in my office.'

The younger man turned at the sound of Seth's voice. 'You got something?'

'It's not much, but it's the best we're going to get.'

Seth burst through the double doors into the main open-plan office and headed to his office without slowing down. Heads turned to watch him as he passed between the rows of desks, each overloaded with trays of paperwork. He pushed open his office door, and began rifling through one of the three tall filing cabinets in the corner.

There was a knock on the door. Timid. He knew who it would be without even looking up.

'I'm busy, Porter!' he shouted.

'Sorry, Sir,' said the young woman at the door. 'It's just you wanted to know as soon as we found anything.'

Seth looked around. Joanne Porter stood in the doorway, her brown eyes wide with the same sense of fear she sported whenever she had cause to visit his office. She was gripping a blue file with both hands, like it was a shield.

'What did you find?' he asked.

She handed him the file. 'Bank records, mainly. Turns out Pearson's Holdings is owned by a front company run by Charles Longshaw.'

'Of the Blexham Green mob?' Seth flicked through the file. The records told him nothing at first glance. He would have to sit down and read them thoroughly, but that would have to wait.

'The same.'

He walked to his chair and sat down, ran a hand through his short, greying hair, and looked at the grey file he had pulled from the filing cabinet.

'This doesn't add up,' he said.

'Sir?'

Seth looked surprised to see Porter still standing there. 'What? Oh. Nothing. That'll be all, Porter.'

As Porter left, Thomas and Cartwright entered.

'You wanted to see us?' said Cartwright.

Seth tossed the grey file onto the desk in front of him. 'Take a look at that.'

Cartwright picked up the file and flicked through its contents. It was full of photographs, police reports and newspaper clippings. 'Are these all the same person?'

'His name is Mark First,' said Seth. 'And he's something of an expert on disguises. He was at the warehouse tonight.'

Thomas looked surprised. 'He's dealing now?'

Seth shook his head. 'I don't think so. It's never been his area. He's an assassin.'

'So why would he be at a drug deal?'

'For a hit?' Cartwright suggested. He placed the file on the desk and pointed to a cut-out from The Times. 'It wouldn't be the first time. Says here he posed as muscle for a Canadian dealer over in Quebec, then killed him after the deal went down and fled with the cash.'

'That was twenty years ago,' said Seth. 'He doesn't take risks like that any more.'

'I'm just saying it's a possibility.'

'It's more likely he was there for something they were bringing in with the drugs,' said Thomas.

Seth nodded. 'Or because he knew someone would be there.'

'The girl, you mean?' said Thomas.

'Exactly.'

'What girl?' asked Cartwright.

Seth looked over at the door, saw it was closed, and hunted around in his jacket for a keyring. He unlocked the top drawer in his desk and removed a red, loose-leaf file. Stamped on the cover were the words 'Top secret, eyes only.'

He looked each of the men in the eye. 'What I'm about to tell you does not leave this room. Understand?'

The younger men nodded.

Seth opened the file and took out the grainy, monochrome photograph from the top of the pile of papers inside. He handed the photograph to Thomas.

'Her name is Greta Lune; or at least we think it is. She goes by several pseudonyms and, like First, she's a dab hand at disguises.'

Thomas looked at the photograph, handed it to Cartwright and said. 'She's the one who got him, then?'

'I think so,' said Seth. 'The footage from the CCTV isn't great.'

'So who is she?' asked Cartwright.

'Nobody knows,' said Seth as he sifted through the pile of papers. 'But here's where things get interesting.'

He selected a report from the paperwork and handed it to Thomas. Cartwright handed the photograph back.

'This is a coroner's report,' said Thomas. 'For... you've got to be joking.'

'No joke,' said Seth. 'Officially at least, Greta Lune died in 1963.'