“Did you get a look at the fifth man?” she asked.
“No.” Frollo sounded disgusted with himself. “He was wearing head to toe black. And we lost him. How does that happen?”
“He had an escape route planned,” Dechtire pointed out. Hallie noticed that even though she and Modron were paying attention to the conversation, they were standing a few paces apart, facing away from the van, their weapons held ready. Keeping an eye out for trouble.
Even as Hallie wondered just how much more trouble could happen that morning, her phone rang. She pulled it out andfrowned at the screen. “That’s the director. I think I should take this.” She connected the call. “Sir?”
“Miss Talbot.” The relief in the director’s voice was clear even across half the world. “I was speaking to Girard when we got disconnected and now I can’t get through. What’s happened?”
“I’m going to put you on speaker, sir,” Hallie said, and did so, holding the phone between her and Frollo. “I’m with Frollo. We’ve had some trouble. Girard, Tortain and another man are down. The rest of us are more or less in one piece.”
The director’s curse snapped clearly in the air. “Report.”
“Sir,” Frollo said. “As Girard told you, we located the place where last night’s visitors were staying. We found five mattresses. The remaining two hostiles launched separate attacks. First with a smoke bomb, then a grenade and then a fire bomb.”
There was a pause and Hallie could not begin to imagine the director’s expression. “Sounds like overkill.” His voice was deceptively mild. Even through the phone, Hallie felt her spine stiffen. Peredur Roth was not happy at all. He cared about his people, and they had been put in danger.
“Agreed, sir. The hostiles really didn’t want us going through the house. One is dead, but there’s one still on the loose.” And the self-disgust was back in Frollo’s voice. “We’re packing up here and will head back to the safe house to regroup.”
“You’re down at least one team member,” the director said. There was no condemnation in his voice, just a bare statement of fact.
“Tortain has a broken leg, sir,” Modron said, not taking her eyes off their surroundings, “and Caerleon was drugged. Some kind of tranquilliser. He should come around soon.” She cast her eyes over the rest of the group. “Think the rest of us have some bumps and bruises, but we’re in one piece. We’ll need to thank Isoud and her team for the very fine body armour, sir.”
Peredur made a low sound that might have been a laugh. “I will make sure to do that for you, Modron.” Hallie heard him take a ragged breath. “Get back to the house, tend to the wounded, and await further orders. Either Rojas or I will be in touch.” There was a pause, and then he added. “You survived three rounds of attack with minimal casualties. That’s not just the body armour, that’s good work.”
“Sir,” Frollo said, sounding slightly less disgusted with himself even as the director ended the call.
“Going to need another pair of hands for this wheel.” The voice from the other side of the van cut off whatever Frollo might have said. He nodded and headed around the van to help the other man. Griff, Hallie remembered.
Hallie tucked her phone back into her pocket and looked between Modron and Dechtire, still on watch duty.
“What can I do?” she asked.
“Once the tyre is replaced, we’ll need to push the seats back so we can get Tortain inside. He should stay as flat as possible until I can get a splint on that leg,” Modron said, without looking around. “If you would, check on Caerleon and Girard’s breathing?”
“Of course,” Hallie said, glad to be given a task that let her feel helpful, and glad to have an excuse to keep an eye on Girard.Hochlenhad remarkable healing powers, but he’d been badly injured to the point of being unconscious twice in less than a day. There was a limit to what evenhochlencould endure.
By the time she’d checked that both Girard and the other tactical team member, Caerleon, were still breathing, Frollo and Griff had wrestled the spare tyre onto the van and Hallie was able to get inside to push the seats around, making a big enough space that they would be able to lay Tortain flat on the floor.
With Frollo and Griff taking watch, Modron and Dechtire loaded Girard and Caerleon into the van. Neither man stirredand Hallie had to blink her eyes again to clear them, worry for Girard eating at her. She tried to take comfort from the fact that Modron didn’t seem worried, but it was difficult. With Tortain laid out on the floor, the rest of them crowded into the battered van and Dechtire got behind the wheel.
Hallie turned to get a look at the burning house as they left. It seemed wrong to be leaving the scene when there might be more to be learned, but with the final member of the attack team on the loose, and perhaps armed with more bombs, she knew why Frollo and the director hadn’t wanted to take the risk. They were battered and bruised and vulnerable out in the open. But not done, she told herself silently. They would all recover. They would be back to full health and fitness soon enough, and then there would be a reckoning, of that she was quite sure.
Chapter eight
Evenwiththeextrabodies in the house, it was quiet when they returned. The quiet of defeat. Hallie saw it in the slumped shoulders and drawn faces as the tactical team removed their headgear.
Frollo and Griff moved the still-unconscious Girard and then Tortain into the living room, laying them out on cushions, despite protests from Tortain that he could manage. By the time they’d done that, Caerleon was showing signs of waking up and Griff took him to the kitchen for coffee. If anything could wake him up, it would be the local coffee, Hallie thought. Modron asked for Dechtire’s help in setting Tortain’s leg, and Hallie decided that none of them needed her as an audience for that. She briefly touched Girard’s hand, as much to reassure herself as for anything he might or might not be aware of in his unconscious state, then left.
Not sure what else she could do, she headed to the office where she and Girard had spent a lot of time in the past fivedays, and started writing out some notes. The sort of long-term investigations that Girard and his fellow investigators were used to doing were still strange to her. Gin had never required Hallie to keep notes or records of the conversations she’d had or the people she’d spoken to, and Hallie’s work had generally been in short bursts. She’d normally been able to find her fugitive within the space of a day, so had never felt the need to keep records. Now, though, Hallie was finding that making and reviewing her notes was a useful discipline to collect the information they’d gathered and focus her thoughts.
She was making a list of the documents that she and Girard had found, frowning as she tried to pull the information from her memory, when soft footsteps drew her attention to the door. She looked up, shocked and pleased to see Girard coming into the room. He was still wearing the same clothes, covered in dust and ash. He was pale, a large swelling and bruising marring one side of his face and, from the way he was moving and from the sling holding one arm close to his side, she guessed that the bullet wound from the day before was hurting.
“I’m surprised to see you up,” Hallie said, getting up and pulling a chair out for him. “Although, should you be on your feet?”
“Can’t keep lying down forever,” Girard said, with a rueful smile, but he took the chair she held for him without complaint. “Wanted to make sure you were alright.”
“Me?” Hallie gave a half-laugh and took her seat again. “I am not the one who had a market stall dropped on him, then got shot, and then blown up all within the space of twenty-four hours.”
