Josiah hadn’t been able to shake Nathan Jackson’s words from his mind. They echoed with every ping of his pick-axe in the hard ground, his conscience – in the dry husky voice remarkably similar to his long-dead professor back in his fledgling university days – answered with each swipe of his wire brush in the gravel and dirt.
This is our chance to help the oppressed people of this earth, the Nathan echo would say.
Where’s your compassion? the dry professor voice asked.
… Help save lives and souls…
Dirt is dirt, Josiah. It can’t save your soul. Only knowing and doing can do that.
… at least, I’ll know I tried…
Time to be out doing again, old man.
"God damn it!" Josiah cursed and rolled out of his cot. Reaching for his bucket, he strode outside to the well, filled the bucket with water and began to wash. Looked like he was heading into the city after all.
In the end, though it was only partially light when he’d washed by the well, it was well after dawn by the time he knocked on Nathan’s front door and getting no answer, let himself in.
It was a smallish apartment; poor like the area it was situated in and within easy walking distance of the clinic downstairs. There was a flat-bed truck belonging to the missionaries next door that was used as an ambulance when necessary. Nathan’s bicycle was parked next to it. Josiah had noticed it when parking his own beat-up jalopy in the alley out back.
He called out again in case Nathan was just in the next room sleeping off an all-nighter, but he wasn’t, Josiah realised when he looked past the curtain that divided the rooms and saw the empty bed. The blankets were rumpled as if someone had been sitting or laying on top and the pillow was slightly array – Nathan always kept his bed as if ready for a snap inspection.
Josiah turned back into the main room and for the first time, saw the open trunk on the table. Nathan had shown him the contents once, enlisting his help to date the photographs and telling him about the scandal he thought might have surrounded the previous doctor’s death. It had been an interesting theory of sorts, not really having any proof to back it up or even any evidence to suggest foul play had occurred. Josiah walked over to the table and looked inside. The contents had been thrown back in without care, old clothes screwed up in a ball; a hat – its crown dented – lay upside down on top. He sorted through the mess and looked around the table then searched the rest of the room – the photographs were missing. Josiah hoped it was because Nathan had them with him rather than believe the doctor had been robbed; after all, nothing else was astray, and then realised that might be so, but where the hell was Nathan?
A dinner jacket was hanging from a hook on the wall in front of the half-open kitchen window and above the sink, no doubt airing, and Josiah decided to look through the pockets. For the doctor to wear the jacket was rare and was as good a place as any to look for clues. The pockets proved empty, but on the edge of the sink was a white linen napkin embroidered in one corner with gold lettering – Café Americain.
That was nearly as surprising as the unmade bed and the mess on the kitchen table.
Café Americain, or Rick’s place, as Josiah thought of the saloon, was closed as was to be expected for the time of day. Rick had always left the day-time hours to the other businesses preferring the more prosperous night time for his own operations. Rick, of course, had always insisted that he never conducted any illegal business, only gambling and if pressed his answer would be the same each time; life is a gamble, friend.
Josiah hadn’t talked to Rick in weeks and, as far as he knew, Nathan didn’t know the man and didn’t visit saloons. The doctor hadn’t mentioned Rick being involved in whatever situation he and Chris Larabee were mixed up in and yet it was unlike Baine to stay uninvolved in something where innocent lives might be in the balance. For all his hardened exterior, Baine was a deeply compassionate man. Just don’t say it to his face, Josiah thought with a quick grin.
Leaving his jalopy on the street, Josiah jogged up the stairs of the back terrace to the rear door. He could hear music from inside – the band practicing like usual – and let himself in without bothering to knock. Weaving his way around the tables piled high with chairs and the orchestra bashing out ‘Who’s happy? We’re happy’, the only words to the song Josiah could ever remember, the archaeologist headed straight for Rick’s private apartment. If anyone knew what was going on in this city it would be Rick.
He made it as far as the bar.
"Change your mind?" a voice drawled, tired and gravely.
Josiah turned to see Chris Larabee standing beside a tall man with a bandaged head and another, shorter man with the smooth good looks of an aristocrat, or a conman… He stopped and changed direction.
"Who’s this?" Josiah heard the injured man ask.
Another voice, this time from the stairs, answered the question. "Josiah! You changed your mind!" Nathan quickened his pace and met Josiah just as he reached the bar. "Didn’t think you would," he said. "Fellas, this is Josiah Sanchez, friend of mine. He’s an archaeologist from the Anfa site just outside of town."
"Buck Wilmington," the tall man said, reaching over to shake hands.
"Ezra Standish," the third man said. "What on earth possessed you to join our merry band if that is, in-deed, why you are here?"
Chris welcomed Josiah with a wary nod and shake of the hand. "Larabee," he said in the same tired voice.
Josiah nodded to each and then turned back to Standish. "Crows."
By the time all the men had returned to the saloon, Josiah had been told most of the story starting from Nathan’s rescue, the two murders and finally, the kidnapping of Orrin Travis the night before. Nathan had returned to the apartment to fetch JD’s photographs and displayed them across the bar’s polished surface and then did the same with the packet of old photos from his rooms.
Josiah had nodded and shaken his head and asked questions, and grew silently angrier as the tale had unfolded. He’d known Tarak and Ishmael, and had dealings with Ferrari on occasion; all three were dead, murdered – it was almost unbelievable, and then something else occurred to him. These men were sitting around discussing murder and intrigue as if they’d always done so. They fitted right in to the surrounds, perhaps drawn here by the same unseen hand that had brought Rick Baine. But where was Baine now? He should be here.
"Where’s Rick?" Josiah asked.
"He’s gone."
The reply came from behind and Josiah turned to see a vaguely familiar man dressed in sand-coloured clothes and wearing a cloak. A long thin scarf of material was wrapped around his head and under his chin, native-style, and Josiah was struck for a moment by the melding of two cultures in this one solitary figure.
"Gone?" Josiah repeated. "Gone where?"
"You’re Sanchez," the man stated, and when Josiah nodded, he continued. "Rick drove out right before all this started…"
"You sure?" Josiah questioned him.
The man nodded. "I was supposed to go with him. Tarak saw him leave with the chief of police. He made it out just before Ezra came running down the alley with half the city chasin’ him."
Josiah held out his hand to the man. "Do I know you, son?" He thought maybe he should.
"Probably not. I’m a friend of Tarak’s, came around your camp a few times with him some months back, but we never met. Name’s Tanner."
"The spy?" Nathan had given Josiah a run-down on all the men involved.
Vin grinned. "We prefer to call it informal observation."
Josiah barked a short laugh and clapped a hand on Vin’s shoulder. "I’ve heard how you and Larabee ‘informally’ helped Nate out of a tight situation. You’ve got my thanks… both of you…" he nodded to Chris before turning back to Vin. "Also my condolences. Tarak was a good man, and now his brother is murdered as well?"
"Ain’t sure if Wilson was working alone last night or with McCluskey. Either way…" Vin left his sentence hanging, his murderous expression leaving no doubt of his intentions once he’d caught up with both McCluskey and Wilson.
"You find out anything this morning?" Chris asked, pushing a bar stool out with his foot.
"Maybe," Vin said, sitting down with his back to the bar. "There was some unusual activity at one of the Sultan’s old residences on the outside of town. Place was being converted to a hotel for the rich and bored, but it’s been empty for months. Got a caretaker lookin’ after the joint. ‘parently there’s been a bit of comin’ and goin’ lately, and no one’s seen the caretaker ‘round for a few days."
"Could be where McCluskey’s holed up," Chris suggested.
"Could also be the Sultan or one of his many sons in town for a visit," Ezra added.
"Could be either," Vin agreed. "JD’s over there checkin’ it out…"
"JD?" Buck questioned. "You got him playin’ informal observer now? He’s barely old enough to be in long pants."
"Old enough to run around Africa gettin’ photographs of international assassins and enemy militia camps," Vin said. "Besides said he could get hold of a lens for his camera that would get close-up pictures without him gettin’ too close. Won’t even be goin’ over the wall…"
"Boy’s got more gumption than brains," Buck grumbled.
"The perfect spy," Chris said, grinning at Vin.
Vin sniggered in response then looked around Chris to Buck. "He didn’t go alone, Buck. One of Tarak’s brothers went with him. Some of us outgrow all that gumption shit."
Buck scoffed. "He ain’t that old."
"Well, there was nothing untoward in either Andersen or Travis’s hotel rooms. It appears that Andersen has made no attempt to go back there. Travis does have certain items locked up in the hotel safe though, an attaché of some sort," Ezra said, continuing on with the point of the conversation. He was not long back from the OSS men’s hotel.
"Probably to do with why he was here in the first place," Vin said.
"And why was that, Mr. Tanner? Please elucidate further if you can." There was a bowl of peanuts on the bar and Ezra picked at a few. Meals had become haphazard affairs in the last few days.
"Can’t tell ya," Vin said.
"Can’t or won’t?" Chris asked.
"Both. Don’t know the all of it and what I do know is hush-hush."
"But it might have something to do with why Travis was targeted," Nathan said.
"Reckon it’s a whole lot to do with that, but I don’t know for sure and…" Vin started to respond.
"We’re on a need to know basis?" Josiah prompted.
Vin sighed tiredly. He’d had nothing more than catnaps in days and, though he could go longer if he needed too, it was starting to wear him down. "Join the club," he told Sanchez
The group fell silent, thinking their own thoughts and listening to the orchestra winding down their rehearsal. Even the usual chat and bluster of the band members was subdued in the face of everything that had happened in the last few days. As the last note played and died, the band picked up their equipment and sheet music and left, crowding at the terrace doors with curious murmurings. Most of them had already started getting their travel papers in order.
Josiah walked down to where Sam was sorting through bundles of music spread along the top of his piano.
"Sam?" Josiah said in a soft voice. "How’re you doing? Would of thought you’d be with Rick."
"Rick needed me to stay here," Sam offered. "Keep an eye on things."
"Is he planning on coming back?"
Sam shuffled the papers together into one bundle and placed them carefully inside a leather satchel. "He didn’t say and I didn’t ask. Sometimes it’s best not to ask Rick too many questions."
Josiah’s laugh was quiet. He knew that only too well. "What are you going to do?"
Sam dropped the lid of the piano down over the keys and tucked the satchel of music under one arm. "I’m gonna do just what Rick wants me to do. Stay here and keep an eye on things. He still owns the Café, y’know. The deal with Ferrari was never finalised. Reckon ‘til he gets back, me and Carl can run things jus’ fine. Maybe not as fine as Rick, but fine enough. Man’s got to have a place to be settled in and this place is it. For me and for Rick."
"You’re a good man, Sam."
Sam shrugged. "Don’t know about that, but I know where home is…" The piano player put on his hat and left. At the door, he paused, turned back to Josiah and lifted his hat from his head in farewell. "Be seein’ you," he said and walked out into the sunshine.
Josiah could still see Sam’s shadow in the doorstep when it seemed to expand and wobble then stretch back into the room. He blinked his eyes once and saw that the shadow was now a man, and judging by the camera over one shoulder, the jaunty angle of the hat on his head and the wide enthusiastic smile, Josiah knew it must be JD, the one with more gumption than brains.
We’re all here at last, Josiah thought. Now we can begin.
"They’re there alright," JD had said as soon as he walked in. "Saw McCluskey and Wilson arguing through a window." He stopped by Josiah. "Hi, I’m JD Dunne. Who’re you?"
"Josiah Sanchez. I’m a friend of Nathan’s."
"Oh, right. He told us about you, thought you weren’t coming, guess you changed your mind, huh? You’re an archaeologist, right? Found anything worth taking pictures of out in the desert?"
Josiah was vaguely stunned as he shook the young man’s hand and nodded. "And you’re the photographer. You interested in taking pictures of old stuff out in the desert?"
"I’m interested in taking pictures of anything that will sell and you never know what will sell. National Geographic will buy pictures of artefacts. I’ve got some good shots of the old sultan’s place this morning. Some of the architecture there is amazing and the gardens…"
"JD!" Buck bellowed with a wince. The ache in his head had lessened considerably, but yelling at JD didn’t help what ache was left over. Hell, listening to JD wasn’t helping either. "You’re giving me a headache, boy. Get your ass over here and tell us about McCluskey, not the Sultan’s gardens."
JD had already started making his way over, with Josiah following. The photographer had not known Buck Wilmington long but he knew the man was more bluff and bluster than anything else and, though it got on his nerves that the bluff and bluster was nearly always directed at him, he found himself provoking the older man with overly innocent expressions and guileless remarks.
"How’s your head?" JD asked as he reached Buck and the others.
"It was fine and dandy," Buck replied. "Til you started running off at the mouth with the gravedigger here." Buck jerked a thumb in Josiah’s direction.
"One little bang on the head and you’re a real sourpuss," JD said.
"What about McCluskey, JD?" Chris’s low voice cut off Buck’s sarcastic response.
"They were upstairs. I was too far away to hear their voices, but it was obvious McCluskey was pretty pissed. He was yelling at Wilson and at one stage I thought he was going to hit him, but then Wilson said something that must have calmed him down and put his arm around his shoulders and they moved away from the window."
"Wilson and McCluskey are doin’ the fandango?" Buck asked.
"A comforting arm doesn’t necessarily indicate… doin’ the fandango," Ezra said. "Was that all you saw, JD?"
"It’s a pretty big place. They could have Travis in any one of a dozen or so rooms. Got some shots though, Niael’s developing the film. Abdullah and some of his friends are keeping an eye on the palace." He reached for a handful of peanuts. "There’s six doors that go from the garden direct into the house but the only two that are unlocked are the kitchen out back and a French door leading into a walled rose garden. All the downstairs windows are locked too."
Vin was trying not to smile as Buck snorted. "So much for not getting close. What were you thinking, JD? McCluskey wants to carve you up like a Thanksgiving turkey and you waltz right in and knock on his door?" Buck reached up, pulled JD’s hat off his head and hit him with it. "I like you kid, but that was just plain stupid. What were you thinking?"
JD snatched his hat back, scowling. "I was thinking that maybe I could find a way in for you guys. I was thinking that maybe knowing something of the layout of the building might come in handy…"
"Easy, kid," Chris warned. "You did the right thing." He stood up and unconsciously patted the sidearm holstered under his jacket. "But I don’t think we need to wait for those photographs, knowing where they are is enough for now. It’s time we brought the fight to where it belongs."
Vin was already standing. "I gotta jeep outside and some supplies I picked up on the way back. All of you packin’?" he asked, and when Nathan looked blank, added, "Guns. You know how to shoot a gun, doc?"
"Yeah, but I don’t have one. Not much call for that down at the mission." Nathan reached behind his head and slipped his fingers beneath the collar of his jacket. Bringing his hand back into view, the other men saw the glint of a short-bladed throwing knife. "This is more my style."
Buck chuckled and moved to stand by Nathan, resting a hand on the doctor’s shoulder as he commented, "It’s always the quiet ones in this world you gotta watch and we got more than enough of them in this ‘merry band’ to kick the bad guys’ asses all the way to hell."
The seven men stationed themselves around the ex-palace and waited. There was no sign of life from inside, no activity in the gardens; the place appeared deserted.
"Think they’ve skipped out already?" Chris asked Vin as they prepared to go in for a closer look.
"Can’t say," was the terse reply. Vin was checking the action of a sawn-off rifle that he kept holstered beneath his cloak along with a pistol and his knife. He had acquired a long-range marksman’s rifle too, though he doubted he would need it. They would be hunting their prey in close quarters today.
As well as the weapons, Vin had also obtained some portable radios. Josiah and Nathan had taken one with them to the other side of the palace where they could get a good view over the wall from a derelict building. JD, after pointing out the window he’d seen Wilson and McCluskey through, had taken another down to the front gate. Buck and Ezra had gone with him.
That left Chris and Vin at the back of the palace.
"Abdullah says no one has come or gone since JD left."
"You sure there’s no way in or out other than these gates?" Chris asked.
The main gate at the front of the palace was a grand imposing feature in an otherwise blank stone brick wall. Its iron grille work twirled and twisted in a traditional Arabic design that represented the power and nobility of the Moroccan royal family. It fronted a long, open drive that led to an equally elaborate front door, and was locked fast. The back gate was a plain, fire-blackened wooden barricade used by servants. Inside the wall, the gate led up to an abandoned stable, an ugly squat building that had once housed servants and was now the caretaker’s residence, and the private, walled garden.
Vin looked up from his gun, his face as inscrutable as ever. "Nope."
Josiah’s voice crackled over the radio. "This is Sanchez. We’ve got movement on the second floor. Can’t tell who, but someone’s walking around in there. Over."
It was the first sign that the wanted men were still in the building. Chris picked the transmitter up. "Good enough for me, Josiah. Come ‘round back. We’re going in… Buck, you copy that? Over."
"Might I suggest that we three enter from the front and create a diversion? Over." Ezra’s voice came back.
"You got something in mind, Standish? Over."
"It just so happens that Mr. Tanner’s friend, Abdullah, has come by several sticks of dynamite. He’s also brought along some rather vexed relatives and friends all of whom seem quite eager to be as divertive as possible… Over."
Vin shook his head. "Can’t just blow up the palace, Chris. Too many repercussions. We gotta go in quiet, take ‘em out and get out again just as quiet. ‘Sides, don’t wanna risk blowin’ up Travis as well."
Chris nodded. "This is Larabee. Go ahead with a diversion but no dynamite near the palace; too risky. I’ll call you again when we’re ready to go in. Out."
"Understood. Over and out."
Ezra put the radio transmitter back into the pack.
"No big bangs?" Buck asked. They were standing in the shade of a wagon loaded with barrels of oranges. Two donkeys were tied off and busily munching on a bale of hay. A little closer to the gate was another wagon, this one filled with bunches of mint freshly harvested that morning. JD stood there surrounded by a small group of heavily armed Berbers. They were gesturing to the gate and the building beyond.
"Too risky near the palace," Ezra told him. "Mr. Larabee didn’t say anything about the gate though and I would estimate the distance between that and the palace to be of sufficient distance to not be classed as ‘near the palace’."
Buck grinned. "You’re my kinda guy, Ez."
Ezra slung the radio over one shoulder. "Mr. Wilmington, I’m flattered. However, I assure you that I do not, nor ever will…" Ezra paused to stare fully at Buck, his face expressionless. "… fandango."
Buck laughed out loud and clapped Ezra on the back hard enough to make the smaller man’s teeth chatter. "I don’t know, Ezra. I think you’d look pretty good on the dance floor."
"Yes well, be that as it may, we have a diversion to organise. One stick of dynamite should be enough to effect entry to the palace grounds…"
"You know, Ezra, as much as I enjoy the thought of all that ironwork being turned into a mangled mess, I think climbing the wall might be the way to go on this one. Attract less attention from outside that way. From what I hear the gendarmes and Germans are pretty uptight at the moment…"
"And gunplay would attract no attention?" Ezra interrupted.
"Less than the gates being blown sky high, and the locals might get pretty pissed if we start destroyin’ their national treasures." Buck hooked a thumb in the direction of the ornate gates.
Ezra followed the direction of the gesture and stood a moment looking thoughtful. "You’re right. I’ll only use a small amount of dynamite… for effect and we’ll go over the wall, all of us, then spread out in a line and charge." Ezra was grinning widely. "A few wild yells, a few shots in the air should be enough to gain the attention of our ne’er do wells inside the building."
"Ne’er doo wells? What the hell’s a ne’er doo well, Ezra? What did you do before this, teach at Madame Wanda’s School for Scallywags and Lazybones?"
Ezra shook his head and left Buck to join JD, not bothering to respond to the other man’s comments. Buck was still chuckling as he followed the southerner and listened as he explained their plan for a diversion.
"How come you’re involved in all this, Nathan?" Josiah asked as the two men trotted down the stairs of the empty building.
Nathan paused on reaching the street and looked out. In the last few days he’d become very cautious before he did anything. The days of walking out onto the street without checking who else might be out there seemed long gone. "Not really sure," he answered. "Just seemed to be the right thing to do."
"Hunting men on the streets of Casablanca was the right thing to do? You’re not a mercenary, Nate. You’re a doctor, a damn good one too."
The men walked out on the street and started walking toward Chris and Vin’s position by the back gate. They kept their pace fast, but steady.
"It’s not the hunting men, though that’s part of it, McCluskey has to be stopped. I’m not really sure what it is, just that doing this with these men… with you… is the right thing to be doing right now." Nathan shrugged and neatly avoided collision with a noisy group of woman coming out of a hammam. "The world isn’t getting better, Josiah. I’d like to think that what we’re doing today, what we might do in the future, will help to change that."
Josiah stopped walking and stared at his friend. It was so simple. When had he lost his compassion and zeal? When had he grown so selfish that he could think a self-imposed punishment could give back to the world what he had taken from it? He had killed men, many men, in one war or another and arrogantly presumed that he could absolve that sin by digging holes in the ground and calling it penance. Nathan was right. Vin Tanner and Chris Larabee had it right. JD Dunne, Buck Wilmington and Ezra Standish – hard men, smart men all - out there making the world a better place not dicking around in the desert feeling sorry for themselves.
Nathan had gone a few steps before he realised that the other man was no longer beside him. He turned and walked back. "Something wrong, Josiah?"
Josiah looked into the doctor’s concerned face. Here was a man who often worked from dawn to dusk and beyond, and still had enough compassion to worry about thickheaded archaeologists. Josiah grabbed Nathan by the shoulders and grinned widely. "Absolutely nothing wrong at all, my friend." He dropped one hand and held it out in the direction they were walking. "Let’s get to doing."
Nathan laughed and shook his head, but let Josiah guide him along the street. Chris and Vin were waiting; he didn’t have time to try and figure out the riddle that was Josiah Sanchez today.
The caretaker of the former royal residence was a hoarder. His residence of some two decades and once home to a dozen or so groundskeepers, gardeners and stable hands, was a two-storey utilitarian plain brick building. There was an open area out back where the men had gathered for meals at one end and prayers at the other. It was now filled with several wagon wheels, empty barrels and crates and assortment of gardening and carpentry equipment. As the only full-time employee left, the caretaker had often been required to undertake the maintenance of the buildings and grounds himself. He’d taken to collecting anything that might come in useful to get his job done. Inside the building was twenty years worth of handy items, wood, plaster, fabric – whatever the man could get his hands on. The outside meal area was merely part of the overflow that continued on down to the servant’s gate.
Vin disappeared over the wall, climbing onto a barrel then hoisting himself up and over as gracefully and confidently as a cat. Chris listened for his landing on the other side but heard nothing over the noises of the old medina spreading out from the palace and into the Bidonville area of the city.
Nathan and Josiah arrived as the gate creaked slowly open. Chris nodded to them to follow and slid through the narrow gap. Vin waited on the other side, half-hidden behind an upright bale of hay. The sawn-off shotgun was in his hands.
Chris put the radio pack on the ground and knelt down beside Vin. "Anyone around?"
"Not a soul," Vin answered.
"We going in?" Josiah asked, coming up behind Chris and Vin. He crouched behind them, digging the stock of his rifle into the ground for balance. Nathan pushed the gate closed and tiptoed over.
Chris looked at Vin for confirmation.
"I reckon we should, seein’ how we came all this way," Vin said with a slow smile of deadly intent.
Chris chuckled. The Texan might be quiet but he sure knew how to show a mercenary a good time. He picked up the radio and called Ezra. Buck answered.
"We’re in," Chris told him.
"We’re just about ready to go here, buddy. You have a go on our signal. Over."
"What’s the signal? Over."
Chris could hear the laughter in Buck’s voice. "You’ll know it when you hear it. That Standish sure knows how to cheer an old war dog’s heart. Over."
Josiah was chuckling and Vin was looking sceptical. Nathan wasn’t quite sure if he should smile or be serious.
"You and Ez aren’t blowing things up over there are you, Buck? We don’t wanna piss the French off too soon. Over."
"Mr. Standish would like to inform you that he merely intends to reform a few items in desperate need of reforming and… okay, gotta go. Get ready, Chris. Wilmington over and out."
"Roger that. Larabee out."
Chris packed the radio away and slung the strap over his shoulder. "Any minute now," he told the other men barely getting the last word out before an almighty explosion rocked the earth beneath them. The explosion came from the direction of the front gate and was followed directly by rifles firing and more explosions, this time apparently mid-air. If it were nighttime it would have looked like fireworks over the city.
"Ezra’s quite the artist," Josiah said.
"That he is, Josiah. Let’s go." Chris nodded to Vin and the Texan, bent over double to avoid being seen, led them up the slight rise to the caretaker’s cottage.
Chris waited for Josiah and Nathan to reach the cottage before he jiggled the back door. "Locked," he muttered and looked about for something to force the door with.
Josiah loomed up beside him with a hoe in his hands. "If you’ll allow me," he said politely and raised his arms to bring the implement crashing down on the doorhandle and lock.
"Good work," Chris said. "You and Nathan check this building out. Vin and I will go on to the main building. Radio if you find anything, but otherwise we’ll be maintaining radio silence once we’re inside."
"Got it," Josiah assured him, kicking the door open and taking the crowbar with him.
Nathan followed him in. "You be careful," he told the remaining two men.
"Always," Chris said. "Come up to the main building when you’re done."
Nathan nodded and vanished into the gloom of the unlit and overcrowded residence.
"You know we could have just climbed in through that open window over there," Vin said to Chris, jerking his thumb toward a wide open window further along the wall.
"Probably, but then Josiah wouldn’t have had the fun of reforming the door," Chris replied.
Vin was chuckling as he once again led the way. The government agent and the mercenary approached the imposing former royal residence carefully. The windows were barred with iron grilles so the men went straight to the kitchen, which opened out on the remains of a once well-tended garden.
Vin hunkered down behind a still-verdant bean run and waited, listening to the gunfire that peppered the air on the other side of the building. "They’re spreadin’ out," he told Chris.
Chris nodded, he’d realised that himself. Buck and Ezra must have had the group of Berber’s moving forward in a wide line – the firing was sporadic but steady. "Can’t hear any return fire yet," he said.
"Buck and Ez ain’t close enough yet. McCluskey’ll wait ‘till he’s sure of his shots."
"Time to get more specific then," Chris said, getting the radio back out.
"Buck, you there?"
"It’s JD here, Chris. I can get Buck for you, hang on…"
"No, that’s okay, JD. Let Buck know that Nathan and Josiah are in the caretaker’s cottage checking it out. Vin and I are just going in the back door of the palace. I want Buck to lay on heavy fire for the next five minutes then spread further out and guard the perimeter. Have you got that? Over."
"Nathan and Josiah are out back. You and Vin are inside. Heavy fire for five minutes. Guard the perimeter. Over."
"Check. Maintain radio silence from this point on. Larabee Over and out."
"Yeah, roger that, Chris. We’re out."
The sporadic gunfire became a barrage within seconds and return shots began erupting from the front rooms of the palace. Chris and Vin didn’t hear them. They were already inside.
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