sudden events – but Baine had the same training and had played on Eddie’s expectations to launch a surprise attack.
Another blow, forcing Eddie back a step to avoid it. Baine advanced, fists raised like a boxer. Eddie, realising he was being cornered, brought up his own hands to defend – and took a brutal blow just inches from his groin from the other man’s foot. Not just a boxer – a kickboxer. Baine had expanded his skill set over the past decade.
The mercenary grinned malevolently. ‘Yeah, weren’t expecting that, were you? Feet an’ fists – I can take you down with either.’ A few feints from both pairs of extremities. Eddie countered, but knew that in the confined space, when the real attack came he wouldn’t be able to avoid it. ‘You’re getting slow, Yorkie! Married life’ll do that, turn you into a useless fat fucker.’ A glance at Eddie’s hairline. ‘Makes you go bald too!’ He laughed—
Eddie struck, this time landing a solid blow to Baine’s upper jaw. The punch split the skin on his knuckles, but the Essex man came off worse, the inside of his lip tearing against his front teeth and the cartilage of his septum snapping. He staggered back, spitting blood.
This time, it was Eddie’s turn to deliver a kick – but even through his pain Baine still had the reflexes to twist away from a ball-crunching impact. Snarling, he dived at the Yorkshireman. Eddie punched him again, but couldn’t avoid the collision – or stop himself from being driven against the wall.
‘Fucker!’ yelled Baine as they grappled. His greater size and weight gave him the advantage, pushing his opponent further down into the tomb’s corner. He jerked up a knee and hit Eddie squarely in the stomach.
Gasping, Eddie struggled to recover, but Baine shoved his head back against the stone wall with a crack. Dizzied, he tried to rise—
Baine’s forearm pressed across his throat like a steel beam, choking him.
Mac ran up the steps into the tower, Kit behind him. As he had hoped, it gave him an excellent view over the plaza.
The Hind was still on the ground, but the amount of spray being kicked up by its downwash told him that it was almost at takeoff power. He brought up the RPG-7 and looked down the sights. The Russian weapon’s aiming system was crude, but at a fairly short distance against a large stationary target he didn’t need to do anything beyond point it in the right direction and fire.
‘Mac, what if Eddie’s down there?’ Kit protested. ‘You might kill him.’
‘He’s not on the plaza, so he’s safe,’ Mac replied. The Hind was fixed in the sights. ‘Clear behind!’
‘No, Mac – if they know you’ve got a rocket, we can force them to surrender!’
‘Kit, the backblast on this thing will kill you,’ Mac snapped impatiently. The helicopter shifted on its landing gear as the rotors reached full speed. It would lift off in a matter of seconds. ‘This is our only chance – move!’
He saw in the corner of his eye that Kit had moved out of the rocket’s deadly exhaust cone, then turned his attention back to the sights. He flicked off the safety, steeling himself for the jolt of firing as he tightened his finger on the trigger—
Two bullets hit him in the back.
Mac collapsed, searing pain swallowing his senses. Blood gushed from the wounds. The unfired RPG-7 clunked down beside him.
Kit stood frozen, the smoking Steyr clutched in his hand. His eyes were wide in shock at what he had just done. His mouth opened, an apology, a confession, on his lips . . . then it snapped shut. Dismay disappeared, replaced by determination. He ran down the stairs, leaving the dying man behind.
36
Eddie kicked and thrashed at Baine, but couldn’t shift the thick arm crushing his throat. Darkness pulsed in from the edges of his vision with each beat of his heart. His hands scrabbled over the detritus of the tomb for anything he could use as a weapon, but found nothing except cloth and desiccated flesh.
The darkness swelled again, narrowing his view to a tunnel: Baine leering down at him, the entrance behind.
Another pulse – and something changed—
He tried to speak, only a raw croak escaping his mouth. Baine leaned closer, cruel smile widening. ‘Wassat, Yorkie?’
‘Marriage . . .’ Eddie managed to rasp.
Puzzled, Baine eased the pressure on Eddie’s neck very slightly. ‘Marriage? What about it? Makes you fat an’ bald – what else?’