The Roman Gambit Pt. 03

He added, "The Amber Room was looted by the Nazis during World War II and its whereabouts was lost in the chaos at the end of the war. We have now found it. It is one of the greatest cultural treasures of the Russian people. The State will be eternally grateful to us." I looked at him with astonishment. How did he know all of that? He looked like he was going to cry. I said, as I turned off the camera, "We have a lot of talking to do."

We knew that there might be a time-lag before the Organization got this place secured. So, the best strategy seemed to be to close things up and sneak away. We turned off the lights carefully checking to make sure that we had left everything as we had found it. I even ran the recording to double check locations. Then we walked out the way we had come. It was brighter outside. But we had been in the mine for a total of only 55 minutes and it was still early in the morning and foggy. The rain was keeping the citizenry indoors.

We closed and relocked the tourist gate and made our way quickly across the open space in front of the trees. The idea when you are exposed like that, is to walk like you belong there. So, we neither hurried nor sauntered. Just walked like three people hiking the mountains for fun. When we got back to the Defender, I established the uplink and burst the video file back to Sir Alex with a short report. I told him I would complete the report when I got back to Prague.

I had rented a T1 sat-link to the internet for the duration. That was because I knew that I would eventually need the bandwidth. The 1.54 MPS speed paid off in the upload speed. It allowed us to get back on the road to Prague as the sun was making its way over the top of Mt Klinovec. We dropped John at his car in Litvinov.

Looking into the mountains in the direction of Deutschkatharinenberg, which was where he had walked, I marveled at his achievement in the rainy darkness of last night. The little voice in my head snickered and added, "And then he even had the stamina to fuck your brains out." I was disturbed by the signals I was getting from the man and since I was more than half-way in love with him, I wanted some answers. But those would have to wait until we got back to Prague.

Mel drove and I monitored my laptop, which I was keeping on the sat-link to see if Sir Alex had anything to tell us. He came back to me just before we got to our hotel in the City. Mel pulled over on Kralodvoska Street while I read and digested what he said. Basically, he was congratulating us on a fantastic achievement. He said that using our videos UNESCO had already secured the help of the German government but that the Russians were also sending a continent to ensure that the Amber Room was protected.

He said that the German troops were likely to arrive within the hour since the Germans had a double stake in protecting what we had found. They wanted to secure the antiquities for posterity. But they also wanted to prove that the Nazis were an unfortunate aberration.

So, the job was complete. Now all we had to do was arrange a flight home and we could put another successful mission in our win column.

*****

We were both feeling elated as we wheeled the Defender into its spot in the hotel car-park. The mission had been accomplished, and I had a delicious man waiting for me. More importantly we had made a real difference. The sense of contributing to the good of humanity was intensely satisfying. I was thinking, "This is addictive. I can't wait to do it again."

The hotel's parking garage was below ground. So, we had to drive into the bowels of the concrete structure. Mel pulled the big Defender into the narrow parking space like a professional valet, which was something she did for a while when she was at Southbank. I popped my door open. It was a tight fit squeezing past the car next door. We were both still wearing our tac-gear except I had carefully packed the tac-belt containing my armament and Mel had stored her battery and light.

I saw them as I emerged from between the cars. Mel gave a little gasp and her eyes narrowed. I went to full battle stations. There were eight of them arrayed in an arc around the back of the Defender, all big tough looking men. It didn't take my genius IQ to figure out what they were there for. It was obvious that the Bratva had finally found us. I said in French, "Leave us alone and we won't hurt you." I wanted to let them know that we were not your typical girls, even though the smallest of the men outweighed me by fifty pounds and Mel by about eighty. I stepped a little bit forward to clear some fighting space.

I was turned 45-degrees to the left and Mel was turned 45-degrees to the right. We were shoulder to shoulder so we could protect each other's flank. We had not rehearsed this. But it was the logical way to face that many attackers and I got the impression that Mel had done this before at some time in her past. Her spirit animal is the mongoose. But she was hissing like its mortal enemy the cobra. I knew from past experience that her black eyes were now as remorseless as the snake's.

I heard the "snick" sound as she deployed her Asp. Then another snick, as she deployed one in her other hand. I knew that she was wearing one on her belt. But she obviously had another hidden someplace else. When it's collapsed, the Asp isn't a whole a lot longer than a pencil. So, she must have had the other in her pocket. But knowing Mel she could just as easily have hidden it in her cleavage.

Mel grew up in a very tough part of the East End and she is tiny. So, when she began to grow those huge boobs her dad bought her an Asp for self-protection. Mel then proceeded to spend her teen years training to Zen status. The Asp is a perfect weapon for a fierce little woman like Mel. It is an eight-inches of super hardened steel that becomes a deadly fighting baton with a flick of her wrist. The leverage nob on one end ensures that she can whip the tip at supersonic speeds, which lets it cut through flesh like a bullet.

The Bratva tactics were the usual male miscalculation. They were much bigger. They thought they could just overwhelm us by brute force. Four of them lunged at us, each intending to take one of our arms. I was tracking my two targets so I couldn't see Mel. But I heard a cry of fierce joy and the supersonic crack of her twin asps. That was followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground. The Asp cracked again, and there was a scream and a heavy thud.

I was a little disappointed that there were only six of them left now; since at that point I was so berserk I could have maimed the entire male species. Krav Maga is the ideal fighting technique for a woman. Because you have to be attacked in order or it to work properly. It encourages fluid movement and instantaneous counterattack. So, when the thug on my left lunged; I grabbed his arm, threw my hip into him and continued his momentum over me.

Except this was not some silly martial arts movie, it was street fighting. My aim was to throw him face first into the back of the Defender and let the steel of my sturdy truck do all of the work. Unfortunately for him, he actually hit the back window with his head. The glass shattered inward, leaving him hanging limply, his neck impaled on the glass of the back window. Tough luck for him. I didn't have the chance to savor that sight though, because the principle of Krav Maga dictates a violent counterattack and I had one more victim to dispose of.

I continued my momentum into a violent 360-degree spin, pivoting on my left leg. The force that I had built up with the spin whipped the heel of the combat boot into a vicious strike on my opponent's leg. He was the biggest of them all, perhaps six four and by far the heaviest, maybe in the 250-pound class. And he had legs like tree trunks. So, just kicking his leg would probably have hurt me more than it did him. But unfortunately for humans, the knee joint is vulnerable no matter what size the person is.

Hence, my boot heel was aimed at the point where the medial collateral ligament attaches to the fibula. I put all of my leg strength into the kick. And I heard a satisfying crack as both the LCL and the medial collateral ligament snapped. That caused an animalistic howl of agony. His left knee bent inward, and he collapsed writhing in pain.

We had disposed of four of them and Mel was now loudly hissing, her fighting batons locked and loaded, ready for her next victim. Given the carnage that we had already wrought, I thought maybe the four Bratva goons would leave us alone. But they looked like they were game to try us again. They would have to step over the unconscious, or perhaps dead, bodies of four of their comrades to do it. But these guys were brutal and inured to violence.

That was when the roof caved in. A force of inconceivable power picked up the first one and threw him into the next guy. The collision was violent. One was clearly knocked unconscious and the other must have had several ribs broken; because he was bent over, trying to get his breath back. The specter ghosted past the survivor and administered a hand thrust deep into his solar plexus. This was all at inhuman speed.

Then the phantom pivoted wraithlike around the next goon, reached back, seized him by his head, braced himself and swung the guy off his feet like a flail. There was a gruesome snap as the last thug went flying. That ended the fight. the target got up and ran out of the place like the devil himself was chasing him. John just stood there with a lopsided grin. I said, trying to sound casual, "It's about time you showed up." He said defensively, "What? And let you have all the fun?"

*****

Smith was waiting for the girls as he watched the lobby. The doors opened, and eight big, tough guys came in. The largest of them marched up to the desk and demanded the room number of Helen Larson. Smith's reflexes went to red alert. The Bratva had the location. The desk clerk said he couldn't provide s room number. The Bratva thug hauled the clerk halfway over the desk. The clerk was a small man and the violence of the attack got the room number as soon as he was deposited back down on his side of the desk.

There was a short interlude as all eight disappeared into the elevator. They returned ten minutes later having obviously kicked in the door and found the room empty. The significant thing about the whole series of events was that nobody called the police. The Bratva foot soldiers all exited out the door and down around the street, walking toward the car-park. Smith followed, acting as if he was just going out to his car.

The Bratva marched single file into the concrete structure and down to the area where the hotel parked its cars. Smith was perhaps 50 yards behind. As he came around a line of parked cars, Smith saw that the girls had indeed just returned and were squeezing out of the confined space between the Defender and the neighboring cars.

The eight Bratva toughs formed a menacing semi-circle around them. Smith was on the run now. But he had to keep the surprise factor. He knew that the only way he would be able to overcome eight big men would be to hit them with unexpected and overwhelming force. He heard Hilley's voice tell them in French that if they left now, she would not hurt them. That provoked a laugh from the eight men.

Then four of them separated from the others and sprang forward with the intention of capturing and pinning each girl's arms. It was obvious that gang rape in the parking structure was going to be the catch of the day; followed by a killing. However, rather than crying, or screaming, or pleading for their lives the two women were formed into their own version of a fighting echelon. Neither woman looked even slightly intimidated.

Smith actually stopped to marvel at their courage. They were a perfect illustration of the fighting spirit of their respective cultures. Hilley was Norman knightly valor combined with the steadfast strength of a Saxon shield wall. Little Mel was coiled like a striking cobra. Her face mirrored the ferocity of Tamerlane's Moghul warriors. She flicked her wrist and two Asps deployed. She gave a shriek of savage joy, not fear, and there was a loud crack as both Asps went supersonic.

The man on her left got the Asp between his ear and temple. He dropped like a stone. It was obvious that Mel was right-handed because her carving up of the thug on her right was a work of art. The first Asp strike was to his ribs. That produced a pronounced crack. Then, with an instantaneous return stroke Mel laid the Asp on the hinge of the thug's jaw. That produced another loud crack.

In the meantime, both Bratva goons had launched themselves at Hilley. What Hilley did was so fast that her attackers looked like they were in slow motion. Using the attacker's momentum; she threw him over her left shoulder in a single flowing move. The guy smashed headfirst into the back of the Defender breaking the glass. He hung there gushing blood, as Hilly dropped, spun viciously on one leg and delivered a shattering blow to the outer part of the other man's knee joint. That was done with the reinforced heel of her combat boot. The man's knee bowed inward, and he fell and writhed frantically from the pain.

Smith wondered how this immaculately blue-blooded woman could become so expert in a discipline like Krav Maga. Most well-bred young girls learn yoga, not how to brawl like a street fighter. That was when Smith arrived. He had a plane to catch and he was not happy that the Bratva was attempting to harm the love of his life. Unfortunately for the four remaining thugs, they had not anticipated his arrival.

The first man actually yelled in surprise as Smith seized him and threw him like a rag doll into the man next to him. Their heads met with a satisfying crack. The one who was hit dropped like a stone. The one who Smith had thrown was woozy, but not unconscious. So, Smith laid a super-quick hand-sword strike on him as he ghosted past. The next guy was starting to turn to face him, but Smith danced past, reached behind himself and grabbed the thug by his head. The pivot was like he was throwing the hammer in the Olympics. Smith spun on his heel, violently whipped the goon off the ground and swung his feet at the last guy in line. As he pivoted, he heard a loud snap from the guy he was using as a hammer. Smith dropped the guy he'd just killed and started to come after the last target. That man scrambled panicked to his feet and ran terrified out of the structure.

The two girls looked a little flustered. They had not expected any help. Hilley gazed at him with both amazement and admiration. Still, because she was such a cool customer, she gave Smith a wolfish grin and said, "It's about time you showed up." Not to be outdone Smith said with equal equanimity, "I didn't want you to have all of the fun." At the same time, he was thinking, "I need to make this incredible woman mine."

*****

Mel was surprised when she squeezed out from between the cars and saw the ring of men. But Mel had faced odds like that in the East End before. So, the only emotion she felt was rage. She had an Asp on her belt and another in her pocket and she grabbed both. Hilley had advanced toward the men to give herself a little fighting space.

Mel didn't think she needed any help to de-ball all eight of those fools. She had her twin Asps. But she knew that Hilley was not armed. So, she stepped forward facing the two on her right. She could see that they planned on pinning them down, and then no doubt raping them until that became too boring. Then they both would probably be killed for sport.

That made Mel so angry that she heard herself hissing. She didn't know where that came from. But she did it every time her fighting blood was up. Two of the men attacked her at once. One was big the other one was huge. Mel was holding both Asps down at her side because she could get more leverage with a wider arc. The knob on the end would let her pivot the tip using just her little finger. It would go supersonic so there would be a crack like a whip.

She had started growing boobs when she was ten. That was when her father bought her the first Asp. It cost almost forty pounds, which was a lot for her dad. But he knew that he couldn't be there to protect his beautiful daughter and so he felt the investment was worthwhile.

Mel practiced with her baton for hours in the alleyway behind her house. At first, she could barely hit a target. But by the time she was 14 she could swat insects out of the air with the tip. She was better with her right hand than her left. But she was deadly with both.

Neither man really had a chance against a master like her. She simply knocked the man on the left unconscious. The impact of the middle part of the baton on his skull might have fractured it. But that was his problem. The guy on the right was a canvas that she wanted to draw on. She was insanely angry, and somebody had to pay. So, first, she broke his ribs and then his jaw.

As she was dispatching the last man, she heard a horrible thud and the sound of breaking glass. She turned for a split second and saw one of the thugs literally dangling out of the back window of the Defender. The broken glass was embedded in his neck, She had the odd thought, "There goes the damage deposit." Hilley was just following through with a violent blow to the other man's knee. He fell to the ground rolling around in total agony.

Then Mel turned her attention back to the final four thugs. But they were now in the process of being thrown around like a child's toy by the mysterious Mr. Smith. She had never seen a man move with such speed, strength and agility. The fight was over in five seconds of violent action.

*****

the authorities might want to hold somebody accountable, even though the seven unconscious men in the hotel's car-park were all Bratva scum. So, John cleaned up the Defender and met us at the front door of the hotel. That is, after he had stacked seven bodies like cordwood in the Defender's former spot. None of the thugs, five of whom were semi-conscious, were able to do much more than scream and moan but John liked to be tidy.

I knew that we needed to get out of Czech airspace as soon as possible. So, we packed, paid and a mere half hour after the last body had hit the ground, we were riding across the river in the Defender with John driving.

We had a NetJets scheduled out of Vaclav Havel at 1:00 and with the little delay in the garage it looked like we might be late. When we returned the Defender to Enterprise, we told them that somebody had thrown a rock through our window. Fortunately, John had cleaned off the blood.

We gave them a couple of hundred Euros and any record of damage was expunged. I was eager to get back to London, which was where the flight was taking us. It was mid-afternoon and Mel was asleep on the couch. I was pretending to be too. But I was actually studying John as he sat in his big leather chair.

We had all changed on the plane. He was now wearing a bespoke Bond Street suit. Just like a chameleon he had become a totally different person. Now he looked like the typical London upper-crust banker, or lawyer, in a blue suit and a white oxford cloth shirt with a rep tie. But he was much more handsome than any banker or lawyer I had ever known.

With those incredible dark exotic features and in the fisherman's sweater and the tight jeans that he wore last night, he had looked like every woman's dream of the gallant gentleman adventurer. That was until I saw him fight. THEN he looked like the devil incarnate, right down to the impenetrable dark eyes and widows' peak. Now he looked like a CEO, or Member of the Board of a big company, whose only exercise was at the tennis club.