The Renault Master’s doors burst open simultaneously. Wally stopped dead in his tracks and his angry voice trailed off as two men jumped out and strode aggressively towards him. They were both wearing black balaclavas, and not because of the biting February wind. Brooke’s blood turned icy when she made out the shapes of the weapons in the men’s hands, a pistol and a compact submachine gun, black and brutal with long tubular silencers attached to their muzzles. She’d seen weapons like those before.
So had Wally Lander, once upon a time, but his nine years out of the army had blunted his senses and all he could do was gape.
‘Oh my God!’ Sam gasped. Forsyte stared in speechless horror, clutching his attaché case.
Neither of the masked men spoke a word. Instead, almost casually, they turned their weapons towards Wally and, in the next instant, white-orange fire spat from the muzzles of the silencers. From inside the heavily insulated car, the gunfire was no more than a rapid string of muffled thumps. Wally’s legs folded under him, then he collapsed lifelessly at the roadside. His blood was bright in the beams of the Jaguar’s headlights.
Sam screamed in panic and clung onto Forsyte. ‘What do they want with us, Roger? Oh Jesus, they’re going to kill us!’
Brooke hesitated, but no more than a second before she launched herself at the gap between the front seats and scrambled in behind the wheel. She wrenched the stick into Drive, stamped the heel of her Italian designer party shoe on the gas and held it all the way down. The Jaguar took off with a roar and a rasp of tyres. Clenching the wheel, Brooke had no choice but to drive grimly over Wally’s dead body with a sickening bump-bump. The masked men hurled themselves out of the way. A jarring impact as the car slammed into the angled side of the van; a screech of buckling plastic and metal grinding on metal as she forced through the gap, the Jaguar’s wheels spinning wildly and revs soaring to drown out Sam’s screams and Forsyte’s indistinct roar of fury. Then, suddenly, the way was clear and Brooke could see the open road stretching ahead in the car’s lights. She’d made it.
But then the strobing muzzle flashes lit up the rear-view mirror and she felt the steering wheel go heavy in her hands as a flurry of gunfire blew out the back tyres. There was nothing she could do to prevent the car skidding out of control and veering across the road. Brooke caught a glimpse of a large grey rock flashing towards the front of the car – then a crunching collision and the airbag exploded in her face, dazing her.
Running footsteps. Voices. The next Brooke knew, the Jaguar’s doors were opening and there was a gun at her head. She turned to face her attacker. His eyes were cold and hard in the slits of the balaclava.
‘Get out, bitch,’ he said.
Acknowledgements
They say no man is an island … and it’s true to say that no author is either: so many thanks to my editor Caroline Hogg and all the worthy crew at Avon for their dedication and enthusiasm in helping place this novel into your, the reader’s, hands.
About the Author
Scott Mariani grew up in Scotland and now lives in the wilds of Wales. The Sacred Sword is the seventh book in The Sunday Times bestselling series featuring ex-SAS hero and former theology scholar Ben Hope, translated into over twenty languages worldwide. Scott is also the author of the Vampire Federation series, featuring novels Uprising and The Cross. For further information please visit: www.scottmariani.com
By the same author
BEN HOPE SERIES
The Alchemist’s Secret
The Mozart Conspiracy
The Heretic’s Treasure
The Shadow Project
The Lost Relic
VAMPIRE FEDERATION SERIES
Uprising
The Cross
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © Scott Mariani 2012
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EPub Edition © May 2012 ISBN: 978 0 00 734281 5
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