Andy Mcdermott - Temple of the Gods

Michelangelo raised his staff again, bringing it high over his head to crush Eddie’s skull like a watermelon—

Eddie grabbed Kusanagi and swung it upwards as the staff lashed down. A sharp crack of wood against metal — and the bo ’s end was neatly chopped off by the sacred sword, its edge still keen even after centuries.

Even with his weapon reduced to two-thirds of its length, the ninja struck again. This time, Eddie used the sword not to parry but for leverage, shoving himself out of the wreckage and rolling on to his feet. Michelangelo’s thrust fell short. Another attack, but this time Eddie was prepared.

He swung the sword as hard as he could at the ninja’s neck.

Swordsmanship was not one of Eddie’s combat skills, fists and firearms the majority of his military training. The blade caught the ninja flat-on instead of with its edge.

But that was enough. The sword made an almost musical ringing note as it hit the side of Michelangelo’s jaw like a hammer. Spitting blood, the ninja crashed through another display, shattering jade figurines.

Eddie had no time to celebrate. The other ninja made another charge, nunchaku flailing so quickly they were a blur. One of the handles clanged off the sword as the Yorkshireman defensively snapped it up. Donatello instantly adjusted his movements to send the next strike past the ancient blade, the chain looping around it. He pulled back sharply, trying to yank the weapon out of Eddie’s hands.

This time, Eddie kept a firm grip. He charged, driving the blade at the ninja’s stomach.

Donatello was too quick, twisting out of the way. He braced himself as Eddie collided with him, then with a rapid movement freed the nunchaku from the sword and turned to strangle his adversary with its chain…

Eddie headbutted him in the face.

The dark blue of the ninja’s balaclava suddenly blossomed with a damp purple patch around his mouth and nose. Even with his eyes screwed shut, he still tried to attack again. The nunchaku swished through the air—

Hitting nothing. Eddie had ducked.

Now it was his turn again — and with a roar he thrust the imperial sword with his full strength, transfixing the ninja through the stomach all the way to the hilt. Donatello gasped, mumbling in Japanese before collapsing face-first into the broken glass of Kusanagi’s shattered display case.

‘Cowa-fucking-bunga,’ Eddie rasped, forehead throbbing from its impact with the ninja’s nose. He straightened and looked round. Michelangelo was still alive, on all fours and clutching his truncated staff. But the way to the door was now clear — and his gun was just outside.

He ran. The last ninja scrambled up, but Eddie was already past him. The Makarov had landed about ten feet beyond the door. He crossed the threshold, bending to snatch up the weapon—

Something shot past him just before he reached it. The bo staff, hurled like a javelin — not at him, but at the gun. It hit the Makarov and sent it skidding through a set of open doors into an adjoining room.

Eddie looked back at Michelangelo, who was now searching for something on the ground…

Leonardo’s katana . Michelangelo seized the sword and pointed it angrily at Eddie — then sprinted towards him with a howling battle cry.

‘Oh, fuck!’ Eddie ran himself, racing after the gun. The doors had been closed when he dropped down from the vent; the ninjas must have entered through them. Beyond was a traditional Japanese dining room, rows of low tables with tatami mats on which the diners would sit lined up along the polished wooden floor.

Where was the gun? It had skittered over the slick wood — and ended up beneath one of the tables.

But which one?

He reached the first table and flipped it over. No gun. Next table. Still nothing. The ninja’s padding footsteps were rapidly closing. Third table, nothing. He grabbed the next in the row and flung it back towards the door. Still no sign of the Makarov, and from behind came a crack of wood as the katana slashed the little table in two.

He threw another place aside — and saw the glint of steel beneath.

The ninja was almost on him—

He dived for the gun, grabbing it and twisting to bring it to bear. The blade flashed down — and the ninja took two bullets to the chest as Eddie fired at point-blank range. The Englishman rolled to avoid the bloodied corpse as it fell, the katana ’s point stabbing into the wood floor to leave the weapon standing beside the body like a tombstone.

‘Jesus,’ Eddie gasped, regaining his breath as he shakily stood. ‘Fucking ninjas, they’re like cockroaches!’ He checked the room, trying to get his bearings. There were two exits: the one to the gallery and the vault, and another opening on to a windowed hallway. He hadn’t seen the direction Takashi had gone, so a split-second instinctual decision sent him towards the latter.

At the hall’s far end to his left was Takashi’s private lift, an illuminated indicator showing that it was stationary at the penthouse level. Takashi hadn’t taken Nina and the statues out that way, then. In the other direction was a set of imposing oak doors. The industrialist’s inner sanctum?

He ran towards it, gun at the ready.

The case in her hand, Nina raced into the gallery. ‘Eddie?’ she cried, uncertain — fearful — about what she might find.

She discovered corpses, which in some grim way was hardly a surprise, but to her relief none was her husband. Three in the strongroom, and a fourth in a dining room through another doorway. Eddie must have gone that way. She ran after him.

More doors led into the hallway to Takashi’s office. She went through them. Beyond the windows, Tokyo was now a glittering sea of lights beneath the twilight winter sky. She looked round. The elevator was to the left; to the right—

‘Eddie!’ she called again, running after him. Her husband slowed, turned, saw her…

And raised his gun.

Nina froze, shocked — and afraid. Eddie’s expression was one of pure hatred. ‘What are you…’ she started to say, but her mouth had gone dry.

Then she realised that he wasn’t looking at her, but something behind her. ‘Nina, move,’ he growled.

She whirled. Stikes had just come from the dining room — and also had a gun raised. She was directly between the two men, blocking their lines of fire. A standoff.

‘Yes, step aside,’ said Stikes. ‘I should have known you’d turn up sooner or later, Chase. It’s a bad habit of yours.’ A smile of cruel anticipation twisted his mouth. ‘One I look forward to breaking.’

‘Move, Nina,’ Eddie repeated. ‘I’ve been hunting this shitbag for three months. He’s not getting away this time.’

‘Why don’t you just shoot, Chase?’ taunted Stikes. ‘I gather you’ve been having marital problems — it would save you the cost of a divorce.’

Eddie clenched his jaw angrily, about to risk darting sideways for a clear shot in the hope of catching the other man by surprise… before a thought struck him. Why didn’t Stikes shoot?

Nina started to step aside. ‘Wait!’ Eddie snapped. ‘Stay still.’

‘Uh, Eddie,’ she said with a nervous glance between the two guns, ‘what’re you doing?’

Eddie’s gaze remained fixed on Stikes, whose eyes began to betray his frustration. For whatever reason, he couldn’t risk killing Nina, even if that cost him the chance to eliminate one of his enemies.

Now it was Eddie’s turn to smile slightly, confusing Nina and infuriating Stikes. ‘Nina, come over here. Trust me,’ he added, seeing her hesitancy.

‘I dunno if you noticed, but the guy who hates us both is aiming a gun at me,’ she pointed out.