“Get to the window,” snapped Daniel from below.
“Shit!” Curtis swung back to the window, taking up a stance that let him see the action on the ground. His Webley was no substitute for a sniper’s rifle, but the enemy on the ground was close enough that he felt confident he could drop whoever he aimed at.
Daniel was going a lot closer to them than that.
He felt a strange, fatalistic calm close over him as he heard Daniel lift the bar. The group below were frozen, staring. James Armstrong had appropriated Preston’s shotgun, discarding his own emptied rifle. He and March had their guns trained on the doorway as Daniel emerged. Sir Hubert held his rifle over his arm, like a gentleman out for a morning stroll picking off pheasants.
Three, Curtis thought. He could shoot three.
Daniel stepped forward, into Curtis’s range of vision. James moved forward, red-faced and buoyed by rage, swinging the butt of his gun violently. Daniel jumped back, and Curtis put a bullet into the earth by James’s foot.
“Christ!” yelled James, leaping away.
“More where that came from,” Curtis called down.
“Quite,” said Daniel. “Curtis is a damned good shot, and an angry man. Don’t provoke him. And don’t forget, if you shoot me, you will swing for murder. Vaizey doesn’t tolerate dead agents.”
Sir Hubert was looking at him without liking. “Well? What do you want?”
“Cards on the table,” said Daniel. “You’ve destroyed the evidence, you have photographs that will ruin Curtis. But if you use them, you prove our case. I call that a stalemate. Neither of us can accuse the other without accusing ourselves. Right?”
Sir Hubert gave a stiff nod.
“But it’s a little late for that,” Daniel went on. “Vaizey is coming up here expecting to find evidence of blackmail. He’s not going to believe that Curtis was playing some schoolboy joke.”
“That’s your problem,” James put in angrily.
“Quite,” snapped Sir Hubert.
“So tell me what you want.” Daniel was speaking to Sir Hubert only, ignoring the rest. “I’m in Vaizey’s confidence. I can make this plausible. I know what the Bureau knows, I can pin it all on a scapegoat, and you’ll get away scot-free. With everything. Vaizey has no idea about Lafayette or Jacobsdal yet. We can keep that quiet, if we work together.”
Curtis could feel the sweat cold on his back. His left hand held the Webley rock steady, but he could feel the tremor building in his right, a slow swell of rage.
Archie, trust me now.
“You’ll betray your office, will you?” Sir Hubert demanded.
“Of course he will,” said James. “It’s just as Holt said. You can’t trust his sort.”
“To hell with my office.” Daniel’s voice was low and vicious. “I don’t give a damn for Jacobsdal, or King, or country. Why would I? This country doesn’t give a damn for me. I do this job for money, that’s all. I don’t want to go to prison, nor do you. I can make sure we all get out of this. But we have to do this together.”
“What about Curtis?”
Daniel laughed, an unpleasant sound. “Lovely bloke, hung like a prize bull, but not a bright man. I can lead him around by his cock, don’t worry.”
James squawked with fury, sounding like he was being throttled by his own outrage. Daniel laughed again and put on an exaggerated version of his drawing-room manner. “Forgive my vulgarity. I thought we weren’t playing games any more. Curtis will do as he’s told.”
Curtis breathed evenly, in and out. His right hand was shaking. He could move the Webley’s muzzle just a fraction, aim it at Daniel’s skull. Pull the trigger.
Trust me, trust me, trust me…
“Then do it. What else do you need to know?” Sir Hubert asked.
“How you want to play this. Who’s being thrown to the wolf. Let’s make an arrangement.” Daniel jerked his head in the direction of James and Lady Armstrong. “Do you want them hamstrung, cut off or dead?”
Sir Hubert was gobbling like a turkey. “What the— Are you mad?”
“No?” said Daniel, surprised. “You don’t want rid of them? I’d assumed you’d kill two birds with one stone.”
“Why the devil would I want rid of my wife and son?” Sir Hubert was an odd shade of puce.
“Well, they’re cuckolding you.”
The words, said with casual certainty, dropped like stones on ice. Sir Hubert stood quite still. Curtis felt a fierce, prideful smile curving his lips.
“You beautiful bastard,” he murmured, and held the Webley ready.
“Tripe,” James said. “How dare you. Pater, don’t listen to this rubbish.”
Lady Armstrong was giving angry little gasps. “Hubert, I hope you don’t intend to let this man speak of me like that.”
“You’re a damned liar,” Sir Hubert told Daniel, raising the shotgun. Curtis moved the Webley, aiming at his host’s sweaty forehead.
“If you shoot me, you’ll hang,” Daniel reminded him.