Avengers by Brian Lumley

Author:Brian Lumley [Lumley, Brian]
Language: deu
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780812570199
Amazon: 0812570197
Goodreads: 298187
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

17

SIRPSINDIGI AND LONDON – DOUBLE DÉTENTE

The two men – who, if looks were anything to go by, were white Europeans – sat gawping at Fletcher and his minders, apparently stunned by the sudden reversal of fortunes. Yet Fletcher wasn’t certain about that, and Joe Sparrow had found the encounter way too easy.

With his eyes narrowed, Sparrow said, ‘Cliff, what the fuck is going on here?’ Glancing at Angel, he kept the muzzle of his Keramique trained squarely on their captives. ‘Did these people jump you or what?’

‘They did and they didn’t,’ said Angel. ‘They came from an alley as I walked past. But if they really meant to take me, it was the work of amateurs. I think I could probably have made my break, turned the tables, before we got back here. I considered doing it, but then they mentioned a few things that left me undecided. If what they said was true, then I didn’t want to fuck things up. Apart from which – and to be honest – I didn’t much fancy the odds. Not with a gun in the small of my back.’

‘They mentioned a few things?’ Sparrow repeated him, frowning. ‘About what? What kind of things?’

‘Hold your horses, Joe,’ Angel answered. ‘Let’s observe the priorities. Like first I want my gun back. And the one with the mole has it.’

The mark that he’d mentioned – a small dark mole on the jaw of one of the strangers – was for the moment about the only way the pair could be told apart. For it was now apparent that they were in fact almost identical twins.

Angel approached the man in question, went to one knee and reached inside his overcoat, came out with his Keramique. Next, he brought out a wallet and flipped it open. Then, standing up, he said, ‘Well, what do you know? At least part of their story is true. Russian ID, and this one’s called, er—’

‘—Vladimir Androsov,’ said the man with the mole, holding his arm awkwardly and grimacing. Then, looking at Fletcher, he flinched and slowly added, ‘Is very possible you are dislocating my shoulder.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Fletcher answered. ‘I was a physio in my time and can probably pop it back again. In fact, I might even enjoy it.’ Switching his gaze to the other twin, Fletcher jerked his head inquiringly and raised an angry red eyebrow.

‘Ah, yes.’ Androsov carefully, painfully stretched his neck, inclining his head to look at his colleague. ‘This is Venyamin, my brother. He is not speaking the English very much. You will please excusing his quiet.’

‘Listen, you,’ said Angel, checking his weapon and cocking it, his voice a low growl. ‘Please excusing my impatience – my quickly getting pissed off – and tell my friends here what you told me.’

Androsov nodded, grimaced again, and said, ‘Very well. You are the British E-Branch. We are from Russian E-Branch, Gustav Turchin’s men. Our listening stations are picking up the story about the Evening Star. We are on the same case.

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