The Alpha Deception (18 page)

But Fass’s Minotaur had managed to sneak one of his spiked gloves upward and wedge it between his flesh and the belt. One of the spikes was close to ripping through it. McCracken managed to close off most of his air but the Minotaur was conscious and still struggling.

Blaine yanked backwards on the makeshift noose, and the giant’s huge throat emitted a watery sound. Blaine drew closer, trying to increase pressure for the kill.

A mistake.

The Minotaur sensed his position and sent his free glove, the one that wasn’t fighting desperately to tear through the belt, hurtling backwards. The tips of the spikes ripped through the flesh of McCracken’s midsection. The pain was enormous, blood spreading through the ragged rips in his white shirt and jacket. Now it was McCracken who screamed, easing up enough for the Minotaur to tear free from the noose.

He swung the spiked glove at Blaine and McCracken managed to duck at the last possible instant, feeling the steel whistle over his head. The main problem now was to neutralize the monster’s deadly hands. McCracken wrapped his arms around the Minotaur’s waist, locking the bulging arms at his sides, and drove the massive frame backwards against one of the walls. The whole structure seemed to tremble and Blaine felt the monster struggling futilely to pull his spiked gloves free of the lock, while Blaine angled himself to ram his knee into the giant’s groin.

The huge testicles, a bull’s indeed, made a welcome target and Blaine pounded them twice. The Minotaur, gasping in pain after McCracken’s second strike rammed home, lowered his head, tensed his neck, and thrust the sharp horns directly at McCracken.

Blaine felt them pierce his back and screamed in agony. The giant tore them out, taking a measure of flesh with them. Then with one swift motion, he tossed McCracken to the floor.

Even in the darkness, Blaine could see the spiked gloves converging toward his head. He shrank back and the steel clanged together. McCracken backpedaled as the beast stalked him for the kill.

The belt! The damn belt! Where was it?
Blaine needed a weapon, and he needed it now.

The monster had slowed his pace to regroup and ease the pain in his groin. He moved with his legs closer together, involuntarily protecting his ruined testicles. McCracken retreated until he reached a dead-end wall. He could almost feel Megilido Fass ogling in expectation of the kill. Well, it wasn’t going to come as fast as he thought… .

McCracken tore off both his loafers and pushed his hands into them. In the next motion he moved away from the wall, in order to meet the Minotaur where he would have the advantage of his greater mobility. His strategy was simple. He could not possibly hope to fend off the spiked gloves with merely his hands. He needed more, something to parry with to buy himself time.

The Minotaur hesitated, unsure, then came at Blaine fast and hard. His right glove lashed out for Blaine’s throat. McCracken deflected it with the shoe and launched a kick into the giant’s knee. The Minotaur grimaced and limped sideways, swishing the other glove through the air. This time McCracken stepped to the inside and extended his shoed hand to block the spikes. With the second shoe he rammed the Minotaur’s solar plexus. Again the giant gasped and staggered backwards. For the moment the advantage was Blaine’s.

What do you think of that, Fass?

The taunt was only in his mind, but it was enough to disturb his concentration. The Minotaur swung out wildly with a spiked glove and Blaine tried to reroute the force and lodge the spikes in the giant’s midsection. But in doing so he totally neglected the second glove which pounded his left side with fiery pain as the spikes tore in and then out. McCracken closed in reflexively to prevent the giant from fashioning a killing blow, but the Minotaur was equal to the task. He heaved McCracken upward by the throat with his two huge arms, then slammed him into the wall. McCracken could see him angling the spikes for a simultaneous sweep across his throat. But before they found flesh, Blaine was able to smash the giant’s ears with his forearms. His balance shaken, the Minotaur dropped Blaine to the floor.

Blaine hit the floor hard and rolled, out of range of what he felt certain would be a countermove. But the giant was still struggling to get his balance back. He was in pain and breathing hard. McCracken, though, held no illusions he could finish the beast even on these terms. He was just too big and too strong. And Blaine had suffered too many injuries to generate the kind of blows that were required. The Minotaur swiped wildly at him once more and McCracken ducked under the blow and rushed back into the Labyrinth.

He knew the monster was giving chase, knew it even as the pain exploded through his sides and back. He could feel the warm blood soaking him everywhere. He realized he had lost his shoes back there, and he started to feel dizzy. He wavered as he ran, crashing into a wall.

No! Release!
Release!

He fought to recall all of Johnny Wareagle’s lessons. What would he do faced with the same predicament? Probably rip out the Minotaur’s throat with his bare hands. Blaine had no doubt he could do it. Without Johnny’s superhuman strength, Blaine would have to find another means.

Release!

His breath came more easily, and he negotiated the twisting turns and corners with surprising ease, only once turning into a dead end.

Wait! A dead end was just what he needed, a corner the Minotaur would have no choice but to follow him into. Through all the blood and pain, McCracken concentrated on something he had noticed about the structure of the Labyrinth. The top of the inner walls had a space of an inch or so between them and the ceiling, indicating the ceiling itself must be false. The panels snapped into steel girders and would be removable. Yes, that was it!

The Minotaur’s labored breathing was around the corner from McCracken. Just a few more turns to negotiate!

Blaine scaled the wall, virtually running up it until his fingers locked on the ridge between partition and ceiling. His feet against the wall enabled him to raise one of his hands, knock aside a ceiling panel, and grab one of the steel girders. He pulled the rest of his frame upward, legs hoisted high to his chest, prepared to spring. His hands held fast, feet pressing hard against the side wall for leverage. If the darkness was sufficient, he would have one chance to pull off what he planned. One chance …

The Minotaur turned the corner and headed down the corridor just far enough to see that the dead end did not reveal his quarry. He swung around.

McCracken dropped upon him, pushing his legs out hard to cover the distance. In one swift motion he had grabbed hold of the bull’s-head mask by the horns and yanked it off. Then he fell to the floor as, disoriented, the giant reeled backwards, bellowed and charged him with both spiked gloves raised overhead.

He never saw McCracken drive the bull’s-head mask forward horns first, into the rippling flesh of his abdomen. The Minotaur’s insides spilled outward—blood and flesh pooled with steaming intestines—and the giant collapsed in a heap.

Breathing hard, McCracken slid back against the wall. The bloody headpiece fell to the floor. God, the pain racked him, but he had beaten Fass’s damn monster.

Still the Greek would have seen it all on the monitors. Even now his guards would be heading into the Labyrinth to finish the Minotaur’s job for him. Blaine needed a way out, and it had to be now!

The Minotaur would have been able to use more than one entry from the subterranean tunnels, but how could he find these entries? Where were they?

Blaine could hear the heavy footsteps of Fass’s guards charging into the maze. Their pursuit would be slowed considerably by the twists and turns which would provide some time for him. He had to make it enough.

McCracken dropped to his hands and knees, the motion sending bolts of pain through his wounded sides and back. His hands probed the floor beneath him as he crawled in search of a slight space indicating the presence of a passage from below.

The heavy boots were almost upon him when he found it. Blaine wedged his fingers tight into an opening and lifted upwards. The trapdoor came free. Beneath him the darkness was total. McCracken started to lower his frame in and then dropped down into the blackness.

Chapter 17

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN
he’s not there?” Megilido Fass demanded from the safety of his office. “I saw him drop into the passageway myself! I have it on tape!”

“We have searched everywhere and found no sign of him,” the captain of the guards reported.

“Impossible! Bring him to me or I’ll cut
your
throat instead!”

“I cannot deliver that which is no longer here.”

“He couldn’t have escaped! He couldn’t!”

“Sir,” the captain said as placatingly as possible, “please don’t forget that the Labyrinth was constructed over several ancient entrances to the Sfakia caves. McCracken could have found one of these entrances before we arrived and plunged into it to escape.”

“Impossible, I tell you, impossible!” Fass persisted, his tone one of panic.

“So was defeating the Minotaur … or that was what we thought until today. Rest assured that the man is out of miracles, though. Once in the maze of caves underlying this area, no man could ever find his way out again.”

“I want you to send teams into the caves just to be sure.”

“Sir,” the captain begged, “it is too easy for them to lose their way.
They
might never make it out again.”

“Tell them to take along a spool of wool,” Fass joked madly, but the humor was lost on the captain.

Night fell with the passing of hours. Fass’s guards searched the underground chambers beneath the Labyrinth again and again; team after team of men emerged dirty and frustrated. Several groups were ordered into the maze of caves, connected to their entrances by ropes that permitted entry up to three hundred yards. The lighting was insufficient, the air stale and dank. By nightfall, it seemed hopeless and the search was called off. Somehow Blaine McCracken had found a way to elude them. Fass insisted that the guards around the villa compound be doubled. The captain agreed, knowing in his own mind that there was no way a man like McCracken would ever return so soon after leaving.

In fact, though, Blaine had never left. The pain from his wounds convinced him he was in no shape for anything but rest. But tending his wounds would have to wait. For now, all that mattered was survival.

He was betting that Fass would have moved to alert his guards as soon as he saw Blaine drop through the entrance. Fass would not be paying close attention to his monitor screens. So upon landing, Blaine counted to five, climbed back up into the Labyrinth, and ducked safely behind another partition just as the guards reached the trapdoor he had left propped up. Later he had moved deeper into what he judged to be the center of the Labyrinth. The guards would never think to check it. There was clearly no reason to, since he had been seen escaping.

In the ensuing hours, Blaine cared for himself as best he could by ripping his shirt into strips for bandages and tourniquets. Without medical supplies, all he could do was stay still and let the wounds close naturally. It took three hours for the pain to subside and another one for exhaustion to give way to sleep. When Blaine awoke, night had fallen. His built-in clock told him it was between eight and nine o’clock. Any sounds of men searching beneath him were gone.

But his business with Megilido Fass was by no means finished.

Blaine knew his wounds would prove extremely restricting but with stealth and cleverness he could do what
had
to be done. McCracken wanted Fass now more than anything, including the Atragon. He neither enjoyed nor loathed killing. But taking the life of a man who placed no value on life, who had slit the throat of an innocent boy just as easily as he would have swatted a fly, would give Blaine satisfaction. He could not lie to himself about that.

Near midnight, Blaine eased gingerly out of his position. He made his way to the Labyrinth entrance and opened the door a crack. The night was moonless, but light poured out of the house, making a direct approach impossible. Blaine’s first thought was to short out the fuse box, but he realized such a move would only result in Fass’s tightening security to an impossible degree.

That left a one-man commando assault as his only option. Blaine opened the door a bit more.

There was one guard posted between the Labyrinth and the tall row of bushes enclosing it. What a blessing! Blaine sighed slightly with relief; he would not have to kill the man to move on to the next phase.

He eased himself through the door, careful to make sure it closed softly behind him. Keeping his frame low and avoiding the light as much as possible, he glided soundlessly over the mist-coated grass.

The man’s head was turned the other way when McCracken lunged and seized him in a hold across the carotid artery designed to shut off the flow of oxygen to the brain. Ten seconds was all it took for a well-skilled professional, and the guard was disabled silently with a minimum of fuss.

Seconds later, the guard’s white uniform had been pulled over Blaine’s bloodied clothes. He left the rifle but pocketed the man’s knife and stuffed his pistol into the tight belt. The shoes were tight as well, but they would do. McCracken took up the man’s post and at the last second elected to sling the rifle over his shoulder on the chance that he was seen. He peered out through the narrow break in the bushes toward Fass’s mansion. The sight distressed him. Three guards were in plain view, all too well spaced to be simply overcome. With no time left for further consideration, Blaine left the rifle behind and passed through the opening into the mansion’s backyard, again keeping his frame as low as possible.

The light was his greatest foe now, as he studied the routine of the guard closest to him on the right. The man’s territory seemed to run from the start of the veranda to the far edge of the kidney-shaped swimming pool. He could tell this guard’s steps were bored and laconic. That would work for him.

Staying close to the bushes for as long as he could, Blaine edged on, closing the distance to the pool as directly as possible. Then he waited for the guard to finish his patrol of that area and start back for the veranda before sprinting toward the cover of the cabanas. The rest was a matter of waiting … and moving at the correct moment.