Codename: Omega (feat. The Apiary Society) by Bernard Schaffer Page A

for the gun, but she was frozen in place.  He snatched the weapon from her hands and threw her to the ground, cocking the hammer and hoping that whatever old boy had bothered to hold onto such an engine of destruction had bothered to keep the damn thing loaded.  The Webley erupted and the nearest of the men flew backwards like someone had punched him in the chest.  The second dove for cover.  Price cocked the hammer.  "Stick your head out," Price whispered.  "Just give me an inch."
     
    Emily fished a key from a chain around her neck and bent to a small box chained to a gutter along the roof’s wall.  She fit the key into the rusted lock and removed a heavy iron ball from within.  Price’s eyes widened, “What the hell is that?” 
     
    She leaned over the edge of the roof and unscrewed the cap of a drain pipe that ran down the side of the house to the street below.  "No one was going to catch my grandfather with his knickers down," she said, twisting the grenade at the middle and dropping it down the center of the pipe. 
     
    A bullet flew across Price’s right calf, searing the flesh and leaving a smoking hot trail across his skin.  The gunman poked just enough of his head out of the chimney to aim his weapon again and Price squeezed the Webley's smooth, well-oiled trigger.  The gun barked and the right side of the man's head exploded. 
     
    Emily looked down at the black sedans screeching around the corner with men jumping out of them, bearing guns.  "More are coming!  Follow me!"  
     
    Price saw movement in the stairwell and fired, not seeing what he hit.  He looked over his shoulder just as Emily leapt over the side of the roof, shouting "Victoria Regina!"  
     
    The iron ball dropped out of the drain pipe and hit the street, exploding into a fireball that sent shards of concrete as high as the roof.  Emily clung to the drainpipe, hugging the wall as hot asphalt splinters struck her legs.  “Come on, damn you!” she shouted.
     
    Emily climbed down the drainpipe into the swirl of smoke and flame, down into the now open manhole from ancient times.  Price fired on the stairwell again, keeping the group of men pinned back, then stuck the gun in his belt and leapt over the side of the roof. 
     
    The pipe was sturdy, with handholds built along the sides as if someone expected to be making this descent someday.  He realized it wasn’t a drainpipe at all, but rather an ingenious escape device disguised as one.  He leapt down from the pipe and fell into the darkness of the London underground, landing in a pool of black water.  Rats squealed in protest at their sudden intrusion as Emily Watson held out her hand to lift him to his feet. 
     
    "This way," she said.  "My grandfather mapped out an escape route should something like this ever occur."
     
    Price ran after her, "Well then.  He sounds like someone I should like to have met."
     
    ***
    Price toweled his wet hair just inches from his closed bathroom door.  Steam curled out from beneath it and Price leaned close to say, “Finding everything all right in there?”
     
    “I don’t believe it’s that difficult, Mr. Price,” Emily said. 
     
    “Just letting you know that my assistance is available to you.  Anything that might be hard to reach, perhaps?”  
     
    “I think I’ll manage, thanks.  Are you always this forward, or is it just when there are naked women within ten feet of your grasp?”
     
    Price quit the doorway and headed for the drink car.  He poured whiskey over several ice cubes, swirling it in the glass before adding soda, letting the ice mix it all together.  “I’ve found that getting shot brings out my passion for living.  When I can clearly see my own death only moments away, I cling to life like a wounded animal.”  Price quickly downed his drink, made another, and downed that as well.  The third he sipped slowly.  “It’s a survival mechanism, really.  People who lack it don’t last