#49: FAMILIAR FOE.

Keeping low, Drake hurried down towards the back of his property. He heard another two shots, followed by a burst of return fire from Nickelby. 
With the sniper occupied by his butler, Drake could move about more freely, circling back around to Mandible Mountain. Being as athletic as he was, it took him less than a minute to cross then start up the slope.

Standing at roughly five-hundred and forty metres above sea-level, Mandible Mountain was technically only a hill. Located one and a half clicks from the mansion with a small copse of trees for cover and a clear view of the kitchen, it made an ideal position for a marksman.
Or markswoman as Drake suspected.

His suspicion was proved correct when he saw a familiar, blonde-haired assassin, lying beneath a weeping willow, aiming down at the mansion. Taking out the auto-revolver, he stole up noiselessly behind her and pressed the barrel to the back of her head.

“Godformiddag,” he said, greeting her in Danish .

#50: OUTMANOEUVRED, OUTGUNNED.

The assassin slowly released the rifle and placed her hands flat on the ground beside her.

“We meet again Mr Mandible,” she said in English.
“More frequently than I’m comfortable with, quite frankly,” replied Drake. “I don’t really appreciate people taking pot-shots at me and my butler.”

“Pot-shots?” she asked incredulously. “I could easily hit your manservant, even from this angle.”

“That’s doubtful,” countered Drake, keeping his eyes on the back of her head. “You’re using a bolt-action, M-200 Intervention rifle, if my ears aren’t mistaken. I’ve been counting your shots since back at the house, and you’ve used up all seven shots.”

“Your hearing is quite remarkable Mr Mandible and you are quite right,” said the assassin. “I am indeed using an M-200, and seven shots have been fired. But you’re assuming that I came alone this time.”

So there were TWO assassins and her companion was still around somewhere…

#51: CARELESS COMPANION.

Hearing a twig snapping behind him, Drake ducked as a bullet whizzed over his head. Without even turning around, he raised the auto-revolver and fired twice. There was a yell of pain and the sound of a body falling into the bushes.

“Anyone else I should know about?” asked Drake.

“There are just two of us,” she replied innocently.

“If you say so. Now, please stand up slowly and put your hands on your head.”

Drake took her rifle and marched her over to the bushes where the accomplice was curled up in agony.

“Your mistake was trying to use a long-range weapon at close quarters. I suggest you choose your next move very carefully,” Drake told him. “These are rubber bullets, but I think you’ll find that they do substantially greater damage at this distance and I NEVER miss.”

The accomplice said nothing, but glared up at him.

“I’m assuming your talkative friend is also with S.K.U.L.L.S.?”

The Scandinavian nodded.

“Well,” said Drake, “You’ve been a rather slippery customer, ma’am, but I think this time will be markedly difficult. This time you WILL be going to the proper authorities.

“Yes, it looks quite bad for me,” she said. “But have you taken into account the five kilograms of C4 attached to the rear wall of your residence, right next to the gas tank?”

This gave Drake pause. Five kilos of plastic explosive was more than enough to completely obliterate the mansion and –even worse- Nickelby along with it…

#46: NONPLUSSED NICKELBY.

If Nickelby was at all taken aback when Drake greeted him, still wearing his mud-caked, sweat drenched pyjamas; with a large medieval weapon strapped to his back, the butler certainly did not show it. Nor did he so much as raise an eyebrow when he spotted the remains of the Canidon.

“I see you’ve managed to keep yourself occupied, Master Drake,”he said at last.

“Yes, more or less,” confirmed Drake. “How was your little holiday Nickelby?”

“Quite adequate sir, quite adequate,” reported the butler. “Although, I’m ready to resume my duties, sir.”

Drake would have none of it.

“Nonsense, Nickelby! You came back a day early, so technically you’re still on leave. You will do nothing until tomorrow. Now come on inside and I’ll fix us breakfast.”

Nickelby looked as though he would protest, but acquiesced anyway.

“Very well sir.”

Drake stuck his head into the luggage compartment of the Cessna.
“Nickelby, you’ve just spent several days in the Bahamas, correct?”

The butler nodded.

“Well then where are your bags?”

Nickelby’s expression didn’t change.
“I suppose they got misplaced, sir,” he replied. “You know how airports can be.”

Drake did.

He shrugged then followed his butler back to the house.

#47: BUTLER'S BREAKFAST.

Although not as competent in the kitchen as Nickelby, the now-dressed Drake could still manage. As he prepared toast, bacon and cheese & chive omelettes, he recounted the events of the past several days.

“It certainly sounds as though you’ve kept yourself busy, Master Drake,” said Nickelby, as his employer set down the plate of food before him. “And I must admit that I am pleasantly surprised that the manor has remained both intact and in spotless. Apart from the remains of the…Carridor, was it?”

“Canidon,” corrected Drake. “And I’ll go clean them up straight after breakfast, before it starts to congeal and decompose.

“Very good sir,” said Nickelby. “And has there been any sign of the elusive, Scandinavian female agent?”

“Not a peep,” said Drake, raising a mug of tea up to his lips.

No sooner had he said this, there was a dull cracking sound and the mug exploded. Looking over, Drake spotted a bullet-hole in the glass and hit the deck. Nickelby followed suit.

There was a sniper on the grounds, and Drake had a pretty shrewd idea who it was....

#48: INCONSIDERATE INTERRUPTION!

As Drake and his butler took cover on the floor, the sniper picked off the other mug of tea and a vase of rhododendrons.

“Perhaps it would be prudent to arrange for the house to be refitted with bulletproof windows, sir,” suggested Nickelby.

“Right,” agreed Drake. “Remind me to contact Oscar Roscoe later and ask who supplies the panes for the bank.”

Nickelby took a mental note.

“I take it you have a plan, Master Drake?” he asked.
Drake just signalled for his butler to stay put and began commando crawling to the armoury. After a few minutes, he returned with several firearms of his own.

“Has our mysterious gunner fired any more shots?” Drake asked.
“Just two, sir, we lost another window.”

Drake handed Nickelby an MP5 submachine gun and an AK-47 assault rifle. He slung the modified MP40 over his shoulder, and then pocketed his Auto-revolver.

“I’m sorry Nickelby,” he said apologetically, “I know I promised not to give you any jobs today, but I need you to provide a diversion while I sneak around behind.”

“Well, these ARE extenuating circumstances,” said Nickelby, examining the magazine of the MP5. “Using blanks I see, sir,” he observed.

“I don’t want a death on my hands if I can help it.”

“As long as it isn’t yours, Master Drake.”

Drake grinned lopsidedly at his butler then crawled out the back door...