CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: A PRETTY BIG DEAL

Agent Johns had a bad feeling about this whole deal.

He supposed that he may have a bit of a bias against these sorts of events - after that botched mission in Mexico, he could never see any arms deal the same way. He'd always been warned not to mess with the cartel. Oh, how he had learned then. His partner had found it rather difficult with a twelve-gauge shell in his brain, who wouldn't?

Mr. Langdon, clearly. He had tapped into some of those bandit radio communications - the guy had bit the big one and still lived. Of course it was Langdon - the man who had his nose in just about every industry that could profit him. Johns quite firmly remembered using an Alco pistol on a "business trip" to the south of France. That moment where he held a mob boss like Texas at the card table - he wouldn't want that sort of firepower in Piers's hands.

Johns's thoughts were interrupted by a finger snapping in his face.

Then Clark's voice.

"Hey Double-Oh sleepy? Over here, mate. Warehouse ain't that far." Clark was clad in Collins's bulletproof vest - which he willingly gave up considering the grounds that he needed to recover - as well as a rubber apron under it, and some heavily padded leather gloves that he had stitched metal bars to the knuckles of. He was holding the duffel bag as well - which had been emptied of supplies to make room for the explosives.

"Uh-huh... right, right. Didn't you say the guns were in warehouse one?"

"Nope, warehouse three. One's the automation warehouse, silly. Do you at least remember the plan?"

"I get in through the breakroom skylight, while you provide a distraction?" Johns asked. He was wearing more or less the same clothes, except for the rope and hook he had wrapped around his torso like a sash. It looked odd - the high-end suit paired with the rope and rusty metal hook.

"Great stuff. If I can't blow up as much of the weapons cache as possible, we take what we can and cut. And kill the bandits. Maybe Langdon," Clark said, continuing his steady pace. The warehouses were visible already - those sad, grey blobs along the horizon, squatting behind chain link fences.

Johns sighed. This was going to be a long evening.

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Sir Guyson had an awfully strange feeling about this whole deal. He supposed that it was simple exhilaration - the thrill of the hunt, as they say - but there was a little more to it. It wasn't fear - no, he hadn't felt that since the hunting incident with the deer and him getting pinned to the big pine tree - but rather, nervousness. This wasn't his cup of tea. He was meant for shooting things that looked nice on his wall - not this strange world of precautions and arms deals and CEOs.

Mr. Xing, on the other hand, lived for it. Hence why it was him stood outside the Warehouse 3 door, and Guyson stationed outside just in case. Heracles, after several pecks and even trying to divebomb Xing, contented himself with flying about the compound, looking for nothing in particular.

Xing knocked at the door, once, twice, three times.

"Mr. Jackson? Are you in there?"

"Uhh yeah, just gimme a sec... getting the magazines in order, ya know?"

Xing wasn't much in the mood for excuses. "Open the door, James."

"Yessir." A click, as the door gave way, Xing greeted with the sight of the blighter.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

"For you to leave your assault rifle at the door," James said, gesturing at the Type 56 on Xing's back. "Oh, and the granddad."

"Sir Guyson is staying at the door - but I insist that I bring my gun."

"No can do. Besides, you're getting a truckload of quality guns in just a second. All the lead you can swallow, even."

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Arthur Langdon was happy to play the waiting game now - the firearm that James would offer to Xing was tampered with, and he was armed to the teeth. Two submachine guns, and a change of clothes he had dug up in his old office. Sure, the suit had tails on it, but it was a nice shade of grey and had no blood on it. Yet. He had taken some steel-toe boots from the manufacturing sector, plus a sledgehammer, just in case. He couldn't be too safe. Not when he was trying to take out Xing. Not when he was trying to bring peace to London.

He had a job to do - and he couldn't die before he could execute it.That plan of his was coming into motion.And they didn't even know it, that was the best thing. Those gormless, slow-in-the-brain bandits wouldn't know an ultimatum if it strangled them and spat in their face.

They don't know nothing.

Why else would they come after him? They didn't know how far he was willing to go just to purge them, to relieve this country of them. For the greater good.

What Arthur didn't know was the spy looking down at him from the skylight. Not until a shot was fired at him, hitting him in the foot - and shards of glass fell on him. As did the spy, once the skylight had cracked.

Agent Johns landed on a couch, in the sitting position - his gun pointed straight at Arthur. The businessman was only too happy to reciprocate with both Alco submachine guns, with their suppressors and 900 rpm purr, pointed at Johns's chest. The message was clear - move, and get shredded to pieces.

"Good evening, Mr. Langdon," Johns said, his voice wavering more out of shock than fear. God, it had been years since he had done this sort of thing.

"Evening, err... wait - don't tell me... MI5?"

"Close. MI6."

"Right - classic Bond stuff. Where's the explosive pens?" Arthur didn't move at all, still aiming at Johns.

"Gone. I'm here to make sure this deal doesn't go through."

Arthur smiled, lowering his weapons. "You have no idea how much easier you've made this for me. You see, I don't want this to go through either."

"Then why are you doing it in the first place?" Johns inquired.

"I have a little... you know what, I won't spoil it for you. It'll be better when you see it yourself."

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Clark Maxwell had a great feeling about this deal - that is, until he heard the glass shattering not far from where he was stationed. Then there was the sound of guns being readied. Worst of all was the sound of Mr. Langdon's voice.

Clark supposed there was a variety of reactions to hearing your former boss's voice. Fear. Anger. Hatred. Resignation. A feeling of redundancy. But sticking plastic explosive charges to the workplace exterior? Even that was a new one, which Clark couldn't help but enjoy. Carefully setting the alarm on the clock he had attached to the explosive - an improvised, silly little thing - something that looked straight out of a Hollywood bank heist - he stood back and waited.If anyone was listening, he would have loved to make some bomb pun.

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"Now you see here Mr. Xing, you seem like a fine, upstanding bandit representative. The kind to know an enterprise when they're presented with one - especially access to such a range of fine, authentic weapons like the ones we got here." Perhaps the only thing going well for James right now was the fact that his part of the plan was simply to do his job. Talking to the customer, as per usual. A returning customer, even better.

But a dead customer isn't a returning customer, is it?

He couldn't help but keep thinking that, every time he looked at Xing. By God, he was getting cold feet. What if he just warned Xing now? But there'd be nothing in it for him.

"Anyways - I'm looking for some serious long-term favors for this one. Maybe a promotion in your ranks, even."

Xing sighed. "You know full well that only Piers can decide that, Mr. Jackson. If it weren't for his injury sustained at the hands of Maxwell's men, he'd be here to discuss those things with you."

"Yes - but I think you're underestimating the absolutely explosive opportunities I have for you! We have things that make the Geneva Convention look like a suggestion, for crying out loud."

As if on cue, a ringing sounded from the wall closest to Xing upon James saying "explosive". A good chunk of it gave way with a bang, revealing Clark behind it. "Hope you don't mind the explosive entrance, gents," he said, smugly.

"...that's the worst gag I've ever heard, kid."

"I agree with Mr. Jackson. What are you doing here, Maxwell?"

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Arthur winced at the horrendous rumbling that signaled Clark's entrance. He glared at Johns, knowing full well that he was part of that somehow.

"Explain," he said, flatly.

"That was going to be my way of taking the bandits out."

"And my factory along with it?"Johns looked up, shrugging. "Well... none of us particularly like you."

"I don't particularly like you, but I'm not exploding you!"

"Yet."

"Yet. Don't give me another reason."

Arthur sighed theatrically, standing up to leave the breakroom.

He saw Clark, on the ground, wrestling with Xing, swinging his trench spike every which way.

James eagerly watched on.

"Oh Arthur, you came just in time! Some random idiot here's doing our job for us!" Arthur squinted at the random idiot for quite some time - watching as Xing throttled his neck before receiving brass knuckles to the nose.

"Is that-"Johns leaned against the doorway, still holding his gun.

"The Prime Minister's brother? Yes, it is."

"No - that's the drunkard electrician I hired two years ago!"

Clark pushed Xing off him, catching his footing and standing up. "Steve - get out of the bloody way before the bomb goes off."

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Meanwhile, Guyson and Heracles were having the most whimsical of times, ditching their respective duties to traipse along the outside of the Alco warehouse compound, and the Grand Union Canal that ran along it.

They didn't hear Xing's cry for help as Johns shot him through the leg.

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Arthur was left there dumbfounded, as Johns and Clark used the now-empty duffel bag to stuff all manner of ammunitions and weapons into it - as much as they could carry. James was rifling through Xing's pockets, who laid there, seemingly accepting his fate. Two minutes till another alarm would sound, bringing a large portion of Arthur's weapons cache with it.

Without a second thought, Arthur dropped one of his SMGs, smashing the stock against Johns's groin and snatching the bag. Then his face, for good measure. And again. And again.

Both Clark and Johns began to run out of that hole in the wall - the former helping the latter along. James left not long after, grabbing Xing's assault rifle and depositing whatever he could carry to one of the other warehouses.

It was just Arthur and Xing.

"I genuinely don't get it. I don't get why people like you are so hungry for power, that you think you're above human - like you're the center of the entire universe. Don't deny it. Why else would THIS happen? Why else would you be in a building that's about to blow, unable to move? Because karma comes back to bite you, because YOU think you're the hero."

Arthur leaned down close, close to Xing's face. Arthur felt something warm and coppery-smelling hit his cheek. The same stuff was streaming down Xing's lips.

"You see? It's all because of you, you filthy bandit. I know it was YOU who ordered my assassination. I know James sold the gun to Havelston. I know it was all you. But here's the thing. I'm not going to stoop to your level. I'm not going to kill you. Because that's what real heroes do. They're merciful. You have the next minute to live, before Clark's bomb blows."

A pause, then a pop as Xing's other kneecap got shot.

"When you get to Hell, make sure to set up a welcome party for your bandit friends. They won't keep you waiting long."

Arthur stood up, walking out of Alco Warehouse No. 3 for good, as well as leaving Li Xing for dead.