by Rob Jones
Hawke had already started to walk down the cliff path that led to the pick-up point on the beach below. “Can you leave the foreplay for later, girls?” he called over his shoulder. “We have work to do.”
*
Vice President Davis Faulkner was tense as the limousine cruised behind the police escort. They were driving south along Rock Creek and Potomac Parkway on their way to the Capitol building where he was due to break a tie on a vote in the Senate. As ex-officio President of the US Senate, the Constitution gave him the power to make the casting vote when the Senate was tied, and today his vote was required to pass the nomination of the Secretary of Veterans Affairs.
It was not exactly his idea of a good time, but the machinery of the US Government was surprisingly delicate and responsive and he had a role to play in that; a role he would continue to play until he got into the Big Chair.
It was also not why he was tense, and now his eyes crawled over the soft leather seats to the car-phone. When it rang, he nearly had a heart attack, then he flashed a tongue over his dry lips and picked up the receiver. “Faulkner.”
“Mr Vice President,” the voice said. “I’m so glad you found time to speak to me.”
“I serve at your will, sir.”
A low chuckle. “Of course... of course.”
“Let me start by apologizing for...”
“I’m not interested in apologies or explanations, Davis. You were ordered to destroy Elysium and kill Eden. You failed on both counts. The Valhalla idol is still in their possession and Eden lives.”
“Yes, sir. The man I put in charge of the assault failed me.”
“The man I put in charge of the assault failed me.”
Faulkner swallowed hard and pulled his pocket square from his breast pocket. He dabbed at sweat beading on his forehead. He was the man the Oracle was referring to, and he didn’t like where the conversation was going. “I can make amends, sir.”
“You can and you will. Say it.”
“Yes – I can and I will.”
“Good. We need those idols, Davis. Not just the one ECHO removed from Valhalla, but each and every one of them.” He paused and Faulkner heard him sucking on a cigar. “The most devastating power you can imagine is locked within the idols, Davis; the secrets they guard will rock this world like nothing that has ever come before and elevate me to my rightful place above all of humanity.” Another pause, and a deep, masculine exhalation of thick smoke. “You want to be...part of this pilgrimage, don’t you, Davis?”
“More than anything, sir.”
“This is also good. An obedient servant is a happy servant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So let me make this clear: I want ECHO terminated and I will not ask you again.”
“Yes sir,” Faulkner said. Then, trying to look on the ball, he added, “When do you want me to move against Brooke?”
The Oracle chuckled again. “Assassination of a sitting President is high treason, Davis, and yet you talk about it as if you’re playing chess with a man in a park.”
“I just want to serve the cause, sir.”
“You will be given your orders when I want Brooke removed from the White House and not before. Let’s just say his days are numbered.”
“Yes, sir. it’s just that I can serve the cause better from the Presidency. The Vice President has very limited powers. There’s no way I can deploy serious forces against ECHO or anyone else from this office.”
“I know the way the system works, Davis. I was in the room when the Constitution was written.”
Davis swallowed again but tried to keep his voice straight and level. It wasn’t easy when the Oracle said things like this. He had no idea if it could be true; it sounded insane but he had faith in his master and the cause he was leading. Besides, he had seen things... things that had convinced him of the Oracle’s claims. How could he dare argue with a man like this? That is, even if he was a man. “Please, accept my apologies.”
“I don’t accept failure, Mr Vice President.”
“No.”
“Which way were you thinking of voting today?” the Oracle said.
“For McKinney.”
“Wrong. You’ll vote for Stafford.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Oracle cut the call and the line buzzed. The sound of the disconnect tone filled the rear of the limo until it almost felt like it was drilling into his head. He fumbled it down onto the cradle and linked his fingers. As they passed the Lincoln Memorial and turned east toward the Senate he realized his knee was jogging up and down like a jackhammer, but no matter how much he tried to rein it in, it just kept going up and down.
What had he done? People talked about selling your soul to the devil, but he felt like that would almost be a relief compared with what he had gotten himself into. What was it Marlowe said about this? He searched his mind for the words he had learned so many years ago when his mind was still young and his conscience fresh and clear.
Hell is just a frame of mind.
Yes, that was it – and it made him feel a little better until he remembered the part where the devils came for Faustus and dragged him down into that hell.
He shuddered but a smile crossed his lips: no devil was dragging an immortal soul into hell, and only the Oracle could offer him this blessed salvation. That is why he would do anything to serve the Man and the Cause.
Anything.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tianhe District, Guangzhou
Tiger watched a packed commuter train rattle into the enormous East Railway Station and glanced at his watch as he stepped out of the government car. All around him China’s third biggest city buzzed and vibrated with life. The aroma of beef offal stew and steamed vermicelli drifted over from a nearby street vendor, and an old woman in a surgical face mask brushed his shoulder as she pedalled past him on a three wheel bike.
Pig and Rat emerged from the car, straightened their ties and flanked him. Tiger was no fan of Tianhe – at least not this part of the district. To him, some of these back streets represented some of the very lowest forms of human life in China.
And now he was about to meet the absolute lowest of them all.
Monkey.
They turned off the main road and made their way the last few hundred meters without the car. Tiger prided himself on being a total professional, and there was no point having unnecessary witnesses. Deep in a labyrinth of degraded tower blocks and crumbling asphalt, they finally reached the building they were looking for.
Car horns and bike bells jostled for supremacy in the background as Tiger double checked the address. He stared up at the colonial-era townhouse. Rotten red shutters hung down at odd angles from the sides of the windows, and a TV aerial cable snaked its way down through broken roof tiles before vanishing through the wall on the upper floor.
“I like it,” Pig said, lifting a Zhonghua cigarette to his mouth. He deftly slipped a solid gold Zippo from his jacket pocket and fired up the tobacco. Inhaling deeply, he held the smoke in his lungs for a moment and coughed hard when it came out again. “He has taste.”
Rat nodded his head. “He’s always liked his whores.”
Tiger sighed and checked his watch once again. “The Boss says he’s in the team, so he’s in the team.”
A woman stumbled out of the alley to the left of the decrepit brothel. A second later a man stepped out behind her, and kicked her in the stomach. She tumbled over and gasped for air. He pulled her to her feet and slapped her around the face a few times.
Tiger and the other two Zodiacs watched impassively for a few seconds. Men beating women on the streets in a place like this was not uncommon, and only an American tourist outside a nearby laundry looked twice. Everyone else walked past, including Tiger, Pig and Rat as they stepped off the street and entered the dingy brothel.
They walked into a darkened world of coughing and heavy cigarette smoke laying on the air in blankets. Cheap smoke now – rough, and some menthol in there
too. A radio chimed in the background, tinny and distracting.
An elderly woman regarded the men’s sharp suits with an avaricious eye. “Good day, gentlemen,” she said.
Tiger reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a small black and white photo of Monkey. He held it up to her face. “Where?”
The woman realized they weren’t here for the women and her eyebrows dropped. Crestfallen, she pointed up the stairs to her left. “Top floor. Front room. No fighting, no killing!”
Tiger placed his hand on her chest and pushed her firmly away from him as he marched past and began to climb the stairs.
The old wooden steps creaked and whined as the three government men made their way up to the top floor, pausing on the landing for a second to check the fire escape. When they reached the top, they padded along the landing until they were at the door to the front room.
Tiger reached out to the door handle. They heard a shallow thud and a woman screamed.
Pig and Rat exchanged a glance and smirked at one another. “Sounds like him, all right.”
Another light thudding sound and another scream.
Tiger turned the handle.
Locked.
Now he raised his boot and put the door in and they all saw what was going on.
A blindfolded woman was tied to the bed and either side of her head several Chinese flying darts were embedded in the wooden headboard. The Chinese flying dart was a lethal hand-held throwing weapon used in ancient China both as a range weapon or in the fist. Now, half a dozen of the razor-sharp metal darts were just inches from the sobbing woman’s head.
“That’s his handiwork, for sure,” Pig said.
“Indeed,” said Rat as he scanned the room. “But where is the man himself?”
“He heard me try the door,” Tiger said. “The three seconds in between my turning that handle and kicking the door down was all he needed.”
“Which is why he’s on the team,” Rat said.
Pig nodded and cast a regretful eye at the woman on the bed. “Sadly, yes.”
Tiger walked over to her, took off her blindfold but left her tied up.
As far as the ropes would allow her to move, she recoiled in fear when she saw the three suited men, but calmed down when Tiger showed her the picture.
“Is this him?”
She nodded and pointed her head toward the bathroom door. “I heard him go in there.”
Tiger thanked her and put the blindfold back.
She kicked out and screamed again but he ignored her, turned and moved toward the bathroom. He drew his weapon as he got closer to the door.
Pig and Rat followed suit and now all three men raised their guns into the aim. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust Monkey, but more that he was unpredictable and had a dangerous trigger finger. He would shoot first and ask questions much later, so they knew they had to be prepared.
Tiger nudged the door open with the toe of his boot. “Come out, come out wherever you are, Monkey Man,” he said. “It’s the Tiger and his friends.”
A heartbeat later an upside-down head appeared above them.
Tiger took a step back and aimed the gun at the grinning face. The man’s long hair was hanging down and his deranged smile looked like a frown because he was still upside-down.
“You mean Pig and Rat?” he said.
Tiger and the others exchanged a look, smiled and lowered their weapons. “Yes, I mean Pig and Rat.”
Monkey swung down from above the door. He had hidden up there like a ninja, using the top of the shower cubicle on one side and the aircon vent on the other to hold himself in place. No one else could have done it, but while Monkey shared the other men’s former espionage backgrounds, he had been in a circus when they were in the army. This added to his enigmatic character, but also gave him incredibly powerful arms and legs.
He landed on the bathroom floor with a gentle, controlled thump and then brushed his hair back over his face to reveal his infamous pock-marked face. He glanced over Tiger’s shoulder and grinned. “You really did mean Pig and Rat!”
“Monkey, this is business.”
“Of course,” Monkey said. The smile was gone and now he was scowling. He padded across the room and pulled the darts out of the headboard. He slapped the woman’s face and she screamed. “When the Tiger, the Pig and the Rat come to my playground it is only ever business...but tell me, colleagues – is it a kill job?”
“That’s for Zhou to decide, and you will obey him.”
Monkey moved toward the door and Tiger stepped in front of it to block his exit. “We can trust you to obey Zhou, can’t we, Monkey?”
“Of course.”
Tiger nodded, his eyes heavy with uncertainty. “We don’t want anything like last time.”
Monkey looked offended. “Nothing like last time, I promise.”
“Good,” Pig said, stubbing his cigarette out on the door frame and dropping the crumpled butt to the floor. “Then let’s get out of this dump.”
“What’s the job?” Monkey said.
Tiger fixed his eyes on the dangerous young man. “Agent Dragonfly.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Hawke, Lexi and Devlin waited in the shadows as the minisub pilot pulled alongside a small jetty and killed the engine. When he opened the hatch the first and last thing he saw was Hawke’s fist as it piled into his face. Devlin dragged the body along the jetty as the Englishman fired the engine back up and then they were away.
It didn’t take Hawke long to acquaint himself with the controls and set a course for Zito’s island. He submerged the Aurora a few meters beneath the surface so they wouldn’t be seen: Zito and his men might not be expecting it to return so soon, so Hawke decided to err on the side of caution.
“If they’ve hurt her, I’ll kill every last one of them,” Devlin said.
Hawke and Lexi exchanged a glance. “There’s a line for that,” Lexi said to the Irishman. “And you’re at the back of it.”
Hawke noticed the offshore bars gradually rising up as they neared the island, and he made the decision to surface the small vessel. When they broke through the waves they all saw the lights of Isola Pacifica’s long northern coast. Behind them, in the center of the island, was some elevated ground. It was partly covered in a large pine forest and perching on the top was Zito’s villa complex.
“She’s in there somewhere,” Hawke said, killing the sub’s lights.
“Not for long,” said Lexi.
Hawke navigated the sub into Zito’s mooring jetty and cut the engine. Now, with only the sound of the waves splashing against the glass cockpit bubble, he opened the hatch and climbed out into the darkness. When Lexi and Devlin joined him, he had already lashed the sub to the jetty with some mooring rope and was now surveying the best way to get up to the villa.
They decided to go to the east and use the forest for cover for as long as they could, but there was still the open ground of the beach to cross first. A few steps into their journey they all heard the sound of engines revving in the darkness.
“What the hell?” Devlin said. “How did they know?”
“Maybe they have a crystal ball?” Lexi said, glancing at the Irishman.
“Here they come,” Hawke said. “They’re on dirt bikes – back to the sub!”
“And desert Lea?” Devlin said.
“We need a new plan,” Lexi said, but Danny Devlin was already on his way. He had split up from Hawke and Lexi and was now sprinting toward the cover of the trees.
“What the hell is he doing?” Lexi said.
Hawke shook his head and cursed. “He’s going to get us all killed!”
As they took cover behind the minisub, Lexi raised her hand and pointed at Devlin. “They’ve already seen him. They’re on his tail!”
One of the dirt bikes broke away from the other and swerved hard to the left. It was now headed in the direction of Danny Devlin who was still running up the beach toward the cover of a line of stone pines at the top o
f the dunes.
The Irishman glanced over his shoulder and saw the threat fast approaching, and then they were all aware of the sound of gunfire.
Hawke saw a third man up on the bluff, hunkered down behind a sage bush and his eye fixed firmly to the telescopic sights of a sniper’s rifle. He cursed and called out to Devlin to warn him of the threat.
The man on the dirt bike was now almost nipping at Devlin’s heels. He pulled an MP5 from his belt and began firing at his prey. The bullets ripped through the sand and chased after the former Irish Ranger as he raced toward the cover of the trees.
Hawke opened fire with his Glock. Night shrouded the biker, and he was racing away out of sight, but the rounds slammed into the sand around him and nearly knocked him off his bike.
Under fire now, and struggling to control the bike with one hand and fire the machine pistol with the other, the man raised the weapon and fired on Devlin again. The bullets peppered the sand behind the Irishman, but before they could rip into his back, he dived into the cover of the trees and bushes up on the ridge at the top of the beach.
Lexi breathed a sigh of relief but Hawke cursed at the unnecessary risk Danny Devlin had taken. He could have gotten them all killed and had put the entire operation in jeopardy.
“Holy crap,” Lexi said. “That was close!”
“Too close,” Hawke grumbled. “He could have got himself killed doing that.”
But there was no time to think about right or wrong. With Devlin up inside the cover of Isola Pacifica’s small forest, the rider burned off down one of the narrow tracks inside the woods in pursuit. The other rider turned around and headed back in the direction of Hawke and Lexi back on the jetty.
“Oh, crap,” Lexi said. “That was predictable.”
“Yeah – thanks to Mr Devlin.”
The man racing toward them pulled a machine pistol and began firing. Hawke had used a whole mag trying to save Devlin, so now he needed a new one but there was no time. The rider was so close Hawke could smell the two-stroke exhaust fumes and as the bullets danced their way up the wooden jetty, he scanned for a weapon. Spying a loose board in the jetty, he wrenched it free with a hefty tug.