by Rob Jones
Francken pushed up out of his chair and walked across to the window. Leaning on his cane, he knew they were all waiting for him to answer. When he did, his words were wrapped in a thick layer of disappointment. “For now, I cannot tell you.”
“Not good enough,” Hawke said. “We can’t put ourselves in harm’s way without knowing the full story.”
He turned and offered a conciliatory smile. “I will tell you this – the lyre itself is not dangerous. You will not be harmed in the act of retrieving it. You and the rest of your team are not in danger from the lyre. When you return it to me – when I know I can trust you, I will tell you what makes it so dangerous.”
“I’m not sure I like this,” Lea said.
A murmur of agreement rippled around the team.
“Accept my terms, or I will find another team to retrieve the lyre.” Francken shrugged and walked back from the window. “And from what I hear, you are having some serious cash flow problems at the moment.”
“We’ll accept your terms,” Hawke said. “And the pay is one million US dollars?”
A brief nod. “Exactly.”
“All right, then to business,” Hawke said. “Is there any way we can see the CCTV footage from the Electra?”
Francken gave his head a sullen shake. “Not unless you have a way to access the Greek legal system. All CCTV footage from the attack was taken from the ship by the police and is now in the court system waiting until it can be used in evidence in any trial.”
“Not a great start,” Ryan said.
“No,” said Hawke. “If we had access to the footage we might be able to identify some of the men behind the attack.”
“They were wearing masks,” Francken said.
“A glimpse of the boat they were using, or any of their weapons could help,” Hawke said. “But without access to the CCTV we don’t have any leads at all.”
“And we can’t just call up Rich or Alex this time,” Lea said with a sigh. “So we’re on our own.”
“Hey, we have me,” Ryan said.
Scarlet let out a mock sigh. “Totally on our own, then.”
“Any ideas?” Lexi asked.
“Yes,” Francken said. “I have an idea, but you will have to go to the hospital. All of Captain Jagger’s team and most of my ship’s crew were killed except one – a very brave sailor and fellow treasure hunter I have known for many years. He name is Spyros Markides and he is in the Intensive Care Unit of Laiko General Hospital, not far from here.”
Lea felt a wave of hope. “Is he conscious?”
“Last time I heard, yes. He can talk.”
“Does he speak English?” Ryan asked.
“Of course.”
“Looks like we just got our first break,” Lea said.
Hawke nodded and smiled. If Markides could offer a lucid recollection of the raid, they might just get the clue they needed to find out who had perpetrated it. “So it does.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Too big to go mob-handed, most of the team stayed outside in their hired SUVs while Hawke, Lea and Ryan went into the hospital on their own. With no Richard Eden to pull strings with the authorities, getting into the ICU to speak with Spyros Markides proved to be harder than they had thought.
They put their heads together and after a short operation involving some stolen doctors’ scrubs and a pickpocketed security guard, Hawke and Lea found themselves inside the ICU. Outside in the waiting area, Ryan acted as a lookout and distracted one of the nurses with his broken Greek.
They both saw at once that Markides was lucky to be alive. A strong man before the raid, he was now strapped down to a hospital bed and connected to the rest of the world by a tangle of cables and tubes. In the silence of the sterile room, the sound of the ventilator support unit keeping him alive sucked hungrily in the corner.
Lea took a step forward. “Jesus.”
“No, Spyros…” The man’s laugh was muffled by the plastic respiratory mask over his nose and mouth. “And you are not my normal doctors.”
“We’re not doctors,” Lea said.
“You look like a doctor,” he said weakly and turned to Lea. “Well, you do. He looks more like a doorman.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” Hawke said.
“Should I be worried?” Spyros asked. “I have only to push this little button and a nurse will come immediately.”
“No need to worry, mate,” Hawke said, craning his neck and peering out of the narrow glass window in the door.
Lea sat on the side of the man’s bed. “We’re working for Guy Francken.”
“Ah, of course, I knew Guy wouldn’t let sleeping dogs lie… or wait for the authorities to get to the bottom of the raid.” The heart monitor beside the bed gently beeped. “Just like Guy. He lost a lot in that raid.”
“Including the Lyre of Orpheus, it seems.”
The heart monitor increased slightly. “Then the secret’s out… The proof that Orpheus really existed and walked this earth. It was in my hands for just seconds before those animals stormed the Electra and slaughtered my crew. They also killed the entire contingent of mercenaries Guy hired.”
“Looks like they shot you up pretty bad too,” Hawke said, not mentioning his connection to Matt Jagger. Francken’s warning about keeping private feelings out of the mission had been a good one. He knew better than most what happened when you let personal feelings seep into a professional endeavor. It changed the way you did everything. You stopped seeing things clearly and started making mistakes. With Alex’s life hanging in the balance and the world looking down the barrel of a Faulkner presidency, now was not the time to start making mistakes.
“I took seven bullets,” Markides said proudly, interrupting his thoughts. “The list of my wounds stretches several pages, apparently. None of the doctors here has ever seen anything like it. But Spyros Markides is strong, from a strong family. My grandfather fought Nazis in the war and my father was one of the commanding officers in Operation Niki during the Turkish invasion of Cyprus.” He clenched his fists until the blood ran from the knuckles. “We don’t just roll over, in my family.”
“I can see that,” Lea said.
“Good. Why exactly has Guy sent you to me?”
“Mr Francken has hired us to retrieve the lyre,” Lea said.
“I guessed that much, but I don’t know why you are here.”
Hawke walked over from the door. “If you can remember any details at all about the raid we might be able to use them as a lead to track down the team that raided the Electra and stole the lyre.”
“And find out why they took it,” Spyros said. “That is the question that has been torturing me since I woke up in this bed. The lyre is of massive archaeological value and historical interest but these men were not academics, believe me. They were maniacs.”
“Mr Francken hinted that the lyre would lead to some sort of danger,” Lea said.
Markides waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Guy has an interest in the esoteric that I do not share, so I know nothing about that. I am a treasure hunter and a sailor. All I know is that the men who stole the lyre were very violent and very dangerous. I ask again, what would such thugs want with a piece of ancient archaeology?”
“They could have been hired by a private collector to take the lyre,” Lea said. “It happens all the time.”
“Maybe,” the Greek man said, “but I don’t think so. My gut tells me they wanted it for some other reason. They were so desperate to get hold of it, and then in total awe when it finally fell into their hands.”
“Which is even more reason why we need to track them down,” said Hawke. “Try and think back to the raid very carefully, Spyros. Any detail at all you can tell us could help.”
Markides closed his eyes as he fought to recall the attack. Tapping his fingers up and down on the crumpled bedsheets as he thought, he began muttering to himself in Greek.
Hawke held Lea’s gaze with a question on his face, but she returned
with a silent shrug.
“There were five or six of them,” Markides said, eyes still closed. “There were more on the raiding craft. And the ones who came aboard were not Greek, and neither were they Cypriots or Turks – they were speaking French. I heard them shout at each other as they wiped out my team.”
“Speaking French – this is an important detail,” Lea said, squeezing his hand. “Keep going – Mr Francken said they wore masks.”
“Not all of them,” Markides said, darkly. “One of them lost his in a scuffle with one of my men. He had bright blue eyes and a very severe burn on his right cheek. Like he had been in a fire. One of the other men called him Block. They thought I was dead at the time and unable to hear.”
“This is great stuff, Spyros,” Lea said.
“I can’t believe such minor details could help anyone,” he said weakly. “After all, it’s not like we can go to the police over this. These men could be anywhere now.”
“No, this is helpful,” Lea said. “Is there anything else you can remember?”
“They moved fast, like you see in the movies. From when we first saw their boat to when they were climbing back on it took less than ten minutes. They moved like lightning around the Electra. Highly coordinated and ruthless.”
“A Special Ops team then,” Lea said.
The wounded sailor nodded.
“And what about the raiding craft you saw?” Hawke asked. “Any more details there?”
Markides shook his head and opened his eyes. “I’m sorry, not really. It was black with some camouflage patterns painted on the hull. It was a diesel craft, for sure. I know that much. You don’t spend as long at sea as I have and not know how to identify an engine.”
After thanking him and wishing him a full recovery, Hawke and Lea stepped out of the room and walked towards Ryan. The young man from London was still doing his level best to charm the nurses, but it didn’t look like he was having much success. When all three of them walked out into the Athens sunshine, Hawke briefed Ryan on what they had learnt from Markides.
“So all we have is a merc with a burn on his face who goes by the name of Block,” Lea said.
“All we have?” Ryan said. “To someone like me that’s as good as having his passport, home address and waist measurement. Leave it with me.”
“Hubris,” Lea said with a roll of her eyes. “Gotta love it.”
When they reached the SUVs, Ryan climbed into the back seat in between Lexi and Kamala. Opening his laptop up, he started doing what he did best. “Won’t be too long,” he said as his fingers flew over the plastic keys. “If there’s a merc called Block on the market, the dark web will have all we need to know about him, including who hired him.”
Hawke climbed into the front passenger seat beside Reaper. He gave a silent nod and fired up the engine.
“How long, mate?” Hawke asked.
“Give me a couple of hours.”
“In that case,” he replied, “let’s get back to the hotel room. With our mystery sniper still on the loose I don’t fancy hanging around outside more than we have to.”
With that thought hanging in the air, the Frenchman checked his mirrors and pulled out of the parking lot.
CHAPTER SIX
Three hours later the team were sitting around in their hotel rooms waiting for Ryan to get off the laptop. Lea took the time to have the hotel launder her clothes and then she took a shower to freshen up. Others followed her lead, all the while Ryan sat hunched over his battered computer, typing, hacking, mining data.
Hawke stretched out on one of the beds and listened to the team as they bantered the hours away. They sounded upbeat and optimistic as usual, but he knew they were feeling the pressure of having their money supply cut off and being on the Most Wanted list. They’d get through it, but only if he kept them positive about the future.
With the sun sinking behind the hills of Athens, he rolled over, switched on the small lamp and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “How are we going, mate?”
“Good.” Ryan lifted a can of coke to his lips, shook it and realized it was empty. Putting it back down with a curse, he spun around in his chair and faced the team’s expectant faces. He knew that during much of their missions the former soldiers and Special Ops people among them usually carried him, but it was times like this when his new family needed him more than he needed them. He felt the weight of that responsibility on his shoulders and took it seriously.
“So what have you got then?” Scarlet asked. “Apart from an annoying personality, that is?”
“At least I have a personality.”
“Aww,” Lexi said. “They love each other really.”
Lea smiled at the exchange. “Give us the lowdown, Ry.”
“Hendrik Block is indeed a mercenary and this is what he looks like.” He enlarged one of the countless windows on his laptop so they could see the merc’s face. “As you can see, he is just as Markides described, with bright blue eyes and a severe burn on the right side of his face.”
“Woah,” Lexi said. “House fire, maybe?”
“Or in battle,” Zeke said. “I saw some very bad burns in Iraq. You wouldn’t believe what can happen inside a tank if it sets on fire.”
“Neither,” Ryan said. “After trawling through some pretty unsavoury forums I can tell you that Mr Block received the burns during a torture session in Hong Kong. He was working as a merc there, protecting a heroin smuggling operation when he was captured by a rival drugs kingpin named Qishan. Turns out Mr Qishan wanted to know the names and HQ of Block’s merc team, but after several hours with a blow torch and a pair of pliers, he still didn’t know.”
“He never squealed?” Zeke said. “Wow.”
“His team rescued him but Qishan got away. The rest is history.”
Silence fell over the room as they looked at Block’s ravaged face. Ryan broke the silence and continued his briefing. “Block now works in a team run by a man known to the Underworld as King Kashala. Real name is Joseph Kashala.”
Hawke’s eyes widened. “Wait, I’m sure I’ve heard of that name.”
“Who is he?” Lea asked.
“He’s a former Congolese Army general and part of the March 23 Movement.”
Kamala looked at Hawke. “Which is what?”
“The Congolese Revolutionary Army,” he said. “Let’s just say these guys don’t play games.”
“Right,” Ryan said. “From what I can tell here, he’s about as ruthless as it gets. He just started up his own mercenary company called Kashala International and the rest of the team include a number of Belgian and Congolese mercs, including Nkulu Mukendi, Nzanga Chumbu, Alexis Demotte and Olivier Crombez. They’re known informally as the Blood Crew.”
Reaper, who was standing on the balcony and smoking, now turned his head sharply to face Ryan. Brow furrowed, he said, “Did you say Olivier Crombez?”
“There’s nothing wrong with your French,” Ryan said. “Oui.”
“Why, Reap?” Camacho asked.
“I know Crombez. We worked together in several African countries many years ago. He was a good friend.”
A long silence followed, broken by Scarlet. “Awkward.”
“Pas du tout,” the Frenchman said casually. “We both know how this world works. You are my new team, ma famille… he is now the enemy. There is no question of my loyalty.”
Hawke sensed the atmosphere change. Despite Francken’s words, things really were starting to get personal. Not only had he known Matt Jagger as a friend, but now Reaper knew one of the mercs responsible for his death. He decided to move things along and change the subject. “Who hired this King Kashala, mate?”
Ryan said, “He was hired to steal the lyre by a man named Sergei Dimitrov.”
“Not another Russian?” Scarlet said with a sigh.
“No,” Nikolai said. “This is not a Russian surname. This is a Bulgarian surname.”
“He’s right,” Ryan said.
“And
anyway,” Nikolai growled. “What is wrong with Russians? I am Russian!”
“Nothing, Kolya.” Scarlet said with a wink and smile. “Nothing at all.”
Lea asked, “What else do we know about this Dimitrov?”
Ryan shrugged. “He’s one of Bulgaria’s top mafia bosses and very wealthy with it, although what he wants with the lyre is another question.”
“A question to which we will soon know the answer,” Hawke said. “In the meantime, Ryan, keep researching Kashala and his Blood Crew. We need to know everything we can about them.”
Lexi calmly sipped her water. “Where does this mafia boss spend his time?”
A broad smile appeared on Ryan’s face. “As it happens, he has a lovely place tucked away on the slopes of Vitosha Mountain, just outside Sofia.”
“A lovely place?” Lea asked.
“Well, it’s more of a castle really.”
Lexi set down her water and stretched her arms. “And there was me struggling to find a place for our next vacation.”
*
Lea studied the world below as the Airbus A320 crossed the border and carried them over the olive groves and fig orchards of southern Bulgaria. A sage-green and straw-colored landscape just like so many other countries in this part of the world stretched out beneath them and seemed to go on forever.
She turned away from the window and stretched out as much as she could in her cramped seat. Orlando Sooke’s ten thousand dollars had been more than enough to book the flight and there were no problems with the fake passports, but everyone on the team acutely felt the loss of the private jet.
Especially one.
“No mini-bar,” Scarlet whined.
Lea rolled her eyes. “We get it, Cairo.”
“And there are other people in this aircraft,” she said with horror. “I mean actual members of the public.”
“Worse things happen at sea,” Ryan said.
“And the seats are horrible.”
“We’re all in the same boat.” Hawke folded his tray up into the seat in front, his long legs crushed into the pitifully mean seat pitch.