When Death Frees the Devil

by L. J. Hayward

  No. This most definitely wasn’t how the plan was supposed to go.

  If Ethan had known the Doctor would be here he wouldn’t have come as quietly as he had. The Cabal had forced him to be something he didn’t want to be, warped him until he had no choice but to be their pet monster. He’d resisted as much as he could, causing himself pain and heartache, but in the end it had been worth it. He’d found Jack, found a life outside of the one the Cabal had made for him, and had found value in being himself. But the Doctor . . . what he had done to Ethan, to all of them, was something Ethan didn’t think he’d ever recover from. The whipping and broken leg were negligent compared to the sessions with the Doctor.

  Still the pain from his leg, back, and throat were constant and made him restless, which only aggravated them further. Wanting some relief, Ethan ran through a meditative technique he’d learned when they grafted the neural implant to his brain. It took a few repetitions, but eventually, the pain faded and he drifted into a light sleep.

  Which was a pattern for the coming days. He slept and was only visited by wary guards delivering food and water. No more tea with the Doctor—no more Doctor, thankfully—just pain, simple fare and no communication. On the third day, someone came and replaced the brace and splint on his leg. No one gave him any pain relief. Day five saw a touch of despair creep in. He’d been here a week and his options were incredibly few and far between. It was hard to keep his hopes up when all he could do was wait.

  Then on day six, he got a new visitor.

  Tumbling locks woke him from meditation. It was his latest attempt at distraction and worked slightly better than simply sleeping. He felt marginally more optimistic as he hauled himself up into a sitting position, though waves of pain from his leg sapped that minor relief fast. His throat and back had mostly recovered, only worrying him if he ate too much or moved too fast respectively.

  The door opened and Zero rolled in. “You’ve been busy, One-three.” He eyed the brace on Ethan’s leg.

  Dropping his gaze, Ethan murmured, “I learned my lesson.”

  “Didn’t I warn you about making trouble?”

  “You did. I’m sorry I couldn’t listen to it.”

  Zero studied him, shrewd but tired eyes narrowed, fingers drumming on the wheel of his chair. “Couldn’t? Always with the plan.” He slipped a hand into his chest pocket and retrieved three small, white pills. “For the pain.”

  Ethan had resisted the first time Zero had offered him relief. Taking anything “freely” given by the Cabal was always fraught with hidden agendas and costs. This time, however, the ache in his leg, combined with the doldrums of the past several days, and the fact that the Doctor was close by and could want a “session” at any time, made him yearn for even that small escape. Yet he managed to shake his head.

  Zero rolled a little closer and his voice dropped into a quiet, insistent tone. “Take them. I think you’ll need it.”

  One of the things Ethan had learned to trust was that Zero wouldn’t lie to them. He might not tell them everything, might hedge a few details, but what he did say was always true. He’d been right about Dejana’s death, and that Ethan could deal with his brothers while also ensuring Jack’s family weren’t harmed.

  That he was undoubtedly being truthful about Ethan’s need for the pain relief meant something was about to happen. Something big and potentially painful.

  Ethan held out his hand. Zero wheeled over to him, gave him the pills and then produced a bottle of water from a pocket on his chair. Ethan washed the pills down with the entire contents of the bottle.

  “Right.” Zero rolled backwards to the door. “They want you up top.” At his knock, a guard opened the door and Zero said, “Bring the crutches.”

  A moment later, two guards entered, one carrying a pair of metal forearm crutches, the other covering his fellow with a bullpup rifle. The crutches were tossed onto the cot from a safe distance and then the guards backed out.

  Pain relief and potential weapons. Zero was definitely pushing the boundaries of his position. It had to be something major.

  Swinging along on the crutches, Ethan followed Zero out. The guards fell in around them, four front and six behind. They definitely hadn’t been taking any chances of him breaking out again, broken leg or no.

  “Up top” meant the observation deck Ethan had been shown after his breakout. The sky was overcast, the water dark and choppy. Black clouds loomed to the north while the setting sun blazed red and golden to the west. Furniture had appeared, three comfortably plush armchairs and small, round side tables. They faced the inner wall, where a blank screen had been hung. People fussed about, placing drinks and trays of hors d’oeuvres on the tables, ice buckets with champagne beside the chairs. A couple of steel-topped tables were set up with more food and drinks. There were also a lot of armoured and armed guards.

  The pain relief had set in. Ethan’s leg had settled into a barely-there ache, but only the very periphery of his senses had gone fuzzy. The benefits of being a Sugar Baby.

  Zero positioned Ethan and himself to one side of the activity. The escort from the cell remained with them. The other security staff eyed them cautiously as they patrolled. Fifteen minutes after their arrival, the lift doors opened again and a familiar figure stepped out.

  Mahavir Balakrishnan wore a three-piece, pinstriped suit, a gold watch chain looping across his left ribs. He had two of his personal guards with him. Balakrishnan sent Ethan a smug smile before strolling over to the centrally placed chair and taking a seat like a king on a throne.

  The next of the Cabal bosses to arrive was a man of Arabian appearance. He was under average height, pleasantly round and smiling, his dishdasha white and ghuthra red.

  “Zahid Farooq,” Zero murmured. “One of the richest bankers in the Eastern Hemisphere. Don’t let the smile fool you. He’s pure predator.”

  Farooq took a chair beside Balakrishnan and started up a lively conversation in English. Balakrishnan sipped his drink and nodded but didn’t contribute much beyond a “Hmm” or “Of course.”

  Not more than two minutes later, the final boss arrived.

  “Lord Walton Prentis Camdon-Smythe. Inherited title and money. His father looked like he was going to live forever but took ill rather suddenly three years ago. Papers said it was ‘old age’ that got him. I believe Two took a leaf from your book and poisoned the bugger. Walton got the title, money, and clout to get a position at the top of the Cabal.” Zero’s top lip lifted in a silent snarl. “He’s the newest of them. At least until tonight’s vote is over.”

  “Vote?” Ethan watched the tall, lean English lord in an Oxford suit stride directly to his chair, imperiously directing one of the waitstaff to bring him his scotch.

  “There are two empty seats.” Zero nodded to the two vacant chairs on either end of the row. “Potential replacements are usually mined from the next layer of members, the candidates present their cases for inclusion, then there’s a vote.”

  “What happens to those who don’t get selected?”

  Zero shrugged. “Death. Or if they’re particularly useful to the leaders, they have to prove their loyalty.”

  Ethan didn’t need to ask. He knew just how the Cabal demanded someone prove their loyalty. “You said candidates are usually selected from the next hierarchal layer.”

  The handler cocked his head, as if listening for the hidden agenda in Ethan’s words. “Yes, usually. Sometimes, like today, there are special circumstances that allow another candidate to step forward.”

  Knowing he had pushed a little too much, Ethan kept quiet while Camdon-Smythe sampled his scotch, turned his nose up and sent the server away with very detailed instructions on which bottle to pick. Ethan scanned the area, noting guards and waitstaff. There were six servers and two dozen security personnel. The Doctor was absent, but then this side of the Cabal hadn’t appeared to interest him. It wasn’t power or money the Doctor was after, but knowledge, and his pursuit of it had been as relen
tless as the Cabal bosses seeking wealth and influence.

  Once everyone was settled, all but a couple of the waitstaff were dismissed and Balakrishnan commanded the first candidate be brought in.

  There were four of them in total. The first three—a Turkish industrialist, a Brazilian tech developer, and a United States senator—all spoke about money, prestige, and the new territories they could help bring into the Cabal’s sphere of influence. It all sounded good, but clearly didn’t impress the existing leadership, and Ethan could understand why. A reason that was highlighted by the final candidate.

  Donna McIntosh stepped out of the lift and paused to take in the observation deck. Ten was a silent, stone sentinel at her shoulder. It was unclear if he was guard or guardian. Ethan doubted McIntosh had managed to subvert Ten’s loyalty, so it had to be the bosses making sure this new initiate into the Cabal didn’t run amuck. Not that anyone noted Ten’s presence behind the woman. She looked amazing in her fitted skirt suit in blood red, sky-high heels, blonde hair curling over her shoulders, but it was the attitude she carried before three of the most powerful people in the world that made her glorious. She stood there like they were the supplicants and she the one with the power of veto on their lives. Whereas for the first three, the bosses had barely looked amused, now they were rapt. She must have been a force of nature when she was a field asset.

  “Hello. I’m Donna McIntosh, a director with the Meta-State Office of Counterterrorism and Intelligence.” She repeated it in Hindi and Arabic, receiving respectful nods. “Thank you all for allowing me to stand before you today. I understand how great of an honour it is for you to grant my petition an audience. I heard the other presentations. I listened as they told you they could deliver you greater access to more wealth, greater opportunities for power and control. But that’s all they brought to the table. Opportunities.” McIntosh gave each of the bosses a long, direct look. “I don’t bring you opportunities. I bring you prizes. The first, your errant asset, Experimental Boy Thirteen.”

  Ethan went still as every eye in the room turned to him. The security people sceptical and the bosses smug. They finally had him back. It was easy to see that this time, they wouldn’t be letting him go. Just as they hadn’t let Zero go.

  “But One-three is not the only thing I have brought you, up front, with no guarantee of my inclusion amongst your ranks. I have another gift. As I’m sure most of you know, there was a recent leadership spill in Australia. The old prime minister was deemed unfit to lead thanks to the revelations of an . . . unfortunate incident involving Australian soldiers on Indian soil.”

  “Unfortunate.” Though Balakrishnan didn’t sound at all sad about the loss of life.

  Movement in the sky over the horizon caught Ethan’s attention. A black shape against the dark clouds, glinting metallically as it passed through shafts of light thrown up by the setting sun.

  “The old PM was Minister for National Security at the time of the incident. It was his signature that gave the go ahead for the operation. Once that knowledge became public, it was simple for the Deputy PM to call for, and be granted, his leadership challenge. The party barely needed to vote. The old PM had to stand down, and the Deputy PM, John Nelson, is now Australia’s prime minister.”

  “Information we are already very well aware of, Ms. McIntosh.” Farooq glanced at his Patek Phillippe watch. “We don’t have all night. My chopper will be here very soon.”

  Yes. The distant aircraft, getting closer, was a chopper. It was coming in low over the water, moving fast. Faster than a civilian chopper should move.

  McIntosh nodded to Farooq. “Then I’ll get to the important part. The information about the failed Jharkhand mission had been seized by the AFP during the arrest of an opposition front bencher, who had in turn, paid a known underworld subject for the data. What this means is, anyone who knows just how Mr. Nelson came by that data controls him.” She paused and looked each boss in the eyes. “I know how he got that data. Sirs, I bring you Australia.”

  Any questions the bosses might have had were drowned out by the sudden roar of the approaching chopper. It swept up from the ocean surface, coaxial rotors thumping deafeningly. The sleek, predator shape of the Kamov Ka-52 shot past the observation deck window so close the thick ballistic glass shook under the pressure of its passing. Then it was gone, disappearing out of view overhead.

  “What the hell?” someone demanded.

  “Farooq? Was that yours?” Camdon-Smythe demanded.

  Before the Saudi man could answer, the chopper was back. It swung into the air outside the window, hovering just far enough back that the spinning blades didn’t hit the building. It looked lethal and intent.

  And then it opened fire.

  Jack lifted the Kamov Ka-52 off the deck of the Australian Navy frigate in the Indian Ocean and turned it towards the coordinates the beacon planted on Ethan had given them. His location had been determined five days ago and even though the Office had kicked into high gear instantly, Lydia had made them wait for a pre-determined date—when McIntosh had assured her all of the Cabal bosses would be there.

  Even just thinking about that conversation with Lydia the day after his father’s funeral boiled Jack’s blood. Once again, McIntosh had used him mercilessly for her own purposes. He was starting to think Tan might have been the smarter choice. At least he’d always been upfront about his intentions to extract every iota of usefulness from his assets.

  The entire time Lydia had been telling him about how McIntosh had been working this job on her own since Ethan revealed the existence of the Cabal, Jack had wanted to scream and punch something. He barely heard as she explained how his trusted and respected director had worked on her own to uncover the truth behind a stolen data stick full of information about the top secret SAS mission in Jharkhand and how it had somehow ended up with the deputy PM. Jack couldn’t care less how Nelson had used that information to discredit the current prime minister in a leadership challenge he ultimately won, and how it was all connected to the Cabal. He didn’t even want to hear about McIntosh drawing Lydia into her investigation, demanding absolute secrecy of her and, ultimately, driving a spike into his best friends’ relationship.

  Jack didn’t want know any of it, because all he really focused on was Lydia saying, “She used the information of Blade going after Jäger to get the Cabal bosses to listen to her. That’s how they knew to put Ten into play in Mumbai. Now she needs Blade as a bargaining piece so they’ll let her make a bid for a seat on the Cabal leadership. He was supposed to be caught in Goa, but you and he managed to escape, but he’s with her now. Blade will get the beacon into whichever black site they end up at and once he sets it off, we’ll be able to track it and find them. And end the Cabal. That’s been her purpose all along, Jack. You have to understand it was the only way.”

  Which was when Lewis burst out of the bathroom, furious. “No! It wasn’t the only way. You should have come to me, Lyds. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Lydia had barely held back tears. “I wanted to. I did! Donna wouldn’t let me. Please—”

  “Wouldn’t let you? She wasn’t your boss then! I was!”

  And on that completely wrong thing for Lewis to say at that time, Jack left his friends screaming at each other, determined to catch McIntosh before she went anywhere with Ethan.

  He’d made it as far as the underground carpark of the building, where he found Meera and Mati getting out of Victoria. The moment Mati saw him she erupted into tears and threw herself at him, shaking uncontrollably. In clipped words—a sure sign of just how angry she was—Meera told him about meeting with McIntosh at the patisserie. When Jack hadn’t believed that Ethan had just gone with her so easily, Mati had told him about the man with McIntosh. From her description of “cold, inhuman,” he guessed it was Ten and understood.

  “You’ll find him,” Mati had said earnestly. “You found me. You’ll find him too.”

  It had woken him up. Kick started his brain. Sent h
im back upstairs to split the quarrelling lovers apart and interrogate Lydia for every bit of information she had. Two days later—with Meera and Mati willingly back under protective watch—they had a plan Jack could live with. Five days after that, he was speeding towards a Cabal black site in the Ka-52.

  The Anzac class frigate, HMAS Mackay, remained just over the horizon from the Cabal island, situated approximately halfway between Perth in Western Australia and the Maldives. The frigate would approach at flank speed once the surprise was lost, her compliment of four Blackhawks launching then as well. The Ka-52 had the capability to cover the distance fast enough that by the time someone saw them it would already be too late.

  “Majority of heat signatures are at the top of the tower,” Keira reported as they roared across the surface of the water.

  “Good. We’ll get the bastards all at once.”

  “What if our people are up there?”

  Jack stared at the rapidly growing island. “If Ethan’s there, he’ll take care of McIntosh.”

  The ETA field leader glanced at him, her eyes hidden behind sunglasses, but the thinness of her lips told him exactly what she was thinking.

  “He’ll be okay.” Jack wasn’t sure if he was assuring her, or himself.

  And holy hell if he wasn’t right, McIntosh wouldn’t know what had hit her.

  Jack could understand the director’s secrecy, because if he had known what she’d planned, he would have vetoed anything and everything—with bullets, if necessary—right from the start. So, understand her motives, yes. Agree with them, fuck no. But he would do everything he could to make this part of the craziness work.

  The island—if the tiny chunk of rock almost swamped by ocean waves could be classified as one—had been a secret ally base during the second world war. On official record it had been destroyed by a Japanese battleship. That report had been greatly exaggerated apparently. Satellite images had shown no activity on the surface and no signals had originated from the base. Probably standard operating procedure for a Cabal site.