Olivia climbed up a few stones and sat on the rock beside him. He looked a little offended, but she just smiled, motioned for him to share the smoke. She took a short drag and blew it out. She’d smoked for years and the urge never really went away. But that tasted like goat crap, she thought, handing it back. He seemed impressed, and for a long moment she said nothing, just enjoying the view with him. Sebastian was nearby in her line of vision, eyeballing the man with a look that was just scary.
“You have finally come.”
She inhaled, staring at his profile. He had an Irish accent. “You were expecting me?” Impossible, of course. Even she didn’t know she’d been here till now.
But he only nodded.
She met Sebastian’s gaze, his scowl darkening. “How could you know that?” he asked.
“It calls.”
“What calls? To who?”
He simply patted her hand, his expression patient, almost serene. “It calls to its mate.” His lips curved a fraction. “And its master.”
Okay, this was just too weird, she thought, and frowned to herself, mulling over the legend, then took a wild leap. “The Siofra?” He stared blankly. “Di nèny ér,” she said in Chinese.
He smiled, a little proudly, and patted her hand again. Holy shit. How could he possibly know that? Her gaze shot to Sebastian. He looked just as stunned. His dark stare on the man, he made a rolling motion to keep pressing. She searched her pockets for a pen, but knew she didn’t have any paper. On her palm, she drew the rune symbol she’d found on the Viking’s breastplate and sword. It looked like an arrow pointing down, and she prayed he understood. “Have you seen something like this?”
The old man stared down at it for so long she was tempted to nudge him.
“Mjöllnir,” he said.
A chill moved over her skin. “Yes. Thor’s Hammer. Yes!”
He drew his staff closer, the ribbons fluttering, and his gaze narrowed on one in particular. He pinched a red ribbon, then yanked it off and held it out. From the end, a piece of dull gray metal twisted in the breeze. Then he dropped it in her lap.
Olivia grabbed it, tipping it toward the setting sun. Her heart pounded when she recognized the rune of protection. The frail piece was cut from something else, or rusted away, yet she smoothed her fingers over the metal and felt the indentations. “Where did you find this?”
He pressed his palms to his thighs and with a great effort, pushed upright, then picked his way over the limestone rocks toward the water’s edge. Her gaze climbed up the flat stone cliff. Was it somewhere inside the Rock? In the tunnels? Then he looked back over his shoulder. His watery gaze fell on her. He pointed west.
Okay, she got that, but it was a big rock and the labyrinth of caves and tunnels was only reachable about three hundred feet up. He wasn’t pointing anywhere near that area, but to the sea, to the smallest cavern in the stone at the farthest point. The tide was rising, nearly obliterating it from sight. Then in her mind, she saw the Viking’s glass, the scratches mirroring the shape. Then the half-moon cuts at the bottom were the caves. Oh crap, it was a map.
Glancing at Sebastian, she worked her way to the old man. His lips curved in a knowing smile. He pointed again to the sea. Ya know, a little conversation would help, she thought, but instead she lifted the EMP meter toward St. Michaels cave, frowning when it did nothing. She waded into the water. Waves splashed her ankles.
Sebastian stopped beside her. “Too far away to get a reading, especially with the metal in the water catchments, whatever’s powering those buildings, the cable car, and the supports.”
“Then we have to get inside that cave.” They turned back, and Sebastian waved the troops closer. The man was already walking the path back to the road. Dogs followed him. “Got really twilight zone for a second, huh?”
“Definitely. He knew the Chinese name for the jade,” Sebastian said. “That’s more than enough proof for me.”
Walking, she glanced back at the Rock, watching the monkeys climb down the steep cliff face near the point. From here, the macaques looked like ants crawling over a crust of bread. Suddenly, she looked at the street, the path to the tour entrance. Dogs sniffed the ground, converged. And as they approached the street, she heard their whining.
She stopped and grabbed Sebastian’s arm. “The vibration isn’t energy or EMP. It’s sound. Like how sound bounces back on your eardrum when you put a shell to your ear. Sound vibration. The old man said it calls. Look.” She pointed to the cliff. The macaques were converged in one spot far above the point like a choir waiting for the conductor. “The monk said the wolves dug it up.”
“Christ. The relic is a freakin’ dog whistle?”
TWENTY
The local cops didn’t know what discreet meant, Max thought, his gaze strolling over the cruisers blocking traffic when they didn’t need to be. The whole idea was to keep people out of the Rock tourist section, not their homes. But the Royal Gibraltar police were under the Ministry of Defense, and unlike in England, they were armed. Which was good, but they really needed to rethink those covers. The checkerboard band above the rim had to go. He frowned at the dogs weaving around the cars, sniffing, and looked toward the Rock lit from lampposts.
On the opposite side on the sea, the far point of the Rock was the thing of pictures and logos. The rest spread in a slope into the peninsula. Beautiful city, he thought, then brought his hand to his ear, pushing his fingers through his hair. The Base radio was in his sleeve, separate from the earwig that let him hear the police chatter. There wasn’t much. Brits weren’t keen on breaking the rules.
He walked, crossing the street, then onto the parking lot. Instead of moving closer, he walked farther away for a better view of the entrance, heading toward a trash can wired to a wood post at the end of a fence. He caught static and, like a dork, looked at the sky as if he could see the satellite working its thing up there. He moved away from the trash can and heard it again.
“—still at the entra—”
It was Russian.
He spoke into his sleeve. “Drac to Base, get Granlen’s people to check the guards. I just heard Russian.”
“Which area? I’ll see if I can pick it up.”
“Zero in on my position. It’s shortwave frequency. I’m not getting more than pieces.” This was not good.
Someone was on the inside.
General McGill stood at the elevators, prepared to take his SSU out of the light and back undercover. He hit the button and eyed him so long Mitch grew uncomfortable.
“Agar is your money trail, and this Vlad Dovyestof, Dragon One has offered you his personal phone number.” With two fingers, he held out a slip of paper. “You’ll get your time with Agar, Major.”
Mitch felt humbled for a moment, then frowned. “How’d Dragon One get it?”
“Viva Wyatt. She’s Salvatore Fiori’s daughter.”
Mitch remembered the news reports on the Sicilian Mafia boss sent to prison by his daughter after her mother was gunned down in front of her. Xaviera Fiori—not a name you’d forget—was a teenager when she testified, then disappeared. He looked from the paper to the general.
“Thank them for me, since I know Fontenòt wouldn’t offer it.”
The general stared. “Then you don’t know Sebastian.”
“I’m learning, sir.”
“See, for those guys, they’ve had the bullshit of politics and the Company screw them out of their careers and damn near their lives, but they still do it.”
Mitch knew Kincade’s bomb for Safia nearly killed Sebastian.
“They don’t always obey the rules, but they don’t hurt anyone either, and let’s be honest”—he waved—“they get the job done. One person matters more than any of this.” He glanced around at Deep Six. “Protecting We the People isn’t worth much when that one countryman is left behind.” He wasn’t speaking of him, Mitch thought, but Mills.
The elevator door slid open and he stepped inside. He faced him.
“You were a dead man before Dragon One went into Chechnya.”
The skin on Mitch’s neck tightened.
“To them, you’re square. In my book? Not hardly.”
Great, he was on the general’s shit list, too.
“Next time they offer you help,” the door started to close. “Don’t ignore it.”
Gibraltar Bay
Keeping SSU under the wire meant not involving anyone they didn’t absolutely need and doing this during the daylight would destroy their cover and bring attention. But time wasn’t their friend. They hadn’t been on the ground that long. But Nevolin had. Marines watched the water, but Sebastian’s attention was on the Rock. The closer they drew to it, the stronger the feeling of doom grabbed at him. He equated it to the dread of a root canal. Olivia looked at him, and by her clouded expression, he knew she felt the same.
“We have to go high inside. The lower levels are the pre-twelfth-century history.”
Sebastian adjusted her load-bearing vest when it wasn’t necessary. He’d rather she wasn’t involved, but he didn’t know enough about historic markings to know what to look for, and she wasn’t going to be left behind. He watched her check her gear, and his confidence grew when she did it right, methodically.
Eight hundred years ago, the shore was about fifteen hundred feet out. Now the caves were underwater with tunnels leading deep into the center of the Rock. He wasn’t looking forward to it. His aversion to closed spaces was a leftover from Singapore. He hated the weakness but accepted it.
The rigid inflatable boat drove across the waves, a loan from the Royal Marines.
“From everything Noble said the tunnels are higher,” Olivia said over the Personal Role Radio. “There isn’t any data on the caves except the three big ones on the tours.”
In the dark, Sebastian met her gaze. “None?”
“Other than the Neanderthal bones, and some pottery, no. A couple dive photos, but it’s off limits and is reputed to go on for miles.” That made Lewis pale a little. “The Great Siege tunnels bisect the ones blasted in the forties during the war.”
Or were just made wider, he thought. It was a defense post. Everything from arms to food was stored in the tunnels; the older sections were viewable through barred windows, but no access. He knew she wasn’t confident about the location. But it was the old man that convinced Sebastian. Something about the way he looked at her, as if they were familiar somehow. It calls to its mate and master, he’d said. The mate of the half of stone, he assumed, but the master? He had him there. The boat slowed, the half-moon casting the Rock in silver light. He stared up at the mountain honeycombed with caves and tunnels, the cutouts for the cannon battery like gouged shadows in the dark.
Esposito slowed the RIB to an idle. Sebastian checked the PRR and waterproof hand radios, then gave the go-ahead. Olivia put her regulator in her mouth, tested it, then adjusted her mask. She waved to him and went over the side.
Lewis looked wide-eyed from the water to him. “Gutsy lady, sir. I hate night diving.”
That’s my girl, he thought, dropping over the side. A moment later, he was beside her, gripping her arm and turning on the Sea Scooter’s light. The underwater propulsion device pulled them along.
Shining his light around, his visibility was good till they reached near the caves. Sebastian slowed. Behind her, he spotted the churn of bubbles of the Marines. They were having the time of their life, he thought. Diving had to be better than a perch on top of Ice Harvest and thirty-mile-an-hour winds.
As Sebastian shined the light, the silt and algae illuminated the water like dust in sunlight. He slowed the scooter, then spied the dark hollow of the cave. A school of fish scattered, and he felt the stone walls, the surf dying, and he inflated his buoyancy converter. He broke the surface, then speared his light inside the cavern before dunking it in the water and waving it. A moment later, Olivia popped up beside him. He tossed the light onto a ledge, then pulled himself out. He turned to help her, but she was already hoisting herself up.
She spit out her regulator. “When the tide’s out, this is open, walkable.” She tried to stand, then opened the clasp and dropped her tanks. She shut off the air, then hooked her mask and fins on the tank. As she creeped ahead, crouching, her light illuminated the interior.
Reckers and Lewis surfaced, and Reckers popped out his regulator long enough to say, “Max says there is trouble. He heard Russian on his radio, a cross frequency, he thinks.”
Sebastian cursed, then looked as Olivia and recognized her fear. “Keep going, keep looking. Our time just ran out.” He looked at Recker. “Radio base. Get the cops doing a house to house.” The Marine nodded, then sank under the water. Sebastian stood, dropping his tanks on the ledge, then moved them both into easy position to get them back on. “Lewis, my six. Esposito, guard the entrance, anyone approaches, shoot first because Nevolin will.” He tested comms and she nodded, then moved ahead.
“There’s a hollow up here.” Beyond the light, the darkness was inky black.
“Careful, watch the ground. It’s limestone. It breaks.”
He followed her, then grabbed her arm, wedging past her. “You’re not behaving, honey.”
“I know. But I keep thinking about the old guy. The stone’s master. What the heck is that about? How does he even know about it?”
“I got a guardian kind of feel from him. Like he was waiting to pass the torch to you.” He couldn’t explain, it just was.
“Me? What the hell for?”
“You are a Corrigan, Olivia.”
Her wet features pulled taut, and she swung her gaze to the tunnel, then back to him. “Get outta town, no.”
“Never ignore the obvious because it’s obvious.”
“Okay, I’ll play.” Olivia moved ahead, working her way around a ledge. Forced to go slow, she examined the walls, the path farther in, and considered what it looked like eight hundred years ago. How much had worn away?
“Up that way,” she said, and gripped the rock, pulling herself up the slope. She could see it widening ahead and waited for Sebastian. When he touched her shoulder, she moved on. She felt the climb in her muscles, though it didn’t look steep. She paused, adjusted her stance, shining her flashlight.
He glanced around. “I don’t see a single place to conceal it for this long without the water washing away the rock and sending it to the bottom.”
“Me either and we’re a hundred feet above sea level.” She pressed on, crawling over the jagged rock. She felt the air change, become less stale. A breeze ghosted over her cheek. She went still, gripping the wall and filling the cavern with light. Holy Hannah, she thought. Sebastian appeared beside her, Lewis pulling up the rear and looking like he didn’t want to be here.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Giant stalagtites hung like misshapen fingers. The walls gleamed with bits of crystal, and the refracting light turned everything an iridescent blue green. Water pooled in the center, and she grabbed a loose stone and tossed it. The plop was short, the ripple fanning out.
“Shallow. The ground would have been higher here then. Look at the erosion, see how smooth. High tide would have pushed the water, maybe even created an air pocket. But that means water reaches here. We have to go higher.”
“Do the World War II tunnels reach this far?”
Lewis unfolded a map encased in plastic. “No, but the siege tunnels do.”
“Any way to access them?”
“Not on this map. I don’t think anyone’s tried coming this way.”
She worked her way across the rocks, staring at the openings. She took the right one.
“Olivia?”
“It’s right. Don’t ask me how though. Odd Squad vibe, I guess.”
She kept going, each step positioned before moving on. She’d gone about forty feet when she said, “It’s flatter here. Another cavern.”
She straightened and when Sebastian moved up behind her, he said, “You’re now about a hundred fifty feet above sea leve
l.”
She jerked a look at him. “Really. This one twists to the right toward the sea.” She took it, hunched, and had to crawl for a few feet. She went still, frowning deeply. “Did you hear that?” A hollow, tinny sound.
Lewis muttered something about if God wanted you in caves, he would have made them safer, but Sebastian was looking back toward the tunnels. He met her gaze and she knew he’d heard it.
“Keep going.” He unlatched his weapon. She wedged through the opening, slipped, and Sebastian grabbed her vest.
She braced herself, then shined the light downward. “Oh, jeez, that would have left a mark.”
It looked fathomless, and she felt around for another stone, then tossed it. It was a few seconds before it hit water. Her eyes widened. “Let’s not go that way.” She speared her light. “Up here.”
Max eyed a striking woman about fifty walking by, then slid his gaze to Eddie Granlen. He sat at a outdoor café table, nursed a beer. They exchanged a nod. Eddie stood, threw down some cash, then walked in the opposite direction and stopped.
Street traffic putted along but most people were on foot. It was a beautiful cool night and he was soaking up the warmth, listening to the chatter on his PRR. Each exit of the Rock was covered by a few Royal Marines in plainclothes. The road into Gibraltar was stationed with more.
Moving into the shadows, Max sighted through his single scope, turning it to night vision and scanning the nearby windows. He squeezed the button, changing it to thermal. The area was bright with street light and he shifted from window to window, the doorways, the pedestrians beyond the barricades outside a café. He passed over the window above a restaurant, then came back to it. He spotted a figure near the window, then saw the shape of binoculars. As he walked nearer, he caught a couple words over his PRR. Russian. He motioned to Granlen, pointed to the second floor.
At the building, he drew his weapon, then overtook the side staircase, waiting the half minute till the officers were in position. “All in!” He pushed through the door, aiming, Eddie behind him. He heard the men tell their positions as he hurried up the cement stairwell to the second floor. Outside the door, they converged. Max kicked in the lock. The door burst open and they entered two by two, aiming. A big man with black hair sat in a corner, in the dark, a pistol in his hand. He hadn’t moved, his chin on his chest.
Damage Control Page 37