by Dan Abnett
“Too slow,” said Taylor. He patted Vata down, took his concealed weapons from him, and then turned him back onto his belly and tied his hands behind his back. Bacon had already secured Baris.
“Was that too easy?” asked the fourth Division Eleven soldier, his gun held casually at his side.
Lara raised her arms above her head and circled with Gwynnever’s sword. She could hear the fray in the corridors and chambers outside, and she still had work to do. She would follow the battle.
The mist wolves and the cloud boar circled once more in their triumphant dance and then followed Lara’s command and ducked out through the portal and into the fray. They strafed the combat, snapping at heads and limbs, tugging at shoulders, nipping at ankles.
The beasts did not discriminate. Every combatant was a threat to their mistress.
Lara stepped out of the chamber and took up a fighting stance, sword raised, braced for action.
She would take on all comers.
She looked out into the fray. Battle lines were clearly drawn between the Wolf-Heads and the men whom she assumed were Division Eleven.
Lara stood for a moment, watching the action.
She caught the eyes of a man in black swinging hard with a cosh, trying to subdue his bigger, faster, balder assailant. The Wolf-Head badge on the bigger man’s jacket flashed in the hard halogen light, and Lara knew what she had to do.
Suddenly, the tawny mist wolf swung through the air, carving a swirling figure of eight over the heads of the combatants. The air resonated with the sound of its howl as it flexed its jaws and then dived. Its jaws connected with the back of the Wolf-Head’s neck. Then its front paws landed on his shoulders, and its hind feet powered into his thighs as it curled its body up.
The mist wolf’s momentum pulled the Wolf-Head off his feet, flipping him end over end. The mist wolf flew free under the Wolf-Head’s body, which completed a full rotation in the air. The man landed on his back, his neck broken, blood pouring from the tears left by the mist wolf’s teeth.
Beecham rose out of his defensive stance, his cosh still gripped firmly in his fist. The man he’d been trying to fend off had been torn away, somersaulted backwards, and was lying, dead, several metres away. It had all happened in a blur.
He looked for the cause and saw again what he thought he’d seen when he’d deployed the second flash bang. He saw the air, golden and glowing, shaped like a vast wolf, but flying through the air, somehow part of it.
Beecham was mesmerised, fixed to the spot. He blinked and glanced back to where he had last seen the woman. Who was she? What was she? He had seen her first in the chamber, standing regal, commanding, apparently unaffected by the light and sound of the flash bang, despite having no obvious protection from it. He had shared a look with her moments before his attacker had died, and there she was still.
Lara nodded at Beecham and then gasped and pointed.
The first gunshots were fired over the men’s heads, into the mist wolves.
Ballard had never seen anything like it. He was a seasoned soldier, had seen combat in two war zones. He had killed men before. He had seen buildings brought down by missiles. He’d seen civilian casualties. He’d taken friendly fire and survived, but nothing had prepared him for the apparitions of the two mist wolves making figures of eight in the air above the fight, pouncing at intervals on the bodies below.
Jenkins had not given the order to fire. Ballard didn’t need an order. He saw a threat, and he responded. That was his job. It had been his job for a decade.
Lara winced. She wanted to act, but all she could do was watch as the mist wolves began to disintegrate, losing, for a moment, their bright, light forms, dissipating back into the air around them. They swirled a little faster, grey and tawny balls, like comets nestled head to tail around each other. Then they broke and returned to their figure of eights, coalescing once more into their proper forms. They crossed each other’s paths and then met, side by side, and drove towards Ballard, snapping and snarling.
“Call them off,” said Carter.
He had come up beside Lara and was watching her reaction to the battle.
Lara looked at him. There was more gunfire as Ballard let loose once more. This time, the mist wolves were impervious.
Carter’s eyes shone with the warm, soft light that she had seen in her bear’s eyes. They were Carter’s eyes, big and round and impossibly dark, but Lara saw something there.
She looked out at the mist wolves, about to attack the defenceless man. She drew Gwynnever’s sword towards her until the grip was tight against her stomach, held firmly in both hands, the tip pointing skywards. Then she lowered the blade to her side.
Inches from Ballard’s head, so close that he could see the individual drops of spittle glistening on their teeth, the mist wolves suddenly turned and resumed their figures of eight.
Carter took Lara by the arm, turned her, and led her back into the chamber.
The forest was vast and spread all around them. Carter walked Lara to the great tree, where once the obelisk had stood, and he sat down among its roots, gently tugging on her hand to persuade her to sit beside him.
“It’s over, Lara,” said Carter. “That’s Division Eleven out there. It’s their job to deal with Vata, now. They’re not the enemy.”
“No,” said Lara.
“It’s you, isn’t it, Lara?”
“What’s me?” asked Lara, as if she didn’t already know.
“There have been so many stories, but we rationalise. We explain what we cannot understand. I’ve seen things today. Is all of this about the canisters? Has the gas leaked? Is this a hallucination? Because it feels pretty damned real.”
“It’s old technology,” said Lara. “Who knows what the Nazis were capable of?”
“Look where we are, Lara! Look at the artefact.” Carter gestured at the sword, still held firmly in Lara’s hand. “You’re holding Gwynnever’s sword. We’re surrounded by an ancient English forest. I’ve seen beasts that haven’t been seen in a place like this for a thousand years. All the things Florence Race talked about.”
“Florence Race was a deluded, power-crazed maniac,” said Lara.
“It’s about you, now,” said Carter. “If there’s anything you can do. If it’s possible that you can change what’s happening here. If you can put it back the way it was... You should do it. Now’s the time to do it.”
“I know,” said Lara. “You don’t need to tell me, Carter. I know it.”
There was a soft shuffling sound and a throaty rumble as the bear emerged from between two trees close by. He sauntered over to where Lara was sitting and flopped down in front of her, his head on the ground by her feet. Lara reached down and placed a hand on his head. He tilted his eyes up to look at her, and she ruffled the fur on the top of his head and stroked his nose.
Then Lara stood. She walked around the tree to the great boulder that stood next to it, and had once been the elegant altar with the long groove in it, which had so neatly fit Gwynnever’s sword.
The stone was just that now, a large rock that had stood on the forest floor for millennia, bedded into the ground with clumps of moss, so that it was impossible to tell where the stone ended and the earth began.
Lara raised the sword for one last time and looked at it. Then, holding the grip in her right hand, she slid Gwynnever’s sword into the slot on the top of the stone. It went in easily, almost to the hilt. Lara stood for a moment, and finally let go of the grip. The sword dropped a few more millimetres into the slot with the merest sigh, and Lara stepped back.
She looked down at Carter, sitting on the stone floor, the obelisk rising up behind him, and she glanced over at where Florence’s body lay crumpled in a heap, dead and broken. The floor was littered with the bodies of the Wolf-Heads who’d been killed in the fight, their blood soaking into the pale stone. The
chamber was, otherwise, exactly as it had been the first time Lara had stepped into it.
Not quite exactly. She turned back to the altar. Gwynnever’s sword lay in the groove on the altar. It fit so perfectly that it looked like part of the structure, as if it had been laid there millennia ago and had, somehow, become one with the stone slab it lay upon.
The halogen lights suddenly shone brightly throughout the site. The grey, misty atmosphere dissipated instantly, as if it had been sucked away in one great breath.
The mist wolves were gone. Ballard wondered whether they had ever been there. But not for long. There was a battle to fight, and win.
Having subdued Vata and Baris, the Division Eleven men heard shots fired.
“Maybe not so easy, after all,” said Bhaskar. “Since you’re so cocky, Rowles, you can guard the prisoners. With me,” he said.
Bhaskar, Taylor, and Bacon joined the fray in its final minutes. Franks’s squad had done a thorough job of keeping the Wolf-Heads busy until the reinforcements had arrived. There were injuries, and the reckless gunfire had made some of the Wolf-Heads nervous.
One or two gave up the fight, others were subdued, three had to be shot.
Soon, it was all over.
“What about the woman, sir?” Beecham asked Franks, once all the surviving Wolf-Heads had been relieved of their weapons and cuffed with cable ties.
“What woman?” asked Franks.
“We should check out the chamber, over there,” said Beecham.
Jenkins picked his way through the bodies to Franks’s position.
“Problem?” Franks asked.
“There may be more combatants in the next chamber,” said Jenkins.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Beecham. “It’s a woman. I’m not sure she’s a combatant.”
“Was she armed?” asked Jenkins.
“She was carrying a sword,” said Beecham. “Wielding it, I guess.”
“Then she’s an armed combatant,” said Jenkins. He drew his Sig Sauer.
“Updated ballistics policy?” asked Franks.
“We’re good to go,” said Jenkins. “Fire at will. You want to do this together?”
“Let’s do it,” said Franks.
Beecham took one step back to allow his bosses to do their jobs, but he stayed close. He didn’t like them going in after the woman. It didn’t seem right.
Franks entered the chamber first, his gun on Lara and Carter. Carter raised his hands immediately. Jenkins was right behind him.
“Are you armed?” asked Franks.
“Yes,” said Carter.
“What’s in the bags?” asked Franks, gesturing at the orange, nylon rucksack still strapped to Carter’s chest.
“Canisters from the airplane,” said Carter.
“Take them off and put them on the ground. I want to see your hands at all times.”
Carter began to do as he was told.
“Hands up, lady,” said Jenkins, approaching Lara. Lara raised her hands slowly, Jenkins standing over her, the barrel of his gun less than a metre from her head. “Are you armed?”
“Yes,” said Lara.
Jenkins took a step to the side to give her room to move, but never shifted his aim.
“On your bellies, hands on your heads,” said Jenkins.
Carter and Lara did as they were told. Jenkins covered Franks while he cable-tied their hands together behind their backs. Then he patted them down and removed their weapons. When he was done, Franks helped Carter to sit, and Jenkins helped Lara.
“What’s a woman doing with these goons?” asked Jenkins.
“We’re not with them,” said Carter. “I’m Carter Bell. I’m an archaeologist. This is Lara Croft.”
“You’re an archaeologist,” said Jenkins, “and you’re packing? Pull the other leg. It’s got bells on.”
“You’re Division Eleven,” said Lara. “You have a file on me. You should check it out. We’re not with Vata, and we’re not goons. This is about the site, the finds.”
“Let’s get them out of here,” said Franks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX:
DEBRIEF
The Houses of Parliament
Dressed for the occasion in a skirt and jacket with a crisp, white shirt, her hair in a ponytail, and a small handbag hanging from one shoulder, Lara made her way to the Palace of Westminster. She passed swiftly through the security checks, and made her way to the office of the 6th Viscount Stowe.
“Miss Croft,” said his secretary, “it’s good to see you again.”
“Thanks, Stephanie. You, too,” said Lara, smiling.
“He’ll be right with you,” said Stephanie.
With that, the inner door opened and a well-groomed, but casually dressed man stepped across the threshold.
“I thought I heard your voice,” he said, opening his arms to take Lara in a light embrace, kissing both cheeks.
“It’s lovely to see you, Charlie,” said Lara.
“Likewise,” said Charles. “It’s been too long.”
They stepped into the elected life peer’s office, and the Viscount closed the door behind them.
“What can I help you with, Lara?” asked Charles, ushering her into a chair and taking one for himself.
“This could be about what I can help you with,” said Lara. “You were on the Crossrail Select Committee?”
“I was,” said Charles. “It’s a necessary innovation, of course, and you know I believe in supporting business, but I wanted to ensure that the city was taken care of and that our heritage was preserved. Is there a problem, Lara?”
“How much do you know about Candle Lane?”
“Probably not as much as you,” said Charles. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
“You could say that I made some unauthorised visits to a restricted site, three unauthorised visits.”
“After it was shut down?” asked Charles. “So you do know more about it than I do. Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He smiled.
“I know almost everything there is to know about it,” said Lara, “which is why I’m here. I need you to make a call. Can you get the Minister of Defence into this meeting?”
“No problem,” said Charles. “Do you need someone from Heritage, too?”
“I don’t think so,” said Lara. “Not for this one.”
In less than half an hour, Theresa Johnson, the Minister of Defence, walked into Viscount Stowe’s office.
“Good morning, Charles,” she said. “Can we make this quick? The PM’s got me on something very time-consuming.”
Lara turned in her chair as Ms. Johnson took a seat.
“Ah, Miss Croft,” said the Minister.
“How long this takes rather depends on you, Minister,” said Lara.
“You’re here about the Candle Lane site,” said Ms. Johnson. “I heard about your involvement in that little fiasco.”
“A little fiasco that doesn’t appear to have made the papers,” said Lara.
“It’s not considered to be in the public interest.”
“There’s a great deal that is in the public interest, though,” said Lara. “The Dornier, the payload, the contents of those canisters, Dritan Vata... Shall I go on?”
“Miss Croft,” said the Minister, “the contents of the canisters were examined and found to be inert.”
“The closure of the dig and the site? The nerve gas? My friend Annie Hawkes? People were hospitalized, and you’re going to fob me off with no explanation?”
Lara had an explanation. She also knew how to play the game. The establishment was not comfortable with many of the aspects of Lara’s life and work that were very real. This time she had a scapegoat for the events that had unfolded, and she was going to use it.
The government would be comfortable believing that th
e Nazi weapon was responsible for the mass hallucinations that had stricken down the dig teams. It was something they could recognise, believe, and deal with. It was real to them, and that was the way that Lara Croft wanted it to stay.
Ms. Johnson coughed.
“Further investigations are, of course, underway to determine the exact contents of the canisters and how they were weaponised. There is speculation that the contained nature of the site created an environment that stored some of the chemical, which was released into the atmosphere during the dig.”
“Further investigations?” asked Lara.
“That’s as much as I can tell you,” said Ms. Johnson.
“You know the effects of the weapon?” asked Lara.
“Of course,” said the Minister. “Our Division Eleven operatives are being debriefed as we speak.”
“Okay, then,” said Lara. “Perhaps when you have collated their statements, you’ll see the necessity of locking down the site and burying it.”
“That would be your recommendation?” asked Ms. Johnson.
“It would,” said Lara. “I would also recommend that you lock up Dritan Vata and throw away the key.”
“I cannot comment on Mr. Vata’s involvement, nor on any crimes he might have committed,” said the Minister.
“Of course you can’t,” said Lara. “But I can. He’s dangerous. He’s dangerous to the world. He knows of nothing but conflict and war. He’s utterly ruthless. He wanted those canisters, at any cost. He wanted Nazi weapons, and he didn’t know what they were or what devastation they might cause, but he wanted them.”
“I understand your concerns, Miss Croft,” said Ms. Johnson.
“I’m not sure that you do, Minister,” said Lara.
“You understand why the site was opened up?” asked Ms. Johnson.
“Crossrail?” said Lara. “Of course I understand why the site was opened up. Are you seriously going to talk to me about money?”
“Commerce is a consideration,” said Ms. Johnson. “If your recommendation is that we bury the site, by implication you are suggesting that we reroute Crossrail, and that is going to cost a great deal of money.”