Project Icarus

by R D Shah

  “How about Sinclair?”

  “She’s recent to DS5, about a year, but before she worked mainly in army intelligence. Tough old broad though, and with the resolve of a steel elephant.”

  “And McCitrick?”

  They both looked over towards McCitrick, who was deep in discussion with the other colonels. “McCitrick’s a bit of a mystery, even to me. He doesn’t talk about his past much but he’s ex-SBS. Honest and loyal to the core. One thing that I do know though, is don’t cross him. He’s had the ear of every Home Secretary since 1998, and should anyone betray DS5 it’s McCitrick who pulls the trigger. No courts, no hearings, no bullshit. Honour and loyalty are everything in this unit. It’s all we have to rely on, being completely outside the framework of the real world.”

  For the first time since being given the brief by McCitrick, Munroe found himself in awe of everything he was hearing and seeing as it began to sink in. He knew there were acknowledged operations and units working outside the government. Christ, he’d worked for many of them, but this was different. A small group with thousands of tonnes of weaponry and combat men and woman at their fingertips, and the resources of nations to use as they saw fit. Quite a responsibility and, as he saw it, the ultimate honour – to serve not just one’s country but the world. And all this to kill Nazis. One of the most dangerous groups to ever have existed.

  “So how about you, Captain Sloan. What’s your story?” Munroe asked, curious as to how his new teammate had made it into the fold.

  “I could ask you the same thing. Remus over there wasn’t very impressed, although he can be like that with everyone from time to time. How did you get your honourable discharge?”

  Munroe just stared at her, and after a few moments of uncomfortable silence he made a clicking sound from the side of his mouth. “Maybe when we get to know each other better.”

  Sloan didn’t look offended; she just shrugged her shoulders. “Same for me then. A bit of mystery never hurt anyone.”

  They both smiled respectfully at one another as on the wall opposite the three separate flat-screen monitors lit up and Munroe found himself staring at the people known as ‘the three kings’. On the left sat the French Minister for Armed Forces, in the middle the US Secretary of Defence, and on the right was the UK Home Secretary, Jacob Ryan.

  With McCitrick, Remus and Sinclair standing at the front of the crowd they turned to face the screens and waited as the US Secretary spoke first.

  “Thank you for gathering at such short notice, and especially Section Head McCitrick for organising it. You are all aware of the atrocities that have occurred in London earlier today, and as such I would now like to turn this meeting over to Secretary Ryan, who will speak on behalf of us all. I would also like to impress upon you that this brazen attack on British soil by Daedalus will not go unpunished, and as always is considered not just a national attack but an attack on the world as a whole.”

  “Thank you, Mr Secretary.” Ryan shifted in his chair before resting both his elbows on the table in front of him, staring sombrely at them all. “When our three countries formed this charter over seventy years ago, it was in the hope of maintaining world peace after the horrors of World War Two. Our leaders made a solemn promise, not just to each to other but to the world, that the Nazi war machine would never again be allowed to roll. Our predecessors held true to that promise, and although the inhumane and sick ideals of Nazism have endured, it is us that has kept it at bay. Our remit of secrecy has made it a thankless job and, so far, never-ending, as the groundwork laid down by the Nazi hierarchy has morphed and evolved into the organisational cult we know as Daedalus. As they have evolved, so has DS5, and we have become a watchtower that strikes down this ideological scourge when it rears its ugly head. But as of today, that all changes. This attack on the very fabric of the Western political system, we believe, represents a sea change in their thinking, and what has remained for so long a secret cold war, a chess game of ideologies, has now become hot. They have changed the rules of the game, and we must respond in kind. From this moment going forward we will no longer defend the status quo, but take the fight to them. For far too long we have maintained a type of balance, only striking when necessary, but now we will dig them out and finally end what should have been concluded back in 1945. Your section heads will brief you on the various operations. But know that you have at this moment any resource, any department, any army, including NATO, to aid you. Revisit every lead we’ve ever had, any escapes we allowed to slip by, and any and all suspects, regardless of how unsure we are of their involvement. If they are a suspect, then bring them in for questioning. This game stops now. If not, then what will be next… the French Parliament, the White House? We know you will carry out your duties to the best of your abilities – and know that once our task is concluded, we can disband the charter that has kept the world safe for so many decades.”

  Ryan leant closer to the camera, the cut on his cheek from the bomb blast tied with fresh stiches. “This ends now, under our watch… and none too soon. Godspeed, ladies and gentlemen. The weight of history is on your shoulders. We know you will make the world proud.”

  With a nod from the other secretaries the screens went black, and as the group descended into the mumbling of conversation the three section heads huddled among themselves for a few minutes before moving to join their respective groups.

  “Both of you, walk with me,” McCitrick ordered, and he headed out of the briefing room with Munroe and Sloan on his tail. It wasn’t until they reached the top deck that McCitrick began to speak again. He now pulled out his smartphone and held it out in front of him. “I received this just before you arrived. One of my contacts in Brazil found it on the victim of a massacre there.”

  McCitrick tapped the screen; it brought up a picture of a burnt hand, charred by flames, but it was the tattoo on the inside arm that aroused the curiosity of both Munroe and Sloan. The tattoo was a triangle with a maze lying within it, and Munroe recognised it immediately.

  “Daedalus, it’s their symbol. I saw it on Tobias Kessler’s arm, but he said they don’t mark themselves anymore.”

  “Well someone has, and considering it was found on the arm of a woman along with sixty-seven others who had been burnt alive in a commune church, I think it pertinent to take a look. Daedalus are covering their tracks, and I want you to find out why.”

  Munroe was about to ask a question but McCitrick raised a finger. “I don’t know any more than that, but my man on the ground can give you all the information he has. And if you do come across any of Daedalus’s people I want them brought in for questioning. Not on sight, do you understand? A lot of people died in the attack on Parliament and it’s got the other countries worried. Who’s next? If Daedalus are moving into their endgame then this could be the moment we’ve been anticipating for over seventy years.”

  Munroe needed no persuading. “We’ll leave now.”

  McCitrick nodded and flicked his finger towards the waiting Merlin Mk 2 helicopter already spinning up its rotors. “That’ll take you to back to Brest airport where you’ll connect with a waiting C-130 Hercules with a care package on it, then on to Brazil. You’ll refuel in mid-air.” McCitrick passed over a set of plastic cards with both their names on. “You’ve got CIA, FBI and UN attaché identification, use them as and if needed.”

  Munroe and Sloan dropped the cards into their pockets and with barely a nod began heading towards the waiting chopper. Blown about by the raging downforce from the Merlin’s rotors, Munroe boarded along with Sloan, and he found himself racking his mind for an answer to the biggest question still on his mind. What the hell did a Nazi serial killer have to do with him or his family?

  “Looks like we’re on our own. That’s fine by me,” Munroe yelled above the noise as the sliding side door was pulled closed and the helicopter began lifting into the air.

  “Then you’re in the right place, Ethan. They don’t call us the Disavowed for nothing.”

&n
bsp; Chapter 20

  The crystal mini chandeliers hanging above sparkled their brilliance down upon the two men striding their way along the long corridor, neither of them saying a word, their boot heels leaving small indentations upon the ruby carpet running its length. There were no paintings or pictures hanging from the white painted walls, and as the two men reached the doorway at the end they stopped. The first grasped the oval brass doorknob with his white-glove-covered hand and twisted it. He gently pushed open the door and then stood by its side, his back stiff and his chin raised up into the air. “Mr Bauer for you, gentlemen.”

  Wearing a Cranbourne tweed jacket, waistcoat, brown corduroys and red-tinted leather brogues, Hans Bauer made his way inside and raised his right arm into the air powerfully. “Heil Hitler,” he said, before returning the arm to his side and staring at the six men seated before him. The room had the air of a decadent private library; it was set on two levels, with the higher one providing a walkway above the central room and allowing access to the dark lacquered bookcases lining it. Down below an overly large round mahogany table sat on anthracite-coloured carpet, and behind it a lit fireplace crackled away next to a large expansive window overlooking an icy mountain range.

  “Please, Hans, take your seat. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  With a sharp nod, Bauer moved to the nearest seat as the man who had announced him pulled the chair back with his white-gloved hands and then gently pushed it forward as he sat down.

  Upon the table, and in front of each seat, an engraved lightning bolt stretched towards the middle where they all met at a circle. Within this the centre displayed a triangle containing a maze, leading to its central point, and the image of a sun radiating light.

  “Has our test site been taken care of?” the old man who’d told him to sit asked, tapping the top of the table with his fingers.

  “The village of Cândido Godói has been sanitised, gentlemen, and all the test subjects have been removed from the equation. I saw to it myself.”

  The old man looked unsure about the information. “By taken out of the equation, do you mean completely? No trace?”

  “I mean, sir, their bodies have been burnt to cinders. There is nothing but ashes, and certainly no way for any blood tests to be carried out. But we still have a small issue at hand.”

  The old man said nothing but instead raised his nose upwards in anticipation of the admission as Bauer explained further.

  “The authorities turned up sooner than was expected, and we’ve not been able to take care of Dr Ferreira’s… lab. The good news is they haven’t found it yet, and once you have dismissed me from this meeting I will be going there to take care of it personally.”

  Bauer’s assurance was met with a satisfied nod from the old man and he began moving on to the next order of business, in doing so showing the faith he had in his subordinate.

  “That’s exactly what I wanted to know. Going forward we cannot afford to leave any trails in our wake.” The old man looked happy at the news, but the anxious look now appearing on Bauer’s face caused his pleased demeanour to evaporate in a flash. “What is it?”

  “Hanks is compromised, and I believe dead.” This information gained a raised eyebrow from a few of the seated hosts, but not from the old man.

  “What do you mean ‘believe’?” the old man asked, with no hint of anger in his voice.

  “Icarus tracked him to one of our safehouses and accosted him while I was on the video call. He, as you already know, is not a happy boy.”

  A younger man sat to Hans’s left let out an amused snort. “I’m not surprised, considering we tried to have him killed.”

  The old man turned his head and stared at him warningly. As the younger man’s smirk dissolved, Bauer was addressed once more. “Which safehouse?”

  “I’m afraid it was a secure line and I don’t know… yet. There are a few dozen it could have been, but I have our people checking each one. We’ll find Hanks, dead or alive, but I very much doubt Icarus will still be there.”

  The old man’s eyes dipped towards the surface of the table as he considered his response, and then with a swift breath he returned his gaze to Bauer. “Let’s not worry too much about our boy. There’s not much he can do except cause trouble for himself. And besides, things are progressing very well, despite a few bumps along the way. There is, however, a more troubling issue to deal with, and it is one I want you to focus on.”

  “And what would that be, sir?”

  “Ethan Munroe. We all agree he’s a dead end, but it would be impractical for us if Icarus was to meet him face to face. It could cause additional problems we would prefer to avoid.”

  Bauer looked unbothered by the notion and he replied with a sober nod as the old man continued.

  “I am more concerned with Kessler’s slip of judgement, which is why I called you here in person.”

  The old man clicked his fingers and the white-gloved and black-suited announcer disappeared from where he had entered, closing the door behind him. “Kessler is a good man, and one of the old guard, but his mention of the Parliament bomb was most out of character and cost us a few additional cabinet ministers, I would wager. If Munroe had managed to get the word out sooner it could have cost us dearly. I think it’s time for him to retire from the front line of our operations. I want you to set him up somewhere nice, no expense spared. It’s the least we can do for such a valued old friend who’s done so much for us over the years.”

  Bauer was already nodding as behind him the door opened and the newest guest was announced.

  “Mr Kessler, gentlemen.”

  Tobias Kessler entered the room confidently, his eyes blackened from his car crash, and he raised his right hand in the air as his left hung motionless in the sling supporting it. “Heil Hitler,” he yelled dramatically, taking great pride in the action.

  “Thank you for coming, Tobias. How are the injuries?”

  “Fine, sir. I was lucky. They are only minor.”

  The old man looked pleased by the reply. “I’m glad to hear that. Very glad indeed… but not so much with how you handled Ethan Munroe.”

  Some of the confidence drained from Kessler’s face, and he looked nothing short of embarrassed. It visibly irked the older man.

  “Don’t tell me you feel an affinity with this man Munroe, as Icarus does!”

  “No, sir,” Kessler replied, his response coming quickly. “I thought I might have been able to turn him. That was my only goal.”

  The old man was now looking stunned and he closed his eyes and shook his head. “This Munroe is nothing to us. What if he had managed to tell them about the Parliament bomb in time!”

  Kessler’s embarrassment quickly turned into shame and his head drooped as he held his hands together respectfully. “It was foolish, sir. Please forgive me.”

  The old man stared at him with mistrust for a moment before leaning back in his padded black leather chair. “I forgive you, Tobias. But we believe it is best if you step down from your position. Time is catching up with you, my old friend, and over the years you’ve done enough for our cause. That is until Project Icarus is fully realised, and then you will be welcomed back with the honours you so richly deserve.”

  There was grave disappointment in Kessler’s expression, but he dutifully nodded and once again raised his right arm. “Heil Hitler.” He then paused, keeping his arm outstretched as he stared directly at the old man across the table. “And Heil Reich Führer Bormann.”

  A proud grin spread across Bormann’s face, and he nodded at the acknowledgement. As Kessler stood there stoutly, proudly displaying his Nazi salute, a thin garrotte wire was swiftly dropped over his head and then tightened around his neck.

  Kessler looked horrified as Bauer tightened his grip on the handles, and as the trickles of blood running down his neck were absorbed by his top collar, he slowly descended to the floor. The wire was cutting deeper and deeper, but throughout he never lowered his saluting arm or broke his
stare with Reich Führer Bormann, until his body gave out and he collapsed to the floor.

  “Thank you, Hans,” Bormann said as Bauer uncoiled the garotte wire and wiped it down with a white handkerchief. “Please ensure the body is buried somewhere nice, no expense spared, and see that he has a good view from which to watch eternity pass him by.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bauer headed for the door to retrieve the body bag he’d prepared in his car.

  “Let’s also tie up the last few loose ends on the Operation Icarus side please,” Bormann called out as the other members of the circle now began to leave their seats, having observed the spectacle they’d come for. “If you can’t get rid of Icarus, then damn well make sure that you get rid of Munroe.”

  Chapter 21

  The scent of burnt embers and cooked meat hung in the air as a noxious testimony to the terrible events that had occurred the previous day, and as Munroe approached the scorched remains of the small church it smelt familiar. It was not the first time he had experienced such a uniquely foul odour. While conducting operations in Afghanistan his unit had come across a small village that the Taliban had deemed to be working with American forces. Under the cover of night they had rounded up the twenty or so residents and summarily executed them before dragging their bodies into a pile. Doused with gasoline they had been set alight, and by the time Munroe and his team passed through there was nothing left except a mound of smoking bones and a smell he would never forget. It was this same smell he now sniffed in the air, and it was becoming more potent the closer to the church he got. The blackened stone walls had given way, bringing down the roof, and the once-heavy timber frames were nothing more than ash and charcoal which largely hid the charred bodies that lay beneath.

  “How many, Mr Silva?” Munroe asked, glancing over at the man by his side, who was still surveying the remnants of such a terrible tragedy.