Project Icarus

by R D Shah

  Silva cut the conversation short as his call was picked up and he started barking orders which sounded more like a cry for help. “It’s Silva. Just listen. I’m five miles from Cândido Godói and heading for Santa Rosa airport on the south side. Approaching the main underpass. I need you to meet us en route. We’re driving a black Range Rover. Leave two men at the church and bring everyone else now. Do it.” Silva shouted his last sentence so loudly that he ended up spitting on the receiver of his phone and he wiped it off against his shirt before slipping the mobile into his trouser pocket. “It won’t take them long to meet us, and Bauer and his cronies would have to be crazy to take on the Brazilian military.”

  Don’t bet on it, Munroe thought to himself. He swerved off the dirt road and pulled onto the main road that would lead them to the small airport and the waiting jet, less than seven miles from their location. From there it would take a couple of hours to get back to Sloan and the waiting C-130, but apart from learning more about Daedalus and meeting Hans Bauer Munroe felt as if he was hitting a dead end. For Silva, though, it was the beginning. Knowing Daedalus, the investigation would hit the skids before it even started.

  “I’m sorry, I really am, but I’m not at liberty to say anything. I will speak to McCitrick and explain what went on. And call me Ethan, will you?”

  Silva sat there broodingly, and with his hands clenched he looked as if he were about to slam his fists down on the dashboard in frustration. Suddenly his expression blanked out as in the distance they heard a booming explosion. As it subsided Silva turned to stare at Munroe, a look of alarm on his face. “What the fuck was that?”

  Munroe didn’t have the chance to reply, because at that very moment he was distracted by a huge shadow that had crossed over the windscreen of the car.

  The burst of fire from the Gatling gun ripped through the tarmac in front of them with ease, shredding the top layer like an erupting earthquake, and Munroe jabbed at the brakes as overhead a helicopter flew past and began to make an arching turn in the sky back towards them.

  Munroe recognised the shape and lack of sound instantly. It was the same stealth helicopter he’d seen over Waterloo Bridge during Icarus’s escape, and as it began making a sharp turn he had to admire the grease work that had gone into this aircraft. It came close to turning on a dime and the entire fuselage was contained within its grey metal frame, no exhaust visible.

  Where did they get this thing?

  Munroe slammed the accelerator down hard and began hurtling towards a small overpass just ahead of them, but the speed of the helicopter was tremendous, and as the sound of the on-board Gatling gun began to whir into action again it sent down a volley of destruction. The heavy ammunition tore up the road and then the concrete above them as Munroe came to a screeching halt directly underneath the underpass.

  “We’ll never outrun that,” Silva shouted as a shroud of dust engulfed them, the passing rotors of the helicopter churning up the damage from off the road as it began to circle overhead.

  Silva was right, and Munroe was already weighing up his options, or lack of them. There seemed to be only one option, and it was dependent on one thing.

  “How long will it take your guys to reach us?”

  “A few minutes, if that. We’re only a couple of miles from the church’s commune.”

  “And what firepower do they have?”

  “Only what you saw, but the guns on the jeeps are 50mms. That helicopter looks armoured, but our guns will make one hell of a dent.”

  “Good,” Munroe replied, exiting the car as above the stealth helicopter was already turning back towards the overpass. “Get out and hug the concrete. And stay down.”

  To Silva’s credit he did exactly as he was told without hesitation as Munroe slipped the automatic gearstick in neutral and then pulled out his Maglite torch and jammed it between the top of the footwell and the accelerator, sending the engine into a high-pitched wail as the engine hit maximum revolutions. He then slapped the gearstick into drive and the vehicle sped off, its wheels flinging up dust in its wake, and Munroe jumped down to join Silva as overhead the helicopter saw its opportunity and skimmed past, quickly catching up to the black Range Rover.

  Remarkably the car stayed on the road, maintaining a straight line for over a hundred metres, and it was only when the Gatling gun delivered its next barrage that the force of the bullets to the vehicle’s roof caused it to swerve and careen off into the nearest field. But it kept going for a short while further until finally it crossed into a ditch and slammed to a juddering halt as the bonnet crumpled and the vehicle’s roof was hit by another round from the Gatling gun.

  As Munroe watched the helicopter begin to descend for landing, Silva was already back on the mobile and speaking with his team.

  “Do you see it? Yes, it’s a fucking helicopter… engage it.”

  The stealth helicopter came within a few metres of landing as the small convoy of military jeeps appeared speeding down the opposite road towards it, and then it swiftly raised back up into the sky and was already turning as the first bullets hit its side.

  The jeeps were too far away to deal any serious damage, and their shots were all over the place, but as they closed the gap and raced towards the wrecked Range Rover, the aircraft now picked up speed, staying low to the ground. Within moments it was just a dot on the horizon, and Munroe stood back up and watched the jeeps reaching their torn-up vehicle as Silva directed them to the underpass. With a wave from Munroe the military convoy turned towards them and Silva passed him back the phone.

  “That was as close as I like to get, Ethan. I’ll take the convoy back to Dr Ferreira’s school, or whatever that place is, and find what we can.”

  Munroe was already shaking his head. “They’ll already have gone, and I’ll wager the building is being turned to rubble as we speak. That distant explosion we heard before the helicopter attacked. You can bet that was them.”

  Silva looked unconvinced. “Either way we’re going back there.”

  Munroe was in agreement, and he began walking towards the jeep convoy approaching them when his iPhone began to ring. He didn’t recognise the number but he tapped the green accept button and placed it to his ear. “Munroe.”

  “Ethan.”

  The voice sounded hoarse, but even with only his name spoken he recognised it immediately. He instinctively stared over at Silva, who was more interested in the first jeep that was pulling up to a full stop before them.

  “Icarus.”

  Christ, the killer’s timing was impeccable.

  The line went silent for a moment and then Icarus began to speak. “Don’t say anything, and don’t bother trying to track this call. Just listen. It’s time we met. I’m now in a position to tell you everything you want to know. Your family, Daedalus, everything. I offer you an invitation, but it is for you and you alone. And don’t be foolish. If I see any authorities then you get nothing, and the only time you’ll see me again is just before I slit your throat. I don’t take deception well, my friend, but I think you already know that.”

  The line went silent but Munroe kept quiet, even though his first question was how the hell did this madman get his mobile number. But he restrained himself until Icarus began to speak again.

  “Tell me, Ethan. When was the last time you visited New Orleans?”

  Chapter 23

  The excitement in the air was electric and infectious as preparations for the Mardi Gras parade ramped up along Bourbon Street in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Party revellers were already getting into the spirit, along with a multitude of colourful outfits whose owners were preparing for the three-day drinkathon. It was clear this year would be no less outrageous than the years before. Many were just sucking in the atmosphere, enjoying the calm before the storm, with a few groggy bar patrons sat in doorways, who had already got a head start on celebrations the night before. By the smiles gracing everyone’s faces it was clear that they all planned to squeeze every last drop of
fun from the occasion, with the exception of one, who was making his way down the street quickly, with his Chicago Cubs baseball hat pulled firmly down over his face.

  Michael Hanks was a man who knew how to blend into a crowd, and anyone who saw him wouldn’t have batted an eyelid at the man, but as the revellers and tourists alike sucked in the vibrant ambience of New Orleans, gearing up for the wild night ahead, he had far more serious things on his mind.

  Hanks came to a stop outside Dr Bute’s House of Voodoo and glanced in through the window to the unpleasant mix of skulls and dark trinkets. He could already smell the heavy scent of opium joss sticks and as he entered the smell only got stronger.

  The shop was empty of customers and as he made his way across to the counter he found the clutter claustrophobic. There was not a single bare space inside with every corner of the shop filled with the kind of crap, eclectic useless pieces of spiritual garbage that tourists happily passed over their hard-earned cash for, to gain a small slice of New Orleans mystery.

  “Jesus, Dr Bute, you trying to poison customers or sell to them?” Hanks said, wafting his hand back and forth at the swirls of blue smoke hanging in the air.

  Dr Bute stood behind the counter looking stoic with a white frilly shirt, black waistcoat and strings of black pearly beads dangling from around his neck. “You’re back then,” he said in a thick Jamaican accent, leaning back against the glass cupboards, stacked full of black candles, home-made oils, gris-gris bags and all centred around a pathetic-looking stuffed white chicken that had seen better days. “’Ow was the business trip, Michael?”

  “Fine, just fine,” Hanks said, swiping away a dried-out bat carcass hanging above him by a piece of thin nylon. “When you said you were going to rearrange the shop front I didn’t know you meant make it shittier than it already was.”

  Dr Bute raised his long finger and waved it warningly. “You’d be wise not to insult the spirits in this place, Michael. It’s bad juju, bombaclaat.”

  “Shut up, Ralph,” Hanks replied, pointing his finger at Dr Bute, “and I keep telling you, voodoo’s Haitian, not Jamaican, you prick. Get the accent right, you sound like an idiot.”

  Dr Bute’s whole cool, laid-back demeanour evaporated and he stood up straight. “Screw you, Mike,” he replied in a thick New York accent.

  Hanks was already heading for the draped multi-coloured beads covering the back stairwell. “I won’t be long.” He disappeared up the stairs as Dr Bute flicked the bird after him. “You never are,” he replied, resuming his Jamaican inflection. “Pasty rassclaat.”

  Dr Bute’s House of Voodoo was just a front, one of many safehouses used for Daedalus operations, and like the others the hired shopkeeper had no real idea of its actual purpose.

  Hanks produced a Yale key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock of the heavy metal door. With a turn it creaked open and he headed inside before flipping the wall light switch. It was a typical back office housing an old wooden desk, with scenic pictures of New Orleans hanging from the lime-green painted walls. Hanks locked the door behind him and sat down at the desk before unlocking one of the side drawers and then pressing his finger against a small indentation inside it. A compartment rose upwards from the centre of the desk’s surface, revealing a monitor and keypad, which Hanks began to tap on. One password later and a thin metal strut unfolded automatically from the monitor’s casing into a retina scanner which Hanks dutifully rested his face against. After a dull beam of light passed across his pupil the monitor lit up and the scanner retracted and folded back to its original position.

  Hanks leant back in his chair thoughtfully. The coming conversation could determine his future, whether long and illustrious or short and unrealised.

  Hanks tapped his passcode into the blinking cursor box and after stretching his shoulders he waited.

  Then he waited some more.

  Five minutes passed until the image of a man popped onto the screen, and Hanks felt his body stiffen as Hans Bauer began to speak.

  “I got your message, Michael. I assume you’re back stateside? Where?”

  Bauer’s voice was calm, almost jovial in an unnerving way, and Hanks gave a swift nod. “One of our outposts, sir, but it’s a secure line. I just arrived and tracking squads are on the ground looking for Icarus as requested.”

  “What news?”

  “No contact as yet, sir, but it’s early days.”

  “But we don’t have days, Michael. We need this put to a stop now.”

  “I agree, sir, and we will have him back on a leash. I promise you that. I already have the teams—”

  “I’m sure you do,” Bauer interrupted, his eyes becoming cold and ungiving, “but what I would like to know is how he got away from you after we spent so much political capital on scooping him away from the UK police.”

  This was the part that Hanks had been dreading, but he raised his chin upwards confidently in near defiance. “We trained him well, perhaps too well, sir. It was a miscalculation on my part in trusting Davies to carry out Icarus’s interrogation. The idiot didn’t give him the respect he needed and our boy Icarus took advantage of that fact. He killed him and escaped before I returned. Davies was a poor choice, but I take full responsibility for putting my trust in him.”

  Bauer stared silently at him and Hanks knew to now keep his mouth shut. There was little to explain except that he’d screwed up, and he banked on his previous operational record redeeming him.

  Bauer continued to stare for a few more uncomfortable seconds before leaning closer to the screen. “There can be no more fuck-ups, otherwise… well, you know what happens to those who betray our life’s work, brethren or not.”

  Hanks felt a wave of relief crash over him. He was being given a second chance, and it would not be wasted. “I understand, sir, and thank you. Your faith in me won’t be squandered.”

  Bauer sat back from the screen, his eyes still intently displaying menace. “I hope not, for your sake. You don’t want me knocking at your door, Michael.”

  Hanks only nodded respectfully as he now sought to move the conversation along. “And how goes the operation?”

  “Operation Icarus is on course after some readjustments. The action we took in Parliament has opened just the opportunity we expected. Because of Ambassador Breams’s termination of the German Chancellor, and now the glorious takedown of Parliament, we have forged a new path to our destination.” Bauer now smiled, showing the whites of his teeth. “High command is pleased.”

  The very mention had Hanks sitting up proudly, but it was short-lived. “But I’ve not mentioned your recent indiscretion, and I suggest you ensure I can keep it that way. Find Icarus, and use every one of our networks if need be. The moment you lay eyes on that wild animal you let me know. I want regular updates in the coming hours.”

  Over the top of the monitor something stirred, and the metal door to the office swung open slowly on the weight of its frame. Hanks’s mouth dropped open.

  He’d not even heard the lock being picked.

  Stood in the doorway, wearing a bright flowery Mardi Gras T-shirt, and pointing a 9mm Glock directly at Hanks, was Icarus. He raised his finger to his lips and then moved over to the side of the monitor, out of view, and directed Hanks’s eyes back down to the screen as Bauer continued delivering his orders.

  “I won’t have Icarus self-destructing and ruining the same plans he helped create. The Core feels we have no option. He’s too dangerous and knows too much to be allowed to roam freely… Are you paying attention?”

  Icarus slammed the butt of his gun into Hanks’s skull, sending him off the seat and to the ground before taking his place in the chair and staring into the eyes of Bauer. “Hello, Hans.”

  Bauer looked momentarily shocked, his mouth opening slightly, but he immediately slipped back into character as Icarus continued to speak.

  “High command feels they have no option, Hans? Interesting way to put it, when they chose the option to have me killed.�
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  Bauer looked unrattled and he was already shaking his head. “That’s not true, David.”

  Icarus snorted at the remark. “Only you could deliver a lie steeped in such bullshit and keep a straight face. And my name is Icarus. It’s a testament to all the others you had no ‘option’ but to kill.”

  “There was no option, my friend, they were nothing like you. And you are nothing like them. Not until you decided to kill those two MI6 agents.”

  Icarus dismissed the notion with a limp flick of his wrist and he rolled his eyes sarcastically. “They weren’t government spooks, Hans, they were DS5. Fair game as far as I could see.”

  Bauer was looking frustrated, but his tone of voice was calm. “Either way, it was a poor decision. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Were back on track, and all I ask is that you come back to us, Icarus. It’s time to come home and be a part of the future… our future.”

  Icarus stared at the screen blankly and then stretched out his arm and hovered his finger above the keyboard’s return button. “I appreciate the offer, you back-stabbing Judas, but I have my own agenda now. And it doesn’t include you.”

  Icarus tapped on the keypad and the monitor went blank as he now turned to Hanks’s unconscious body. “But it does include you.”

  He hauled the man up off the floor and dumped him back into the seat before ripping the long power cord from the monitor and then binding Hanks’s hands to the chair securely, whereupon he delivered a couple of sharp slaps to the man’s face until Hanks groggily opened his eyes.

  “I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to offer you the same professional courtesy you once offered me, Mikey boy.”

  Hanks said nothing, his eyes still glazing due to the blow, and he watched as Icarus stood over him, a cold unsettling smile spreading across his face. “I have some hours to kill, if you don’t mind the pun, and I’m sure we can find something to keep us both occupied.”

  Hanks’s eyes now widened in fear as Icarus pulled a Sheffield knife from his pocket and unfolded it delicately between his fingers. “So, Michael. Where should we begin?”