by R D Shah
For a cemetery the place was impressive, with rows of old tombs and family mausoleums, and except for a sign that read NO SOLICITING IN THE CEMETERY, which must mean that soliciting was a problem here, it appeared the kind of respectful resting place one would expect. The whole plot must have contained thousands of interred graves, and it did briefly cross his mind that it was the perfect place for a man like Icarus to seek refuge, even only temporarily.
Munroe moved from left to right, attempting to look straight down each row for any sight of movement, but there was none. If the place did get visitors then tonight they were all in the throes of Mardi Gras back on the main streets. As he came to the end of the first row he heard a footstep. It was barely audible above the background noise but he heard it, and he now began heading in the same direction, towards a gathering of stone mausoleums. The once stately white residences of families past were certainly no Taj Mahal, but their cracked paint on weathered stone provided a link to the city’s gothic past, and as Munroe reached the centre of them he froze. He was very attuned to the feeling of being watched and it was this feeling that now tugged at Munroe’s senses, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“Hello, Ethan.” A familiar voice called softly, and Munroe slowly brought his Beretta to bear on the silhouette of a man leaning against the furthest mausoleum, also holding a gun aimed directly at him. “Let’s not do anything foolish.”
Munroe watched as Icarus took a step forward so his face was visible in the shard of light from the nearby streets, and he remained calm, holding his aim. “It’s over. You’re coming in with me, and I guarantee your safety. You’re going to tell me everything, and then we’ll go from there. I’ll listen to everything you have to say. You have my word.”
Icarus responded with a nasal chuckle. “Things like this are never over, and you are far from having the upper hand. You’re good, Ethan. But today is not yours to be had.”
“So, what are you going to do… David?”
Icarus’s real name drew a smile from the killer. “Good, we should be on a first name basis. Whether you realise it or not, we’re the same, you and I.”
Any suggested connection was lost on Munroe, but when a gun is being pointed at your chest you play along, and he did just that. “You’ve spent a lot of time and effort bringing us to this moment, David. And you’re right, I don’t know why. But I can tell you what I do know: I know about Daedalus. I know that you were working for them. I know that you killed two DS5 agents and a lot of other innocent people, and I know they’ve turned on you.”
Icarus continued to point the gun at him, but the mention of innocent people had him shaking his head. “No one is innocent, Ethan. And what’s the point of being given skills if you can’t use them? I was bred to be an assassin and gain information using torture. I did everything Daedalus asked of me, and despite all that they have done to me I still believe in the cause… a Fourth Reich… a pure bloodline.”
It almost sounded like the beginning of an apology. “I saw what you did to the people I found in your house. I saw your torture room, your wet room. And the mutilation of their bodies after death? That wasn’t the work of an assassin. That was the work of someone who relished the act of killing and defiling a corpse.”
Munroe realised he was getting a bit close to the bone as Icarus now used his free hand to roughly press at his forehead, as if his skull was causing him pain, and then he suddenly stopped, his demeanour calm once again.
“I’m not proud of everything I’ve done, Ethan, but much of it was necessary. It’s what I was bred to do. But now Daedalus have their new models, with go-faster stripes, and all my brothers and sisters were deemed unworthy and retired. But not me… I was the one who got away, and I will now repay them in kind. With your help, I will bring down what they most hold dear. Project Icarus itself.”
Icarus once again rubbed at his forehead, his eyes momentarily rolling back in their sockets. Munroe considered taking a shot, but instead he held fast and asked the only questions at that moment that mattered to him.
“What is Project Icarus? And why did Daedalus want me dead?”
The two questions had the killer focusing once more, and he shook his head, suddenly looking solemn. Tears were beginning to flow from his eyes when something zipped into his neck, and as he slapped at the irritation, Munroe heard the sound of compressed air and he felt a stinging thud in his own shoulder. Before him Icarus’s legs began to crumple, and as he collapsed to the ground Munroe reached up and plucked whatever had hit him from his skin. As his vision began to blur he found himself looking at a red-tipped syringe dart. The surge of dizziness was overwhelming, and he sank slowly to the floor, the gun slipping from his hand and all senses deserting his body until every muscle became numb. Munroe’s knees thumped down onto the gravel path below him, and then as darkness consumed his mind and vision he felt the gravel hit his face.
Chapter 28
Munroe awoke to the thunderous sound of flutes, bassoons, trumpets and trombones all woven together above the heavy beating of a drum. The music was recognisable even within a few notes, and his entire body pulsated rhythmically as the vibrations of Ludwig van Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony rippled through him, wave after wave. A blindfold had been tightened around his head, covering his eyes, and he could feel the taut knot digging into the back of his skull. His head was throbbing from whatever drugs had been used to knock him out, and the deafening, brash cacophony pounded at his head, each note assaulting his senses, blow after blow.
“Hello!” he shouted loudly, but his voice was lost within the music as he tried to recall his last moments of consciousness. Images of the body impaled on the wall like a voodoo doll, and then giving chase after Icarus began flooding back to him, and finally he visualised the last thing he had seen, the killer dropping to the ground before him. It had not been Icarus who had brought him here. So who had?
Munroe attempted to move his hands but they were secured behind him, and the backrest of the chair he was sitting on was jutting into his biceps painfully. He shifted up and down, trying to gauge the texture, and determined the chair was plastic, which did him no good. Wooden chairs could be broken, but plastic not so much.
Munroe turned his attention to his ankles, only to find they had each been bound to the chair’s legs. The restraints weren’t digging into his skin, which suggested perhaps duct tape. Also not good, offering little if any wriggle room.
Munroe scraped his head against his shoulder in the hope of catching the blindfold and sliding it up his forehead, but the binding on his wrists was too tight, allowing hardly any movement in his upper body.
Shit. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Above the vociferous noise of Beethoven’s Fifth he could make out another sound, like a humming, which then gave way to the booming of trumpets before he heard it again. The sound came and went intermittently. It was sporadic, with no discernible timing to it, and Munroe now realised it was a voice, yelling, but it was impossible to determine the words. He began shouting back and the hum stopped suddenly before starting up again. Now he was sure there was someone else in here with him. Wherever ‘here’ was.
Although practically pointless there was not much else he could do, and Munroe found himself screaming back. It was on his second yell that something hard and narrow jabbed into his chest, inducing a short burst of coughing. He was still recoiling from the blow when the same object slapped him sharply across the left side of his head and he fell into silence, his muscles tensing in apprehension of the next strike.
Munroe sat, his body taut and primed, as the music began to fade out slowly until it became nothing more than pleasant background noise. He could now hear voices, but there was no clarity to the words. Then suddenly he felt hot breath in his ear, and the few words that came with it: “Welcome home, Ethan,” and the blindfold was ripped from his head.
The light was blinding, and Munroe slowly opened his eyes, now getting his first sight o
f the man standing before him, wearing a tweed suit and holding a tanned bamboo cane with one frayed end.
“Good evening, Captain Munroe.” The man took a step backwards, allowing a partial view of the room they were in. The walls, floor and ceiling were nothing more than smooth, grey concrete, and in the corners of the ceiling black mesh speakers had been attached by thick metal bolts. Overhead dangled a single light bulb exuding a stale yellow hue, and to his left was a green metal door lined with small metal rivets offering the only exit to the windowless room.
Munroe recognised the voice and face of the person standing smugly before him. He’d caught sight of him through the circular eyepiece of his gas mask while exiting Dr Ferreira’s ‘school’ back in Brazil, but only now did he get a good look at the man who embodied modern-day Nazism, and had organised the death of his family. “Bauer.”
Hans Bauer offered a smile, and bowed theatrically. He slicked his blonde hair back with his hand and gazed down at Munroe through cold, dark blue eyes. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you face to face, although I’m sure you don’t feel the same. What you may not realise is that despite our little ‘du tac au tac’ back in Brazil, our meeting has been a long time coming. You might have only recently met me but, I assure you, I’ve known you for many years.” Bauer smiled conceitedly. “I have to congratulate you on the manner of your escape, by the way. Its ingenuity and daring was impressive, but somewhat slippery. Fleeing like a snake and slithering your way past my men was very unbecoming, but I would expect nothing less from a member of the Disavowed. They are, after all, the lowest form of life this planet has to offer. Shame…” Bauer placed the tip of his frayed bamboo rod down upon the floor like a walking stick. “You could have been so much more. But as the French say, ‘C’est la vie.’”
With the faces of his dead family suspended in his thoughts, Munroe could have jumped to his feet and snapped the man’s neck without even a second thought, but given his current predicament, and the bindings chafing at his wrists, he remained calm and collected. “I may not know you, Hans, but I know what you are. You’ve got good taste in music, though, I’ll give you that. The Nazis always did love their Germanic composers.”
Bauer raised his chin upwards and nodded arrogantly. “What do you mean did? We still do. Beethoven is not high up on our collective top ten though. Most still favour Wagner or Bruckner. Many think Beethoven’s deafness was a sign of genetic weakness, and it’s true but you have to admit the man knew how to pump out a good tune. Still, purity of the species, is the name of the game. Survival of the fittest. It’s hard to fault the laws of nature.”
“World War Two, fifty million dead and the decimation of the German nation. I’d say that was a pretty big fault.”
Munroe’s summation brought a wide smile to Bauer’s lips. “An idealist! I would have expected nothing less.”
Bauer leant down and grasped Munroe by the chin before he turned it to one side, examining his features. “Strong bone structure. I like that. But polluted by the corruption of capitalism. Orphaned at four and with no parents to guide you in the ways of the world. Indoctrinated by the nanny state and with no ties to bind you… you don’t even know who you are, Ethan. You’re a man with no past, and unfortunately no future.”
Munroe jerked his chin away from Bauer’s grip. “You sound like your friend Icarus.”
“Ah, Icarus. The thorn in my side. Just as his namesake discovered, fly too close to the sun and you get your wings burnt. Let’s ask him, shall we.”
Bauer took a step backwards, then moved over to one side, and Munroe found himself staring directly at the bloody and bruised face of Icarus. He was bound to a chair on the opposite side of the room, but with no blindfold. Instead he had a dirty piece of brown cloth stuffed in his mouth.
“What about it, David. Anything to say?”
Icarus huffed against the gag as Bauer drew his hand up to his own ear and cupped it theatrically. “I can’t quite hear you. Did you say you’ll kill me?”
The man glanced back at Munroe and rolled his eyes indifferently. “It’s usually the kind of thing he says, but I don’t think he’ll get the chance. Do you?”
The man brushed away his jacket and pulled out a grey Luger from his waist holster. He then calmly strode over and placed the gun to Icarus’s head. “You’ve done great things for us, David, great things… But not lately.”
Munroe watched as Bauer pulled the trigger and Icarus’s entire body twitched as the click of the Luger’s hammer hitting an empty chamber echoed around the room.
“You’re not getting off that easy, David, despite what our superiors may have instructed me to do. They would have you put down like a rabid dog, but I won’t do that. At the very least you should see the conclusion of the thing that has preoccupied you these last few months.”
Bauer ambled his way back to Munroe and presented the gun in the open palm of his hand. “It’s an antique Luger. Second World War, owned by my father. Good weapon, and worthy of both your deaths, but I do believe in granting final wishes. I know that yours is information about your family, and poor David’s over there, no matter how misguided, is to see that you get it.”
As Bauer stared into Munroe’s eyes he saw only furious anger, and he had a sudden realisation. “You know it was me. Don’t you?” He glanced back at Icarus and wagged his finger. “David!” Bauer said with comical disappointment. “Is that what you were using Hanks’s terminal for? So much for your vow of secrecy to your Daedalus family.”
“Yes, I know it was you,” Munroe growled, letting his game face slip as Bauer turned back towards him. “I saw your debrief. You tried to kill me and my family suffered for your failure. Why?”
Bauer said nothing at first, and instead stared down at Munroe coldly with his lips pursed together tightly. After a few more moments of consideration he reached over and banged his fist on the green metal door. Within moments two men with blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing combat armour and armed with M4 carbines, entered the room. One cut Munroe free from his binding as the other covered him with his weapon. Munroe’s hands were then zip-tied in front of him and the guards heaved Icarus from his chair as Bauer pointed his finger at the killer.
“No funny stuff, David. Despite what I’ve told you there is still hope for you yet. But that is up to you.” Bauer reached up and grasped the corner of the gag in Icarus’s mouth and then looked over at Munroe. “What do you think, Ethan. Can our little assassin here behave himself?”
Without waiting for an answer, Bauer pulled the brown cloth away and Icarus instantly began shouting.
“You piece of shit, Hans, I’ll cut your fucking head off…”
The gag was immediately jammed back into his mouth. “No, doesn’t look like it.” Bauer gave Icarus a gentle slap on his cheek and shook his head. “You don’t do yourself any favours, David, but regardless, I will honour both of your last wishes. I’m just too kind. That’s my problem.” He spoke with an infuriating arrogance as one of the guards looped his arm around Munroe’s, and with the other holding a gun at Icarus’s back both men were roughly led out of the cell and into the adjoining room. Bauer closed the door behind them before joining them.
“Welcome to Blackstar.” Bauer raised his arm in a melodramatic arc across the open plan room before him and then smiled as he saw the puzzlement on Munroe face. “It’s one of the many jewels in our crown, and a place not many get to see the inside of.”
Munroe stared out across the vast warehouse-sized space. On first impression it looked like nothing more than an open plan office, with the exception of the nine masked guards lining the walls. The floor, as far as he could see, was laid with grey lino tiles, paving walkways past low partitioned rooms which provided open cubicles, allowing visibility at all times. Halogen lights embedded in each of the square marble-coloured ceiling tiles lit the whole place up in an aesthetically pleasing way and metres from them stood a varnished wood reception desk which, although unmanned, provided a welc
ome point for guests. In many of the cubicles sat Apple computers on work desks, and lining both sides of the space were large Perspex windows looking into what appeared to be separate meeting rooms. It was impressively designed, in such a way that almost every square metre of space could be seen from the welcome desk, creating no blind spots.
“Blackstar…” Munroe knew the name well, but he was struggling to comprehend the connection to Daedalus. “The military contractor?”
Bauer raised his eyebrow, taking pride in this reveal as Munroe now realised how far Daedalus’s grubby talons reached. Blackstar not only provided the US military with aircraft, vehicles and equipment, but were on the cutting edge of that technology. Along with a few other titanic companies like Lockheed and Northrop their customers included most of the Western governments, among others, and when people spoke of the military–industrial complex it was Blackstar in part they referred to. Christ, much of the equipment that Munroe had used during his time in the special forces had been made by these guys.
“Daedalus is Blackstar?” Munroe said, stunned at what he was hearing, but Bauer was already shaking his head.
“Blackstar is just a part, a cog in our organisation. A big one, but still just a cog.” He smiled proudly as Munroe looked on in shock and, as the barrel in his back pushed him forward and past the reception desk, Bauer took great zeal in explaining further. “At the end of the war, German scientists were decades ahead of those in any other country on the planet. Their scientists were so prized by the Allies that any they could get their hands on were given full immunity for any perceived discretions during the war and brought and pressed to the bosom of the budding military–industrial complex. Regardless of their Nazi affiliation or so-called ‘crimes against humanity’ they were integrated into the new future of the modern world, but although they changed their employers, many never changed their masters. World history knows it as Operation Paperclip, but to Daedalus it was the future of the Reich, and a means to an end. With an almost endless bankroll confiscated from Europe we were in the perfect position to get our feet in on the military ground floor, as it were, and Blackstar was the result.”