He took a swig.
“Jesus Kruger that tastes like it’s been shat. Did you make this last week?”
The big South African lit a cigarette and his leathery face wrinkled into a smile.
“Nah man it’s fresh.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything like it.”
A tall older soldier bearing many ribbons on his desert fatigues stood before the team. He coughed lightly to gain attention. The rustling of papers and muttering quickly ceased, and their senior officer Colonel Greystone addressed them.
“Empire One, I’m not going to spend any longer than we already have scrutinizing the minutiae of the previous mission. Mistakes were made, casualties were taken, yes, and that is never acceptable. However, as far as we know no sensitive information was leaked to the hostiles. We lost a hostage, but we also gained information. These are always high risk missions, always a gamble, they’d send someone else in if it wasn’t.”
Christi sat back on her chair next to Usher. She threw her file down on the table, her fierce eyes shining.
“Maybe if the initial intelligence was better, Colonel, we wouldn’t keep walking into cluster fuck ambushes like that. I like my job clinical, not the fucking Alamo. Just look at Marlowe, he wasn’t equipped or prepared for getting caught up in the middle of that shitstorm in London. Just thank your stars you have unflappable bastards like him who can walk out of places like that alive. I don’t want to end up MIA like those poor bastards in Empire Two.”
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence as the team remembered how four months ago an entire tactical team had vanished without a trace in the jungles of Brazil. They had not known the members of Empire Two well but were all acutely aware that they could easily share the same fate.
At the back of the room Isaac winced and poured himself a cup of tea. He gave Christi a wink.
“Don’t worry about me Christi, duelling scars were all the rage in fin de siècle Prussia. It’ll make me even more dashing.”
The Colonel fixed her for a moment with a steely glare. Then he nodded curtly.
“A fair point Christi, but our issue may be running a little deeper than that. That’s why there is no one outside the operational team in this meeting.”
Usher forced down another mouthful of Kruger’s awful coffee. He turned to Christi.
“What the Colonel is saying Christi, is that for the past three live operations the Court seems to have been one step ahead of us, or seen us coming a mile off. It means we aren’t secure, someone in the STG is talking, taking Ghostcoin.”
Christi raised her eyebrows. It had never occurred to her that anyone would betray their own world, it seemed insane.
Brock, the tall brawny Dane, shook his head and spoke to Usher. “We have just been unlucky is all. I can’t believe anyone in the STG would sell out for a few bits of gold like that.”
Kruger blew out a trail of smoke from his craggy face and stretched out his legs. “I’d sell every one of you for a car boot full of Krugerrand.”
Christi presented her middle finger. “No doubt you would you old dirty bastard.”
Colonel Greystone brought a new image up on the Smartboard. A revolving metallic symbol on a sandy background.
“I take it you all know what this is?”
Usher looked at the screen and flicked his pen off his teeth. “Chromium Project logo. Last thing the good scientist said before he croaked.”
The Colonel tapped the screen. A grainy satellite image of a snowy landscape appeared. To the left of the screen was some kind of stone structure, seen from above.
“This is a spy sat image over Finland. We think the Court has been seeking something here for a long time. This image shows some kind of excavation. Does anyone know this man?”
A photograph appeared on the screen, mid-fifties, male, Slavic features, domed forehead, thinning hair. Usher smiled a tight little smile.
“Dr Argus Carver, one of the Chromium project’s top scientists. Believed to be a devoted priest in the cult that worships the Unseelie. So the kind of guy I’m willing to bet has a Nazi porn dungeon somewhere in his house.”
The Colonel nodded with a wry smile.
“That’s as fair an assessment of the man as I could have come up with. Carver is the head of Chromium project bio-weapons research, and he’s damn good at it.”
“So Carver has taken Ghostcoin, he’s sold out his own species for the promise of power. What are they after this time?”
Colonel Greystone offered him a placatory smile.
“That’s what you’re going to find out Usher. We need you back in London by Monday 0800hrs.”
“What’s the tasking?”
“We think the Chromium project through Carver has been selling a prototype of whatever it’s been developing to the Russian organized criminal families operating in the UK. Usher you are being sent to infiltrate the family and find out what horrific virus, bacteria or toxin was on offer. Still handy with your fists?”
“Reasonably so.”
“Then we might have found you an in to the organization through their underground fighting circuit. As you know it’s been rumoured for a while that they use Unseelie as combatants in these fights. I’ve loaded details up onto your laptop.”
Usher felt a pang of excitement. Greystone was talking about The Secret Arena, an almost mythical tournament to the death that was rumoured to take place somewhere near London, built on a thin spot between our side and theirs. If stories were to be believed, human and Unseelie had come to some kind of truce there, joined in a shared love of sport and blood.
“However first of all I’m afraid your decompression weekend here in Cyprus is going to have to wait a day or two. We have been informed that some sort of trade is happening between the Unseelie and the Russian criminal fraternity. Intelligence states that this will take place in Egypt tomorrow night. You will be tasked to observe and if necessary intercept that trade.”
“Colonel, where are we getting our Intel from? How do we know it’s reliable?”
The Colonel cleared his throat.
“Because we already have a man on the inside. Aboard the Proteus.”
Usher sat up in his chair.
“Colonel, you somehow managed to infiltrate a soldier onto the largest, highest security, most politically sensitive ship in the world, which for all we know is crawling with Unseelie, cultists and black magic, with no one noticing? Can I ask how?”
The Colonel looked to the floor for a moment, then met Usher’s eye.
“He’s not a soldier. Not exactly.”
“Then what is he?”
“He’s one of our analysts.”
“A civilian! You sent what, a lab assistant, into the lion’s den? Totally without backup or support, or military training, to a floating freak show where everything will most likely try to eat him. Colonel I hope he knows what he volunteered for, because he’s either very brave or very very stupid.”
The Colonel squared his shoulders to the team and spoke calmly but firmly.
“Well, there was no way any of you battle scarred apes could possibly have passed yourselves off as a genius level scientist who actually sounded like they knew what they were talking about in the company of other academics, was there?”
Usher was about to get offended, then he looked around at his rough team of professional killers and just shrugged.
“Fair point boss. So how is this fella going to pass himself off as a genius level scientist?
“Because he is a genius level scientist. It’s Dr Ariel Speedman. He designed most of the Gucci kit you carry. ”
Usher had met the man in passing during training. To his recollection he didn’t come across as much of a field agent but he certainly knew his stuff when it came to monsters.
“Ah.”
Kruger grunted.
“Well I hope there aren’t any vampires aboard ship.”
The Colonel snapped his eyes towards him. “Why?”
Kruger shrugged as if it was obvious.
“They like eating virgins.”
The tin coffee cup bounced squarely off Kruger’s greasy head with a hollow metallic clunk. Usher was already facing front again before the big Afrikaner could see who threw it.
Prick. But we might need his skills to deal with this…whatever it is, before this is all over. .
6
ARCTIC OCEAN. 50 MILES OFF THE COAST OF SVALBARD.
In the deep of winter in one of the last pristine wilderness of Europe, darkness reigns for three months every year.
Through the night a ship the size of a small town cut silently through black Arctic waters. It bore no name on its dark hull. Only those on board knew this was the scientific research ship Proteus.
Some experiments didn’t belong in the light.
Overlooking a railing two figures stood on the observation deck. The taller of the two, with icicles encrusting his moustache, turned to the other and spoke in puffs of icy vapour.
“Look at it Speedman, all those electrons streaming from the sun at a million miles an hour, flowing along the Earth’s magnetic field, interacting with oxygen and nitrogen, magnetic and electrical forces waltzing with each other. Like they’re dancing. Hardly begins to describe what it feels like, to see it above you. Does it?”
The smaller man peered up into the Arctic sky.
“Not at all Dr Carver. It’s like God’s curtains billowing in the wind.”
In the vault above them, shimmering reds danced with blues, greens and violets. The Aurora Borealis was enough to make even the most logical scientist believe in magic.
But Dr Carver already believed in magic, of a sort. His Master Isaiah Argent had shown him dark wonders that no scientific laboratory ever had. He smiled up at the shimmering sky.
“God’s own light show in compensation for him robbing the icy tundra of sun.”
The younger scientist looked out to sea. Beneath the frosted goggles his eyes nervously darted across the bay to the glittering lights of the town. He wished with all his heart he was there, across the icy expanse of sea to safety.
He struggled to make himself heard above the wind.
“Longyearbyen looks beautiful tonight.”
Dr Carver raised a disapproving eyebrow to the young scientist.
“Don’t talk soft. Civilization and comfort are nothing compared to what we have to show you here. You are at the front of a long eager queue Ariel, there’s many a scientist would kill to get a job aboard this ship. And we have wonders to show you.”
Ariel nodded. “I’m very lucky, I hope I live up to expectations Dr Carver.”
“I’ve read your last thesis Ariel, you don’t have anything to worry about, and your grey matter is up to the task. It is your heart you need to harden. You belong here, and we need that grey matter to assist us with a very important project. ”
Ariel shivered despite all the layers of protective clothing he wore. Maybe it was nerves. Since arriving on the Proteus he had never felt so isolated. The polar wind seemed to penetrate through every gap in his clothing.
It was not his grey matter that Ariel was concerned about, that had always operated at full efficiency. It was his nerve that he feared could falter.
So this is what being a spy felt like.
It was a cold hard secret that lay in his belly like a pebble. He held a terrifying thought that he would vomit out his secret at any moment. He felt transparent, like every crew member could see through his pitiful legend and they were just playing along until they could arrange a suitably theatrical death for him.
How did I let the STG talk me into this?
Ariel was no field operative and now he knew it. Did he allow himself to be flattered by generals visiting his cluttered backroom laboratory at the STG? Giving him the speech about Queen and country, about safeguarding their way of life, their very existence, and that he was the perfect man, the only man for the job?
Yes, Ariel had to admit he was flattered. After all, he thought, what geek doesn’t secretly fantasize about being the man of action, the protagonist, getting the girl, defeating the evil scientist?
He had seen enough television shows to know that the episode where the lab-geek gets put out into the field never ends well. It ends in blood.
Ariel had on occasion been required to brief tactical teams such as Empire One, giving them valuable Intel prior to a tasking. They were all twice his size, covered in scars and exuded raw danger in a way he never could. Ariel had to admit he was a little in awe of them.
Now here he was, living out his fantasies and proving to himself he could succeed in the field. Stepping up.
Except, now it was real, Ariel realized he had been hopelessly miscast.
He felt a panic attack rising, tried to focus his breathing.
Alright Ariel, just breathe. You were put here because you’re a scientist with the right credentials to be here. So trust in that. Just be a scientist. It’s your brains that will get you through this, not your fighting skills.
Ariel felt his heart rate slow. He focussed on what he knew, what he had learned.
At Svalbard, polar night lasted from October to February and temperatures could reach minus forty. It was no place for the weak.
Ariel was here for the duration, for good or for ill.
He raised a set of powerful binoculars to longingly peer at the distant shore.
After a wistful moment Ariel snapped the covers back on his binoculars and zipped his jacket up under his chin. He glanced sidelong at the tall intimidating scientist at his side. This was the closest he had been to a human priest of the Unseelie Court. There was a fanatical glint in Dr Carver’s eye that chilled Ariel to his marrow.
Ariel’s online alter ego Monsterhunter was already a cult figure among conspiracy theorists and paranormal enthusiasts around the globe. His independent research of unusual phenomenon and his theories as to their source combined with his analytical approach and impressive scientific credentials had brought him to the attention of the government. He was unaware at the time that many of his educated guesses were right. The STG were concerned that he was getting his information from the inside so they approached him. The offer of real answers was too tempting for Ariel. Very few people in the world knew that Ariel had been secretly recruited into the Special Threats Group a few years ago. Hopefully none of them were aboard the Proteus.
The entire ship-board company was run by a multinational umbrella corporation called the Chromium Project, set up in 1923 by the reclusive billionaire philanthropist called Isaiah Argent. A man that was very much on the STG’s radar.
Companies like the Chromium project were a way that the Unseelie Court could wheedle their way into the workings of the world. Unskilled with technology themselves, they could employ human experts, most of whom were ignorant as to the true objectives of the business where they worked. The Court would strategically place a few loyal and devoted human priests in key positions to oversee and subtly guide the company and then the rest would run itself.
Carver looked up one last time at the breath-taking spectacle of the Aurora Borealis, then sighed out a cloud of vapour and turned to Ariel.
“Dr Speedman, it’s time to give you a proper tour of the labs. Find out the purpose for which you have been recruited.”
Ariel felt the tingle in his belly. Despite all his fear, Ariel had to admit he was curious to see why he had been brought aboard the Proteus. In his role with the STG, he was an expert in all matters relating to the Unseelie Court. Their races, magic, strengths and weaknesses. Apart from one terrifying time in his youth, he had never actually been close to their denizens other than on a mortuary slab for a post-mortem, or to a magical artefact unless it had been deactivated and sealed. Now he may be about to meet entities from the other side first hand. For a specialist like Ariel, it was the difference between being in a zoo and being on a safari.
They left the viewing platform and entered a chambe
r where they discarded their arctic clothing and donned Level-A hazmat suits made of tough yet light fabric, double taped seams, breathing apparatus and two way microphones. Then they boarded a dimly lit lift and Carver pressed the lowest button.
Carver stared at the green digital letters of the lift readout as they descended, 13-12-11-10….
The lift doors opened with a metallic hiss in front of them, to reveal a breathtakingly large laboratory, teeming with scientists, like a secret subterranean termite colony. Ariel was taken aback once again at how immense a vessel the Proteus actually was.
Dr Carver signalled to Ariel to follow him into what seemed to be an executive conference room, like a study in a gentleman’s cub. It seemed quite out of place in the sterile environment of a laboratory. One side of the room was framed by a giant window, allowing a clear view over the busy laboratory. The other side was filled with chesterfield armchairs, a huge mahogany desk and a china coffee set. Carver pressed a button beneath the desk and a panel slid up on the wall revealing a smart screen displaying the revolving logo of the Chromium Project.
Carver removed his mask and invited Ariel to do the same, then poured two cups of steaming aromatic black coffee. Ariel took a sip and feeling returned to his lips .
Carver regarded Ariel over the brim of his cup.
“There are two things you are a bone fide expert in Ariel. Science, particularly the field of genetics, and cryptozoology. Usually legitimate empirical research and the paranormal are mutually exclusive and the domain of quacks, pseudoscience and eccentrics. You are the exception. Your background and research is impeccable, yet so are your studies into the unusual. We know that you are motivated by fact, not faith.”
“You seem to know a lot about me, Dr Carver.”
“We know that when you were a young graduate student in Iraq, on an archaeological excavation, you and your friends dug something up that should have been left to sleep. It killed your team, including your closest friend, and you barely escaped with your life.”
The Last Line Series One Page 5