It was a bird of prey, designed to search and destroy.
The Apache flew along the Shenandoah River, circled the summer camp at the bend of the river, and landed on the soft mud at the bank. Its quad-bladed main rotor and tail rotor – designed to increase survivability during attack – continued to turn at speed.
Special Agent Ryan Devereaux opened the door of the Apache, climbed down the three ladder rungs, and stepped onto the ground. He ducked his head out of instinct, despite the height of the rotor blades being far above him.
He greeted the manager of the summer camp who had reported the intrusion. They spoke for a few minutes and then he climbed back on board the Apache helicopter.
Once inside, the pilot asked, “What did he say?”
Devereaux grinned. “They were here up until twenty-four hours ago. They stole a raft and presumably put it into the Shenandoah.”
“How far can they get?”
“According to the manager at the camp, they could make it all the way to the Potomac and then all the way to Chesapeake Bay.”
“Great. You want me to run the distance of the river?” the pilot asked.
“Yeah, until someone else gets me better intel!”
The two General Electric T700 turboshaft engines screamed as their RPM reached take-off speed. An instant later, the attack helicopter was in the air.
Its pilot flew fast and low above the Shenandoah River.
Twenty miles downriver Devereaux said, “New plan, we’re heading to Leesburg.”
“Understood, sir,” the pilot replied, taking the Apache up to a higher altitude. “What do you know?”
“A kayaker at Leesburg just reported finding the summer camp’s raft along the shore.”
“He’s certain it’s ours?”
Devereaux smiled. “Yeah. He’s certain. The raft has the summer camp’s name printed all over it. The man even gave us the boat number, which we’ve matched to the one stolen. So, yeah, that’s our raft!”
The pilot flew above the Shenandoah Valley, cutting across the land in a due east bearing at Bluemont. The helicopter circled the bend in the river where the raft had washed up on the shore. The banks were lined with Red Maple and River Birch, opening to clearings with verdant fields and bucolic homesteads.
Devereaux swore.
Even if Ben had gotten off the raft here, it was going to be a nightmare to locate him.
The blue lights of local law enforcement flashed below. An officer signaled to them with waving arms.
Devereaux ordered, “Take us down.”
“Yes, sir.”
The bird landed in a field some thirty yards off the officer’s car.
Devereaux climbed out, spoke to the officer and raced back into the gunner’s seat.
“Get us back into the air!” he said. “They found them!”
“Where?”
“Getting on a train at Harpers Ferry – heading west.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago!”
The Apache raced toward Martinsburg.
At Martinsburg, the predator circled the railway station. The train was just departing.
The pilot asked, “What would you like me to do, sir? Should I follow the train or put us down?”
Deveraux opened his mouth to speak, paused. His eyes darting between the station and the departing train. “If you were a fugitive, where would you go? Would you stay and hide or just keep going?”
The pilot’s response was visceral. “If the entire US Defense Department was after me, I’d run like hell and pray to God no one found me!”
“Me too,” Devereaux said. “All right, we’ll follow the train, get ahead of it and put me down at the next station. I’ll find a team of local law enforcement to help search that train. This time, I’m going to make damned certain they don’t leave that train alive.”
Chapter Thirty
Martinsburg
Sam took a step back, concealing himself in the shadow of a large chestnut tree, as he watched the Apache attack helicopter. It hovered directly above the railway station for several minutes before flying ahead following the train, which was headed toward Pittsburgh.
He watched until the predator disappeared beyond the horizon.
“What the hell do they think I’ve done?” Ben asked. “This isn’t a typical fugitive hunt. They’re hunting me with a machine made for annihilation! It’s like they’re judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one.”
“Beats me,” Sam replied. “Elise, my computer friend says there’s a CIA report of a covert operation in Bolshoi Zayatsky in the seventies. It refers to a number of terrorists being sanctioned, and that your parents disappeared before our teams reached the island.”
“What were my parents doing on the island in the first place?”
“I have no idea,” Sam replied. “Most of the report has been redacted. I’ve asked some other friends of mine to go to the island and see if they can fill in the gaps.”
“They won’t just leave us alone here. Local law enforcement will be out in droves trying to spot us. Our train doesn’t leave until three a.m. That’s nearly eight hours away.”
Sam said, “Our accommodation should arrive any minute now.”
“Accommodation?” Ben asked. “Did your friend book us a hotel room or something?”
“Yeah, you might say that. This one’s on wheels and will be traveling all the way to North Dakota.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, here it is now.”
Ben turned, his eyes tracking an eighteen-wheeler Mac Truck. On the back of the truck was a standard forty-foot shipping container.
The truck pulled up and alongside the road. Sam watched as the driver released the pressure from the airbrakes with a large hiss.
“Now what?” Ben asked.
“Just wait.”
It took less than ten minutes before the driver shut down the engine, climbed out of the cabin, and walked away in the direction of a local diner.
Sam smiled and said, “Shall we?”
“What?”
“Check into our hotel.”
Ben said, “Your friend ordered us a shipping container?”
“Among other things, yeah.”
“Won’t they notice if you break into it?”
“No. We’re not going to break into it. This one has an electronic keypad.”
Ben met his eye. “So we’re slumming it all the way to North Dakota.”
Sam said, “Sure. If that’s what you want to call it.”
He sauntered toward the truck, moving with the casual indifference of a man who was just trying to kill time. His shoulders relaxed but not slouched. His eyes drifting aimlessly at the scenery like he had nowhere better to be.
At the back of the truck he climbed onboard.
There was a single electronic keypad on the right-hand side. Sam entered the number Elise had given him.
The electronic locks released immediately.
He opened the heavy door until it was ajar just enough for he and Ben to slip through. Sam stepped in first. Ben followed a second later, pulling the steel door shut behind him.
“I can’t see a thing,” Ben complained.
Sam said, “Hang on. There should be a light switch somewhere around here.”
He fumbled with a switchboard on his left, and found the one that activated the light.
The entire shipping container lit up inside.
“Holy shit!” Ben said, as his eyes raked the inside of their new abode.
Sam grinned. Despite its exterior appearance, the inside had the layout of a Manhattan apartment with high end furniture and fixtures, complete with a painting of a beach. Sam flicked another switch and two digital windows revealed the outside world on either side of the shipping container. The device worked by projecting a digital image of the outside, making the steel wall appear to disappear.
Ben asked, “What is this place?”
“It’s a self-contained
one-bedroom apartment. A company in Baltimore produces and delivers them anywhere in the world – at a price.”
“Elise must have worked magic to get it here so quickly.”
“That magic you’re referring to is most likely called cash and I have no doubt she paid a lot of it. She also went to the trouble of having them pack some cold weather clothes for us, food, and hopefully a smartphone.”
“Are we being trucked all the way?”
Sam opened the fridge and took out a bottle of soda and a ham and cheese subway sandwich. “No. This will be loaded on the freight train. Then it’s about forty hours until we reach Minot in North Dakota.”
Both men ate with the ravenous ferocity that the last forty-eight hours demanded.
When they were finished, Sam took off his boots, laid back onto the couch and reached a deep sleep within minutes.
Chapter Thirty-One
Bolshoi Zayatsky Island, Russia
The Russian built Ka-226T helicopter flew across the stilled waters of the White Sea and into Onega Bay. Its coaxial main rotor system and absent tail rotor produced a whisper quiet drone as it whirred by the coast, revealing their first glimpse at the Solovetsky Islands.
Genevieve banked the helicopter to the south, skirting the coast of the largest of the seven islands. Her eyes followed the coastal landscape, before fixing on a building. Built on the banks of Prosperity Bay, was the Solovetsky monastery, with its green and red tiled roofs and series of parapets. The fortified monastery was surrounded by massive walls with a height of thirty-three feet and a thickness of twelve. The walls incorporated seven gates and eight towers, made mainly of huge boulders up to fifteen feet in length. Inside, there were a series of religious buildings, all with interconnected roofs and arched passages.
She recalled that the monastery had been founded in 1436, but some said the place had been occupied by monks for centuries beforehand – having held a mysterious and ancient religious value that remained hidden to this day. It was one of the largest Christian citadels in northern Russia before it was converted into a Soviet prison and labor camp in 1926–39, and served as a prototype for the camps of the Gulag system.
It was the very place where her grandfather had risen to notoriety as one of the toughest prisoners, respected and feared by inmates and guards alike, eventually becoming dubbed the “Master of Slaves,” before his release in 1953. His son, her father, having developed the same natural instinct for ruthless survival had gone on to set up one of the most feared and dangerous mafias within Russia. As an only child, Genevieve had grown up under her father’s protection and instruction, where her mixture of beauty and deadly skills had eventually led her to a life as an enforcer for the mafia – a deadly assassin.
That was until ten years ago, when her father killed her lover and she’d decided to leave the family business – a sin within the family, punishable by death.
As a consequence, she took on a new name and persona, finding employment with Sam Reilly on board the Maria Helena.
Genevieve blinked, returning to the present.
Along the shore of the bay, a small amphibious seaplane was being tied up to a jetty. She recognized the aircraft as a Beriev Be-103 Bekas, constructed by the Komsomolsk-on-Amur Aircraft Production Association in Russia. It was designed for autonomous operation in the unmarked areas of Russia's far north and Siberia, the Be-103 was designed for short-haul routes in regions that have rivers, lakes and streams, but are otherwise inaccessible.
It had been years since she’d seen one.
A team of several men were loading some equipment from the seaplane onto an inflatable Zodiac. She wondered what they could possibly be delivering to the monastery.
She brought the helicopter back to straight and level, revealing her first glimpse of the Bolshoi Zayatsky Island.
Genevieve slowed the helicopter, before making a gentle bank to the right, circling round the island. It had been more than a decade since she’d flown the unique Ka-226T helicopter. It used twin main rotor blades which spun in opposing directions, allowing it to counteract torque and negate the need for a tail rotor blade.
It was a substantially forgiving aircraft.
Without a tail rotor the helicopter is safer on the ground and in the air, but it also makes it possible to use the Ka-226T in spaces with scant room for maneuver, as the fuselage does not extend beyond the area swept by the rotors.
Not that she would need that much room on the barren island.
She’d seen photos of the labyrinths but had never viewed them in person.
Her eyes swept the island, taking in some of the larger thirty-something labyrinths documented on its surface.
The labyrinths were constructed from local boulders set in rows on the ground in the form of spirals. Often there are two spirals set one into another, which has been likened to two serpents with their heads in the middle looking at each other. Intermittently along the spiral there are thicker or wider heaps of stones; the ends of the spirals are also wider. Each labyrinth has only one entrance, which also serves as the exit. The smallest labyrinth measures around eighteen feet in diameter, with the largest being seventy-five across.
“What do you think?” she asked.
Tom smiled. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting.”
“You’re not impressed?”
“They look like a lot of stones piled together to make spiral shapes.”
“Hey, those spiral shapes have stood for two and a half thousand years.”
“Don’t get me wrong. That’s impressive, I’m just saying I was expecting something bigger on the surface.”
“Don’t let the surface labyrinths fool you; the subterranean versions are much more impressive.”
The island was part of the Solovetsky Islands, an archipelago of six separate islands, with Bolshoi Zayatsky being the second most southerly island in the group. It was a small island, having a total surface area of just 0.48 square miles.
The entrances to the labyrinths were all on the southern sides. The labyrinths have five types of settings, but each has only one entrance which also serves as an exit. Genevieve brought the helicopter to a hover, before landing on the southern end of the island.
She shut down the twin engines, turning her gaze toward Tom. “Seems bizarre that an ancient plan to develop a virus capable of ending the human race should have been developed on such a tiny, unimposing island.”
“Everything about this seems unlikely,” Tom agreed, the corners of his lips curling upward. “Are you sure Elise wasn’t pulling your leg?”
“It’s here…” Genevieve suppressed a grin. “Elise hacked into the FBI’s records. The design for the Phoenix Plague was developed on this island more than two and a half thousand years ago, then a secret cult led by Ben Gellie’s parents attempted to recreate the ancient virus.”
“And what does Elise think we’re going to find here?”
Genevieve shrugged. “I don’t know. Answers.”
“How? Surely the Black Ops team that infiltrated the cult would have destroyed everything.”
“That’s just it.”
“What?”
“After the US Defense Department sanctioned the death of every member of the ancient Russian cult, it was determined to leave their prehistoric lab untouched, until they deciphered the meanings of the various pictographs.”
Tom arched an eyebrow. “They left everything there for someone else to find and one day attempt to rebuild?”
She shook her head. “No. According to the Defense Department’s archives, they were concerned that the completed Phoenix Plague had escaped and only the information stored within the ancient pictographs might reveal its antidote.”
Tom opened the side door and stepped out. Genevieve followed him and slid the side storage compartment open. Above, the rotor blades slowed and whirred toward their eventual silence.
Tom asked, “Did they ever find it?”
“What?”
Tom
said, “The antidote.”
“No.”
“But they left the ancient structure untouched?”
Genevieve nodded. “My guess is they’re watching it remotely, just in case the ancient cult rears its ugly head again.”
Tom leaned in and removed a pair of dive cylinders. “We’d better be quick then.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Tom and Genevieve slipped into their dry suits, donned their SCUBA gear, and secured a pair of Heckler and Koch MP5 submachineguns onto the attachment of their buoyancy control device. Each went through the systematic approach of checking the other person’s equipment.
All in total, it took less than ten minutes before they were ready to hit the water.
Tom glanced at the closest labyrinth. It had been constructed so that its entrance nearly touched the water’s edge.
His eyes turned from it to Genevieve. “These labyrinths aren’t entirely unique to Bolshoi Zayatsky Island, are they?”
“No. I’ve heard similar designs are constructed throughout northern Russia.”
“All with the entrance facing the water’s edge?”
Genevieve nodded. “I believe so. Why?”
“I read the various theories about their original purpose, and when you remove all the mythical, religious, and superstitious “gateway to the underworld” concepts, it really does leave you with the most obvious hypothesis being that they were simply elaborate fish traps.”
“Yeah, I agree. I think so, too.”
Tom smiled. “But there’s one thing I really don’t get.”
She leveled her dark blue eyes at him, teasingly. “Just the one?”
He ignored her jibe. “The greatest evidence that purports the idea that these labyrinths were used for fishing comes from the fact that all of the labyrinths in the region were built close to the sea and water levels were much higher two and a half thousand years ago, when it is believed they were constructed. The fish would have swum in through the entrance and become trapped in the labyrinth, making it easier for fishermen to retrieve their catch.”
The Holy Grail (Sam Reilly Book 13) Page 12