by Greig Beck
Thompson grimaced. ‘You think the turning to stone thing might be how Magera feeds? Fuck me, that’s disgusting.’
Matt shrugged. ‘Who knows, ingesting flesh like we do might seem pretty sickening to this thing. But yeah, that’s how it could be getting its energy. Check this out.’
He pressed a key, and discordant musical notes played.
‘Well, that’s annoying,’ Thompson said.
Matt smiled. ‘That’s Magera – I ran it through Musify. It’s an app that turns anything into a song.’
Rebecca grinned. ‘The priest’s song.’
‘I doubt it, but I’ll play around with it a bit more. See if I get anything interesting.’ Matt closed his computer. ‘Heads-up.’
A dented black Land Rover squealed to a halt in front of them in a cloud of black exhaust.
‘Wow.’ Thompson got to his feet.
Rebecca groaned and Matt guffawed.
The driver handed the keys to Thompson, who opened the door for Rebecca. ‘Beats walking – just.’
*
Jack Hammerson watched Walter Gray as he circled the silver skeleton, looking it up and down with his expert eye. This version of the MECH suit was more an exoskeleton, as its armor plating, ribs, and hydraulic pistons fitted close, and needle-like electrodes pierced the wearer’s skin, giving the combat armor immediate response activity. It was a mechanized way to turn a soldier into a super soldier.
Gray had designed and built the MECH suit himself, and Hammerson knew he loved his work. The scientist hit some buttons on a keypad he was holding, and the suit’s arm lifted and its hand opened. He drew a foot-long steel baton from his pocket and placed it within the skeletal fingers. The hand closed around the baton. Gray typed some more and the hand squeezed the toughened steel like it was dough.
‘That’s my bad boy,’ Gray said, and typed again. ‘Now please let it go.’
The hand remained closed. He tried some different instructions, with no result. He tried again, and again, and eventually the hand opened and the crushed bar fell to the ground.
‘Shit, shit, shit.’ Gray scowled at the immobile suit. ‘You’re supposed to hand it to me.’
‘Good work anyway, Gray,’ said Hammerson. ‘Can’t wait to get it into the field.
‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the field test, Colonel,’ Gray said. ‘How did –’
Jack Hammerson waved him to silence. ‘Walter, I need Gerry Harris’ software uploaded into full-face shielding units for my field team. And I need them fast – all on a jet in an hour.’
Gray half-saluted. ‘Yes, sir, I can do that. And about the field test – there’s still a few bugs we’re working on, but I’ve been waiting to get your feedback. Any problems so far?’
Hammerson had no idea what he was talking about. ‘Say that again?’
‘The MECH suit – are you having any problems in the field?’
Hammerson felt his temples throb as alarm bells went off in his head. ‘Walter, be absolutely clear now. What the hell are you talking about?’
Gray looked puzzled. ‘You wanted to field-test the suit. So we dispatched one.’
Hammerson grabbed the man’s shoulder. ‘I am not field-testing any goddamn suit.’ He couldn’t help yelling the words.
‘But … but you are.’ Confusion creased Gray’s forehead. ‘You and General Chilton recently requested a field test on the MECH’s upper-body system. It’s already been delivered.’
Hammerson lowered his head, closed his eyes, and ground his teeth. He drew in a breath and opened his eyes, his calm restored. ‘Walter, please tell me where that combat armor was delivered?’
‘To the airfield this morning.’
‘And then where?’ Hammerson kept his smile warm.
‘Crete. I have both your and General Chilton’s digital signatures on the order.’
Fucking Crete. Hammerson closed his eyes again and nodded, working to calm his breathing. Security was only ever as good as the weakest link. He exhaled slowly, knowing they’d been compromised. There were only two countries in the world that could have achieved this sort of penetration – Russia and China. China was expert at industrial espionage, but Russia had the stronger motive … and they had Borshov.
‘Is everything okay?’
Hammerson barely heard Gray’s words as his mind worked furiously. Borshov in the field in Crete, with a MECH suit. He’d be like a psychopathic tank. Hammerson had total confidence in the Arcadian and his team, but they were only flesh and blood, and Borshov would be wrapped in steel. And he still had a couple Spetsnaz. Plus, Matt Kearns and Rebecca Watchorn were running around over there too, and Magera was potentially in the vicinity. The odds were rapidly shifting away from the HAWCs.
‘I need another Alex Hunter,’ he whispered.
‘What’s that, sir?’
Hammerson spun around to Gray. ‘Lieutenant Sam Reid is already using a lower-half MECH suit. I want an upper-body unit sent to him immediately.’
Gray shook his head. ‘But the entire suit will be extremely heavy. We’ve mitigated some of the weight ratios with the technology’s own power-assist, but if it were to lose power for any reason, no normal man would be able to move in it. Sam Reid’s a big man, but –’
‘I understand the risk,’ Hammerson said. ‘Upload Gerry’s software into the suit as well, and prepare the package for immediate delivery. We’ve got to drop it in before Greece closes its borders.’
Gray opened his mouth.
‘That’s an order!’ Hammerson barked.
Gray flew into action, and Hammerson headed for the elevator. He needed to let Alex and his HAWCs know that Borshov had just scaled up his offensive capabilities – all courtesy of their own weapons lab.
*
Alex tossed the rolled-up parachute to Sam, who squeezed it into a tiny ball and buried it, dropping a flat stone over the top. Alex edged down into the ditch and dragged a coffin-sized crate out of the scrub, then used his fingers to pry the nailed lid open. Inside was what looked like half a metal skeleton with a molded helmet.
‘Compliments of the Hammer,’ Alex said, and dug deeper. In smaller compartments there were additional helmets, each named and undoubtedly tailored to size. Alex lifted his head and looked over the countryside. ‘Sam, take over.’
He walked a few paces, stopped, and looked back along the shoreline. A sensation of foreboding reached up the back of his neck. He concentrated, staring for miles along the rocky coast, then slowly scanning the scrub of olive trees, and the roadway in both directions. There was nothing in sight, but Alex knew there soon would be. The same desolation and loneliness he’d felt out in the Turkish desert had returned. He recognized the emotions because they mirrored his own, but magnified a thousand-fold.
Alex stood frozen as his mind turned inward. He saw Aimee holding the boy, Joshua. The kid turning in her arms to smile and wave at him – the pair of them getting smaller and smaller as they walked into the distance.
‘Boss.’ Sam tossed him a helmet and Alex spun to catch it.
Sam handed out the rest of the kit. ‘Franks, Rogers.’ He smiled. ‘Even a gift for my big English friend.’ He tossed Jackson a helmet.
‘My lucky day,’ Jackson said, turning the full-face gear over in his hands.
‘It’ll never go over that big ugly melon,’ Sam said with a grin, and Jackson gave him the finger.
Alex examined the helmet, then walked back over to look inside the crate. All that was left was the skeleton, labeled for Sam. Hammerson had told Alex why he’d sent it – ‘to even the playing field’ he’d said.
‘Uncle, you get first prize,’ Alex said. ‘The rest is all yours.’
Sam grunted as he tried to lift out the suit, even though he was a huge man and one of the strongest HAWCs ever. The machine-tooled super-alloy frame weighed in at over 200 pounds.
‘Need a hand?’ Alex asked.
‘I got this, boss,’ Sam wheezed, his face beet-red. ‘Damn, it’s s
tuck.’
‘Probably lashed down. Turn around, I’ll put it on you.’
Sam turned, and Alex pulled one side of the crate away. The suit looked like a large backpack, with a network of rods, pipes, and tubes running over and around the shoulders and chest, giving it the look of metallic footballer’s body armor.
Alex picked it up, barely straining. ‘Guess it’s gonna work in tandem with the technology you’re already wearing.’
Sam nodded. ‘That’s the plan.’
He took off his shirt to reveal huge bull-like muscles bunched beneath scarred and tattooed flesh. He planted his legs and braced himself as Alex placed the suit over his shoulders, then worked his arms into the metal framework sleeves, and his fingers into the metallic gloves. He attached it to the lower suit and powered it up. The skeletal framework gripped and tightened along his torso and arms.
Sam rolled his shoulders. ‘Still experimental. I guess I’m its first real field test.’ He looked over his shoulder at Alex. ‘If it explodes, make sure you pass on my less than positive feedback to Walter Gray.’
‘You got it,’ Alex said. ‘But I’ll give him one star for at least making it look cool.’
Sam snorted, and began to insert the electrode needles into the muscle fibers along his lower spine and arms. They’d tap into the nerves, making the assisting mechanics part of his body’s nervous system and immediately responsive.
Once the suit was fully in place, it was self-supporting, using its own biometric-assisted power used to sustain the weight of the super-alloy frame. It was still heavy though – Sam could barely move. He looked like a cross between an old-style gladiator and an android.
He sucked in a deep breath. ‘Boss, you’ll have to give me a hand with this last bit.’
He motioned to a small plate dangling at his neck, with eight one-inch pins sticking out from what look like a microprocessor chip the size of a matchbook.
‘Into the skull at the base of the medulla oblongata?’ Alex said.
‘You got it.’
Alex raised his eyebrows. ‘Need something to bite down on?’
‘Borshov’s throat?’ Sam guffawed and then shook his head, staring straight forward. ‘Do it.’
Alex didn’t hesitate, knowing the big man wouldn’t even blink as he pushed the pins into the skin at the base of his skull. There was a second of resistance and then Sam exhaled.
‘That’s got it.’ He grinned and nodded. ‘Ha, light as a feather now.’
He lifted his arms, now wrapped in a bodywork of armor plating and tubes. The movement was smooth and fast. He turned his hands over, then made fists.
‘Looking good,’ Alex said, walking around him.
Casey Franks grinned. ‘Man, do I want one of those.’
Alex bent, picked up a fist-sized rock and tossed it to Sam, who spun and caught it with lightning-quick reflexes. He held the rock up and, with a faint whine of electronics, closed his fist tight. The rock pulverized.
Sam winked. ‘Look out, Arcadian, you got competition.’
‘About time, big guy.’ Alex looked at his watch. ‘Let’s move. We need to get to Heraklion ASAP, and that’s about a hundred miles.’
Sam put his biological suit top back on over the MECH framework. The material stretched to fit, but looked lumpy in places.
Jackson held up the helmet he’d been given. ‘What do we do with these? They’re fucking blacked out.’
Alex placed his over his head – it covered everything except his mouth. The visor slid down, and he pressed a button to darken it, turning it into a solid mass. He held his hand up in front of it, and saw an outline appear, then his entire hand, but a little less detailed than the real thing. Gerry Harris’ software was using microprocessors to capture, analyze, and digitally rework the image, then instantly deliver a reproduction.
Alex switched off the screen and pushed the visor up. ‘This, my friends, is how we see without actually looking. Thank god for nerds. Now we got something we can use to go toe to toe with Magera.’
‘Yeah, if we want to get torn in half,’ Jackson said. ‘The Turkish guys said it made mincemeat out of anyone who got close to it.’
Sam rolled his shoulders. ‘But they weren’t HAWCs.’
‘Got that right, Uncle.’ Franks bumped knuckles with Rogers, her scarred face pulled up in a half-grin.
Alex checked a small GPS, and then pointed. ‘All right, let’s see what our scientists have been up to. Double time.’
They started to jog toward the Lasithi Plateau and the Caves of Psychro.
*
Matt, Rebecca, and Reece Thompson sat in a small outside café overlooking a sparkling expanse of water that shimmered with a thousand diamond reflections. Matt watched Thompson’s eyes narrow as he read down a page of notes.
The SAS soldier shook his head. ‘The scuba equipment’s easy – we can get that anywhere; same for night-diving rigs. But the demolition charges are harder. Hunter and his HAWCs won’t have the explosives we need – they’ll be carrying anti-personnel, and we need dynamite, or better still, C-4. For that we have three options – buy it legitimately, buy it on the black market, or steal it.’
‘We start buying explosives and we’ll raise some eyebrows. Got to get them on the quiet,’ Matt said. He sipped from a tiny cup and winced. ‘This coffee’d strip paint it’s so freakin’ strong.’ He pushed another small sweet cake into his mouth. ‘That’s better – the baklava are great.’
Rebecca scoffed. ‘Grow a pair, Kearns. This is real-man territory, home to Jason, Achilles, and Hercules.’
Matt rolled his eyes and turned back to Thompson. ‘We’ll probably need to steal the explosives. Don’t know where we’d buy them anyway.’
‘I do,’ Thompson said. ‘I’ve worked out here before. You just have to decide whether you want to deal with the devil.’
‘The devil? Not terrorists,’ Rebecca said quickly.
‘Agreed,’ said Matt, and looked at the SAS man. ’How and who?’
Thompson shrugged. ‘Well, I could steal it from a construction site, but that’d be hit and miss. Better if we find someone to help us navigate the black market – means we can tailor our order.’
‘Okay; how long will it take?’ Matt asked.
‘Quantities, quality, and delivery time all depend on how much you’re willing to pay.’
Rebecca snorted. ‘Supply and demand – gotta love the capitalist system.’
Thompson stood up. ‘Give me a minute.’ He walked away from the table, phone to his ear. He only seemed to speak a few words before he returned and sat down. ‘And now we wait.’
‘For what?’ Rebecca asked.
‘For a call telling me we have a meeting. Until then … we wait.’ He grinned at Matt. ‘Get your credit card ready.’
Rebecca sighed, sat back and tilted her head toward the sun. ‘There are worse things, I suppose.’ She slid the empty plate back to Matt. ‘Order some more cakes seeing you’re about to be so liberal with the taxpayers’ money.’
Matt looked at his watch. ‘Just a few more – we’ve got work we can do while we wait. The museum opens in thirty minutes. We can check out what they recovered from those deep caves a few hundred years ago. Hopefully it’ll give us an idea which level we need to enter first.’
A small bee had landed on the empty cake plate, perhaps attracted by the syrupy sugar streaking its surface. Rebecca leaned forward, examining it closely.
‘You know, if a hive is destroyed, by fire, or predators, and a few bees return home to find it that way, then they’ve been known to commit suicide.’ She sat back, her eyes on the busy insect. ‘They just stop moving and die. Basically, they can’t exist by themselves … or don’t want to. The hive group is the body and the bees are like cells really.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘An individual, just like a cell.’
In the granite forecourt of the museum was a huge list of its rooms, galleries, and collections. While Matt and Rebecca worked out
where they needed to go, Thompson stood surrounded by a group of Greek women who’d obviously taken a shine to his physique.
The SAS man’s face became serious and he turned away, placing a hand over one ear. ‘Go ahead, Jackson.’ He grunted several times. ‘Got it – keep me informed of progress. Out.’
‘What is it?’ Matt asked.
‘The HAWCs are here. We can also expect a nationwide martial law order any time soon, which is going to make it difficult to move around if you’re not a local.’ His expression became wry. ‘Only upside to any of this is Magera seems to have finally got the Turks and Greeks working together.’
Matt nodded. ‘A catastrophe will do that. Let’s just hope we’ll be finished and gone by morning. When will the HAWCs get to us?’
‘Tonight.’
‘Good,’ Rebecca said. ‘No offense, Reece, but I’ll feel a lot better when we’ve got a few more good guys with us.’
Thompson winked. ‘Hey, none taken – so will I. Now, are we going to get some work done?’
As they walked away, Thompson turned to the group of Greek women and waved. They waved back, and he grinned and managed to inflate his chest another half inch, much to their obvious delight.
‘You know, I could live here,’ he said.
‘Come on, Adonis,’ Rebecca said, and led them inside.
Beautiful frescos decorated the walls, showing cavorting dolphins, women with long curling hair and red lips pouring wine, alabaster lions and tigers leaping and snarling, and everywhere the glimmer of gold, from tiny deformed coins through to impressive crowns.
Rebecca pointed to a sign for the Minoan hall and picked up speed. In the center of the hall stood a life-sized granite bull. It was degraded now by the passage of thousands of years, but once it would have been hard to distinguish it from the real thing.
Descending a set of stairs they came upon a massive hangar-like space, with an entire section set aside for artifacts recovered from the caves of Crete.
‘There are over 3000 known caves here, and less than a quarter have been fully explored,’ Rebecca said. ‘Many cultures, not just Minoan, believed the caves were home to gods, demons, and other creatures and subdeities.’