by Rees, Kevin
Sam grabbed his arm. ‘Come on, Eddie. We need to move.’ Using gentle persuasion he half-pulled, half-dragged the man to where Lars was coordinating the next phase.
‘I didn’t see them. Where did they come from?’ Lars said, directing the question at Sam.
Sam pointed to the ceiling. ‘My guess is from up there. You can see how they’ve used steel poles to strengthen the beams to spread their weight. Replace the tiles, and when we pass underneath... Boom! They fall down on top of us. It’s fucking clever, you’ve got to give them that.’
Lars agreed with the bodyguard’s assessment. The ambush was precise and well executed. Three of the creatures fell on top of them while dozens more came down the stairs. Lars fought two and Sam took on the woman. Luckily, his team arrived to take care of the Jaik’s teeming towards them from above. It was a shame they couldn’t have saved the porter. ‘Father is still here.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘Simple. The others can’t plan this well,’ the big Swede grinned at the bodyguard. ‘My grandfather was Finnish and he had a saying. Tyvestä puuhun noustaan — a tree is climbed from its base.’
‘Meaning what?’ the bodyguard said, shrugging.
‘It means we are taught to learn the basics of any subject first. I have learned that Father is the brain, the thinker, and a precise planner. The rest are just willing puppets he moves like chess pieces.’ Lars leant forward and spoke quietly in Sam’s ear. ‘Sometimes he plays chess much better than we do because he has a superior advantage. He has a bigger army and we could loose a few more of our pieces before today is over, so be careful, my friend.’ He patted the smaller man on the shoulder before turning back to his team.
‘Eddie!’ Lars beckoned him to where the team had gathered.
Eddie looked back at the porter before joining the briefing. He wanted the little man to remain in his memory, like the sniper. With Jahed Khan’s smiling face fixed firmly on the role of the dead Eddie carried with him, he turned and walked over to where Lars was discussing the next part of the mission.
‘Eddie, I have an idea and want your knowledge of these grounds.’ Lars spread the plan of the hospital out on the floor. He kept glancing at Maya, hoping she would come over and join them. Eddie could see he was tiring of her persistent disregard for his command ‘We have these six corridors to go before we hit what I suspect will be a heavily fortified point. There we can expect the most resistance. But, what if we avoid this altogether and take a fresh look at the entire grounds?’ He paused again. Although her head was turned away like a sulky child, Maya was listening intently. The Swede frowned and returned to the plans. ‘I propose we leave the corridors, go outside and approach from a different point. We can breach here or here, and cut out any other surprises.’ He stabbed at two doorways that were accessed through the pharmacy warehouse and the X-Ray department.
‘I like it. Better than being KFC for those fucks,’ Sam contributed.
‘Eddie, what do you think?’ Lars pushed the map over to him.
‘I’m guessing because the morgue is below ground — and we can’t do an explosive breach — we are going to have to get into a duct here if we want to come out here.’ He pointed to the plans and drew the route. ‘Is there any way we can get onto the roof at this point?’ Eddie indicated an area above the waste incinerator.
‘Why there? Isn’t it easier to breach through this door?’
‘But, if we get onto the roof here, we can rappel down the inside this chimney to the level below the morgue. Then we use this fire exit to come out here.’ Eddie pointed to a doorway marked in red. ‘Do it this way and we come up from below and behind them.’
Lars looked again and saw the logic and tactical advantage they would gain with Eddie’s plan. Karl was right to include him on the mission, not because Sixsmith requested it, but because he made good judgments, ones that ensured more of the team would live.
‘Okay, Eddie, I say we go with your plan. Are we all agreed?’ Lars said.
The team nodded their approval.
‘Since when do we hand control over to a First Blood, Lars?’ Maya spoke out. Part of her wished she could hold back deriding him. She was tearing at his authority, but it was too late to change what had been started. ‘Does he know you are meant to kill him if he is taken?’
Eddie looked at Maya and then at Lars.
Cold fury was being stitched painfully onto Lars’s face. The furrowed creases in his forehead narrowed into perfect lines that could have been cut with a straight razor. His eyes never left those of the woman standing with hands on her hips. Lars felt Eddie’s eyes burning into his, but he couldn’t acknowledge the hurt and betrayal the man, whom he was starting to like, must be feeling. Would it be now? His hand went to Roman’s knife. All around the table the team jerked into readiness. Some would defend their commander, while others would defend, Maya. But even those loyal to her were beginning to see the power game as unnecessary. And it was eating into the discipline they prided themselves on as a formidable strike team.
Sam took a few steps back.
Eddie stood between them, confused and angry. The silence was thick until the crackle of the radio broke the standoff.
‘Lars, this is Karl: over.’
For a second the anger on Lars’s face changed into indecision. He reached inside his vest and took out his personal handset, never taking his eyes off Maya.
‘This is Lars. Go ahead, Commander: over.’
‘Give the radio to Maya: over.’
It was her turn to look confused as the radio was passed through a succession of hands and given to her.
‘Yes, sir.’ She turned and walked a little way down the corridor.
‘I have been listening Maya. You are disgracing yourself, and you are disgracing me. I cannot have a member of my team disobey their designated leader.’
‘But, Father, I on—’
‘Do not interrupt me.’ The anger in Karl’s voice touched everyone who could hear the conversation. ‘You are in this squad because you are gifted, and not because you are my daughter. But you lack objectivity and tactical awareness. Let Lars command as he sees fit. Now I want to speak with Mr Keagan: over.’
Maya walked over to where Eddie stood, coldly watching her. She handed him the radio, which he snatched and turned his back to the group.
‘This is Keagan: over.’
‘Mr Keagan… Eddie. The last minute or so must have been very confusing for you. What Maya said was partly corre—’
The radio crackled loudly, leaving Karl’s words to die in the air.
‘I can’t hear you: over,’ Eddie said.
More static pinched at the signal. Eddie stared ahead blindly, not wanting to be where fate had put him. Why was he here, anyway? Trying to convince himself, he still had it. That he was somehow still special. When he looked at Sam, he saw how far removed from the truth that was. There was no doubt he had killed for King and Country, yet kept up the look of someone at ease with that. For him, every night was a test to keep his sanity when the face of the old man rose out of the darkness and stared back at him, half of it torn off by the round he fired.
‘Eddie, can you hear me now: over.’
‘Receiving you: over.’ Eddie flinched as the radio came back to life in his hand.
‘I want to say was this. Without your expertise, this mission would have a high probability of failing.’
‘Tell me, Karl, is Lars going to kill me if I’m taken: over.’ Eddie felt the man on the other side hesitate. When he first met Karl Felton, he didn’t get the impression he was a man who hesitated.
Several seconds elapsed as everyone waited for the radio to come to life again. Sam felt his finger curl lightly around the trigger of his weapon. It wasn’t that he sensed any danger, but it seemed a good place to put it if things became a little sticky.
‘Eddie, I think it best to explain face to face.’
‘Except you haven’t factored in that I’m suppo
sed to return, have you, Karl? You’ve given the big man orders to shoot me if I get captured, your daughter makes that quite clear.’ Eddie’s control was failing fast. ‘You used me Felton, and I’m not a person to be used like that.’
‘I want this to be as successful an outcome as can be made with the fewest casualties. You give me an advantage with your knowledge of this place, and your training: over.’ Felton lowered his voice, a rhythm designed to pacify the other man. It failed.
‘Fuck your mission, Felton! I’m heading back and out of this shit.’
‘Eddie, please reconsider,’ Lars said. ‘I give you my word no harm will come to you.’
‘I’m supposed to believe that?’ Eddie spat. ‘I’m supposed to forget what that bitch said and walk hand in hand with you?’
‘Keagan, you have no choice.’ Karl’s voice crackled noisily again. His voice seesawed back some notches for his words to force Eddie to listen. ‘Here is your situation. You won’t get out of this alive unless you stay with Lars. Is that clear enough for you? Over and out.’
Eddie stared at the box, feeling the words grip both temples and squeeze until they were injected inside his brain. He had been trapped in many situations and in many places, but up until this moment he hadn’t realised what that really meant. He really had no option.
Sam approached him. ‘It’s a shitter, Eddie, but like in the old days we have to push on. I’ll stick close and watch your back, okay?’
The nurse nodded, wondering perhaps if fate was a reality that was unavoidable. Years ago he had saved Sam. Maybe now he was here to save him. ‘Thanks,’ Eddie said, the naked word scarcely fuelled by any strength of emotion.
‘Let’s go,’ Lars ordered. He looked at Eddie and saw a man at odds with the team and its mission, but vital all the same.
The men began checking weapons, clicking the actions almost simultaneously. Maya stood a little apart. Everyone had heard the conversation with her father and now she felt judged and ashamed of her motives. As the daughter of Karl Felton, she had some privilege in her life. The people her father recruited immediately placed a distance between them, seeing her as someone whom they granted respect to. Only Lars had stumbled over that line and treated her as a normal woman, and his boyish, naïve honesty she repaid by destroying him in front of his team for her own selfish ambition. Maya looked at him as he stood alone with an expression that was alien to his normally cheerful face. Her actions had forced a new page to be turned in the man’s biography. Perhaps one that saw him lose all the things she admired about him. Maya knew without being conceited he wanted her, but now there was some competition in the group, and this made her very uncomfortable as soon the time would come for her to choose.
16
The chink of expensive crystal sliced through the magnificent black Baroque room as glasses came together, followed by moments of empty conversation. Thoragan’s guests moved in and out of each other’s company in a well-choreographed routine studded with obvious discomfort. Gabriel Aquino stood watching the political actors go through their scenes while trying to appear as if he were enjoying Thoragan’s party. He directed his interest to several oil canvases hung on the wood panelling. The subject appeared similarly in each: a relative of the Praetors, or the fat man himself, dressed as a Shakespearian character. His attention became rooted to the last one. It depicted Thoragan dressed as Julius Caesar holding a bloody dagger in his hand with the would-be assassins lying at his feet. Only Brutus appeared alive, awaiting the final coup-de-grâce from the raised blade. It was a subliminal piece of art with a subtle message grafted onto the canvas using the delicate brushstrokes of a master. He must have paid highly for such skill. It also hadn’t escaped Aquino that his face had been used as a model for Brutus, who lay on a marbled floor amongst the blood of his brothers and sisters, looking up at Thoragan standing triumphantly above him. Quite narcissistic, concluded Aquino. Only Thoragan would change Shakespeare in favour of the villain triumphing.
‘President Aquino. How nice of you to take time out and attend my little soirée. I see you are a lover of fine art,’ Thoragan said, pausing briefly to take a drink from one of the waiters dressed as a Pierrot clown. ‘I have many pieces, originals, of course. Maybe I can show you my collection someday.’
‘I see your art extends to political satire, Praetor. It’s a good likeness. I must get the name of your artist,’ Aquino said, smiling. ‘My wife would like a canvas done to commemorate my first fifty years in office.’
‘The artist is a personal friend and doesn’t accept commissions. Please apologise to your wife, but I can recommend a few equally talented young men who I’m sure she will find accommodating.’ He let the last word hang in the air before letting it crash with the weight of its implication.
Some of the guests who had moved closer to be in earshot of the conversation gasped loudly at the audacity of the Praetor to make light of a rumour — no doubt started by him — of affairs Aquino’s wife was having with several young men employed on their estate. Lady Aquino had not been seen out in public since the malicious allegations started. This, even to some of Aquino’s opponents, was a scandal conjured up to discredit his presidency and a distraction that was timed to ensure only a few could capitalise — one of those being Thoragan.
Aquino’s rage was volcanic. He knew the insult was delivered for those standing close to spread out to others, and then through the doors onto the streets. He found the soft inside of his cheek and bit down hard before speaking. Thoragan’s face was turned away, judging the mood of the stunned audience. Aquino’s hand tightened on the stem of his glass. He wanted to ram the ornate Champagne flute into the fat man’s flabby neck and delight in seeing his blood add more realism to the painting. With so many eyes on him waiting for his response, he chose a more tactical route.
‘My wife does enjoy the company of younger men, and of course, women. They respond so well to her teachings on our history and philosophy. Of course, before we met she lectured at the Academy. Why, I came back the other night and she was with three young men.’ Aquino began to feel the people in the room draw closer to his words. ‘One of them, I’m sure you’re acquainted with. Oh, what’s his name? Double barrelled,’ Aquino said, appearing to struggle and seeing a confused look pass across Thoragan’s face. He gestured a hand, inviting him to contribute.
‘Cruz-Smith?’ the Praetor offered.
Two words prompted out of him by a stupid gesture. Thoragan’s teeth clamped together loudly like a guillotine. His lip trembled as he realised the guile of the President had drawn him out so easily. Thoragan’s eyes flicked around the room, seeing mocking glances and upturned lips on the faces of those delighting in his discomfort. He felt like a fly to Aquino’s skilful spider, only able to watch paralysed as he was spun into the web.
‘Yes, that’s him,’ Aquino said, raising his voice to the back of the room. ‘Your spy — Morgan Cruz-Smith. My wife speaks highly of him. You chose well, Thoragan. If you have to employ a spy then at least employ one with a modicum of intelligence.’
The audience began to laugh. Even Aquino’s opponents laughed at the fat man’s discomfort. They may have been in opposition with their president but held nothing but contempt when it came to the Praetor.
‘President Aquino, he isn’t my spy. I am barely acquainted with the man, let alone use him for such a tawdry occupation. Please, I...’
Aquino moved to stand beneath the portrait of Caesar and turned to the watching men and women waiting on his words. He knew with certainty Senate members had received a summons otherwise they wouldn’t be here. This exposed another tactical error in inviting so many political opponents balanced against so few supporters. Aquino had spotted Thoragan’s loyal troops as soon as he entered the room. They paid him due respect, giving nothing away as to their allegiance to the Praetor and masqueraded as his loyal support. Now they were gathered together in a huddle, unsure of what to do, especially in front of their president. Aquino had watched them
over many years. They had a pack mentality, picking off weak or easily corruptible individuals whose support, though meagre, kept Thoragan’s hopes of joining the council alive.
‘Praetor, I am at a loss, then. I, like most of your guests, had a personal request delivered by your man. An abrupt invitation that verged on a summons.’ Aquino never took his eyes away from the fat man and knew he held the attention of everyone in the room.
‘Well, yes, I needed someone to represent me and to offer a personal invite.’ Thoragan was sweating. ‘But it was never intended to be delivered in a tone other than friendship.’
Aquino looked up at the painting of the great Caesar, knowing his eye-line was like a pointing finger. ‘You know, Thoragan, perhaps your artist friend needs to work a bit harder next time. My eyes are not blue, and my nose isn’t as perfect. But do you know the one difference? The major flaw with this work?’ Aquino held Thoragan in an icy stare. ‘You will never see me on my knees looking up at you.’
Like a childhood game, everyone in the room froze. The silence cut as sharply as the crystal. The Praetor looked like a man at the wrong end of a firing squad. Aquino had ripped control away with childish ease. Thoragan felt a band tighten across his chest. He tried to speak, but found only a garbled whisper could make it out of his mouth.
Aquino spat the last few words into his host’s face with venom. It took several moments for the tension to be replaced with enough calm and restraint for him to place his glass on a table and walk slowly towards the door. A channel opened like sliced skin parting. He stopped and addressed the silent guests. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, those of you who need not be here — or would have better things to do — can follow me out of the door.’
Aquino held the Praetor’s gaze, daring the man to say or make any move to countermand him. Thoragan lowered his head. The loyal, and those opposed, walked out of the room, their conversation immediately becoming spontaneous and light. Those hesitating, or looking sheepishly towards the Praetor were noted by Aquino to be in debt to Thoragan in some way. They were not many, but they could pose a challenge to Karl when the elections were held. Thoragan was a constant irritation before tonight, but now Aquino was acutely aware his outburst could make him a target of the Praetor’s. If the rumours about Thoragan were to be believed, it would make him a very dangerous opponent. He only hoped his demonstration of the limited sway Thoragan possessed had been received by the person he had directed it to.