Blood War (The Bloodeaters Trilogy Book 1)

by Rees, Kevin

  Sam set the timer on a phosphorus grenade for five minutes and shrugged his arms through the handles of the bag. He knew Karl’s base was roughly northeast and started a slow jog across London. More sirens began to compete with the chorus of birds waking up to a fresh, new morning. As both faded, the grenade went off inside the van. Sam was almost half-a-mile away by the time the Transit exploded.

  It took him over two hours to reach the base. The day was already bright and very cold. Sam regretted not wearing an extra layer underneath the tracksuit. He approached the fence cautiously; aware he was being watched.

  ‘I need to speak with someone urgently,’ Sam shouted. ‘I need to speak with Maya Felton. It’s about her father, Commander Felton.’

  Two figures rose smoothly out of the ground as if there was a lift beneath their feet. They studied Sam for a few moments before one approached him.

  ‘Who are you?’ the man asked tersely.

  ‘Sam Cornick. Look, stop the silly bugger routine and take me to someone in authority… now!’

  The man was heavily accented, placing him firmly in the Balkans. He eyeballed Sam, who returned the man’s gaze evenly.

  ‘Okay, you come, but you give bag to him,’ he said, pointing to the other guard.

  Sam dropped the bag and offered to be searched. The guard took him up with a keenness reserved for uncooperative civilians. Once he’d patted him down and disappointedly found nothing, he indicated the door Karl had taken him through a few hours earlier. Sam walked between the two men. The one carrying the bag with the two weapons held the door open for him to enter. Even with bright sunlight peppering the holes and cracks, it was still gloomy inside the building.

  Only the guard with his bag rode up with him in the lift. Sam didn’t bother talking and used the few seconds to try and find the correct words to say. He felt the lift slowing to a stop and the five-second wait for the doors to open. The guard motioned for him to go first. Sam obliged, and strode off quickly down the gloomy hall. Annoyingly, the guard paced him with ease.

  It smelled very clean in the corridors, to an almost hospital sterility, which was incongruous with the ill-kept floors, walls and ceiling. As Sam walked passed an open door he stopped and backtracked to the small room. Sitting on a bed was Eddie.

  ‘Hello, old son,’ Sam said, stepping inside.

  Eddie shot off the bed and grabbed the outstretched hand. They greeted each other like long-lost friends reunited after several years. The guard escorting Sam dropped the bag and drew his pistol before it hit the ground. He pointed his gun at Sam’s head and shouted in some language that meant nothing to the two men in the room.

  ‘Zezak, Zezak!’

  ‘Hargili joiphem, Minek!’

  The words cut across the guard, who stopped shouting and replaced his pistol immediately.

  ‘Arracht!’

  The guard left, and Maya walked into the room.

  She stared at Sam, knowing he was going to bring news that was about to change her life. ‘Is it my father?’

  Sam knew her heart would be broken with what he was about to say. He walked across to the woman and stood in front of her. ‘I’m sorry, Maya, but your father was killed in an operation that went tragically wrong.’ Sam paused not knowing if he should detail a mission he knew they both should have spent more time planning. He decided she should know some of the truth at least. ‘Your father and I went after Sixsmith. I intercepted Karl several hours ago. He was going to go in alone. I persuaded him to take me as backup. He agreed and we went back to the house we were certain Sixsmith was holed up in. We entered. I swept downstairs. Your father went upstairs. I heard him shout and ran to back him up. He was already down when I go...’

  The slap cracked across Sam’s face with enough force to send him sprawling backwards over Eddie’s bed. He wasn’t prepared for the attack and dropped to the floor dazed. Sam got up quickly, like a boxer not used to hitting the canvas. He saw Maya launch herself at him and managed to get an arm up to cover his face. The blow was lower, but powerful enough to drive the air out of his lungs. Maya was preparing another strike when Eddie dived between them. He stood solidly in front of Sam, who was struggling to breathe.

  ‘Enough Maya. Stop!’ Eddie said, glaring at the woman. ‘Hear him out.’

  ‘He shouldn’t have taken my father into that situation. My father is dead because of him.’

  ‘Sam didn’t take your father into that house. Your father took himself into that house. By what Sam said, he was going in alone anyway.’ Eddie softened his voice. ‘Maya, all Sam did was delay your father from dying. He was intent on killing Sixsmith and fucked up. He fucked up, Maya. He made a mistake. Perhaps he let anger cloud his judgement? I don’t know. But it’s not Sam’s fault.’

  ‘Maya, he was dead when I got to him. Sixsmith used some kind of poison in a crossbow bolt. Your father was hit twice. Nothing I could do to stop that,’ Sam gasped.

  Maya let out a scream, which seemed to go on longer than any human lungs could before bursting. When she stopped, she began to shake with grief. Eddie approached her and tentatively reached out, touching her neck and gently drawing her to him. Maya hesitated before grabbing Eddie’s shoulder and burying her head deep. He held her tightly and stroked her hair gently.

  Sam staggered to his feet and sat on the bed. He checked his jaw and cheek. It felt like the girl had hit him with a sledgehammer. There was some movement behind Eddie, as other members of the team were drawn to her scream. They stood silently and seemed to know their commander was dead. Maya’s grief was like an arcane sign of the passing of a warrior. Some of the men began to cry openly. Sam wasn’t shocked, having done the same himself on too many occasions when friends were killed.

  ‘Where is he?’ Maya demanded.

  Sam was still groggy and didn’t realise Maya was addressing the question to him. He sensed the room had gone quiet, the sobbing and grief silenced, waiting for him to speak. He looked around and saw everyone looking at him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘My father. Where is he?’ Maya repeated, edging the question with a trace of hardness.

  ‘At the house,’ Sam replied, aware the answer wasn’t what she wanted to hear. He tensed for another attack.

  ‘Maya. Sam did all he could,’ Eddie intervened.

  ‘You left my father alone in that house, while you saved your skin.’ Maya’s eyes flashed, ignoring Eddie.

  Sam heard angry mutterings growing outside the door. Karl was their life support, and now it had been cruelly switched off. He began to feel a sense of guilt. He had let Karl down by not at least trying to carry him back to the van. Maybe he would have been caught, and no doubt the people hiring him would deny any knowledge of a reckless assassin. But he could have tried.

  ‘I’m sorry, Maya. Sorry to you all.’ Sam stood up, addressing the people outside the room. ‘But Karl Felton was a soldier first, and he lived by that code. I would not expect my brother soldiers to put themselves at risk just to bring my body home.’ Sam was relieved to see some of the men and women in the doorway nodding in agreement with him. ‘I understand your loss. Believe me, I have seen too many good people die, and as I get older their faces are beginning to fade. But Karl Felton’s face will never fade from anyone’s memory. That is a testament to the man. I never knew him like you, but in those few brief hours he and I were joined in a common cause — We wanted to kill a man that betrayed you to the enemy. Commander Felton gave his life for you, and he was a true warrior.’

  Voice’s called out from the men and women, praising Sam’s epitaph for their fallen leader. Spontaneously, they all roared the name of Karl Felton. Sam looked at Maya. A single tear tracked down her face.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Cole said, forcing his way to the front of the small crowd who went silent again. He saw his sister cradled in Eddie’s arms. ‘Maya?’

  The woman turned towards her brother and went over to him. She wiped away her tears and took in a breath. ‘Cole, our father
has been killed tonight,’ she said, holding back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her again. ‘This man,’ she pointed to Sam, ‘and our father found where the traitor who shot you was hiding. During the fight, Sixsmith killed him.’

  Cole shook his head and laughed. The men and women in the doorway stiffened. The boy was not showing the level of respect expected of someone Karl had taken into his house.

  Maya also seemed confused by his reaction. ‘Cole,’ she said, taking his hand.

  The boy yanked his hand back roughly from his sister’s. ‘This is a joke, right? Who says he’s dead? Who here is saying Karl Felton is dead?’

  ‘I am, kid. I was there.’ Sam addressed the boy.

  Cole rounded on him. ‘Sixsmith’s bodyguard? How can we trust the man paid to protect a traitor? How do we know my father isn’t being held somewhere?’

  The question drew murmurings from outside the room. Cole’s point had temporarily replaced the grief, and formed a legitimate uncertainty in their minds. He was right. Why should they trust him? Then Sam remembered. His hand went to his pocket and brought out the locket he took off Karl.

  ‘Perhaps this will convince you I’m telling the truth.’ He held up the silver locket for them to see.

  Maya snatched it from Sam. ‘It is true. My father would never give this up.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Cole spat. ‘He could have taken that if father was subdued.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, but he is dead. If you don’t believe me I’ll stay here while you tune into the police frequency and pick up the chatter. Or you may have some other way to confirm what I’m saying is true. His body must have been taken to some central point.’

  ‘Shut up, all of you!’ Everyone turned to Maya. ‘Cole, our father is dead.’

  ‘And how would you know?’ Cole challenged.

  ‘I know.’

  Cole collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. Eddie went to move to him concerned the dressings might have been dislodged. Maya held his arm and pulled him back. They exchanged a look that needed no words.

  ‘Clear this room,’ Maya ordered.

  Slowly, the corridor cleared, leaving the four of them alone. Eddie moved to where Sam stood, keeping his eyes on Maya and Cole. Maya sat on the floor and brought the boy’s head to her chest. They held each other and let their grief fill every corner of the room, leaving the two men staring at the walls like uncomfortable spectators.

  Sam suddenly realised how hungry he felt. His jaw still ached a little but the damage would heal. He was distracted away from his stomach when his thoughts turned to Karl. The crossbow with bolts configured to deliver poison was sophisticated and damned hard to get outside of Special Forces. Even with some of his dubious contacts, he would bring too much attention on himself if he were trying to source one. And the highly toxic poison must have been designed specifically for these people. He guessed Karl’s strength and body chemistry was so different that it would take something ultra lethal to put him down as quickly as it had done.

  Maya pulled Cole away and whispered to him. He got up and left without looking at the two men. She stood up. Sam and Eddie turned to her. There was a curious look on her face, cold and unemotional. Eddie felt a pang of loss and quickly dismissed it as incredibly selfish.

  ‘What now?’ Sam asked.

  ‘First we get my father back. Then we increase the body count by one. I want Sixsmith’s head.’ She looked at both men as if daring them to speak against her plan.

  ‘I can help,’ Sam offered.

  Maya observed the man. ‘Thank you, but Cole is right. I don’t know if I can trust you.’

  ‘But you said you accepted Sam’s explanation,’ Eddie said.

  ‘I do, but you have to understand I am a Felton. There are decisions and actions expected of me. Even though I am not commander, the rest of the team will consider me as such.’ She turned to Sam. ‘I can’t make a mistake and trust someone who a day ago was employed by the man who killed my father. Understand.’

  Sam nodded. ‘I understand.’ He dropped onto Eddie’s bed and stretched out. ‘Could do with a coffee and something to eat if I’m your prisoner.’

  ‘Is he?’ Eddie demanded. ‘After fighting with us and risking his life, you still think he’s not on our side.’

  Maya said nothing and left the room leaving Eddie to stare after her.

  ‘Put yourself into her shoes, old son. Her dad’s just died, I was there, and I was Sixsmith’s bodyguard. Plus, she’s technically in charge; she has to make strong decisions. I’m just glad she didn’t slit my throat.’ Sam smiled. ‘Let me give you some advice. If you’re going to hit the sack with her, check your balls are still there in the morning.’

  Eddie remained grim. Sam could see how infatuated he was with the girl. But everything was charged: emotions, hatred and revenge. In those few moments, her face had taken on a familiar harshness, twisting her mouth and features into a cruel mask. Eddie was certain about his feelings for her, and certain about the impending war the killing of Karl Felton had ignited. The question was where would the next attack come from, especially as he had been reluctantly conscripted into Maya’s army.

  29

  It was wrong.

  Thoragan paced across a well-worn piece of carpet in his bedroom, muttering angrily to an audience of his peers sitting on his bed, while others stood in small huddles, mocking him. He shook his fists at them and spat at the late Senator Ovan for applauding his misfortune. They laughed at him, and pointed to the spittle running down the ornate mirror. Thoragan’s grip was unravelling as surely as water escaping from cupped hands. He knew it was his damned insatiable desires that left scant options to save himself. To see all his life’s plotting become no more than ashes blown away by the wind throbbed painfully at his temples.

  ‘It was all wrong,’ he whispered. ‘All of it...wrong.’

  Had recent history not been adulterated, by natural succession he would now be the ruler. Once the name "Thoragan" stood for strength in leadership. But opponents to their rule branded them dictators with an unquenched lust for power. His grandfather, Kenji Thoragan, had served with honour as their Chihidad for almost a century before succumbing to a short illness. Baying in the wings, the malcontents strained like a pack of attack dogs waiting for Kenji’s last breath to rattle out of his tired old husk. As soon as his death was announced they immediately proclaimed the Thoragan house finished. Savvy Republicans quickly declared free elections would replace the dynasty that ruled for seventeen generations, and Thoragan’s father was denied accession as Kenji’s only son and heir. The disgrace was too much for him. He abandoned his young family and went in search of Bloodeaters to die alone, but die at least fighting with courage and dignity.

  Aquino was the second President to be elected after Kenji’s death. His short-lived predecessors had been hailed and criticised in equal measure by those loyal to the old ways, and against the radical reform they were compelled to accept. Aquino’s election was a landslide victory ousting all the remaining assenters to the popular new politic. He preserved and strengthened the way forward for a democratically led people, guaranteeing the centuries-old tradition of accession was dead. It left a young Lee Thoragan to fight his way into the newly formed Senate. Those still loyal to the House of Thoragan ensured his victory.

  Thoragan stopped pacing. A plan began to assume itself. Under article thirty-six of the constitution, if something happened to the incumbent president then he and one other ranking official who held no active seat on the ruling body would be called upon to join the Senate until fresh elections were held. That squeezed out Felton, and he would have emergency powers granted to him as an equal member of the elected council. It would also mean as a representative of the ruling body he was unimpeachable.

  Thoragan began to skip on the worn carpet, congratulating himself. He wagged a finger at his audience, who muttered their own obscenities as they winked out. Thoragan laughed loudly in the room as old Ovan glared at him. The fat man w
aved contemptuously at the elder statesman, who burst like a balloon, leaving the room empty of his victims. Thoragan continued to giggle and clap his hands. He needed to calm himself and think. He sat on his bed and wondered — So what now?

  Cotrane was pacing a different carpet, and had done for hours until the sun announced another day. After leaving Thoragan’s house she dropped Jarvis off, who got out of the car without a word. She didn’t have time to mend bridges, and his feelings were the least of her concerns right now — but that wasn’t really true. She did care about the man.

  ‘Damn it!’ Cotrane picked up a piece of paper from her dining table and re-read it for the fourth time in case she missed something. She’d taken a verbal report over the phone on the completed scan on Janathen’s brain, which had come back as inconclusive. The tech she spoke with didn’t have any answer and just shrugged. At least that’s how Cotrane imagined him to be doing on the other end of the line. He agreed to run the scan again, but didn’t hold out much hope of changing anything in his report. Cotrane thanked him and slammed the receiver down in frustration. Why couldn’t it get to be just that little bit easier at times, she sighed, inwardly.

  Her other concern was Aquino and the level of protection he had insisted on. This was causing her equal distress. Not the fact she shot a former lover a few hours ago. It was the President who was putting his life on the line, and it was down to her to make sure he was safe, which proved harder to do when he told her to back off. What options were there, but to accept his order? It was even harder when there were feelings that could never be reciprocated. Cotrane had recently had the talk with herself about Aquino. He was a lot older than her, and devoted to a wife who wasn’t sharing that conviction. Cotrane hated having to lie to him about her affairs. The rumours may have been speculative and designed to discredit him, but whoever had started them had got lucky. It hurt. And Cotrane knew it would hurt him more; maybe even destroy him to learn how close to the truth they were. She had seen young men sharing sly smiles as they passed through the presidential grounds. Cotrane had taken it upon herself to secretly use a few loyal guards who reported to her without anyone knowing of their activities. She ordered them to “persuade” the young men to seek the company of older women somewhere else. Those who disregarded the advice were soon reported missing by concerned friends and relatives. It wasn’t unheard of for people to disappear from the city, victims of their own curiosity when straying into places Bloodeaters had been known to infiltrate. Madam Aquino had commented on the whereabouts of certain young men with a sense of loss at which Cotrane would just shake her head and deny any knowledge of their whereabouts.