The Armageddon Protocol (A Harry Bane Thriller)

by Rob Jones

  Zoey shrugged her shoulders. “Sure, why not?” She spun the wheel and swerved the C3 around a dawdling Ford Focus. “Girl’s gotta eat.”

  “But he’s Giulio Greco!”

  “And?”

  “And he’s well-known to keep a grudge.”

  “He’s gotta know who you are to keep a grudge, hun. I’m always on the move. Probably never go back to Sin City so who’s counting?”

  “You’re almost mad enough to be in MI6,” Harry said.

  Zoey turned to him for a second. “Wait – you were in the Catering Corps and MI6?”

  “Not at the same time, but yes… guilty as charged – and it wasn’t the sodding Cater….”

  “I knew you weren’t a librarian!” Zoey said, interrupting him.

  She pulled up behind a man on a Vespa who was hogging the lane and blew the horn at him but elicited nothing more than a dismissive hand gesture casually waved over his shoulder. He didn’t even turn his head, and he kept going at the same speed.

  “What now?”

  “Bastard’s getting out my way, is what now,” Zoey said, and increased speed. A second later the front of the Citroën was pushing up against the rear mudguard of the scooter. A loud squealing noise filled the air and the Vespa began to swerve wildly from side to side.

  The driver turned in his seat and screamed a load of abuse at them.

  “So now I’ve got your attention, Francois, get out of my frigging way!”

  He swerved violently out of sight but then it happened in a flash as they were approaching the southwest end of the Rue Froidevaux. Up ahead the entrance to the Catacombs was almost in sight when a monstrous armored truck belonging to the BRI ripped out of the Rue Roger and headed straight for them. The BRI were the Brigade de Recherche et d’Intervention, better known as the Anti-Gang Brigade and they usually dealt with serious crimes like kidnapping cases or armed bank robberies, but today their attention was focussed on Harry Bane and his gang of fugitives.

  “Speed up!” Harry yelled.

  Zoey sighed as she slammed her foot on the accelerator. “You think?”

  For a second, the Englishman thought they were going to make it, but then the armored Renault truck smashed into the back of the C3, just clipping the back panel and bumper. The force of the impact was colossal as the heavy armored truck ploughed into the much lighter Citroën and spun them around like a toy car until they were facing the other direction entirely.

  As they spun, Harry saw the armored truck was going too fast to stop and smashed through the south wall of the cemetery before disappearing in a cloud of brick dust and exhaust fumes.

  Zoey struggled with the wheel and tried to turn into the skid, which impressed Harry, but the momentum of the crash was just too great and they could all feel what was about to happen as the car began to tip over.

  “Hold on!” Harry yelled.

  And then the C3 went over, smashing down on its left-hand side so Zoey was now just inches from the road. They screeched to a halt in a shower of sparks.

  Harry Bane felt the heat rising and knew things were getting well out of hand. Not only was he wanted for multiple murders in Spain, but now he was in the middle of a major incident in central Paris.

  So much for a quiet drink and a few hands of blackjack.

  He unbuckled his belt and looked around the car. His eyes were met with an unconscious Zoey Conway – her upper body was slumped forward into the airbag and only held up by the seatbelt. In the back, he heard Lucia groaning and turned to see her rubbing at a gash on her forehead. The impact at the rear of the vehicle had spun it around hard and she had smashed her head into the rear window pillar.

  “Are you okay, Lucia?” Harry asked. As he moved forward to check her, Zoey began to come to in the front seat and beside her Niko was confused and moaning with pain.

  “I think so… my head hurts. You?”

  “I’m shaken, but not stirred.”

  Zoey groaned. “Oh… give me a break…”

  “What about you, Zoey – are you okay?” Harry asked.

  “Sure, but with jokes like that I wish I was still unconscious.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, James.”

  “007, eh?”

  “In your case more like just a double zero.”

  Harry gave her a look but now saw flames flicking up from under the hood, and turned to Liška. He was in the middle between him and Lucia and turning a pale green color.

  “What about you?”

  A sad nod.

  “Listen, the car’s on fire so we have to get out of here right now.”

  He had to move fast. With flames crawling all over the engine compartment and the sound of the Peugeots growing in the distance, it was game over in less than two minutes.

  Harry opened his door and climbed up and out of the car, and in the front Niko popped his belt and followed the same way. Standing on top of the stricken C3, Harry helped Andrej and Lucia out of the back and then leaned into the front to help pull Zoey free, but she was searching through the glove box under the dash.

  “Hurry up!” he said.

  “I’m not going anywhere without Sally.”

  “Eh?”

  She pulled a Smith & Wesson Crimson Trace snub-nose revolver from the glove compartment and slipped it in her bag.

  Harry raised an eyebrow. “Nice snub-nose.”

  Zoey make a big show of fluttering her eyelashes. “I do hope you’re referring to my gun, sir.”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. You got me into this, Mister, and you’re damn well going to get me out of it.” As she spoke she grabbed a small flashlight as well. “Not going caving without one of these.”

  They clambered out the car and emerged into the noisy chaos of the cold Paris afternoon. A column of black smoke was belching up into the sky from the armored truck in the graveyard, and above them the Super Cougar was circling and trying to get a clear shot through the smoke.

  Two of the police Peugeots screeched to a halt at the end of the road and officers tumbled out and raised their guns at them. A senior officer began to bark instructions through a megaphone and then without warning Zoey fired just once but the single shot was enough to send the French police into a frenzied spiral of over-reaction.

  Lucia jumped when the gun went off, and Harry’s mind raced as he calculated what to do next. He was already starting to regret telling the casino floor manager to let Lucia Serrano into the bar. At the time it had felt like the right thing to do, but now he was getting the impression his life was better before all of this started.

  “Which way?” Zoey said.

  “I’m guessing the large painted words saying Entree des Catacombs and the big white arrows pointing in that direction are a clue,” Harry said.

  Zoey gave him a look, but before she could reply, Andrej spoke. “He’s right – the entrance is just over here.”

  Deep beneath Paris is a sprawling network of underground tunnels formed by the limestone mines of previous centuries. The general public is banned from exploring the notorious tunnels, but this doesn’t stop the occasional daredevil or thrill seeker from descending into the darkness beneath the southern arrondissements of the city.

  The most famous part of these tunnels is the Catacombs of Paris, the world’s most famous ossuary. Containing over six million skeletons, the Catacombs were created by the city’s authorities during a crisis in the 1780s when the Holy Innocents’ Cemetery in central Paris no longer had any room in its mass graves.

  Because they were once mines, there were over two hundred entrances into the Catacombs, but only one reserved for official use, and now as they approached this entrance, Harry glanced over his shoulder to see the remaining police officers bearing down on them. “It’s now or never,” he said, looking up at the warning above the door: Arrète! C’est ici l’empire de la mort.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Zoey said.

  “It’s telling us to stop, bec
ause this is Death’s empire.”

  “Oh, that’s okay then,” she said. “I was afraid it was something bad.”

  “This is where the nanodust is hidden,” Andrej said apologetically. “We have no choice if we want to secure it, plus we should be more afraid of the living than the dead.”

  “I’m more concerned about how we’re going to get out,” Harry said, looking back at the police. They were now fanning out and making their way toward them from the end of the street.

  “They’re going to be all over our asses in a few seconds, Harry,” Zoey said. “We have to get this thing on right now.”

  They raced down the stairs and entered the Empire of Death. The City of Lights was gone now, replaced with a dark, cold vault whose ceiling was supported with crumbling stone pillars. “Which way now, Andrej?”

  “This way,” the Czech scientist said, with the panic in his voice clear for all to hear. “We must go this way.”

  Behind them at the top of the stairs they heard men screaming in French and then the sound of boots pounding down the steps. Without delay, they began to run along the narrow Port-Mahon corridor and then turned onto the famous Quarrymen’s footpath.

  Passing a circular staircase that wound its way downwards until disappearing into a pool of frozen black water, Zoey turned to Andrej. “I hope you can remember where this damned thing is, Chekov,” she said, sliding some gum into her mouth. “Because I ain’t never been caught by the law or anyone else and I don’t intend to start now.”

  “We met in jail cell,” Harry said. “How’s that you not getting caught?”

  “If it’s not overnight, it doesn’t count,” she said with pride. “That’s what Mack used to say.”

  “Who’s Mack?”

  “An old friend. Taught me everything I know.”

  Harry shook his head in disbelief. His service in MI6 had sent him to dozens of different countries and he’d met countless hundreds of people in his travels from every walk of life, but he’d never met anyone quite like Zoey Conway before.

  But he had no time to think about her or anything else because right then they reached the main attraction – the Ossuary.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Zalan Szabo glanced at the manila file with something approaching mild interest but then gently flipped the cover back and pushed it back on the desk toward György Tóth. He was sitting in the study of his Viennese mansion and placing a cigar in his mouth. He pulled a single-blade cutter from his drawer and sliced the end off the cigar. Reaching forward to pull a Cartier enamel and diamond lighter from the desk’s smooth surface, he began to speak with the cigar in his mouth. “So, he’s British Secret Service.”

  “Former Secret Service,” Tóth said. “And before that a Pathfinder.”

  Szabo fired up the Cohiba Behike and blew a cloud of pungent blue smoke toward the vaulted ceiling of his study. “Explain.”

  “The Pathfinder Platoon is an elite reconnaissance unit in the British Army’s 16th Air Assault Brigade. They parachute deep behind the enemy’s lines and send back reconnaissance reports and set out drop zones for regiments like the SAS.”

  Szabo nodded with appreciation. “All of that and James Bond as well. Quite the hero.”

  “Except he’s a washout now, and spends his days gambling and blowing his family’s money.”

  “Don’t underestimate a man like this,” the Hungarian said with experience. “Any man who can do these things is never really down and out. If you underestimate him he will bring us down.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Serrano you know, and the chunky one is Niko Weber, a Swiss IT specialist and software developer from Zurich whose hobby is cracking security networks. The other woman is an American named Zoey Conway – a common thief from New York City. The older man is of course Andrej Liška, one of the lead scientists who worked with Ramirez on Project Perses.”

  “Both traitors.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “These people are rabble, Tóth. Surely you’re not telling me they can get the better of you and your men. Steiner was a Jagdkommando.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Who is in the field with Steiner?”

  “Aleksi Karhu.”

  Szabo nodded with the same degree of appreciation as if he were listening to a waiter reading a wine menu. “He is dangerous, indeed.”

  “Yes.”

  “But unpredictable.”

  Tóth hesitated. “Yes.”

  “And the insider?”

  “In position. That is how we knew about Paris.”

  “Good. The net tightens.”

  “Yes.”

  “I want that weapon back, Tóth, and the activation code.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And prepare my flight. We’re leaving Vienna.”

  “At once.”

  Szabo closed his eyes and nodded with the expectation that György Tóth would do what he was paid very well to do. That meant neutralize this annoying band of idiots who had risen like a fungus on the Ministry’s exquisite plans for the future of humanity and allow the next phase to proceed unhindered.

  Exquisite plans that had a lot to live up to… Athens, Rome, the Silk Road, Cocoliztli, Calcutta, Kansas… and he had no intention of allowing these people to humiliate him in the Ministry’s eyes. Those eyes were everywhere, after all.

  TWENTY-SIX

  “This place gives me the creeps,” Zoey said with a visible shudder. “Maybe we should split and leave you three to it.” As she spoke they passed through the Crypt of the Sepulchral Lamp. This was the first monument ever constructed inside the catacombs, with walls lined with dozens of skulls and shin bones. The lamp was originally used by those quarrying the caves, but now it formed part of the macabre sculpture.

  “Not a good idea,” Harry said. “Like it or not, you’re on the run with us now.”

  “Great,” Zoey said with a sigh. “All I wanted was some help to get out of jail and now I’m a fugitive in a cave full of skeletons.”

  “It’s not so bad,” Niko said.

  “Not so bad?” Zoey gave him a look. “Are you kidding me, you schnook? We’re walking through a tunnel lined with human skulls and as far as the police of both France and Spain are concerned we’re accessories after the fact of a multiple murder. If that doesn’t freak you out then just what the hell would?”

  “Well, once I was in Copenhagen Zoo and this little monkey pulled out his…”

  “Forget it,” Zoey snapped. “I don’t want to know what’s lurking at the end of that sentence – ever…”

  Now they were leaving behind the part of the catacombs seen by normal tourists and entering an even darker, colder world of underworld isolation – a world as far from the reality of Paris as was possible to imagine.

  Harry turned to Liška. “Where next, Professor?”

  “We need to go through here.”

  Zoey followed the beam from Liška’s phone light with anxious eyes. “You mean through the sign that says No Entry to the Public?”

  “Yes, I mean exactly that.”

  Niko shook his head. “You had to ask.”

  “I was frightened you were going to say something like that.”

  “The weapon had to be well hidden,” Liška said coolly. “Leaving it lying around where thousands of tourists walk every week would not be very clever, would it?”

  If what the professor had said back in his apartment was even vaguely true then Harry thought this was a good point, but as they moved deeper into the system even he was starting to get a little unnerved. It was true that this area was out of bounds to the thousands of annual tourists who descended into the Catacombs every year, but that didn’t mean it was untouched by humans.

  This was the deepest part of the labyrinth for sure, but even here there was evidence of other people – mostly in the form of graffiti sprayed on the cave walls, or the occasional piece of litter left behind by what the locals called
the cataphiles – those mad enough to crawl down out of the city and explore this mysterious and dangerous underworld.

  The flashlight illuminated what looked like a smooth floor of black glass, but then they realized it was one of the many underground rock pools that the cataphiles liked to swim in on hot days. Above it, on the cave wall, was a giant black and white skull sprayed into the rough limestone in metallic paint. It looked back at them with a devilish grin.

  “Fancy a dip?” Harry said, almost to himself.

  “You first, niknak,” Zoey said, and then they heard the sound of shouting as the police closed in on them.

  “We have no time to waste,” Liška said. “We go this way!”

  They followed him around the rock pool and along a narrow tunnel which led off to the right. They reached what looked like another dead-end lined with yet more skulls and bones when Liška knelt down on the floor of the tunnel and began to clear away dust and dirt with his hands.

  “It’s in here,” he said.

  Harry and the others watched as the Czech revealed a small trap door hiding among the gravelly detritus in the bottom of the tunnel.

  “If I can just…” Liška strained hard as he desperately tried the cavity pull handle on the trapdoor in the floor at the end of the tunnel. “It’s too heavy for me alone,” he said down among the skulls, arms and legs that surrounded them on all sides, packed into place to form a wall of human bones.

  “Let me at it,” Harry said. “Take this.” He crouched down over the trapdoor and heaved as hard as he could but there was no movement. He turned to face Liška “How the hell did you get this thing open?”

  “There were two of us,” he said absent-mindedly. “Me and Jean-Paul.”

  Harry scanned the faces of Liška and Niko Weber. “So maybe if there were two or three of us right now we might be making more progress?”

  “I have a very weak back,” Niko said apologetically.

  “I wonder why,” Zoey muttered with a sideways glance at his belly.

  “This is all muscle,” Niko said. “I work out.”

  Zoey shook her head. “The only thing you work out is how to get out of going to the gym.”