The Whisper of Persia (The Girl in the Mirror Book 3)

by Philip J. Gould

  “My guess is, that warehouse is where he’s stashing the stolen loot from today’s spree of robberies in London and those from New Year’s Eve last week,” presumed Emily. “Get local law enforcement to mount a raid… let’s see if we can cheer up our Prime Minister and return the Queen her Crown Jewels.”

  “I’m on it,” said Mullins, although sounding a little distant, as though from across the other side of the room.

  Despite the Bell 206 having a maximum speed of 138 mph, it cruised the night time sky at 120 mph, allowing the MQ-9 Reaper drone to easily follow its path as it flew across the Isle of Mull, before cutting a northern course on the other side of the island, heading further into the North Atlantic Ocean.

  “Where’s he going?” Emily pondered aloud. No one cared to respond.

  One hour and twenty minutes later after two coffee breaks and countless trips to the toilet, the archipelago of St. Kilda appeared on their separate screens.

  “Jeez, I should have known it!” exclaimed Brayden, still on speaker phone.

  “What?” asked Emily within a stifled yawn. It was 5:10 a.m. and most of London outside the MI6 building overlooking the River Thames was still asleep.

  “St. Kilda,” replied Brayden, as though the name of the island explained everything. Not able to see the confusion on Emily’s face via the phone, he sensed it by her silence. He decided to explain: “After we extracted George Jennings from our black site last July, we had the warehouse ‘cleaned’.” Emily understood the term; it meant they were removing all evidence of their existence and signs that they had anything to do with the staged kidnapping that had ended terribly for Harriet Jennings.

  “Whilst ‘cleaning’,” Brayden continued, “Dominic was found unconscious within the room where Harriet was being held. Having served his purpose, we had no more use for him. I ordered that he be taken off site and dumped somewhere remote. I later learned that he was taken to the Outer Hebridean island of Hirta, one of four making up St. Kilda. I was led to understand that it was uninhabited… I guess that information wasn’t correct. DAMN IT!” Brayden banged something in the surveillance office in Edinburgh and Mullins could be heard trying to calm him. “I should have done us all a favour and had him killed instead.”

  On the computer screen in the MI6 operation room, Emily and Mac watched, simultaneously with Brayden and Mullins in their small back office surveillance room, Dominic Schilling’s helicopter skirt the rugged landscape of the St. Kilda island of Dun, and begin its descent as it approached a stretch of coastline that belonged to Hirta. Without warning, a cluster of small buildings built in a single row appeared, and behind them, a very big square building.

  “That’s it!” said Brayden, like he had just discovered the final piece to a one thousand piece jigsaw puzzle. Although it was dark and the green screen image wasn’t perfect, Brayden could see that it matched Meredith’s earlier description by the shapes and outlines of the terrain. “THAT’s his base of operations,” Brayden clapped his hands together. “THAT’s where he’s been hiding those seized kids all this time… the ones you’ve been calling ‘the sons of GYGES’.”

  “It would also appear to be where he’s still keeping Sophie’s brothers,” deemed Emily emphatically. “Mac, where are we with our strike force?”

  Mac looked up from the aerial views still being displayed on the monitor ahead of him and glanced at his watch. It was now 5:25 a.m. and Dominic’s helicopter was preparing to land on a patch of Tarmac clearly marked with an ‘H’ to indicate helipad, a short distance away from the warehouse.

  “Personnel should be ready for deployment within a matter of hours.”

  “Good.” She didn’t ask him there and then to elaborate what ‘personnel’ he had procured for the mission but trusted the analyst’s judgement. “Brayden?”

  “Emily,” he replied curtly through the phone’s external speaker, confirming he was still in attendance.

  “You and Mullins go get some rest. We’ll pick you and the others up at Edinburgh Airport on the way.”

  At 8:00 a.m., feeling much colder than she ought to have felt, Emily stepped out from a small terminal building at RAF Northolt and walked confidently towards the waiting Westland Puma. In one hand she carried the black chunky holdall Thomas Mundahl had given her the evening before, the other she shoved deep within her coat pocket. Once again, Barnaby was piloting the helicopter and the congenial co-pilot was on hand to greet her.

  “Where this time, love?” the co-pilot asked pleasantly. Unlike Emily, he looked fresh faced and wide awake.

  “Back to Edinburgh, but I’m waiting delivery of something first…”

  “We’re cleared to depart as soon as you give the order Miss Porter.”

  That delivery turned up sixteen minutes later. A plain white Ford Transit van pulled up alongside the helicopter and a female driver uniformed in khaki stepped down from behind the wheel and approached Emily. She wore a green beret on her head and the stripes on her sleeves indicated she was a lance corporal.

  “Agent Porter?”

  “Yes.”

  “One hundred Lantec SFM6 Anti-Personnel dart guns, especially adapted… as requested.” The lance corporal led Emily to the rear of the vehicle and opened up the double-doors. Inside the van were ten large boxes, all sealed. The uniformed soldier dragged one close and used a utility knife plucked out from somewhere on her person, to cut through tape and bindings. “There’s ten in each box,” she said as she reached inside the box and pulled free a gun buried amongst polystyrene packing peanuts. She held out what looked like a normal assault rifle for inspection. The lance corporal felt the need to demonstrate its use by holding it ahead of her, one finger curled around the trigger, her other hand wrapped about the grip. She raised it up, levelling the sniper sight to one eye. “Specifically designed for use against humans, it’s far more accurate than a conventional dart gun. With precision shots from two hundred feet, you’ll hit the mark without any danger to yourself.” She smiled wickedly, lowering down the weapon and handing it out to Emily for inspection. “It’s a beautiful weapon. What’s more, the built-in sound suppressor makes it virtually silent. Whoever you fire this at, won’t hear you coming. It’s great for sting operations.”

  “And it can carry more than one dart?” asked Emily, holding the weapon like a professional.

  “It has a five-shot internal magazine. Here, allow me,” the lance corporal accepted the rifle back and demonstrated how to release the magazine and load the gun. “And, before you ask, it’s been modified to fit the specification of your darts, just as requested.”

  “Very good… I just need to see if I can find someone chivalrous… to help load these onto the chopper,” said Emily, glancing towards the sudden appearance of the co-pilot, and throwing him a simpering smile.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Sophie

  The doctor stepping through the door looked solemn as he entered the room where Sophie and Liam were waiting. It was around two in the morning and Sophie was asleep in a corner chair, her head tucked down into her chest, her coat folded into a crude pillow behind her neck. Liam was sitting, leafing through a women’s magazine, just for something to do.

  The doctor made a coughing sound, both to clear his throat and to alert Sophie to his presence. It had the desired effect on each count. She roused herself up and forced herself to her feet. Liam tossed the magazine to the seat beside him.

  “Doctor… how is she?” A panicked look flashed up on Sophie’s face as she noticed the man lower his gaze, averting eye contact.

  “Your sister lost a lot of blood and, as you know, required resuscitating on site by the paramedics. During surgery to remove the object from her back, your sister had a further myocardial infarction, requiring us to intervene for a second time. At first, she was unresponsive… but, we persevered and luckily she c
ame back… she remains critical but stable. Her brain did suffer some oxygen deprivation, but we won’t know the repercussions until we’ve run some tests. The next twenty-four hours are going to be crucial.”

  “Can we see her?” asked Sophie anxiously.

  The doctor smiled. “Sure. She’s in ICU,” he said. “Follow me.” The doctor led Sophie and Liam along a short corridor, through a set of double-doors with the swipe of an electronic card, and a bit further, stopping short of entering a room where machines groaned, bleeped, hummed and wheezed. “We’ve placed her in a coma for the moment, to allow her body time to recover and heal itself, but you can take turns sitting with her if you like. Only one visitor at the bedside at any one time I’m afraid…”

  Liam touched Sophie on the arm. “You go,” he said. “She’s your sister. I’ll wait out here.”

  The doctor was holding the ICU ward door open. “Stay for as long as you like…” he said, “but there’s really nothing you can do here, except wait for her to improve.”

  Sophie walked quietly into the room, following the doctor past a nurse’s station towards a room with four bays separated by vinyl curtains hung from railings secured to the ceiling. Meredith was easy to spot as she was the only child in the ward.

  A small whimper escaped Sophie’s lips upon seeing the ten-year-old lying in the bed, a white tube protruding from her mouth connected to a ventilator which ‘hissed’ and ‘plupped’, simulating the girl’s exhalation.

  “It looks worse than it is,” the doctor tried reassuring her, but his eyes betrayed him.

  “Is it?” Sophie asked quietly. She curled a hand around Meredith’s and gave it a squeeze. The girl felt warm to the touch.

  A nurse shook Sophie awake. For a second she felt lost, unsure of where she was and certain that the events of the previous day weren’t real. Stealing the Whisper of Persia; her sister being stabbed with a knife – nothing more than the invention of an over-active brain lacking good, solid rest and the nutrients of an honest-to-God healthy dinner.

  The sounds of life-support machines quickly summoned her back to reality, banishing any hints of wishful-thinking to the ethers.

  “The gentleman outside the room wanted me to get you,” the nurse was crouching down to Sophie’s level and spoke patiently.

  “What time is it?”

  The nurse glanced across to a wall clock at the other end of the ICU ward. “Just gone quarter-to-six,” she said, half-turning before walking away.

  Sophie stood up from the chair next to Meredith and stretched. Bones cracked with the effort. Before leaving, she kissed two fingers and placed them on her sister’s forehead. “I’ll be back shortly,” she said softly, hoping her sister could hear.

  Outside the ward, Liam was sitting on one of the cushioned chairs lined up along the wall. A stack of disposable coffee cups were at his feet with an empty sandwich carton. Wedged inside, together with a Toffee Crisp wrapper was a consumed bag of McCoys crisps, ready for disposal. He stood up in acknowledgement of the young woman’s arrival. “I just got word from Emily,” he said eagerly. “We know where Dominic is.” He relayed the conversation he’d had with the MI6 agent a short time earlier, a verbatim account of the surveillance activities carried out through the night, and the discovery of Dominic’s secret base of operations on the island of St. Kilda.

  “What about the kids?” Sophie was referring to the sons of GYGES.

  “They’re en route,” replied Liam. Upon discovering Dominic’s location, Emily had used the surveillance software and the drone still broadcasting from above, to return to locating the Caledonian Macbrayne sailing across the sea, and cross-checking its details against the Automatic Identification System, verifying its registered use and scheduled destination. It had been chartered by the same shell company indirectly owned by Kaplan Ratcliff who had leased the warehouse in Oban. “They’re on a ferry bound for the island,” Liam asserted, “though they’re not likely to arrive for another twelve hours… at least.” Emily estimated that it would take approximately fourteen hours to travel there by boat; they had left some two hours earlier.

  Liam continued: “We’ve received orders to link back up with Brayden, Mullins and the field agents now that our work here in Edinburgh is done. Emily’s coming to pick us up on the way.”

  “On the way? To the island?” Sophie enthused, her heart quickening at the prospect of a swift reunion with Dominic and the chance of meting out some retribution.

  “Indirectly, apparently,” replied Liam. “We’re meeting up with our strike force along the way, though she didn’t say when or where.”

  “Oh?” Sophie sounded curious.

  “All she would say was, she ‘hoped’ we didn’t get seasick.”

  DI Hamish Bremner escorted the contingent who included Sophie, Brayden, Liam and Mullins through Edinburgh Airport’s security checkpoints and through the departure lounge to a section of the terminal off limits to most travellers. Owing to their matching black combat outfits, the MI6, FBI and CIA agents drew alarmed stares from civilians around the busy airport building, cutting a swath through the throng of travellers.

  The joint force of field agents who, by and large, had sat on the subs bench for all of the previous day’s action, were already at the airport and waiting in a transfer bus stationed at the bottom of a set of steps leading down from one of the departure gates.

  DI Bremner led Sophie et al. out of the building and over to the waiting transport vehicle. A member of the airport’s ground staff was waiting by the side of the bus wearing a high-vis yellow jacket and holding a Motorola walkie talkie.

  “ATC indicate your helicopter has landed and is ready for boarding,” said the man in the yellow jacket. “This way,” he stepped on board the bus, turning out to be the driver.

  “Thanks for the hospitality,” said Brayden offering his hand to the Scottish policeman.

  DI Bremner took it and gave it a firm shake. “Thank you for the heads up regarding the warehouse in Oban. Police Scotland will be celebrating that win for a very long time. Of course… the Whisper of Persia is still missing.”

  “That’s a shame.” Brayden took back his hand and moved towards the waiting bus; Sophie was already there.

  “Good luck… with whatever it is you are doing.”

  Sophie, Brayden, Liam and Mullins climbed up the step onto the bus, walking down the aisle to sit on separate seats. The field agents were already seated, some animatedly talking; it was like they were going out on a day trip to LEGOLAND.

  Once everyone was seated, the bus operator hydraulically closed the doors and set the vehicle moving, smoothly manoeuvring along the side of the terminal building a short way before taking the passengers towards an area of the airport adjacent to one of its two runways where a number of aeroplanes were either parked or preparing for take-off. Beyond was a stretch of asphalt that was almost empty except for a handful of cars and a Westland Puma helicopter.

  Through the window, Sophie recognised the military aircraft as the one she had arrived in the day earlier. Standing by its open door, Emily was waiting expectantly.

  The bus pulled up alongside the helicopter a safe distance away. Without prompting, the twelve travellers stood up and shuffled along the aisle towards the exit. One by one they disembarked in single file and marched across to where Emily stood. Sophie was in the middle of the procession and the auburn-haired woman placed a hand on her arm just as she was about to pass.

  “Em,” Sophie acknowledged. She sounded solemn.

  “I’m sorry to hear about Meredith,” Emily said soberly. “Is she going to be all right?”

  Sophie slanted her head down. “Yea,” she replied, lacking conviction. “I think she’ll pull through.” Emily squeezed her arm consolingly as Sophie added: “She has to.”

  Breaking their cheerles
s reunion, Brayden stepped between them. “The sooner we get moving, the sooner you can tell us where we’re going.”

  “Okay,” said Emily, rolling her eyes. “We’ll have a proper chat later,” she told Sophie as the blonde girl leapt up into the helicopter.

  Brayden smiled down at Emily, satisfied that the line was moving again.

  When almost all the members of the joint contingent were seated and strapped in, the co-pilot (who had greeted the travellers just inside the doorway) closed the door and disappeared into the cockpit of the helicopter, giving Barnaby the nod to leave.

  Emily was unseated and stood at the front of the aircraft, her balance propped up by holding onto the backs of two aisle seats on opposite sides to her. Sophie believed the older woman was going to make some kind of speech.

  The twin engines of the Westland Puma started to power up followed by the beating/whirring sound of the four bladed rotors beginning to rotate on the roof of the aircraft.

  “Listen up,” said Emily insistently, raising her voice to go above the increasing volume of the helicopter. “Some of you will already know that we have located our target – Dominic Schilling – and identified the place where he’s been holed up. He’s on an island called ‘Hirta’ two hundred and forty miles north-west of here.” She lurched forward as the helicopter left the ground and started moving up and away. “Our plan is to link up with our strike team in a little over an hour’s time and make our way to the island ready to engage Dominic and his force tonight, after dark.”

  “How’re we going to do that?” asked one of the MI6 field agents who had been slightly miffed at spending the best part of a day waiting around, doing nothing. “I mean, these lads he has… aren’t they going to be invisible and have other abilities?” he reasoned.