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

by Philip J. Gould

  Like a call to arms, the commandos stood up and charged forward in frenzy, firing instinctively towards the positions Sophie had highlighted.

  The sniper on the roof picked off soldiers as they advanced, felling five easily and injuring three others. Before a single enemy soldier was killed, thirty commandos were dead or mortally injured.

  The sound of war filled the air. Gunfire was soon followed by grenades exploding and smoke bombs.

  Sophie couldn’t watch any further. “I’m going in!” Without thinking, she charged down the other side of the mound and ran into the roofless shell of the old cottage building she had seen the commando, Amberson, killed within and stooped by his body. By his side was his weapon, a L96 bolt-action sniper rifle. She put aside her own weapon and picked up the dead man’s weapon, trying it for size. Her Lantec SFM6 Anti-Personnel dart gun felt light and harmless compared to the weapon she now held.

  Carefully stepping around the fallen soldier, Sophie pulled up the night-vision ocular device from her eyes, resting it upon her helmet. Stooping down, she picked up the sniper rifle and peered through its telescopic sight. Casually, she returned to standing. Although dark, the sight had a night-time setting and she was able to see the target easily through the lens with only the slightest adjustment. Perched atop of the roof the sniper was firing confidently, impervious to the danger. She carefully aimed the weapon, making a few adjustments to the focus and aligning the weapon so that her mark was placed at the centre of the crosshairs.

  “I never knew you Amberson… but, this is for you,” Sophie spoke tenderly. She pressed the trigger and fired a .308 bullet at her target. The gun kicked back against her chest (which was going to hurt later); it was immediately followed by the deafening roar of the gun, which sounded only after the man on the roof had tumbled over the edge and fallen quietly to the ground, only making a sound upon impact. He landed just ahead of one of the makeshift battlements.

  Quickly adjusting her position, she aimed the rifle’s sight on the field where bullets were flying from one side to another, viewing the carnage. It was clear to her that the marines were at an enormous disadvantage. Despite their skill, and mounting their attack from an open, unshielded area, it was akin to First World War tactics, where heavy losses were racked up in similar fashion during the Battle of the Somme.

  Dominic Schilling’s defences were a disciplined and very well-trained force and, from where Sophie was now standing, it appeared that they were clearly winning.

  Bodies belonging to the Royal Marines were sprawled all over the place, some still moving or twitching, but most dead. Almost a third of the force was down… and barely two minutes had passed!

  Sophie fixed the telescopic sight on a pair of mercenaries firing machine guns from behind one of the two makeshift, but effective, battlements. One of them was cowering down, reloading his weapon, and Sophie gently adjusted the position of Amberson’s rifle so that he was dead centre of the sight’s crosshairs.

  “Let’s make this a little fairer,” Sophie said to herself, pressing the trigger on the sniper’s rifle. The shot sounded loud again, but the kickback wasn’t so fierce. She recovered immediately, quickly seeking out the second marine who had yet to realise that his fighting companion had keeled over behind him, preoccupied by the animus of defending Dominic Schilling’s compound, and the eighty-six sons of GYGES hidden within. As soon as he fell within the centre of her crosshairs, she didn’t hesitate. She fired for the third time, the rifle’s spent bullet casing chinking to the cracked and broken concrete floor. Her mark flew backwards, still firing his machinegun into the air before coming to an abrupt end as he collapsed beside his friend.

  The rifle’s magazine carried ten bullets. She had spent three and assumed Amberson had kept it fully loaded. She quickly checked; there were seven shots left.

  Sophie whipped the rifle to the right side of the building where two other soldiers were taking refuge. In quick succession she aimed, scoped each man, and fired. Like the two before, they collapsed inelegantly to the ground.

  Surveying the other defensive positions, Sophie spied only one last soldier remaining, hunkering low behind the other pile of crates and oil drums. Commandos had killed the other three, leaving the lone gunman taking potshots at the advancing force, frustrating the attackers by doggedly avoiding them and getting lucky with his return fire. Sophie despatched him easily, showing zero remorse.

  One of the platoon leaders spoke through her earpiece. “All clear. We’re ready to go in.”

  The Royal Marines regrouped on the stretch of land between the row of cottages and the big black warehouse. Sophie counted fifty-three of them. They had taken heavy casualties, including half of Emily and Brayden’s field team.

  “Can someone go open that door?” another marine filled Sophie’s ear.

  “On it,” replied someone else.

  From behind Sophie, an engine that had been rumbling low for the entire time, which the young woman had thought belonged to one of the amphibious crafts, began to resound louder, followed by squeaking and grinding as gears and pulleys moved and the diesel engine began powering the metal slab of a Challenger forward. It rolled onto the beach, soon climbing up and over the hill.

  The hill had stood for nearly two centuries and could thwart the onset of a rising sea level and had shielded the once habited island from the harsh winds, but was powerless to stop – or even subdue – the advancement of this battle tank.

  Once over the embankment, the Challenger came to a halt and the turret rotated in alignment with its 120mm, fifty-five calibre tank gun, rising up a couple of inches, taking up position to fire.

  On the battle field, the commandos were hunkering down, taking cover and preparing themselves for something momentous to happen.

  Sophie watched through the gap of the completely sideless building, fascinated by the tank’s arrival. As it fired, the ‘whoosh’ of the armour-piercing ‘discarding-sabot’ round sounded, followed by an explosion as it hit the only front entrance into the warehouse, causing orange flames to billow for a moment before subsiding to reveal a rent torn into the metal wall the size of two double-decker buses.

  “Now!” ordered a platoon leader and the fifty-three soldiers were up on their feet and running forward in an attacking formation. With no opposing soldiers to aim at, Sophie returned Amberson his rifle and retrieved her dart gun. Stepping out from the shelter of the old ruin, she started to jog after the advancing marines. It was when she was ten metres away from the rearguard that she realised that the advancement had stopped. When all the floodlights went out, returning the beach, the warehouse building and its grounds, and the entire surrounding backdrop, to complete darkness, Sophie knew something was wrong.

  The first of many gunshots and the yelps and screams of soldiers from ahead of her confirmed it.

  Unable to see, she pulled the night-vision eyewear back over her eyes as she walked, closing the gap between herself and the marines now seemingly within the thick of a skirmish.

  “What’s happening?” Emily had remained silent throughout the first phase of the operation, but with the lights going out, a tinge of concern had passed over her and laced her voice.

  “We seem to be encountering resistance,” replied a platoon leader. “But it’s impossible. We can’t see them!”

  “Use your thermal settings!” Emily instructed, flabbergasted.

  “WE ARE!!”

  Sophie flicked a switch on her ocular device, flicking from night-vision (where she could see the marines clearly) to thermal (where the scene changed to a multitude of colours on a dark background, concurrent heat signatures belonging to the soldiers).

  “They’re amongst us!!” screamed a marine.

  Sophie switched views to night-vision as the soldier who screamed came into view. He had dropped his rifle and was jerking about in
a bizarre dance, before his legs shot out completely from beneath him, as though swept out by invisible feet. He landed hard on his back and his body rocked and juddered on the ground, as though reacting to some sort of physical trauma over or above him.

  Sophie changed back to thermal view.

  Only one set of heat signatures appeared. No one else was close by. “I don’t see them,” said Sophie into her microphone. Yet, all around her, the marines were falling, as though succumbing to invisible assailants.

  Screams were filling the air from ahead of her as other marines danced a similar tango.

  “How’s this possible?” Sophie asked herself. She frantically switched between thermal and night-vision and night-vision and thermal, hoping to see something, but what she viewed did not alter. There was nobody there… yet… the way the marines were acting was contradictory; it seemed to indicate they were in close hand-to-hand combat. Additionally, she sensed the presence of others; unseen, invisible others.

  Maybe my father found a way to make the super soldiers truly invisible… Sophie pondered. George knew the only way to see her when she was invisible was through special glasses or thermal viewing devices. But that would mean genetically altering a subject’s body temperature.

  Through the ocular device, Sophie surveyed the field of battle. A number of marines were still standing but a good many were down, many dead or dying. Like the first soldier she had seen felled indistinctly, she saw another whose body was twitching beneath an unseen assailant. Still in her invisible form, she walked casually forward, the Lantec SFM6 Anti-Personnel dart gun pointing ahead of her, one hand wrapped around the pistol grip, the other holding the weapon steady via its magazine.

  Screams and gunshots continued around her, and still no signs of the enemy. A bullet whistled past, too close for comfort, a puff of air brushing her ear. It was the same ear that had been clipped last October whilst escaping Washington’s Dulles International Airport.

  A couple of feet from the soldier, his chest still gyrating on the ground, Sophie fired her weapon towards a place, approximately knee height, above the fallen marine.

  Instantly, like an illusion, the form of a soldier, clad in what looked to be silver-foil, appeared half-kneeling and half-straddling his victim. Unaware that he was no longer invisible, the sixteen-year-old carried on killing the marine beneath him. Using a combat knife – similar to the one Dominic had buried in Meredith’s back – he rained down blow after blow, stabbing the marine mercilessly in a frenzy.

  With just as little compassion, Sophie whipped out her Glock, aimed it at the back of the young killer’s head and shot him. By now, the marine beneath his buckled body was dead.

  “Emily, we’re fighting blind at the moment. Dominic has found a way to block thermal imaging, some sort of reflective clothing. Sound the retreat. We’ll need to think of something else.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Brayden

  “Not a chance. Come… come with me.”

  Brayden led Mullins away from where Emily was standing towards one of the now empty amphibious boats that was beached. When a big enough area had formed between them and Sophie was long out of hearing range, Brayden articulated his thoughts:

  “Sophie means to kill him, which is understandable after what he’s put her through,” said Brayden knowingly, before adding: “So, it’s imperative we get to him first.”

  “How, Brayden?” asked Mullins.

  Brayden looked about the shore consciously, as though searching for the answer. Ahead, the floodlights illuminated much of the beach for a mile one way, and for as far as they could see the other. Some marines could be seen hunkering down low as they scaled the grassy hill and prepared for the fight on the other side.

  “The marines have Dominic’s defences tied up at the front. Maybe we could walk down there for a bit,” Brayden pointed left, away from the warehouse, “walk inland a little; maybe then head on towards the building’s rear; maybe there’s a back entrance.”

  “I don’t know Brayden, sounds like a lot of maybes.”

  “Do you have any better ideas?”

  Mullins didn’t. “Okay. Let’s tell Emily and get some backup.”

  “There’s no time and she’s busy. Besides, our agents have gone in with the marines; they have their own battle to win. It’ll be more evasive if we go in on our own… just in case this area is under scrutiny.”

  Mullins unclipped her gun holster and withdrew her weapon. Like Sophie, she had taken a Glock 19. She checked the magazine to ensure that it was fully loaded, and chambered a round. “Ready when you are,” she said simply.

  As they passed over the hill’s summit, a glance to the right yielded a great view of the warehouse’s foreground. They had travelled for a quarter of a mile, to a place they deemed a ‘safe distance’.

  Through the ocular piece that was secured over his eyes, Brayden was able to magnify his view. Crouching down low, hoping to avoid detection, he could see the defensive positions held by Dominic’s mercenaries and ahead of them the force of Royal Marines taking cover within dilapidated old ruins, taking potshots at the enemy. As Sophie was invisible, he couldn’t see her (not without changing to thermal setting), but he thought he could see some familiar faces. The big man Liam was standing clear of cover and was firing a M60 machine gun. Next to him was an FBI field agent he recognised taking encouragement from the MI6 man. The ‘rat-a-tat’ of gunfire and what sounded like a loud ‘putt!’ every so often as a sniper rifle was discharged provided the soundtrack to Brayden and Mullins’ advance.

  “The way ahead looks clear,” whispered Mullins, whose attention was focused on a patch of land that was dark where floodlighting was not directed; just before it there was an area that glowed as though under a spotlight.

  “Let’s go.” Brayden tore his eyes away from the skirmish and set forth down the other side of the embankment. In a squat, they ran across the brightly lit area, seemingly taking an age to reach the canvas of darkness. Stopping for a moment to catch his breath, Brayden used hand signals to communicate their next movement. He directed towards the rear of the warehouse. To get to it, they would have to trudge through terrain that was overgrown with long grass and rugged with sand piles, hummocks and some very treacherous dips and inclines, a point proven when Mullins slipped and twisted her ankle after stepping down upon an animal’s bolt hole, likely belonging to a rabbit.

  “Ah, sh–” Mullins stopped mid-curse and hobbled for a bit.

  “Are you all right?” asked Brayden in a hushed tone.

  “Nothing an icepack and some Demerol can’t fix,” Mullins hissed back.

  “Are you good to carry on? We’re nearly there.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Mullins replied through gritted teeth.

  Five minutes later Brayden led Mullins onto a path that seemed to follow a course towards the shadows of the hulking black warehouse. It was too dark to see, the metal-halide lamps not casting any light beyond the midpoint of the building. Both Brayden and Mullins had activated the night-vision setting on their eyepieces and were viewing the world through a greenish-grey tint.

  “Look… over there,” Brayden was pointing, “a rear door.” Like the front of the warehouse, and both south and north side walls, there were no other signs of entry or any windows. “The way in,” he said quietly.

  From ahead, gunfire slackened and then stopped altogether.

  That was over quick, thought Brayden. His opinion swiftly altered on hearing the dull ‘thut’ sound that seemed like a scratch in the air, followed by an explosion that made the ground quake beneath Brayden and Mullins’ feet. The walls of the building appeared to shake and judder.

  “What was that?” asked Mullins, already knowing the answer.

  “My guess… a tank.” They had been standing next to one of the Challengers on the
boat coming in. “They’ve unlocked the door and are now about to go in.”

  “That’ll keep Dominic’s soldiers busy,” said Mullins, blithely.

  “That’s also our cue; come, let’s go…” replied Brayden. He started forward and didn’t stop until he was at the rear door. Mullins, still limping, was slower but was soon at Brayden’s side.

  Comms links were issued to all as standard, and the earpiece in Brayden’s ear crackled to life, followed by Emily’s voice:

  “Agent Scott, where the hell are you?”

  Giving it no mind, Brayden removed the earpiece and dropped it into a pocket within his jacket.

  “What was that?” asked Mullins, using the break to rub absently at her sore ankle.

  “Oh, nothing,” he replied. “I guess our absence has been noticed. I’ll apologise to her later. Let’s move in, hell waits for no one…” Brayden tried the door handle. As expected, it wasn’t locked. They were on an uninhabited island, so why would it be? The door’s only function was to secure the building from the encroaching elements. Before entering, he armed himself. Hanging behind him by the straps of a harnessed sling was the Lantec SFM6 Anti-Personnel dart gun, the barrel pointing downwards close to his rump. In readiness, he pulled it round to his front and hung it about his neck ‘military patrol ready’. He curled a finger loosely on the trigger, whilst his right hand was hovering close to his deadlier weapon – like Mullins and Sophie, he had opted for a Glock 19 also – holstered at his waist.

  Brayden was about to move in, then stopped. He turned and faced Mullins before speaking softly. “Be alert. Remember back in Fresno when we were up against Sophie?”

  “How can I forget?”

  “That was kindergarten. There are eighty-six of them just like Sophie inside here, so let’s keep our focus. I don’t care for any of these so-called sons of GYGES; it’s Dominic we want.” He pulled the metal door fully open and entered a large, empty room beyond. The lights were on, but nobody appeared to be home.