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

by Philip J. Gould

  “I’m starting to wish I’d ignored you and told Emily where we were going now,” muttered Mullins to herself, following Brayden in.

  The room appeared to be a training or recreation hall, with a climbing wall at one side and obstacle equipment to the other. There were also some sports’ facilities in close proximity: table tennis, five-a-side football goals, basketball hoop stands and judo crash mats.

  The flooring glistened under the high overhead fluorescents and squeaked underfoot like that of an NBA basketball court. Brayden adjusted the viewing setting from night-vision to thermal, wishing he’d done that before stepping in. Just because the room appeared empty, didn’t mean it was. Like Sophie, the GYGES kids could turn themselves invisible just by the merest thought.

  Looking around the room through his altered lenses, he could see no one was in the room with them. Absolutely no thermal readings were registering, not even from behind the walls.

  The air raid siren was still wailing from outside the building and distantly, the ‘pop’ and ‘bang’ of gunfire had started up again.

  “I don’t like this, Brayden,” said Mullins quietly, “not at all.” Something didn’t feel right.

  “Let’s keep going.” Approximately thirty metres from the building’s rear exit were an internal set of double-doors. Without waiting, Brayden strode across the hall.

  Behind him, Mullins started to follow then fell hard to the ground.

  “Oomph!” Her Glock slipped from her hand and skidded across the lacquered floor. What the hell!

  She had tripped on something and lay sprawled on her front. Peering back over her shoulder a few feet, she expected to see the object causing her tumble.

  Instead, there was nothing.

  Brayden turned to see his partner slowly picking herself up from the floor. Mullins was reaching for her gun when the weapon shot away from her, skidding like a puck on an ice rink.

  “What the –” Before she could finish, her head jerked back, as though she were struck hard in the face. Endorsing the theory, blood started to ooze from both nostrils, one trickle slightly faster than the other. She tried to focus on what had just happened, but before she could the world began to blur and fuzz over, followed by sheer darkness. She slumped forward unconsciously to the floor.

  “Christina?” Brayden tugged free his gun and was hurrying back to the FBI agent’s side. Where her gun now lay, he figured it was too far to have travelled on its own, not without third party intervention.

  Which meant only one thing.

  They weren’t alone.

  On realising, he was standing back on his feet, his Glock pointing ahead, his trigger finger a synapse away from ejecting a bullet.

  Brayden pivoted his head from one side to another. The thermal setting on his goggles was still on, and his eyes searched painstakingly for signs of another within the room. He even looked skyward, towards the high ceiling.

  No thermal images were being registered, not from any aspect of the room.

  “How can this be?” he asked himself.

  As if to answer him, an invisible rifle butt connected to the back of his head, and like Mullins a minute or slightly less before, he felt the moment and the world’s entire problems swim away from him.

  Nothing is more startling than a bucket of ice cold water being thrown into your face. Slushy water and ice chips cascaded down his body.

  Brayden gasped, as though for his first (or last) breath, and felt his heart triple-somersault in his chest as a rush of adrenaline flooded his system, preparing him for fight or flight.

  He could do neither.

  It quickly became evident that he was tied to a chair in much the same way he had confined Harriet Jennings back in the Norfolk warehouse six months earlier. Cable ties bound his wrists and ankles, pulled tight to restrict movement. Unlike her, water was dripping from his face and had soaked through his clothing.

  He shivered.

  A bright operating theatre light on a cantilever arm attached to the wall was positioned a little above Brayden’s head, the LED bulb blinding him to everything else in the room. He turned his head away, seeking a way to escape its glare.

  “Agent Brayden Scott, what a pleasure it is to see you again.” Dominic Schilling was buoyant and was standing alongside the restrained man. “Tell me, did you honestly think you had a chance against us?”

  “How?”

  “My initiates,” he replied. “I knew you’d be able to see them… through your thermal imaging glasses, so we thought to counter that. It just so happened, Kaplan Ratcliff had been developing clothing that used Mylar foil, a material more commonly used in emergency blankets. It’s good for containing body heat, so we had uniforms made out of the stuff. It’s quite remarkable how effective they are; blocks infrared detection systems almost by one hundred percent. Cheap too! Though, gets a bit stuffy inside, I’m told. But what’s a little discomfort?”

  “We won’t stand a chance.”

  “I know! That’s the best part!”

  The repercussions were enormous, cataclysmic even. He didn’t want to think more on it. “Where’s Mullins?” he asked instead, fear for the FBI agent suddenly overriding any other concerns.

  “The woman? She your partner?” Dominic didn’t wait for any reply. “I believe she’s alive… a bit bruised and bloody, but still fairer to look at than you. I may let her live… when this is all over. But you… you’re not going to be so lucky. You’re going to be begging me to kill you… by the end.”

  Brayden tensed his arms and struggled against the white plastic strips strapping his wrists together, the motion caused his upright form to rock and buck on the wooden chair.

  The cocking sound of a handgun caused Brayden to cease moving. “Okay Dominic. Let’s not do anything too hasty… you can get out of this alive… I can help you…”

  “You? Help me? Like you did last July, when you had me dumped here on this bloody island?” He was still bitter regarding the experience.

  “That was a misunderstanding,” Brayden said, sounding desperate. In truth, the man’s dumping on Hirta wasn’t his idea; he merely instructed that he be ditched somewhere… someplace remote.

  “Doesn’t matter; turned out to be a blessing, truth said. I never would’ve met the love of my life…” The thought of Elspeth, lying in bed at the hotel room in Edinburgh, flashed into mind.

  “What do you want? Is it money? The President –”

  Dominic interrupted the CIA agent. “– doesn’t negotiate with terrorists,” he finished. “We both know that. And your money? Naaahhh. Have you not heard the news? My men have amassed me more wealth than I could ever spend.”

  “What is it then?” Brayden pressed.

  “What if I said ‘world peace’?”

  “I’d say you’re the wrong sex; and you Brits don’t do beauty pageants.”

  Dominic started to laugh. “I like you Brayden… really I do. You were always funny, like an everyday Jim Carrey.”

  “Maybe I should audition for an Ace Ventura remake.”

  Dominic ignored the agent’s attempt at wit. He switched off the bright light and turned, gazing at a table at the side of the room. Upon it were Brayden’s weapons. He gave them a cursory glance over before returning his attention to the American. “You see, the world needs fixing. There are too many wars and too much ill begotten wealth. Populations are over-expanding to breaking point and the exploitation of the earth’s natural resources are at the expense of humanity itself. It can’t go on forever. The world needs a new order. Things need to be done – terrible things – but all for the greater good.”

  “You sound insane, Dominic. You’re delusional. Next you’ll be saying you were visited by God in a dream.”

  He didn’t deny it.

  “Don�
�t you see, Brayden? Something needs to be done. We need to save ourselves… from ourselves… before it’s too late.”

  It was Brayden’s turn to laugh. Long and mirthful, and so intense, his amusement brought tears to his eyes. It took every ounce of restraint for Dominic to stop from unholstering his handgun, and bringing the heel of it down against the American’s head.

  “I expected people to laugh,” said Dominic dejectedly. “But they won’t be laughing soon. None of you will… you’ll see. Once we’re finished with Britain, we’ll take over Europe, then America, Asia, Africa… you name it. I’ll even take the bits nobody wants.”

  “Even France?”

  Dominic ignored the wisecrack. “We will be completely unstoppable,” he continued. “We’ll heal the world, and make it a better place.”

  “You’ve been listening to too much Michael Jackson.”

  “Keep making your stupid jokes, but I’ll be having the last laugh.”

  “Honestly… Dominic, listen to what you’re spouting. You lost four of your super soldiers in London yesterday… if you carry on like you are, the rest will follow.”

  “But that was before I had the diamond,” said Dominic, as though it gave him a huge advantage.

  “Well, that sounds crackpot.”

  Dominic made out that he didn’t hear him. “The Whisper of Persia once belonged to Cyrus the Great. It was said that it was presented to him by God himself –”

  “Here we go.”

  “– and with its innate power, Cyrus was able to conquer the Middle East, parts of Europe and the whole north of Africa. It was under his rule his people flourished in peace and prosperity. This is what we could ALL have. The legends are real, and with this stone…” Dominic presented the diamond using a parlour trick, making it appear from nowhere. It glowed under the ceiling lights majestically. “…I will take over the world.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Sophie

  “It’s made from the same stuff NASA use to line their space suits. It’s radiation proof and helps regulate heat. AND it’s also very good at blocking infrared, hence why you couldn’t see the kids wearing it.”

  Emily was holding the suit and studying it under a spotlight built into the amphibious boat which she had travelled to the beach on. Beside her were Sophie (now fully visible), Liam and a number of marines. Upon discovering their inability to see their adversaries, Emily had sounded the retreat. Once clear of the battle zone, the tanks were ordered to fire a few rounds, to cover her soldiers’ withdrawal. A few stragglers were now making their way over the hill, one half-dragging an injured colleague across his shoulder.

  “Why didn’t we think of that?” admonished Sophie. The idea was so simple, it almost beggared belief.

  “Well, it’s something for us to consider going forward,” said Liam perfunctorily. “The question is: how do we get around it? They’ve got total advantage over us; if we can’t see ’em, we can’t kill ’em.”

  Emily appeared to be mulling over the problem when a marine platoon leader who had been pretending not to listen in stepped up. “What about radar?” he asked. His accent was pure Mancunian. Flecks of blood marked his face, none of which were his own. “We have some kit on board the Ocean which may help; new on the market. Handheld radar detection monitors, can scan up to fifty-feet; it’ll detect animate and inanimate objects wherever you point it. We may not be able to see those kids, but if they’re there, the radar will show them.”

  “Would that work?” Emily asked Liam.

  Liam shrugged, “Only one way to find out.”

  A Westland Lynx helicopter delivered the order of handheld radar units within ten minutes of Emily’s conversation with Captain Beresford. Five minutes later they had been unpacked and distributed amongst what was left of the strike force. Accepting one, Sophie and Liam led the way back towards the warehouse – forty-one marines following close behind them – over the grassy embankment and down the other side.

  “Keep a look out for agents Scott and Mullins,” instructed Emily over the comms link. “I want them found post haste.” No one had noticed the Americans’ absence, despite Emily’s failed attempt at reaching them over the radio, until Sophie had returned with the Mylar combat suit, and that was only when Emily wanted to gauge the CIA agent’s opinion on the matter.

  Passing between the single line of cottages in their various states of repair, the marines steadied their handheld radar units, holding them like speed guns, directing them this way and that. The radar’s LCD displays were rectangular, and adopted the C-Scope ‘bullseye’ view; the centre of the ‘cross-line’ symbolised the radar’s host, or the originating point, and the four quadrants within the circular field represented an area fifty-feet in all directions; front right and front left (at the top of the screen) and back right and back left (at the bottom).

  Abandoning their earlier bravado, the commandos were now carrying their Lantec SFM6 Anti-Personnel dart guns one-handedly, their more lethal weapons stowed over their backs or holstered by their sides.

  Entering the open ground leading to the warehouse, the Royal Marines began to fan out. Ahead, parts of the black building were on fire and all around them lay dead marines.

  Without warning, Sophie’s radar screen pulsated red and started to bleep. A small ‘blip’ appeared at the top of the screen, followed by two more ‘blips’. Beside her, Liam tensed up and prepared his weapon to fire.

  Looking ahead, the way still appeared clear. Even with the night-vision goggles set to infrared, they could easily have been tricked into believing the foreground was still deserted.

  “They’re there,” asserted Sophie fixedly.

  “I see them,” replied Liam, nodding towards the radar screen he shared with Sophie. A quick sideward glance to his left, then another to his right, signified that the marines accompanying them could see them also. “There’s more too. Over there.” Liam pointed towards the left side of the building. “And there.” There was quite a force of others on the right side, lurking about, waiting as though in ambush.

  Liam opened up the line on his comms link. “Let’s coordinate our attack. At the moment, they think we are blind to them. Let’s not spoil the surprise.”

  “Copy that,” chorused over the airwaves.

  “Those rifles have a precision range of two hundred feet,” said Emily through their earpieces. “Make them count.”

  At thirty feet, a shot rang out from ahead. One of the invisible super-solders had fired a pistol and, twenty-three soldiers along, one of their men collapsed to the floor, clutching his stomach and crying in agony.

  “As Emily said, make it count. On three...”

  Sophie counted: one, two, three, in her head, and fired the dart gun at the nearest target ahead of her. As the ‘charge’ required to fire the weapon was small and the weapon contained a built-in suppressor, the discharge was almost silent. Beside her, Liam fired at the same soldier. As the rifle carried five darts, Sophie took aim at a second target, fired, then a third and a fourth.

  Within seconds, the seemingly ‘empty space’ ahead of them began to fill up with Mylar-foil garbed soldiers, initially oblivious to their altered state, but soon cowering for refuge as they realised they were no longer invisible, and their genetically heightened abilities were also radically reduced.

  “Look… they’re fleeing.” Liam pointed to the left side of the building where the no longer ‘super soldiers’ were retreating; a stream of others were joining them from the right and centre. One or two stayed behind in assumed positions of leadership, and were waving their comrades on; a recently constructed barrier soon provided cover as they began firing machine guns at the advancing force of commandos.

  Their aim was now erratic, desperate and ostensibly unskilled, though still very dangerous.

  A ‘crack’ sounde
d as a sniper, using a rifle similar to the one Sophie had pulled from Amberson earlier, took a kill shot. The head of one of the sixteen-year-olds shielding his deserting companions exploded and his body rocketed backwards.

  “They’re going to be slaughtered,” whispered Sophie, sadly.

  Underscoring the point, a mortar round was fired from one of the Challenger tanks along the beach, the deadly charge exploding amidst the fleeing youths, killing some and injuring others.

  Before the fulmination had a chance to subside, another ‘crack’ from a sniper rifle, this time felling the second youth providing his colleagues with cover fire, leaving the former super soldiers unprotected and exposed.

  “Platoon leaders, cascade the order to cease fire.” Emily’s voice filled Sophie and Liam’s ears, though intended for the others in command on the field; almost immediately gunfire stopped.

  “I guess that’s our lead-in. Come; the way is clear.”

  Behind them, the Westland Lynx helicopter took off not far from where Emily was standing, and began to hover forward, billowing sand and sea spray into the wind for it to fall down in sheets upon the bordering mound and the row of abandoned cottages, a bright beam of light aimed towards the ground beneath it. Slowly, it floated over their heads and moved steadily towards the rugged expanse of land that bordered the large warehouse. Within the hills and dunes the sons of GYGES now spread themselves as they sought escape or refuge.

  “THROW DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND SURRENDER!” A marine wearing a green beret instead of a helmet was leaning out of the helicopter, amplifying his voice through an olive green, two-handled, megaphone. He was issuing his directive towards the fleeing figures below him. “SURRENDER NOW AND YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED! THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING!”