The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake 6)

by Leadbeater, David

  Mai indicated the truck slewed across the road ahead. “There are two still alive out there.”

  “Makes no difference. If they return to the jail we’ve got ‘em off our backs. If they follow our asses we can ambush them. Main thing is – let’s get the truck outta here.” She pointed at the vehicle they had arrived in. “That truck.”

  Kinimaka laughed. Alicia scowled at him. “Mano. What the hell have you done to her? Though clearly not English, she at least used to seem human.”

  ****

  Within three hours they were installed inside one of the CIA’s Moscow-based safe houses. The last of the prison guards hadn’t bothered to follow them, leaving the rest of their getaway uneventful. Drake had asked that all questions be delayed until they were safe and could relax a little, so, after showering, eating and spending a few moments with Mai, the team gathered in various poses around the front room. Curtains were drawn against the dark and prying eyes. All exits were locked and watched over by a central CCTV system. Alarms were activated.

  Kinimaka stood by the window. Through the gap between the material and the plaster wall, he had a good view of the street outside. The big man didn’t take any chances at safe houses. He still had nightmares about the one assaulted by Boudreau and the Blood King’s small army.

  He listened as Drake described his first few hours of captivity. The Russians, Razin and Zanko, sounded like the type of men their team had been assembled to deal with. When Drake introduced Yorgi, Kinimaka studied the whip-like man with new eyes.

  A thief. An escaped felon. A resourceful procurer of goods. A sly, clever man with secret agendas.

  Alicia stated the obvious out loud. “So you helped Drake so he’d drag your sorry carcass outta there? What now?”

  Yorgi bit hard into the burger he’d been handed, clearly savoring something other than prison fodder. “Now? I have not thought so far—”

  “Balls,” Alicia said. “You thought very well.”

  Yorgi shrugged. Drake stepped in. “Give the guy a chance. He has information we can use. Don’t forget, this was Razin’s prison, full of his men.”

  Yorgi nodded, still chewing. “He owned the men, the guards, everything.”

  Hayden spoke up, “We saw something of Razin’s research when we hit the timber yard. Ancient Babylon, the Tower of Babel, the Dance of the Seven Veils. Singen.” The last word was directed at Drake with some poignancy.

  The Yorkshireman caught on. “Come again?”

  “They found some kind of link between Singen and Babylon. And Babylon, translated, means Gateway of the Gods.”

  “Razin did ask a shedload of questions about the third tomb,” Drake remembered. “It was pretty much all he was interested in.” He proceeded to relate everything Yorgi had told him about the seven swords, Razin’s proclamation that they would turn him into a world leader, how they were searching for them in the old ruins, and of the American professor who was helping them against his will.

  “They’re holding this professor somewhere around Red Square,” Drake finished. “Though I do believe Yorgi sniffed out a little more before our departure?”

  Yorgi stepped in, eager to help. “I did give up over half my stash for this. He’s on Tverskaya Street.”

  Kinimaka felt a tendril of shock squirm in his stomach. The rest of the team looked understandably disturbed. “An American professor being held here?” Hayden nodded at the window. “In Moscow. Are you kidding?”

  “Razin nabbed him when he blabbed too much about his bloody research,” Drake told her. “And Red Square’s twenty minutes away . . .”

  “We need to prepare,” Hayden said. “Speak to Gates.”

  Mai agreed. “Maybe we should get the Russians involved.”

  Alicia laughed. “Little sprite, you losing your mind as well as your edge? They’ve been about as useful as an old Skoda so far.”

  Mai shot the Englishwoman a hard look. Kinimaka knew what was behind that cloud. The ex-Japanese agent blamed herself for losing Drake. And something else was going on with her, an event that had ties to her hidden past, and Mai Kitano was clearly stressed.

  They talked until the small hours, and when they were all about to retire for a few hours, Dahl’s cell phone rang.

  The Swede eyed the screen uncertainly. “This is odd.”

  Kinimaka watched him as he listened to the caller. The Hawaiian had been expecting a call of his own tonight, hoping for one from home and dreading one from California. The business with Kono was going to have to be resolved one day.

  Now Dahl put his phone on the table and sat back, looking troubled. “That was Olle Akerman. You remember? My man in Iceland who’s translating the language of the gods? And my friend—” he added.

  “What is it?” Hayden prompted.

  “Well, he says he’ll explain all when he sees me. But something’s happening over at the Icelandic tomb. Three dead. One presumably missing. And . . .” Dahl paused, shaking his head.

  “What?”

  “Olle had to run for his life. He was being chased out of the tomb. By Russell Cayman.”

  “Cayman?” Hayden echoed. “He’s back?”

  “Something very nasty’s going on,” Drake said, glancing around the group. “Something that involves the tombs, these swords, Cayman, and God knows what else. And we need to get up to speed before it’s too late.”

  Dahl jumped to his feet. “And that’s why I’m heading to Iceland,” he said. “On the next flight out.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Russell Cayman had finally come face to face with the true leader of the Shadow Elite. The man’s real name was Zak Block and he welcomed Cayman into his home, explained himself thoroughly, and truly communicated with him as an equal. Times were hard indeed for the Shadow Elite.

  The last remaining member of the secret society that ran the world had called in every favor he had ever been owed. His power had been diminished by the loss of his figurehead – the Norseman – and the other members. Many of his contacts had chosen the opportunity to melt away, to cover their tracks, but Block had reached out like never before, reconnecting with the most powerful, the most vulnerable, clawing in every sinner he could find like a devil reaching up from the lowliest pits of hell. His resources were still almost bottomless, enabling him to find many willing partners to walk the jewel-encrusted path to purgatory.

  This empire would rise anew. It would be bigger than the first. He would not let it fail again.

  On Wednesday, Cayman had sat opposite him, having first deposited the many bones of Kali, carefully wrapped, in an adjoining room. “She has watched over me.”

  “As have we.” Block showed no prejudice at Cayman’s words. “We never went away, Russell. We delved ourselves even deeper and returned armed with much more than a chest full of treasure.”

  “I need no treasure.”

  “Oh, I know. But I could give you the Singen tomb to make your home. What do you think of that?”

  Cayman stiffened. It was all he would ever need.

  “The doomsday device is the fastest way to regain control of the world,” Block said. “For that I need you, Kali, and one other man of like mind.”

  “The pieces of Odin were destroyed,” Cayman said. “Along with the Norseman. What can I do?”

  “You will walk the path, Russell. I will see to it. You and Kali will prepare the way.”

  “How?”

  “We will activate the device, then shut it down. We will show the world our intent and make it squirm at our feet.”

  “You sound like one of the Singen gods,” Cayman pointed out.

  “I know.” Block grinned agreeably, completely missing Cayman’s meaning.

  Cayman had lost none of his investigative prowess during the last few months. “So you’re saying there’s another way to activate the device?”

  “Isn’t there always? Of course. Russell, I have men everywhere, you know that. My network of informants, of paid lurkers, of inside men, is
wider and far deeper than that of the intelligence agency you once worked for, and any other you could care to mention. Previously, I used the Shadow Elite to help cloak my dealings. Now,” he shrugged, “I no longer have that luxury. But I can rebuild.”

  “You have a spy inside the CIA?”

  “I have half a dozen. But that is not where my information came from.”

  Cayman knotted his brow. “Ah, the tombs themselves?”

  “The horse’s mouth is, as ever, the richest procurer of information. My experience has always been – if you need to know something important, go straight to the source, don’t waste your time buying third parties or paying off spies. But Russell, I find myself troubled. I am used to being the man in charge, the man who supervises the supervisor, not the worker and doer of deeds.”

  Cayman nodded. He knew a little of this man’s past and his overwhelming passion. Zak Block had spent many years studying people, all types of people, and cataloguing their reactions to different scenarios, by living amongst them. He had engineered life-altering events for ordinary people just so he could observe how it affected them. His study of human nature had come to an abrupt end when the Shadow Elite fell, dragging him away from his latest and last premise in faraway Blackpool, UK.

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Well, we will all have our roles.” Block shrugged. “You. I. The third man. The cells I am setting up even now to help safeguard our venture. But to help me, you must first understand what has happened. As I mentioned, I have several informers scattered amongst the three tombs of the gods, covering the many skillsets being employed within. My thoughts are that the tombs are being discovered anew every single day, thus giving us the endless potential for new revelations. This view is also held by many of the free world’s governments. They are all over this like carrion worrying at a carcass. My men are experts in their fields, true leaders, thus giving me the edge, I believe.”

  Cayman nodded at the pause, wondering if Block’s new found penchant for anxiety stretched to reassurance too. He sipped from a bottle of water, casting a furtive glance toward the room where Kali lay in pieces. It had been hours since he had last admired her.

  “With that in mind, it should come as no surprise to learn that my translator of the gods’ languages working inside the Icelandic tomb made an enormously significant discovery a few days ago.” Block licked his lips and smiled icily. “A discovery that he brought straight to my attention.”

  “And only he made this discovery?” Cayman tried hard not to make his voice sound skeptical.

  “They have four translators working shifts in there. It’s a substantial job. Once they have passed the security checks, these professors and super-geeks are trusted and left to work as they prefer.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes, Russell, alone. Mr Jakob Hult always works alone, for obvious reasons.” Block was starting to sound annoyed so Cayman let him speak, moving slightly to keep Kali’s bones within his line of sight.

  Block closed his eyes and started to recite from memory, the slight smile on his face showing he savored every single word, “‘And though Odin’s device shall need His nine pieces to activate’.” Block stopped there. “Activate is the wrong word, but my translator assures me it is the closest alternative. ‘There shall remain one more way, this being a double failsafe for Odin and his Gods. And so . . . place three like minds in three separate tombs with three separate parts of the same God. And thus, this way too, there are nine parts. Do this, and the device shall activate, joining the vortexes, and burning the world to ashes’.” Block stopped expectantly.

  Cayman thought it through. “Why is it a double failsafe?”

  “Because it’s a second way to activate the device and we also need three men, separated, all with like minds. I guess it’s like not allowing one man to have his hands on the nuke codes.”

  “And the vortexes?”

  Block pulled a face. “That’s one thing we haven’t fathomed yet.”

  Cayman stared at Kali’s bones. “You want to divide her up?”

  “It’s the only way. I don’t want to start smuggling gods’ bones out of the tombs, not when we have one right here. And Cayman, you will be a big part of this. A big, bright shining part. Think of the reward.”

  Cayman was thinking of the reward. The rest of his life, in solitude, living amongst the vile and sinful, immorally infused old bones of the worst gods in history. “The end justifies the means, I guess.”

  “Oh, it does.” Block’s smile widened. “Imagine our power. Mightier than ever before. Once we hold the key to the device we will own everything.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Cayman saw one more hole. “You mentioned three men?”

  “Three men. Three tombs. Three parts of Kali. In truth, I do not see how us all having like minds makes a difference, but we’ll do that anyway.”

  “Perhaps it has something to do with these vortexes?” Cayman suggested.

  “Perhaps. But now we must prepare, Russell. Your task, as I’m sure you know, is to secrete one of Kali’s bones in each of the tombs, then wait at Singen until the appointed hour when we shall join our minds. Presently, I will go to the Hawaiian tomb. Our third man will be present at the Icelandic tomb.”

  Cayman again found his gaze drawn toward the bags of bones. “Then I’ll get started.” He walked past Block, dismissing himself, and entered the far room. It was only Wednesday. He would visit the Icelandic tomb first, since he knew its layout and security measures. For a moment he stood upright, clearing his mind, then fell to his knees and unzipped the bag.

  Her scent drifted out, ancient malevolence mixed with overwhelming greed and lust, sloth and wrath. All the seven deadly sins infused into a set of dusty old bones that would never quite be just that. Cayman thought his mind may have been a little bit warped before he met Kali, but she had changed all that. Now he could function. Now the way forward was clear.

  His future crouched in festering anticipation, waiting for him in the beautifully wretched tombs of the gods.

  ****

  Zak Block allowed himself not an ounce of judgment. To pull off this gargantuan task he needed Russell Cayman, and now was not the time to form an opinion. Now was the time for action.

  The Shadow Elite, whilst no longer having any kind of major army at its beck and call, still employed many insanely-capable cells in all parts of the world. Mercenaries. Ex-soldiers, disgruntled by low pay and officious officers. Warriors unhinged by all they had seen and done. And the plain crazy – the killers. A small, scattered army remained at Block’s beck and call.

  He called each and every one now, using prearranged code words and promising an influx of funds. He told each one where he needed them and dispatched them immediately, to await his call. He asked an expert cell to travel shortly to Iceland to deal with his translator – Jakob Hult – with extreme prejudice. The man had completed his task and had now become a liability. He knew far too much about Block’s new master plan.

  Each cell would guard a tomb, both covering Cayman’s back and awaiting the hour when three men would turn from mortals into gods and truly rule the world.

  The new game was on.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Torsten Dahl arrived in Reykjavik, Iceland, around Saturday lunchtime and immediately called his friend, Olle Akerman.

  “Where are you, Olle?”

  “What? No greeting, my old friend? I am with your wife. Ha!”

  Dahl waited patiently.

  “Alright, alright, I am nervous that is all. I have been nervous since I saw that Cayman pig sneaking around the tomb. Thought I would never see him again.”

  Dahl knew that Cayman had taken charge of the Icelandic tomb’s operations when everyone still thought he worked for the DIA. “You escaped him, Olle. Remember that. Now, where are you?”

  Akerman gave him the address of a coffee shop. “I have read that Reykjavik is among the safest cities in the world. That is very good,
ja?”

  Dahl left the airport, jumped straight into a taxi and the driver took him into the heart of Rejkyavik. Dahl studied the blocky buildings and the ever present looming spire of Hallgrimskirkja, the mountains across the water in the distance. Rejkyavik was a pretty place and, lacking the bustle of Stockholm, always seemed appealing whenever he visited. Johanna and the kids would love it here. Only trouble was, he only ever visited as part of an ongoing mission. Johanna might not even know he was here.

  Akerman waved from outside the coffee shop as Dahl’s taxi pulled up. Dahl shook his head, paid the driver, and ushered the older man back inside. “Low profile, Olle. Low profile.”

  “Ah. You soldiers and your missions. It is a good job you have people like me to keep your heads in the real world, ja?”

  Dahl directed him to the back of the shop, next to the fire exit. He then ordered drinks and sat down lightly on the edge of a comfortable seat. During the last two hours of flying he had evaluated all the information Drake and Yorgi had conveyed. The only clear move they could make was to try and liberate the professor.

  The team over in Moscow had agreed with him and an operation was even now under way.

  Dahl watched the front doors. “So Olle. Tell me all about it.”

  “Well, first I hear that something has been translated. Something huge. And by one of my colleagues, Jakob Hult. News like that, it is a big thing for us. The process of translation is very boring, Torsten.”

  “Understood. Go on.”

  “So, of the four of us – all translators – suddenly two have had accidents and are dead. And then Jakob, he vanishes. That leaves me. Just me. Very scary.” Akerman shook his head.

  “And then you saw Cayman?”

  “No. Then I decide to investigate.” Akerman grinned. “Jakob’s sector, it is sealed off, but not very well . . .”

  Dahl sighed. “Oh, Olle.”

  “I am very good at this, Torsten. Do not worry. I go over there and have a sneak around. Sadly, I find nothing. Just the same boring translations I am dealing with. But I do see that a small part of the rock is broken away.”