CHAPTER FORTY
Russell Cayman arrived in Singen on Thursday morning, German time, around the same time as his boss, Zak Block, was finding it increasingly hard to get the idea of sitting on Odin’s throne out of his head.
Cayman had returned from Hawaii, collected the remainder of the bones of Kali, and driven them just over four hundred miles west, almost in a straight line, bypassing Munich, and finally heightening his vigilance as he entered the industrial city. The mountain of Hohentwiel, with its ancient fortress ruins and extinct volcano, reared majestically to the west of the city, the ruined castle itself no stranger to violence – it had resisted five imperial sieges in its time.
Cayman parked the car carefully well before the foot of the mountain, hearing the two oversized holdalls shift in the back, their weight giving them their own inertia or, as Cayman liked to believe, Kali reminding him of her presence.
With difficulty, he wrenched his thoughts away from the goddess and surveyed the mountain. Again, he was a little early. Block’s men were only hours away, but Cayman had never been one to mix with or wait for others. Besides, he was hungry.
Making sure the tiny part of Kali’s finger bone still nestled in his pocket, Cayman exited the car and began to make his way up the mountain on foot. The archaeological exploration was being conducted all the way at the top and, out of respect for the locals, was minimized to that area. So the tourists and Cayman, and Block’s men, would be able to get all the way to the perimeter without immediate detection.
No doubt the pesky Americans would have secreted a few hidden cameras amongst the trees, but by the time their contents were properly scrutinized, it would be way too late. So Cayman walked contentedly but warily, the sunlight dappling his face, the patchy shadows calling his name. He had time to kill.
Not to mention tourists.
****
Zak Block allowed the fantasy to take him over. He was already a god – a secret, shadowy god, but when he took that throne – when he took his rightful place upon the very seat of Odin – the destiny that was rightfully his would come to wondrous fruition. When three like minds came together, wishes boosted by the latent power and energies inherent inside tombs literally built and occupied by the gods, then Odin’s power would truly be his.
It stood to reason that the three tombs would be connected in some way, perhaps through earth energy. Block had read about many such phenomena before. Places where the natural electromagnetic energy of the Earth vitalizes an area and enables the existence of power. Energy could move vertically or horizontally. If the tombs had been built atop vortexes and along lines of vital, natural energy then it was clear that they were linked in the same way.
He was not unaware of the fact that Jakob Hult’s translation of the ancient text had gone on to state where each ‘like mind’ should stand. Probably an ancient trigger for the device. But it was all speculation, and not something he cared too much about anyway.
For now his efforts should be concentrated solely on the third man. Cayman and he were not enough. They needed a third individual. The Shadow Elite always had a kind of waiting list, a small group of people desperate to join what they thought were the world’s decision-makers. Among the men on this list was one Dmitry Kovalenko, the Blood King, but he was unavailable due to secret incarceration in a godforsaken prison even Block couldn’t locate. Truth be told, Kovalenko was too crazy and unpredictable anyway. He’d probably want to kidnap the U.S. President or something. Block had heard of his blood vendettas and blood vengeance. Not quite the Shadow Elite’s way.
Another name on the brief list was that of Nicolas Denney. The aging European had made respectable money through dot-com businesses in the early days of the Internet and had consolidated with sensible land and financial purchases over the last two decades. In addition, he was a thrill junkie. Block didn’t know anything this man hadn’t tried for kicks and, even at sixty, he had recently completed another round of Himalayan trekking. Add these qualities to the common trait of a rich man always wanting more, and Block had found the perfect fool.
Partner, he amended rapidly in his head. Best not to get ahead of himself. One of his secure lines rang, and he answered quickly, listening without comment to the vital information being eagerly spilled on the other end.
When the man had finished, Block simply said, “You will be rewarded.” And hung up. Interesting. The U.S. and their local allies were moving to secure all three tombs, perhaps somehow aware of an evolving threat. He wondered if Cayman had showed himself. That psycho and his damn prize. What made a man fall in love with the bones of an old god? Far better the tangible power they had once commanded.
Block thought back over the killers he had employed through the years. Cayman was probably the oddest, but there was one other he knew of – a woman, deeply embedded even now inside the British . . .
He paused with his line of thought. The critical call was coming in. He stared at the satellite phone, unable to believe the time had finally come.
From now on, it was the Shadow Elite versus the rest of the world. The battle of all battles.
“Yes?”
“Sir. All four cells are in position. One at Singen, one in Iceland, and two in Honolulu. We’re ready.”
Block’s heart started to pound with excitement, fear and anticipation. This was everything he had been waiting for. “Go to war.”
****
Cayman ignored the vibration of his cell phone as he peered through a canopy of overhanging branches into the heart of a clearing. Dangling from his left hand was the corpse of a rabbit he’d used a makeshift snare to trap within an hour of getting here. Blood dripped from the rabbit’s neck, the same blood Cayman had coated his lips and chin with. He just hadn’t been able to resist. Ah, the sweet, thick nectar of life. Spilled blood being the consummation of death.
But now, literally laid out before him, was quite a different prospect.
A young couple, hikers, enjoying the silence, the solitude and, perhaps, the unspoken thrill of being caught, to enjoy a different kind of consummation. Cayman watched intently. Once the couple had clearly lost all awareness of their surroundings, he crept silently forward until he stood directly behind the male, unseen, in their blind spot. He waited another minute and then simply bent over, jabbing the man several times in the ribs with his knife. Cayman leaned in and covered the man’s screaming mouth, then flung the writhing body aside. The woman’s shocked eyes stared into his own, glazed with ignorance, terror and denial until he fell upon her, ending her life with a single slice.
Her life force pumped into the ground, drawing Cayman’s eyes and attention. In another moment there was movement behind him and a man wearing camouflage fatigues stepped out of the underbrush, closely followed by many others, state-of-the-art weapons at the ready.
“The boss says answer your damn phone, Cayman,” the man hissed, holding out his own device. “Good job that phone he gave you holds a tracking chip.” He glared pointedly. “For your sake. Here, take this. Wipe off your damn hands and talk to the boss.”
Cayman sat back and pushed to his feet. The time for play had ended. It was time to go to work.
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
The first of Block’s cells hit Iceland’s tomb like an arctic storm. With little to do for months, and orders for heightened vigilance having only just being issued, the defending force was more than a little unprepared for the professional team of crack mercenaries that attacked and overwhelmed them.
Shooting mercilessly, the dozen-strong team killed or incapacitated every guard, but made sure they took several civilian hostages, most in the form of scientists and archaeologists. Their boss had said they need hold out only for a day and a half – this seemed the most proficient way.
Leaving a few men to keep an eye out for the cavalry, the leader of the cell proceeded to secure the remainder of the tomb of the gods that had been found first.
****
Though not in direct contac
t, the Singen cell struck at exactly the same time. Their job would be more difficult at first, infiltrating the harder-to-reach tomb, but, after that, keeping the local forces at bay for the allotted time shouldn’t be a problem. They took Cayman with them – the man they would make absolutely, terribly sure would stand at the center of the tomb when ordered to by the boss – and lugged along his double holdall of bones. Their leader didn’t question a thing. Their payday would be nothing short of the stuff his dreams were made of.
****
In Hawaii, the first cell achieved a strike so precise it could have been sliced by a scalpel. Their initial incursion took them all the way to Odin’s daunting black throne, past defenses they had scrutinized for days, and caught an acceptable amount of scared civilian specialists in the process, some of them especially high up the local pecking chain. The leader was pleased, and only when the mission had ended did he experience an unusual stab of agitation.
Now his team would wait for the arrival of their boss.
The second Hawaiian cell positioned themselves where they might prove most useful, dormant for now, but prepared to move at a moment’s notice . . . if the boss demanded it.
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
Throughout that same day, the SPEAR team and their helpers sought to unravel the mystery surrounding the Swords of Babylon. Akerman read the inscriptions again and again, compared them to all current translations of the language of the gods, which were being stored online in a secret server very few people so far had access to, and lamented about the close relation of the symbols Alexander had chosen to use.
Patterson helped him, bringing all his archaeological expertise and knowledge of Alexander to bear. Dahl stayed with them for a while, but eventually lost interest and went to call his family. Drake and the rest of the team assembled in the kitchen quarters of the billet they had been temporarily assigned in Camp Babylon.
Hayden poured coffees. “Time for a sit rep, I think guys. We have Zoya’s address in Moscow. Zanko and Razin are on the run, their operations shut down. We have six of the seven swords, but not the leader of the pack. Hopefully—” she motioned next door. “The old boys will quit wasting time and crack the code.”
“Problem is.” Kinimaka accepted his mug with a smile. “Short of knowing that Cayman and co. have another way to activate the doomsday device, we’re not aware of his role in all this. I don’t normally dramatize but that’s—”
“A big problem,” Hayden finished.
Drake stared at them “You two should be a double act. You’ve definitely been working together too long.”
The couple looked affronted at exactly the same time. Mai laughed and pocketed her phone. Drake wanted to ask who she’d been texting, but knew this wasn’t the time. Her buried past had risen to haunt her and, as soon as this Babylon thing was out of the way, it would be time to exorcise that malevolent ghost.
“A trip to Moscow sounds good to me.” Dahl wandered in and stared out of the single sand-scoured window. Arid desert met his gaze, the earth already encroaching on the man-made camp, reclaiming its own. The sounds of men shouting and vehicles being driven over short distances hard and fast, the consistent clanging and booming of an Army base, gave life to the environment but it was still an arid, life-sucking landscape out there.
Drake was about to reply when they heard raised voices from the next room. Patterson had mentioned something and Akerman had praised him. Dahl raised an eyebrow. “That means one of two things. Either Patterson just gave Olle an idea or showed him a picture of my wife.”
They moved into the living quarters. Akerman was almost capering with glee. “Listen to this, ja? We mentioned that Alexander the Great embraced many religions in order to rule so many lands. He embraced many myths and local beliefs. He was a king, ja? A pharaoh. And do you remember what we initially said about the language of the gods?”
Drake tried to remember back a few months to when they had first encountered Olle. “We had just escaped tomb three at Singen when Dahl called you. Didn’t you say that the language was a complete syllabary?”
“Spot on. A syllabary is a complete writing system that uses symbols to represent all the syllables of a language, ja? Remember?”
Hayden and Kinimaka both nodded. “Ja.”
Drake grunted. “A mix of Greek, Chinese, Mayan and so on.”
“Exactly! And that is also what Alexander’s inscriptions are based on. It’s why the symbols are slightly different. The writing system draws on scripts used in many of the lands he conquered. And purposely so. It’s a kind of code, impossible to crack until the tombs were discovered and, consequently, the language of the gods. If we never found the tombs – the swords would never be translated and never actually be needed. Very clever.”
Patterson positively glowed.
“Can you translate them?” Hayden asked.
Akerman gloated. “Put me in front of a computer and a light-fingered female.” He stared at Mai. “I’ll have it down in no time.”
The Japanese woman gave him a dangerous look. “I save these fingers for killing.”
“Then at least I’d die happy.” Akerman was incorrigible and scooted across the room to the little corner PC. He began to type, humming happily. Dahl grabbed a chair and sat next to him, sending a look of apology across to Mai.
“Speaking of dying happy,” Drake murmured. “Have you heard from Smyth lately?”
Mai’s expression remained hard for almost two seconds before she allowed a slight smile to curl the sides of her lips. “What do you think?”
“Not getting under your skin is he, Maggie?” Drake joked.
“Matt,” Mai sighed. “Smyth would have more chance with Maggie Q, believe me.”
****
It took hours, and Akerman would not reveal even a single word until he was finished, but, slowly, painstakingly, the inscriptions on the six swords began to make a sort of sense. Akerman insisted he reveal the swords in order – as best he could divine – and moved to stand before them like a lecturer in a classroom. The team gathered around and Hayden made sure to include Karin and Komodo by speakerphone.
“Okay,” he said. “First sword. It says this—” He cleared his throat and began to narrate. “The device that was made by the hands of the Gods can be unmade.”
“A direct reference to the doomsday weapon,” Kinimaka said immediately, voicing the thoughts of everyone. “This is for thinking.” He tapped his head and pointed at his feet. “These are for dancing.”
Hayden shook her head. “Well, at least we know we can stop – or even destroy – the device. At least that’s something.”
“But not how,” Yorgi spoke up, trying to get involved.
“Sword two.” Akerman shushed them “What was suspended at Ragnarok can be recreated.”
Minutes of silence followed, then, “Armageddon?” Hayden wondered. “Are they saying the swords could bring about Armageddon?”
“I don’t think so,” Karin’s tinny voice warbled through the little speakerphone. “If you remember Odin purposely prevented Armageddon at Ragnarok at that time because he knew all the gods would die, but he didn’t stop it forever. He prevented it so, at a later date, he could return. And Ragnarok was all about the deaths of the gods.”
Kinimaka let out a breath. “I don’t get it.”
“The inscription – the message – says we can actually bring about the true deaths of the gods, preventing them from ever returning, and ending this threat once and for all.” She coughed. “Forever.”
“It’s a thought, but listen further,” Akerman interrupted. “And so to the third sword. What was written in time can be erased. Speakerphone girl, I think this corroborates your theory.”
“Yes it does,” Karin said. “The prophecy of the gods’ return was written in time.”
“And the fourth bears further fruit.” Akerman paused. “That which is only sleeping can be destroyed forever.” He nodded to himself. “The gods.”
�
��Two to go.” Patterson rubbed his hands together excitedly.
“Well these two are real doozies,” Akerman said with a touch of gloom. “I have no idea what they mean together. First – take two swords each to the tombs and the Great Sword to the pit. And the last one – and channel the fires of your own destruction.” He stopped.
Drake glanced around, seeing blank faces and knitted brows. Karin remained quiet. At last Kinimaka said, “What the hell does channel mean?”
Drake shrugged. “I have no idea. But we’re clearly missing one thing here. The seventh sword. Actually the Great Sword. Its inscription might tell us all we need to know.”
“And . . .” Karin spoke up. “Count the swords. Two swords to each tomb makes six. My guess is the seventh has a different purpose.”
“If they can destroy those tombs,” Drake said. “And the device, I’m beginning to think it’s not such a bad thing.”
Hayden looked a little horrified. “You can’t say that,” she blurted. “You work for the U.S. government.”
Drake laughed. “Since when did that ever stop us blowing things up?”
“Think of it,” Mai said. “The threat of the device and the gods – gone forever.”
Professor Patterson moved to stand beside Akerman. “Consider this. Earth energy is heavily involved here somewhere. Pure elemental power. I believe that is what the doomsday device was all about in the first place?” He looked to his left.
Akerman nodded.
“The swords were made by someone who knew all about earth energy and how to negate an earth energy vortex. Alexander. He knew about the gods and the device but wasn’t dumb enough to try and use it. He sought instead to counteract its effect. Wherever earth energy gathers in a vortex is called a sacred place, and, in many of them, you often find standing stones placed there by the ancients who had – shall we say – more time to contemplate these things. The three tombs are more than likely built atop the three most powerful in existence. But there are also vile vortexes around the world. Think – areas where ships and aircraft disappear, where radios and compasses don’t work, where regular upheaval occurs in the Earth’s crust, where monsters are seen, where people exist perpetually in a state of unrest. There are many, many reasons why these swords could have been created.”
The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake 6) Page 15