The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake 6)

by Leadbeater, David

  “But the existence of earth energy has never been proven,” Hayden insisted.

  Patterson sighed as if he’d heard it all before. “You should read more. When I say ‘mystical energy’ you immediately qualify me as a wacko. If I was to tell you that I studied in pseudoscience, what would you say to that? Probably the same.” He laughed. “There are literally hundreds of electro-magnetic aberrations around the world and no convincing explanation has ever been forthcoming.”

  “But there’s still no proof.”

  “And there never will be. Do you think your stuffy academics want to be seen investigating events so far out of their comfort zone? The Daily Telegraph reported that the Austrians brought in local earth energy consultants to reduce the number of accidents on Austria’s worst stretch of Autobahn. Roadside monoliths were erected to help restore the natural flow of earth energy. Since that day, over a stretch of two years, the number of accidents fell to zero. But the biggest substantiation of earth energy came from none other than the great inventor himself and employee of Thomas Edison, Nikola Tesla. An electrical and mechanical engineer, physicist, and contributing designer to the modern A.C. electricity supply system, even he later became known as the ‘mad scientist’. He found the Earth to be, quote – ‘literally alive with electrical vibrations’. Tesla believed that when lightning struck the ground it emitted mighty waves that went from one side of the Earth to the other, a great tree of energy. ‘The Earth is a wonderful conductor,’ he said. ‘I could transmit unlimited amounts of power to any place on Earth with virtually no loss’. He even said that it would be possible to split the planet apart by combining vibrations with the correct resonance of the Earth itself. The Earth’s crust would vibrate so vigorously that it would rise and fall hundreds of feet, throwing rivers out of their beds, wrecking buildings and practically destroying civilization. And—” Patterson grinned. “He even tested his theory.”

  The entire team found their mouths agape. Kinimaka said, “Get outta here.”

  “He called it ‘the art of telegeodynamics’, described by him as a controlled earthquake. He stated that the invention could be used to the greatest effect in war.”

  “Of course,” Mai breathed,

  “Then there is HAARP,” Patterson went on. “A huge $250 million project funded by the U.S. Air Force and Navy, curiously located in the same place – Colorado Springs – that Nikola Tesla conducted his own earth energy experiments. They’re studying the ionosphere.”

  Drake waved a hand. “Okay, you’ve convinced us, for now. But all this gets us no closer to finding out what Cayman and his backers are up to.”

  Then Karin’s voice cut in. “This might. I have Secretary of Defense Gates on the line. And brace yourselves – I don’t think it gets worse than this.”

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  Karin patched Gates through on a conference call line. The Secretary of Defense’s voice sounded strained, and Drake clearly heard the underlying exhaustion in the normally upbeat tones.

  “The tombs in Iceland, Germany and Hawaii have come under fire,” he reported. “Not only that, they are now in enemy hands. We still control the surrounds, but the tombs themselves are occupied by hostiles. God help us.”

  Hayden stepped closer to the phone. “Is it Cayman and his boss?”

  “We don’t know. They have hostages. We’re having enough trouble convincing the local authorities that the hostages are the diversion, without wondering who ordered and executed the attacks.”

  “Leave that to us,” Hayden said. Briefly, she reported their findings to date. Drake stated that it sounded like the ‘three like minds in three tombs’ translation was being followed to the letter. Gates sounded distracted, but seemed to take most of it in. When Hayden finished, Gates cleared his throat and took a moment to think before speaking.

  “We’re truly being handed our asses here,” he said. “No one foresaw someone having the capability to organize a simultaneous strike against all three tombs and, not only that, but actually take them. You would think we’d have learned after the Kovalenko business.” He paused. “But still, the serpents inside Capitol Hill distract those who would do good with their constant maneuverings and cunning trickeries. It gets harder every day to keep your eye on all the right balls, to keep them in motion. But now – now we will pay the price. It will take a miracle to get out of this one intact.”

  Gates ended with a brief call to arms. When he finished, the people in the little room, standing close the heart of ancient Babylon, in sand-scoured, sun-scorched Iraq, knew the heights to which they had to reach.

  Higher than ever before.

  “At least we now have a plan,” Drake said. “We have three different tombs with three forces inside. These ‘like-minded’ men will be there too. We need to stop them activating that device by any means necessary.”

  Dahl moved to the table, staring down at the objects resting there. “And we’ll take the swords with us.”

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  Jonathan Gates replaced the receiver in its cradle and put his head in his hands. It constantly amazed him how these egotistical sons of bitches found so many inventive ways to try to end the world. Or rule it. Or whatever twisted designs of supremacy these warped and pitiless individuals aspired to.

  He sat back in his leather chair, staring intently at the Stars and Stripes that hung from a flag pole to the left of his desk. When he shifted, he could see its splendor repeated in the highly polished circular table where he held private meetings, not simply a symbol to him, but a warning to be heeded, a promise to be kept, a way of life to be maintained.

  The photograph of his wife stared back intently from the right hand side of his desk. Not a day went by that he didn’t miss her. Not a day went by that he didn’t quell a rush of intense hatred for her murderer. He touched the frame lightly, a smile lifting the edges of his lips.

  A moment later, one of the phones before him started to ring. As ever, even though a light was flashing, he had a moment’s hesitation, making sure he picked up the right one. It was an internal line.

  “Mr Secretary, I have a Sarah Moxley on the line. You recently approved her. She’s hoping for a lunchtime meeting today, but asked that I stress this is not yet an interview. I have her on hold, sir.”

  Gates stared thoughtfully at the paintings above him. Not an interview? Was she trying to put him at ease or wind him up? It didn’t matter, he could handle anything she threw at him. If only her timing had been better—

  “Please tell her I have to reschedule.”

  “Yes, Mr Secretary.”

  Gates tapped the plastic phone, thinking. The attacks on the tombs carried with them a tiny sliver of silver lining. It appeared that now, General Stone wouldn’t be able to execute his inane plan. The President would be off the hook. As would Gates. But, he knew that with people like Stone, there was always going to be a next time. He made a decision and called Lauren Fox on a personal line.

  “Things have changed,” he said without preamble. “It doesn’t have to happen.”

  “Jesus, are you kidding? I already made contact.”

  Gates frowned. “What sort of contact?”

  “Not that sort. But—” the New Yorker paused, thinking hard. “The sort that, if cancelled, might seem suspect.”

  Damn. Gates reviewed his thinking one more time, but kept coming back to that old adage – don’t poke the beast. There simply wasn’t any gain in provoking a situation that didn’t yet exist. Some men he knew did like to gather dirt, but it wasn’t Gates’ style.

  “Sorry, Lauren. The fallout won’t be as bad as if you went through with it, surely.”

  “It might be as bad. And you wouldn’t get another chance.”

  She was right, but Gates just couldn’t do it. “Abort the plan,” he said. “I’ll speak to you in a few days.”

  Now he stood up and paced his office, black polished shoes treading the plush blue carpet in the footsteps of the men who came be
fore him. The pressure of office bore down so hard it felt like all the weight of the White House was upon him. His team, led by Hayden Jaye, were in the fight of their lives and separated. Even now they fought an unknown enemy without a clear plan of action. The world was on the brink.

  Again.

  Damn these fucking tombs, he thought. They should all be blown to hell.

  Quickly, he made himself calm down. Poured a glass of water. Stared without seeing out of the window. Then he called his secretary back.

  “Come to think of it,” he said. “I need the distraction. Call Miss Moxley back and arrange that lunchtime appointment.”

  “Yes, Mr Secretary.”

  ****

  The catering staff brought bottles of water, sandwiches and cakes minutes before Sarah Moxley was due to arrive. As soon as the Post reporter appeared, his secretary sent her through.

  Gates rose and shook hands, remembering the touch of her skin from before. He invited her to sit at the round table. “Sorry for the formal setting,” he said. “I don’t have too long, Miss Moxley.”

  “Call me Sarah. Something still going on?”

  “Always,” he repeated his words of a few days ago. Gates picked at his food as she talked, moving half a sandwich around his plate like a general arranging battle formations, but he listened well. Moxley talked about her work, her life and the friends she had died beside, but she didn’t ask a single question that put him on alert. Gates found himself interested, relaxing around her, and enjoyed the sight of her winning smile. But there were gulfs between them. He was fifteen years her senior. He was a widower. She was a reporter. He was sworn to this office in more ways than one.

  But still . . .

  When their time came to an end, Gates rose and smiled. “Good to see you again, Miss Moxley.”

  “I’m sure.” She flicked her hair, redhead locks catching a ray of sunshine and every ounce of his attention. “Until next time?”

  “The interview? Yes, we can arrange that.”

  “Who said anything about an interview?”

  Gates stared as she left the room, cursing inwardly that he had to send her away so soon, cursing the old gods and the megalomaniacs and every other piece of self-important shit that made good men worry about the safety of others.

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  Alicia Myles’ feet barely touched the ground before she was whisked from the airport to the stylish Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten Kempinski in the heart of Munich, asked to wear a bikini by a very attentive Lomas, and taken down to the indoor heated pool, one of the very few inside any luxury hotel in the city.

  Alicia was more than a little shocked, but she didn’t ask questions, expecting that Lomas would explain when they got settled. But the sight of the biker gang, sprawled in their speedos around the rectangular beige-tiled blue-lit swimming pool stopped her short.

  “What the fuck, Lomas?”

  The big biker leader pointed to a far corner where, before a huge oval mirror, two women were receiving some kind of spa treatment. From the bright tattoos on their shoulders Alicia recognized the two as Whipper and Dirty Sarah.

  “Did they brainwash you idiots whilst I was gone?” When Alicia left to help Drake, Lomas and the gang had been barely comfortable in the posh hotel the U.S. had stumped up for, every single one of them wondering aloud if it was time to hit the road. Now, they showed all the signs of setting up a permanent camp.

  “Look.” Lomas pointed out Tiny, the enormous Harley rider, sprawled out over a rattan lounger, massive legs and arms touching the floor on all sides and snoring like a grizzly with hay fever.

  Alicia took a deep breath. “Well?”

  Lomas just shrugged his big shoulders. “The staff hate us. They’re not sure whether to bow or run a mile. Let the boys have their sport for a day or two.”

  Alicia relaxed. “And then we’re hitting the road?”

  “Is there another way?”

  “Nope!” Alicia ran and cannonballed into the still pool, splashing water up over the immaculate sides and across the nearest loungers. Fat Bob and Knuckler sat up complaining. Laid-Back Lex, the truest contradictory biker name the Englishwoman had ever heard, leapt to his feet and threw some abuse at her. Ribeye, the group’s vegetarian, shook his head in disgust. Alicia trod water and splashed them all some more.

  Lomas, not an accomplished swimmer, thrashed around beside her. “Meant to say, your biker name was decided while you were off saving the world.”

  “It was? What is it? Believe me, Lomas, it better not be something prissy.”

  The biker didn’t answer immediately, not a good sign. But then Alicia noticed him staring at her breasts. “Later.” She swatted him. “Just tell me the goddamn name.”

  “Ah, well we voted on . . . Taz.”

  “What?”

  “Taz. You know, the Tasmanian Devil from Australia. Carnivore. Strong bite. Hard fighters. Can turn crazy at the drop of a hat.”

  “I’m not sure I like it. You think I’m an Australian animal? And I thought biker names were supposed to be contrary to your character.”

  “Not all of them. It depends on your strength of character. Yours,” Lomas grinned, “just shone right through.”

  “Taz?” Alicia thought about it. She didn’t know a great deal about the Tasmanian Devil, but Lomas made it sound good. “I suppose . . .”

  “Good, now come here.” Lomas caught her in his muscular arms and held on tight. Alicia allowed herself to be hugged, just for a minute. A sense of peace settled over her, accompanied by the onset of dreadful, repressed memories. They only came when she relaxed. They were the reason she kept on moving, fighting, somehow always in motion. But the problem was rapidly becoming clearer – she couldn’t stay in action for the rest of her life.

  Dare she let the memories back in?

  The way forward was confrontation. Funny, she thought, how I love it in real life, but can’t face down my past.

  “You okay?” Alicia heard Lomas’s voice and focused. The biker had pulled away from her and was staring into her distant, stormy eyes.

  “Old demons.” She rubbed her temples hard. “Won’t go away.”

  “Ah, I have those. Maybe someday we should swap horror stories.”

  Alicia fixed him with a contemplative stare. “Maybe.”

  Lomas doggy-paddled to the shallow end of the pool. Alicia watched him for a moment, grinning, then followed. The other bikers were all laid out in comfortable repose, some snoring, some flicking through magazines, others gazing out the windows as if they wanted to be out there, grinding up those gritty roads. Laid-Back Lex being the only exclusion, the young hothead sat glaring at everything as if trying to will it all to catch fire.

  Through the half-open door, wafting from the kitchens, came the smell of newly cooked food. Alicia felt her mouth water. It had been some time since she’d sat down to a restaurant meal. Maybe tonight, she thought. Just Lomas and me. But the smell of freshly cooked food always caused that old vision to rear its ugly head, the one that had happened so many times it had become merely an event, each time indistinguishable to the one before, as her mother laid out her father’s meal, still steaming, and her father reached out, not for his knife and fork, but for that already half empty glass of amber liquid.

  “Just a sneaky one to shake off the day,” he used to whisper, whilst trying to smile at her, not quite making it seem real.

  Alicia blocked it out. The ringing of a cell phone intruded after a second and Alicia realized it was hers. Not only that, it was the tone she reserved for Drake. A little track by Pink called Trouble.

  “Shit.” She climbed out of the pool, dripping wet, and walked over to her bag. “What the fuck’s happened now?”

  “I believe you once said to call you for the next apocalypse?” It was Hayden using Drake’s phone.

  “You’re fu—”

  “I know, I know. You and Lomas – biker style. We’ve lost the tombs, Alicia.”

  The Englishwo
man clammed up as Hayden went on to explain the most recent events. When she had finished, Alicia immediately spoke up.

  “You want me back in Iraq?”

  “We’re thrashing out a plan. Between us we have to cover all three tombs. And Alicia, you’re already in Germany.”

  It hadn’t occurred to her until now, but Munich wasn’t too far from Singen. She immediately grew suspicious. “Who signed off on this hotel a few days ago?”

  Hayden was quiet for a second. “I did.”

  “Through Gates no doubt,” Alicia grumbled. “That man has more manipulations up his sleeve than a banker.”

  “He would, he’s a top-flight politician. And it’s called foresight. Clever maneuvering of your forces. A good preparation. All much better words than manipulation, don’t you think?”

  “Whatever. Look, are you actually asking Lomas and the boys to help raid the Singen tomb? ‘Cause they ain’t military, you know?”

  “We’re spread pretty thin, and don’t try to tell me they haven’t had some experience. You would have some local military back up. But all you really have to do is get to Cayman and neutralize him. Oh, and get the swords in there.”

  “What swords?”

  “We’ll courier two swords to Singen airport. You need to collect them before you go in.”

  “Should I ask why?”

  “It’s a long frickin’ story.” Hayden sighed deeply. “And we don’t even know how to use ‘em. If we need to use ‘em at all.” She cursed. “We’re way behind on this one, Alicia, and with no time.”

  “I’ll ask them.” Alicia disconnected and looked around. To a person, the biker gang stared hard at her. She sat down on the front edge of a lounger and laid it out. No one interrupted, but when she had finished, the first outburst came, predictably, from Laid-back Lex.