Swords of Exodus

by Larry Correia

  Talak turned to me, and the look he gave me indicted that this message was for me alone. “Listen, translator, if your employer says anything insulting, I would caution you not to relay it, or you will not make it out of this hole, because he will kill the messenger. Understand?”

  I nodded slowly.

  “Excellent.”

  After what seemed like forever, the car clanked to a halt, and Talak opened a scissor gate. We stepped into some sort of control room. The ancient computers were covered in cobwebs and dust. Punch cards were slowly eroding into the floor. He pointed at the far door. “Through there is the Master’s living quarters. I will wait here for your return. Are you certain you wish to do this?”

  If they wanted to kill us, they would have just done it on the surface and saved themselves the work. This was just more of that superstitious weirdo crap that Jihan was using to control The Crossroads. I glanced at Reaper. He looked even whiter than usual. Jill was sweating, surely thinking about the tons of rock crushing down above us. This Jihan really was a master of the mind fuck. “Ma’am,” I gestured forward.

  Jill swallowed hard. “Of course.” She screwed up her courage and went through the far door. There was a long hallway, interspersed with submarine-style blast doors. They were currently open, but I made note that if Ibrahim needed to get down here, he was going to need to need explosives, cutting torches, and time.

  We emerged into the flickering light at the bottom of the silo. It was a big area, the giant missile long since removed or launched. The open space spiraled up toward the surface, finally disappearing into shadow. I had been expecting some sort of palatial thing, with gold and diamonds, and the gaudy things that warlords liked to adorn themselves with to impress the fearful, greedy, and stupid. This was nothing like that.

  The space was mostly open. The outer ring was just a walkway that circled the entire room. A catwalk extended to the center, where there was a circular concrete pad about twenty meters across. The base of the concrete disappeared into a pool of dark water that had settled in the bottom of the silo. The center pad had no decoration, just some nice, but very basic furniture; a bed, and some wardrobes, mirrors, and cabinets. On the far side of the pad was what appeared to be an altar, illuminated by candles and two large, metallic pans that were burning wood and incense. The crackling fire was the only source of light, and the smoke drifted toward the top of the silo.

  “Weird,” I muttered.

  “I am Sala Jihan,” a voice boomed from the island. “Come closer.”

  Jill started down the catwalk, with me right behind her. Reaper lagged a little bit behind. The metal echoed under our boots, and through the steel mesh, you could see down into the water. I couldn’t see the bottom.

  Sala Jihan was waiting for us, reclined on a plush red couch, facing the catwalk. He was wearing what looked like a red silk bathrobe tied with a black sash, was barefoot, and his hair was wet, like he had just gotten done swimming. The legendary Sala Jihan lived up to his title, the Pale Man. His skin was white, not like Reaper, but like a cave fish, almost translucent. I thought he was an albino until I saw his pitch black eyes.

  Two more Brothers flanked Jihan. Even here in the near-dark they were still wearing their goggles. I didn’t see any weapons, but I had no doubt the squat little men were fully ready to destroy us.

  “Hello, I am Maria Consuela Garcia, and these are my associates—”

  Jihan silenced her with a wave of his hand. “I know who you are,” he answered in perfect Spanish. “Your translator will not be necessary,” then he switched to accentless English. “Or would you prefer this?”

  “Either will do,” Jill responded slowly.

  Jihan stroked his face thoughtfully. He had a thin mustache, pointy goatee, and long black hair. He was kind of like me, difficult to guess an age, but he appeared relatively young and fit. “I do not normally agree to meet outsiders. What would you ask of me?”

  “My company just wanted to know what manner of man we were dealing with.”

  Jihan smiled. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but his teeth looked like they had been sharpened, then his lips closed and I could no longer tell. He gestured at his surroundings. “I am but a humble man who likes to dig in the Earth. I find precious things as I dig, and sell them to people like you. It funds my . . . hobbies.”

  He exuded evil. It was hard to explain. A man like me needed to be an expert judge of character. I had known truly evil men before, but not like this. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and in some of those men, I had seen broken souls, or in the case of Eddie Montalban, an emptiness. But in these black orbs, I saw something . . . else.

  “Thank you,” Jill said, her voice quavering slightly. She felt it as well. “I, uh . . . well . . .”

  I noted the altar behind him. I had just assumed that Jihan would have been another Muslim warlord, but that altar was from something different, something older. “And what is it that you’re digging for?” I asked, not knowing why I spoke, but regretting it immediately.

  The warlord turned his head slightly, as if noticing me for the first time. The two Brothers visibly tensed beneath their robes. Jihan paused for what seemed like an eternity, studying me. It was as if somebody had turned on a million candle power spotlight, and I wanted nothing but to slink away and hide.

  Finally he broke the awkward silence. “You are no mere translator, little man.” He let that hang. I didn’t respond, rather I tried to look as pathetic and bewildered as possible, but his black eyes were on me like a CAT scan. He continued to stroke his goatee. “You are a killer of men . . . a son of murder. So tell me, Maria, why did you bring an assassin into my home?”

  My stomach rolled over in an acidic lurch. Nobody ever saw anything in me that I didn’t want them to see. I was grey, unreadable. What kind of man is this?

  “He’s also my bodyguard,” Jill spoke quickly. “The Crossroads have a reputation for being dangerous, and my company felt that security wo—”

  He raised his hand to silence her. I felt the adrenaline begin to flow, fully expecting him to give the order to have the Brothers gun us down. Jihan smiled again, those strange eyes never breaking away from my own. “Yes, this country is quite dangerous.” Something large splashed in the water under the catwalk. Reaper jumped. “It is wise to have one such as this to do your bidding.” He gestured at me. His fingernails ended in points. “You may return to your organization and tell them that you have spoken with Sala Jihan, and that I am real. The precious things I take from the earth are yours to purchase. You may go now.”

  “But I was hoping to—” Jill began.

  “That will be all.” Jihan said in a manner that left no doubt that we would be feeding whatever the hell was in the pool if we didn’t go away right now. The Brothers stepped forward and escorted us to the edge of the catwalk. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. We walked—entirely too fast—across the catwalk back to the outer concrete ring. The Brothers stopped at the edge and folded their arms, a definite barrier to reentry.

  “One last thing, oh, son of murder.” Jihan’s voice boomed behind us. I froze, a feeling of dread tingling up the base of my spine. Then I pushed Jill after Reaper out the blast-door exit before turning around.

  “Yes?”

  Jihan rose, the flames and smoke dancing behind him. “Where you have gone, death has followed like a loyal servant, but do not think to return to this place . . . For here, death answers only to me.”

  I nodded once, turned, and left the room.

  We’ll see about that.

  “Shit! What the fuck was that?” Jill shouted once we were back in the relative safety of the Glorious Cloud and away from spying ears. “Weird-ass bizarro shit! Did you feel that?”

  Of course I had. Sala Jihan gave off a vibe similar to a bag of serial killers and electric eels, but I played the stoic. “Feel what?” I muttered.

  “It was like all of the good in the universe got squished at the door to that
place. Just, kind of . . . hell, I don’t know . . . wrong.” Jill threw up her hands in frustration, lacking the words to explain it.

  “He’s a slave-trading warlord. I warned you before we ever came. You wanted to play this game? Well, that’s the opposing team. What did you expect? A nice house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, maybe some garden gnomes?”

  “Not that, that’s for sure,” she answered. “There’s something wrong with that man.”

  “He’s messing with your head. It’s his MO. That’s how he runs this place so well. Yeah, he’s one evil son of a bitch, but he’s only human.”

  “I don’t know, Chief.” Reaper spoke for the first time. He was even paler than usual.

  “Oh, not you too!” I said in exasperation. “Reaper, we’ve been through so much craziness, and you’re gonna let this guy scare you?”

  He bit his lip and looked down, embarrassed. “Well, yeah.”

  “Damn it! Don’t be such a pussy,” I spat. It wasn’t fair. Jihan’s act had shaken me as well, but I couldn’t let it show. I had a mission to accomplish, and if my brother was alive, he was probably in that fortress. “Can I count on you or not?”

  “Lorenzo!” Jill exclaimed. She wasn’t used to me being mean to Reaper. “That’s unnecessary.”

  I ignored her and glared at my subordinate. Jill gave me her Death Frown. I had known Reaper since he was a kid. He looked up to me like some sort of father figure. I knew he’d be brave if I required it of him. “I’ve never let you down,” Reaper stated, clenching his hands into fists. “I ain’t gonna start now. Screw this guy, he’s goin’ down.”

  “That’s the spirit. Fuck Jihan. Now here’s the plan. Make notes of everything, and I mean everything, that you saw in the compound, and we take it to Ibrahim and Exodus.”

  “So you’ve decided you trust them?” Jill asked.

  “No, not really. Every human being I actually trust is in this room,” I said. Reaper looked relieved when I said that. “In fact, before I set up another meet with Ibrahim, I want to poke around town some. We only have their word that it was Jihan’s people that took Bob. I feel like Ling was telling the truth and Bob’s notes point in that direction. Exodus has similar goals. Enemy of my enemy is a friend, and all that. If they’re going in and if I’m along for the ride, then I can get a look inside that prison building, but trust them? Hell no.” I tossed Reaper a notepad. “Start writing while it’s still fresh.”

  “What I wonder is, how did the Pale Man see right through you?” Reaper wondered aloud. “It isn’t like you look dangerous or anything. You’ve done gigs way harder than that. Hell, you convinced the President of Sumatra you were his cousin that one time.”

  “Beats me,” I shrugged. The locals would probably have some supernatural mumbo-jumbo explanation, but we were both men who knew how to sell a roll. Except I hadn’t been able to see through his act at all. “He knows me now. So getting a covert look inside that prison isn’t likely.” I ditched my western style coat, and began rummaging through my bag for some more native clothing. My holster went on, disappearing under a bulky Turkic overcoat. “While I’m gone, don’t let anybody in. Don’t trust anyone. Not even the Exodus people. Don’t answer the door, and if somebody tries to push their way in, shoot them a lot. Keep the fire stoked and toss your notes in there if anything feels off. If I’m not back by midnight, go right to the escape plans. Don’t come looking for me, because you’ll get eaten alive out there. I’m going down to the fighting pits. That’s the last place Bob was seen.”

  “Sounds safe,” Jill said. She was far too smart to even suggest going with me.

  “Honey, this is The Crossroads.” I chamber checked my 9mm before holstering it. “Nothing is safe here.”

  VALENTINE

  Eastern Kazakhstan

  March 13th

  Our small caravan of trucks made its way along a mountain highway. Five trucks in all, loaded for bear with Exodus personnel and supplies, had departed the airport in the city of Semey, hundreds of miles to the west. We’d been driving for over fourteen hours. Kazakhstan was a huge country that had nothing equivalent to an American interstate highway. It had been slow going along poorly maintained two-lane highways the entire trip.

  We switched out drivers as necessary, stopping only to refuel and for piss breaks. The residents of the little villages along the road to The Crossroads were used to comparatively rich foreigners buying gas from them, so we didn’t draw any particular notice. The highway was cleared of snow, just as Ling said it would be.

  Along our route there had been very little in the way of local law enforcement. I’m not sure if it was due to such things being bad for business at The Crossroads, or if the Kazakh government simply didn’t bother to police the remote areas of the country. Either way, the lack of cops made me feel better. I hadn’t had any good experiences with government authorities lately.

  We did encounter one army checkpoint, as Ling had warned me we might. It was pretty far from the border. Their sole purpose seemed to be keeping track of, or possibly shaking down, the suspicious types who looked like they were on their way to The Crossroads. You know, people like us.

  My heart rate doubled as we approached the checkpoint. There was an entire squad of soldiers, all armed, and we were all trapped in vehicles. I kept my head down and stared at the seat in front of me as a bored-looking Kazakh soldier looked in the window at me. Ling assured me that it was going to be okay. And so it was. A wad of currency was handed over, along with a carton of cigarettes and a couple bottles of booze, and the Kazakh soldiers lost all interest in us. We were left to go on our way without being searched.

  We were in the home stretch after that. We slowly rumbled along Highway P-163. All around us were stunning mountain vistas and breathtaking, unspoiled wilderness, and damn, was it cold. The driver of the rattling diesel truck noticed that I was struggling to stay warm and turned up the heat. I didn’t feel good.

  Ling seemed to notice my discomfort. “It’s the altitude. It will take some getting used to.”

  I shook my head. “Are we almost there?”

  “Yes. We are just crossing the border into Russia now.”

  “No more checkpoints?”

  Ling smiled. “Not so close to The Crossroads. It’s bad for business.”

  The Russian side of the border didn’t look any different than the Kazakh side. We continued to follow the river down a long, winding valley, until the highway began to veer off to the south. It was then that I saw, in the distance, the river pooled into a huge reservoir. Beyond it sat an imposing, ancient-looking dam.

  “That hydroelectric plant was built in the Fifties,” Ling informed me. “It powers The Crossroads and most of the small Russian villages in the area. The Kazakh government buys electricity from the Russians as well.”

  “Why did they build a dam so close to the border?” We were only a few miles from North China.

  “1950 was the year the Soviet Union and China signed the Sino-Soviet Treaty of Friendship and Alliance. Stalin wanted to bolster relations with the People’s Republic of China. The dam supplied electricity not only to Soviet villages, but to Chinese villages on the other side of the border. The town that became The Crossroads was once called the City of International Friendship. It was intended to be a symbolic beacon of international Communism.”

  “From what you’ve told me about the place, it doesn’t sound very friendly.”

  “It was all lies, of course. Hardly anyone ever lived in their city of friendship, even at the best of times. When the Sino-Soviet Split happened in the late 1950s, The Crossroads was all but abandoned. Now the former communist city has turned into probably the most capitalist place on earth. The Crossroads is home to every international crime syndicate and black market imaginable. Anything goes, so long as you have the means to pay for it.”

  “You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy,” I mused.

  Ling looked a question at me. She didn
’t get the reference.

  “Seriously? Uh, never mind. What else?”

  “The Soviets built a military base here after the Second World War. Joint military drills with the People’s Liberation Army were conducted after the Friendship Treaty was signed, but like the town itself, it was all symbolic. During the Sino-Soviet Split the garrison was reinforced. Anti-aircraft batteries and surface-to-air missiles were emplaced. In the sixties, R-5 intermediate-range ballistic missiles were stationed here, and silos were built to house them.”

  Holy crap. “The Russians put nukes this close to the border?”

  “Oh yes. They were quite displeased after the Communist Party of China formally denounced the USSR.”

  “Do the Russians still use the base?”

  “Michael, didn’t you read the briefing material I gave you?”

  “I, uh, skimmed it.” I’d slept on the plane from Azerbaijan and spent most of the road trip across Kazakhstan sleeping as well. I had only glanced over the information, and mostly read up on what little there was about this Sala Jihan.

  Ling shook her head. My physical condition wasn’t much of an excuse for pity in her crowd. “There was an incident in ‘63. Most of it is rumor in any case. Madness high in the mountains, a Soviet drug experiment gone wrong, who really knows? The soldiers at the base mutinied. They turned on their officers and killed them in a ritualistic fashion.”

  “Ritualistic?”

  “There aren’t many details. According to the stories, the soldiers went insane. They didn’t just kill their officers, they were sacrificed on a crude altar, their organs cut out, eaten, and their blood drunk as some form of sacrament.”

  “Jesus!”

  “I doubt that is true. What is known is that a base, close to the Chinese border, housing nuclear missiles of the Strategic Rocket Forces, mutinied. The government was in a state of near panic.”

  “They bomb it?” That was the Russian response to most things.