by Andy Remic
Twenty minutes later, Callum was leaning against the bridge, a soggy cigarette between his lips, smoke pluming around his face. At his feet, on a stretcher, lay the very dead body of Scope. The sniper’s face was a mess, his head shot to pieces, most of the rear of his skull missing. Callum stared at the dead eyes and shuddered.
Albert approached. ‘Comms are back on-line; the other two snipers are dead as well. No sign of any assailants - except for the fucking bullet casings, of course. Boss, I just don’t get what the fuck went on here.’
‘Decoy,’ said Callum softly from around the bedraggled cigarette.
‘Decoy? What about the bridge?’
‘This wasn’t about the bridge,’ said Callum. Reluctantly, he took the cigarette from between his lips and tossed it over the railings, into the black, oily bay below. He faced Albert and their stares met. ‘Somebody wanted those snipers dead.’
‘So this was a hit?’
Callum nodded. ‘Oh yes, my friend. And of one thing I am certain: whoever did this, whoever killed this Demolition Squad - I’m sure as hell glad they’re not looking for me.’
‘How do you know they’re not looking for you?’ whispered Albert.
Callum shrugged. ‘I’d already be dead,’ he said simply.
SIU Transcript 1
CLASSIFIED VK12/084/SPECIAL INVESTIGATIONS UNIT
Hacked ECube Interception
Date: August 2XXX
In the undercover world they are called Demolition Squads and work for Spiral. They have no official name and do not ‘exist’. They are an urban myth. They are ghosts. These clandestine ‘non-existent’ groups have more extensive knowledge, training and experience than the British SAS, the American CIA and the former Soviet KGB. They are considered more covert than any global government organisation or secret police network. To all world powers and agencies who even suspect their existence, they are the elite of the elite.
One member of a DemolSquad, code-named Purity, has made herself known to us. We have verified suspected links with the secretive organisation known as Spiral. Purity claims that Spiral, in its battle to crush terrorists, stabilise governments and smash evil and corruption wherever they are found, has developed a prototype CPU to assist their mission. This information is highly classified.
Just before Purity’s assassination she claimed that something was wrong with Spiral and with the DemolSquads. In her words: a traitor. Purity mentioned a word: Nex [context: the Nex, or our Nex] that we suspect indicates an assassin/hunter of some skill.
The woman/code subject vbl2Purity was fished from the Danube, SW of Bolgrad, earlier this month. The subject had had her throat cut.
SIU Transcript 2
CLASSIFIED TFG 1776/250/SPECIAL INVESTIGATIONS UNIT
Hacked ECube interception
Date: September 2XXX
Transcript of digMail:
‘The breakthrough in processor development has escalated beyond all comprehension; the code-core RI nano-gates are writing themselves, and the tech processes used are something we would never have dreamed possible. In initial benchmark tests the speed has physically killed all current military hardware - this processor is at least 50,000 times faster than any other currently in development. The MIP ratings are truly incredible and this chip will revolutionise computing in the 21st Century. It will have groundbreaking effects on all aspects of computing, from military applications to world economics.
‘Enclosed are the encoded data files on cellular cube structure, together with schematics for the etching processes needed in creating the QIII cubic processor - #TYGUgfuyd ... ‘
###TRANSFER FORCIBLY TERMINATED//HACKER INVOLVEMENT SUSPECTED###
Scanning Terminals ...
Intrusion detected ...
Scanning HUT ports ...
Locked.
PART ONE
THE SEARCH FOR
AN UNREAL GOD
we’ve seen the restless children
at the head of the columns
come to purify the future
with the arrogance of youth
nothing is as cruel as the
righteousness of innocents
with automatic weapons
and a gospel of the truth
Purity
New Model Army
CHAPTER 1
ALONE
Carter watched the woman wheelspin the BMW 740i up the snowbound lane, park at a curious and somewhat precarious angle, climb from the warmth and comfort of the car and kick the waxed and polished wing three times. She glanced up towards him, towards his shield of glass. He waved, but she did not see him through the thickly falling snow.
Carter moved across the heavy rugs, luxuriating in the feel of the fur and wool under his bare feet. He threw another log on the fire and Samson, his chocolate Labrador, looked up from his luxurious basket and tilted his head slightly. The dog gave a little whine. Carter smiled. ‘She loves me really,’ he said and winked. Samson’s head dropped and the dog grunted, closing his large eyes.
Carter flipped open the front door with an IR and collapsed into a deep sofa with a glass of red wine.
He heard her, stamping snow from her boots and cursing the climate, the location and, most of all, him. He smiled wryly, swirling the wine and peering into its velvety depths as the woman climbed the stone steps to the front door.
‘Are you in?’
Carter raised his arm, and peered over the back of the sofa. ‘Guilty, Nats. How’s life?’
‘It’s Natasha, you arse, not Nats.’
‘Hmm, tetchy. Wine?’
‘What sort?’
‘Red. Some kind of Italian stuff, I think. Does it matter?’
‘It matters, Carter. Why the fuck did you move out here?’
‘I like it out here.’
‘It’s in the middle of nowhere!’
‘That’s what I like about it. The cities are full of the military. And after the London Riots they’ve moved in Justice Troops - JT8s.’ Carter shook his head. ‘It’s not what I call a pleasant environment conducive to relaxation and long life.’
Natasha gave a short laugh, her gaze moving around the room. ‘And I can’t believe you haven’t even got a fucking car.’
‘What would I need a car for?’ Carter frowned. ‘I have everything I need right here.’
Natasha stopped, took a deep breath and counted silently as she summoned patience. She removed her scarf and gloves, closed her eyes for a moment and threw her Berghaus fleece over a nearby leather chair.
‘I hate Scotland,’ she said.
‘It’s where I was brought up,’ said Carter softly. He drained the glass in one. ‘Where I was born. It has character and strength and solitude. Sure you won’t try some wine, you bad-tempered little temptress?’
‘Maybe a whisky.’
As Carter found the Lagavulin decanter and poured two generous measures, he watched Natasha’s slim and athletic form. He licked his lips and thought back to better times - long nights and longer days, making love on this very floor, laughing, talking, drinking...
He handed her the glass. She ran a hand through her short black snow-damp hair, leaving it spiked - the way that he knew she knew he liked it. He smiled in anticipation, downed the single malt and threw the crystal glass into the fire where it shattered; for a moment the flames grew bright.
‘You always were over-dramatic,’ said Natasha sombrely, staring down into her whisky. She had moved to sit in front of the fire and she twirled her glass gently, seemingly lost in thought.
‘What do you want?’ he said finally when he realised that she would not break the silence without prompting.
Flames crackled for a while and Carter wondered if she had heard him.
‘How do you know I want anything?’
‘It’s been over a year,’ sighed Carter. ‘You still working for that slave-driver Spiral?’
‘Of course. Our role grows more important with every passing day.’ She smiled softly. ‘We h
ave a job for you.’ ‘Ah.’ Carter sighed, climbed to his feet and walked to stand in front of the window. The snow was falling thick and fast and he could see, dim through the swirling flakes, the lofty peaks of Ben Macdui, blue-grey and sheer -exhilarating. The wind howled in the distance and Carter shivered, despite the fire’s heat in the room. He felt a twinge of disappointment that he could not see the frozen lake.
‘Is it a solo, or a joint assignment with a DemolSquad?’
‘Solo. A protection issue.’
‘I am finished with Spiral,’ Carter whispered softly, turning and watching Natasha through heavy half-lowered eyelids - internal movie screens flashing images of events he would rather forget, nightmares he would rather not relive. She stood, a fluid and graceful action, and moved to him, draped her arms across his shoulders and ducked a little, looked up into his eyes.
‘I know you’ve turned down the last four gigs - as with all Spiral jobs that is your prerogative. But this has come from the top. Real important.’
‘It always is,’ said Carter bitterly.
‘Things are getting worse,’ whispered Natasha. ‘The world is changing, Carter, and you’re fucking hiding up here ...’
She tailed off as she saw the look on his face and cursed herself inwardly. That had been unfair; Carter was good. No, he was the best. And after the Battle of Cairo7 ... he had the right to live and rest any way he pleased ...
Natasha took a deep breath.
‘Look, I want you to do this,’ she said. She moved forward slowly. Her lips touched his and he allowed her to kiss him for a few moments. Her breath was sweet, her lips soft and inviting.
‘Why?’
‘I empathise with this girl’s situation. She is young, alone, afraid. And you are the best, Carter.’
‘Bull - shit.’ He kissed her again, anyway, tasting Lagavulin on her lips. When he pulled away, he was frowning. ‘What about Jax? Or Scott? Or Evoss?’
There was a long pause. Natasha averted her gaze and looked over at the fire as though debating with herself. Carter caught a glimpse of something then, in her face, in her eyes. There was something that Natasha knew, a secret she did not wish to share.
Carter smiled tightly and reached up, stroking her cheek. She turned back to him, licking her dry lips.
‘I recommended you, Carter,’ she said softly. ‘Don’t turn me down. Don’t let her down.’
‘Who is she? Why should I care?’
‘Maria Balashev. She’s nineteen. The niece of Count Feuchter.’
Carter pulled away for a moment. Reflected flames danced in Natasha’s deep brown eyes. He searched her face for - he shook his head, unsure of the unspoken signs he sought.
‘Feuchter? Where the hell am I going?’
‘You shouldn’t let me manipulate you,’ said Natasha, turning and walking away from him.
Carter watched the hypnotic sway of her hips. He swallowed - hard. How long have I been a hermit? he thought. How long without lips to kiss, soft skin to nibble, a flat stomach to taste ...
‘I can’t help myself, Nats.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘Where am I going?’
‘Schwalenberg, Germany, in the Weser River Valley. My homeland, Carter, near the place I was born.’
‘Weser? Isn’t that where the Pied Piper enticed the rats to their deaths?’
‘Could be,’ said Natasha, ‘although I’m no student of history.’
‘Nor literature, I see.’
‘Feuchter is based at Spiral_Q, in Saudi Arabia - he’s come over to Germany to give a series of lectures to Spiral operatives, and for a celebration of his achievements working on several breakthroughs in processor development. Many of those working on the project have been based in Germany for - shall we say, security reasons ...’
Carter sighed and shrugged. He rubbed at his suddenly weary eyes, then met Natasha’s gaze. ‘Will you stay?’
There was a pause. Natasha put her hands in her pockets and looked at Carter steadily. She tilted her head, her lips pursed, her beautiful brown eyes unreadable. Carter realised that she had aged - matured - wonderfully in the year since he had last seen her. And he realised too that he wanted her more than anything in the world... more than anything.
‘And you turned her down,’ mocked Kade, a distant whisper in his head. ‘You dick. You sent her away.’
Carter gritted his teeth and battled to ignore the acid sly observations of the ever-unwelcome voice within his mind. Fuck off and die, Kade, he thought.
Then he forced a smile to his face and looked up to see the kindness in Nats’s expression.
‘Not tonight,’ she whispered. She smiled. ‘But we’ll make a date. When you get back, maybe.’
‘You mean in another year when Spiral has another job for me and decides that a cheap kiss is enough to purchase my skilled services?’
Natasha moved forward and placed a finger against his lips. ‘When you get back from Germany. We’ll meet then.’
‘Promise?’
‘I promise. Here.’
She tossed Carter a small cube. It was soft under his fingers, and he turned it slowly; similar in size to a matchbox, the dull matt black alloy shone as the cube fitted neatly into the palm of his hand. ‘New model?’
‘Version 4.2. ECubes have moved on since you last worked for us.’
‘Really? Same basic functions?’
‘Yeah.’
An ECube was an electronic communications device, standard Spiral issue. Running the V4.2 ICARUS operating system, it sported a 12GHz RISC processor and 256 gigabytes of static RAM. It was solid-state - no moving parts - and quite robust; it had voice - and fingerprint-recognition facilities; it could act as an advanced GPS - could navigate across the whole of the world, relaying data straight back to Spiral mainframes and thus allowing Spiral to keep a tab on its finest operatives. It also had a few hidden and very ingenious little tricks within its alloy casing.
Natasha turned to leave, gathering her fleece coat and gloves and moving to the door and the steep steps beyond. ‘When are you coming back to the real world, Carter? It misses you, y’know?’
‘I enjoy the seclusion.’
‘That wasn’t the question.’
‘Then, “when I have a reason to” would be the answer.’
She held his gaze for a long time, then turned and left. He listened to her departure, then moved to the window and watched the plumes from the 740’s exhaust. Wheels spinning dangerously, the BMW cut a swathe through the fresh snowfall and was soon gone, tail lights flickering into nothing.
Carter felt suddenly, terribly alone.
For a while he watched the snow, then stared down at the ECube nestling in his palm like a tiny Chinese puzzle box. He squeezed it, and it came to life. Small blue digits flickered across its alloy face. He looked from the ECube to the roaring fire - and for a moment was undecided ...
He could destroy it. Walk away.
He had sworn that he was through with Spiral.
Because…
When he was through with Spiral, then he was through with Kade.
Carter shivered, staring into the flames.
Spiral did not know about Kade. But then, nobody knew about Kade. Kade was a ghost that Carter would rather forget: a dark and psychopathic slice of his personality that had found itself a voice; a dark and menacing angel squatting in his mind. A demon ready to feed, to prove itself again as it had in Egypt and China and Poland ...
Carter sighed.
He turned from the flames and slumped into the embrace of the deep and comfortable sofa. Samson climbed to his feet ponderously, for the dog was large for a Labrador - hence his fitting and none too subtle name -yawned, padded over to Carter, climbed up slowly next to the man and placed his wide head on Carter’s lap. Samson gave a huge dog sigh and Carter rubbed gently at his velvety ears.
Protection, Natasha had said. Carter’s mouth was dry and he realised that she - and Spiral itself - understood him perfectly. No more killing. No more demolition.
No more destruction ... Those days were over. Gone. Dissolved into dust, just like Cairo.
Protection.
The protection of the niece of a senior Spiral weapons researcher.
No killing ... no bombs ... no cool collective violence...
‘Talk to me,’ he said to the ECube. Instantly it locked onto his voice pattern and linked with a click to the Spiral mainframe...
Spiral Mainframe
Data log #887
CLASSIFIED FFUCH/111/SPECIAL INVESTIGATIONS UNIT
Data Request 117554#887
Count Feuchter; German professor, born in Schwalenberg, educated in Munich, London and Prague. Great-grandfather killed by the Nazis during World War II after being tortured somewhere on the German/Austrian border. Mother and two sons fled to Italy, then to England for protection after the war was over; Feuchter comes from this bloodline.
Expert in computing systems, specialising in processor function and artificial intelligence. Currently pioneering military processor after setting up Spiral_Q, with co-programmer and system developer, Durell. Spiral_Q - currently based in Rub al’Khali, Saudi Arabia, also named The Great Sandy Desert. The technologically advanced research station has been set up with the knowledge of the Saudi government in what is a largely completely unexplored region of desert; the Saudi government has been bribed with technology and information to turn a blind eye on the operations there, and no satellite locks have been discovered: the station is, therefore, invisible to most of the snooping eyes of the world.
QIII Military Proc - classified; Level Z access required.
Caution activation: Feuchter has been the victim of various death threats; suspect terrorist activity, probably Middle Eastern influences with sights set on the ‘rumoured’ processor which is in development. German Special Forces are involved with protecting Feuchter on home ground. One weak link could be his niece, daughter of his murdered brother; she travels with him everywhere and could be a target for kidnapping, even murder in order to blackmail Feuchter or garner information on the QIII.