Ancient Origins: Books 4 - 6 (Ancient Origins Boxset Book 2)

by Robert Storey

  The Secret Service team and the first couple approached an elevator at the end of a corridor.

  Dante swore. ‘No stairs.’

  ‘Sir?’ one his men said, as their leader hesitated.

  A distant siren wailed before a burst of sound above made everyone look up. Water sprayed out of the sprinkler heads, the devices activating one by one in a flood. Ashley screamed and Dante ushered them into the elevator, which had just opened.

  The doors slid closed before they were all inside. An agent thrust his rifle between them, but the car moved upwards regardless, severing the weapon in two as it was crushed against the concrete shaft.

  With half their team left behind, Dante pushed John and Ashley to the rear as the remaining agents raised their weapons in preparation.

  ‘Whatever happens,’ Dante said to his men, while holding John’s gaze, ‘remember your training; our lives for theirs.’

  The elevator came to a stop, pinged, and the doors slid open.

  Dante was first out, and then waved them through. ‘Go! GO! GO!!’

  They emerged into the night at the rear of the music hall. There was no sign of their motorcade, but a helicopter hovering above illuminated them with a searchlight.

  The party of twelve ran along the service road towards the main street.

  John grasped Ashley’s hand, his breathing loud and ragged.

  They reached the street and saw their vehicles at the other end of the block. They ran towards them just as a sea of people burst out of the front of the arena, the revellers fleeing the fire alarm within.

  Cut off from safety by the crowd of panicked concert goers, Dante led them across the street.

  A large black van bounced onto the sidewalk ahead of them, honking its horn. People dived out of its way and seconds later it screeched to a halt twenty feet away. The doors banged open and the Secret Service’s heavily armoured counter assault team poured out.

  John felt a rush of relief as they passed between these fearsome men and clambered into the back of the van. But before he knew what was happening, gunfire exploded from above. Bullets rained down around them, peppering the truck and the men outside. Two agents went down as the rest unleashed their weapons.

  The sound was deafening.

  The onslaught continued, the noise mingled with screaming civilians, before another and then another of the CAT team fell.

  Dante jumped back out and picked up one of his dying colleagues’ rifles. Shouldering the heavy weapon, he fired into the air, where John caught sight of a weaponised GMRC drone.

  Ashley dragged him back as a rain of bullets cut into the truck, killing the driver and three more of the security detail. More men fell and the remaining agent grasped John’s arm. ‘Stay here!’ He made for the driver’s seat, but fell to the floor, dead, multiple bullet wounds gushing blood.

  ‘Don’t follow me!’ John said to a terrified Ashley. Pushing her to the rear of the truck, he snatched up a pistol, cocked it and ran forward into mayhem.

  Chapter Ninety-Four

  John Harrison Henry, President of the United States of America, jumped down from the besieged vehicle firing his sidearm into the sky. Ten armed GMRC drones circled above the truck, exchanging gunfire with the six remaining Secret Service agents below.

  A rocket-propelled grenade smashed into one of the UAVs, which exploded in a blaze of light. John shielded his eyes as the craft smashed into the ground.

  Another drone exploded as the helicopters above joined the president’s defence.

  ‘Get back in the truck!’ Dante made a grab for John, but a bullet took him in the shoulder, propelling him back against the vehicle with a bang. Dante slumped to the ground, his weapon slipping from his grasp.

  John grasped him round the chest and tried to lift him into the truck, but as a dead weight he was too heavy. More agents went down and the drones flew lower, homing in on their prey.

  Manicured hands grabbed Dante’s jacket and John looked up into Ashley’s eyes. ‘Push!’ she screamed.

  John redoubled his efforts and they managed to heave Dante inside. John scrambled up behind him and jumped into the vehicle’s cab. He opened the door from the inside and pushed the driver’s dead body out, then turned the vehicle’s antiquated ignition key. The gasoline engine rumbled to life and John reversed the truck down the kerb onto the now deserted road. ‘Get in!!’ he shouted to the last two agents.

  They turned and ran for the truck.

  Neither made it.

  John stuck the vehicle in drive and gunned the accelerator. Tyres squealed and they lurched forward.

  The GMRC drones followed, as did the helicopters. John adjusted the door mirror to see the rest of the presidential motorcade lay in fiery ruins.

  ‘John!’ Ashley called out.

  He glanced behind as they picked up speed.

  ‘We need to get him to a hospital.’

  Dante’s eyes flickered as he hovered on the edge of consciousness.

  Ashley screamed. ‘Look out!!’

  John turned round. A child stood in the middle of the road. He slammed on the brakes and heaved on the wheel. The truck hit the kerb, bounced onto the sidewalk and smashed through a store window. Glass shattered and the vehicle careered through the empty store until it slammed into an interior wall. John flew forward, hit his head on the dashboard and fell to the floor, dazed.

  ‘John.’ Hands shook him. ‘John, get up.’

  John opened his eyes to find Ashley peering down at him.

  She helped him up and he groaned and rubbed his head.

  ‘We have to get Dante to a hospital; he’s lost a lot of blood.’

  John’s head cleared and he nodded. He got to his feet and stumbled into the rear of the vehicle, where Dante had struggled into a sitting position.

  With Ashley’s help, John manhandled the Secret Service agent out of the truck, where he crumpled to the shop floor.

  ‘Stay with him,’ John said to Ashley, and stumbled away through the debris and out onto the street.

  The sound of more gunfire could be heard in the skies above, where helicopters fought an aerial duel with the GMRC’s drones. Police sirens wailed through the night, their distant calls growing ever closer.

  The whine of a fast-approaching vehicle made John whirl round. Bright headlights dazzled his eyes and an electric car skidded to a halt in front of him. Gullwing doors swung up and two people got out.

  ‘We need help,’ John said, trying to focus as his head swam, ‘call an ambulance.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr President, there’s no time.’

  John’s vision cleared and the silhouettes of his would-be rescuers moved closer.

  The man who had spoken raised his hand and John realised he held a stun gun.

  The weapon fired and pain exploded through John’s body, as he collapsed to the ground in spasm.

  Seconds later he was being hauled along the ground before being dumped into the back seat of a car.

  Doors closed, wheels spun and the abduction of the President of the United States was complete.

  ♦

  The First Lady watched in horror as John was taken, the car’s tail lights disappearing around a corner moments later.

  In shock, Ashley stumbled back inside the building to where Dante sat propped up against the truck. His chest heaved as his body fought to survive the wound that sought to rob him of his life.

  ‘John?’ Dante said, between breaths.

  Ashley shook her head, a tear in her eye.

  Dante’s communication device crackled and buzzed back to life.

  ‘Agent Dante, report. What is your location?’

  The agent tried to raise it to his mouth, but was too weak.

  Ashley helped him and he licked his lips before speaking into it. ‘Gate Keeper down,’ – he struggled for breath – ‘I say again … Gate Keeper is down.’

  Chapter Ninety-Five

  Poppy Malone, international pop star, fashion icon and all round tee
nage sensation, sat in her backstage dressing room, her hair sopping wet and clothes soaked through. She couldn’t have been any more miserable if she’d tried. Supposedly the fire drill was a false alarm, which was typical as she’d just been about to start performing her main set before everything went to hell in a handbag. She bent down and gave Elton, her pet gecko, a washed dandelion leaf, and the green reptile chewed the meal without a care in the world. Poppy wished she could be so calm.

  The door to her room opened and her manager darted inside.

  ‘We need to go, Poppy, right now!’

  ‘What’s wrong? Where’s Daddy? Did Mom convince him not to come? I knew it!’

  ‘What?’ Her manager stared at the scantily clad singer, uncomprehending.

  ‘Err, my parents? You know, the old folk? Used to be important, now not so much. You went to find out where they were.’

  ‘I don’t know where your parents are. I don’t care. Get up and get out!’

  Poppy found herself being dragged out of her room, and she just had time to grab Elton with one hand and her bag with the other as they left. Slipping the gecko into her bag, she let herself be led towards the nearest fire escape, where they exited into the humid air of a muggy night.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Poppy said, cocking an ear, ‘what’s going on? Is that gunfire?’

  ‘Yes, you stupid girl, it’s gunfire.’ Her manager guided her towards a limousine parked a hundred feet away. ‘Now keep moving.’

  Poppy shrugged off his grasp and her armed bodyguards came to stand by her side, the four giant men towering over her like basketball players next to a child.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere until you find my parents.’

  Her manager glanced in the direction of the receding firefight and then back at the petulant superstar. ‘Poppy,’ – he grasped her wrist – ‘get in the fucking car!’

  The dull lights at the rear of the arena flickered and the bodyguards looked around for signs of danger, weapons at the ready.

  Nothing else stirred and Poppy broke her manager’s hold and stormed off towards the stretch limo.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re being so mean to me,’ Poppy said, her manager and bodyguards trailing along in her wake. ‘My whole concert has just been ruined; you should be making me feel better, not worse!’

  As Poppy continued to berate her underling, the bodyguard bringing up the rear stumbled and fell to the ground, the sound of his fall masked by a helicopter flying overhead. He tried to call out, but a second blow to the head rendered him unconscious, his large prone frame going unnoticed by those preceding him. Something else made one of his colleagues turn, weapon raised. He scanned the area, noticed his downed companion, and then grasped at his neck. He pulled out a small dart and swayed for a moment, before dropping to his knees and then keeling over onto his side.

  ‘And who said I can’t perform naked anyway?’ Poppy was saying. ‘It’s twenty forty-two, for fuck’s sake, if I want to be naked that’s my human right. It’s not setting a bad example, lots of acts have done it—’

  A noise behind made the remaining two bodyguards spin round, but too late; tranquiliser darts punctured their necks and they, too, dropped to the ground with dull thuds.

  Poppy reached her limousine, where the rear door remained closed. She tapped her foot in impatience. ‘What’s wrong with this picture, people?’ she said, waiting for it to be opened.

  ‘For pity’s sake, Poppy,’ – her manager opened the door – ‘for once, why don’t you just try doing something yourself and stop acting like a spoilt brat.’

  ‘You should listen to your manager,’ said an ethereal voice.

  Poppy’s manager swung round, and then looked down at his chest where two red darts protruded. He looked at Poppy in surprise before his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed into the vehicle’s back seat.

  Poppy turned round as a tall shadowy form materialised, its armour glittering chrome as it emerged from the gloom .

  Poppy stared up at the ominous figure. ‘Who are you? Where are my bodyguards?’ She frowned when there was no response. ‘Do you even know who I am?’ she said in indignation.

  ‘You have a powerful family, little girl.’

  ‘Father sent you?’ she said in hope.

  The man didn’t reply and Poppy glanced through the open door of her limo to see her driver slumped across the wheel, and what looked like blood smeared across the windshield.

  ‘What do you want?’ she said, her voice quavering.

  He raised a strange looking weapon. ‘I’m here to take you to the new world.’

  The weapon fired again and Poppy Malone slumped forward into the arms of her abductor.

  The chrome-clad figure pressed a button on his helmet and spoke again. ‘Target acquired. Relocating to USSB Haven, as requested.’

  The man paused as he listened to the response and then hoisted the comatose singer up onto his shoulder.

  More gunfire sounded in the distance, followed by the unmistakable wail of police sirens.

  The armoured man cocked his head to listen, before speaking once more. ‘Inform the Committee, there’s been an incident at my location. Send a team.’

  After a final look around, he pressed another button on his armour and the panels on his impenetrable suit faded into the background, his masked form slipping into the night without a trace.

  Meanwhile, a small creature crawled out from Poppy Malone’s handbag, left behind on the ground, and stared after its human parent and sole source of food. Elton the gecko gave a croak of farewell before ambling off in search of adventure, his freedom from pink ribbons and cluttered purses a new beginning.

  Chapter Ninety-Six

  John Harrison Henry groaned and opened his eyes. His last sensation had been intense pain, followed by darkness, but that state of lost consciousness was now replaced by the glare of a brightly lit room which dazzled his senses and made his head ache with a dull throb. He squinted to reduce the ferocity of the overhead light panels and assessed his surroundings. The first thing that came to his attention was the stench. A foul-smelling odour permeated the air and took his breath away. He coughed and looked to his left and right. Exotic plants lined the walls of small animal enclosures. Dirt covered the floor of each and a shallow pond in one stretched from one side to the other, its murky water stagnant and still. Directly ahead, a large glass partition sealed off the room from whatever lay beyond its pitch-black façade.

  John tried to move his arms to ease their discomfort, and it was then that he realised his hands were bound with metal restraints. A rope tied about his waist secured him to a rusty metal seat, which itself was in a futuristic contraption much like a car from a funfair. A crackling noise made him swivel his head to where an old speaker hung from the wall at an odd angle.

  ‘How are you feeling, Mr President?’ said a man’s disembodied voice.

  John looked back at the glass. ‘I’ve been better.’

  ‘I’m sorry about the circumstances of our meeting; if I’d have known the intentions of those who brought you to me during your …’

  The voice paused as if looking for the right word to say.

  ‘Kidnapping?’ John suggested.

  ‘Acquisition,’ the man said, ‘then I would have insisted on a different path. As it was, events unfolded that were beyond my control and for that I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’ John said in contempt. ‘Many families will have lost a loved one tonight, and you’re sorry?’

  ‘Believe me or not, I am sorry, but many … many more will die if you fail to act on what I’m about to tell you.’

  John could hear sincerity in the voice of the man who spoke, a powerful voice that didn’t demand respect, but achieved it by default. But despite how genuine this person sounded, they’d helped murder government agents, put his wife in harm’s way and abducted the President of the United States. His actions spoke louder than any words ever could and John needed to find a way to escape, or f
ace the possibility of endangering those he was elected to serve. I can’t believe the GMRC have gone to such lengths to take me out of the picture, he thought. His mind returned to the GMRC drones that had attacked him and the words spoken by his Chief of Staff, Paul Brown: ‘The GMRC are already moving to block you. They’ve called an emergency meeting. We can expect a challenge to your executive order within the hour.’

  Is this the challenge the GMRC’s Directorate sanctioned? John wondered. Did Paul accidentally predict what was to come, a direct attack on the man who sought to force the GMRC out of the most powerful nation on Earth?

  He couldn’t believe it. Such an audacious attempt in front of thousands of witnesses, TV crews and CCTV cameras. The GMRC weren’t fools; their sophisticated manoeuvring of world governments was legendary. The assault was clumsy and smacked of desperation. So, if not the GMRC, perhaps someone working inside it with access to the drones; a terrorist cell, perhaps? He wondered why they didn’t just kill him there and then. What do they want from me? Are they planning to brainwash me, blackmail me? A million questions and more ran through his mind. I have to get out of here. He tested the rope and handcuffs that bound him, but they held fast.

  ‘You’re talking about this so-called disaster you told me about previously,’ John said, knowing his only option was to converse with this person, ‘half a billion Americans dead?’

  ‘It wasn’t me who spoke to you on your computer, Mr President,’ the man said, ‘but yes, that is what I speak of.’

  ‘And kidnapping me was the best way to save five hundred million people?’

  ‘Strangely, yes.’

  ‘Five hundred million, a number which is roughly the same as the population of this entire country?’

  ‘Despite what you may think of me,’ said the voice, ‘trust me when I say the destruction of the United States and everyone in it is assured, unless …’