Demon Mind (Vector Book 2)

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  He just hoped the Israelis would agree with him.

  Arnon stared at him coolly for a few seconds that seemed to stretch into their own uncertain purgatory. “What do you propose?”

  “Simple,” he said. “We should split up our teams.”

  Skylar shot him a look of disapproval. They had barely gotten used to working with each other, and now he was suggesting they go out into the field with new partners.

  “I will go with Friedman to find Smadi,” Alex said. “Arnon and Skylar will escort Elad into Beirut. Then we both get equal say over what happens. Personally, I vote we destroy every record of it along with any existing stock of the weapon itself.”

  “You wouldn’t try to steal it behind my back and smuggle it into the United States, would you?” Arnon asked Alex, a skeptical look crossing her scarred face.

  Before he answered, Skylar spoke up. “You want honesty? I sure as hell would. But not Alex. This guy’s a damn Boy Scout.”

  Friedman let out a snorting laugh. “Boy Scout or not, if you cross us, Arnon has a way with blades. She can make you more suitable for the Girl Scouts.”

  Alex ignored the crude threat. “I don’t care what promises you need, what papers you need me to sign. But at the end of the day, that’s how this mission will play out.”

  “Or what?” Arnon asked.

  “We walk,” Alex said. “One phone call back to Vector, and we can find our own way out of Israel.”

  “You threaten us, and you will not make it very far. You are here because I worked with and respected Kasim. Not because I care about either of you.”

  A violent wind blew through the palm trees around the patio, shaking the fronds. Alex waited for it to settle before continuing.

  “I’m worried you’ll run off with Smadi and his secrets,” Alex said. “You’re worried about me doing the same. There’s not a thing I can say to convince you otherwise.”

  Arnon drained the last of her cappuccino. “Correct. Even if you don’t let this tech fall into the hands of our enemies, what if you bring it back to your own defense companies? They are just as liable to sell it to Saudi Arabia as they are to us. That would be unacceptable.”

  “I entirely agree,” Alex said. “Which is why I want to keep this operation between us.” Alex held up his phone. “But if I shoot a message to Kasim right now with the recordings of this conversation that I’ve just made and tell him that he needs to send in our reserve forces, he’ll do it. We can mobilize them to take Smadi before you even hop on a plane out of Israel.”

  Alex didn’t dare glance at Skylar. This was a bluff, and he didn’t want to give it away. To her credit, she didn’t react.

  “You are not a kind negotiator, Wolfe,” Arnon said.

  “Kindness isn’t my priority when we’re talking about the lives of millions of innocent people who will be affected by our choices over the next few days.”

  “That I can agree with.” Arnon started to stand. “And I accept your plan. Except I am going to make one minor change.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Friedman will go with Cruz and Luria to Beirut,” she said. “I am going to Naxos with you.”

  -25-

  Beirut, Lebanon

  Skylar wasn’t entirely thrilled to be in the field working with Friedman instead of Alex. The guy wore a constant smirk. Had one of those faces she considered supremely punchable. The only thing that made her less excited about the mission was the fact that they had Elad with them too.

  Nothing against him. But with his bout of amnesia, she feared he was still a few cents short of a dollar. Wasn’t sure how much use he’d be when he saw Ballard, especially when he couldn’t even recognize the man.

  Nah, she was basically a glorified babysitter. And she really wasn’t big on kids.

  The only good thing going into this mission was that the Israeli docs had been monitoring the degradation of the Ring of Solomon particles in her and Elad’s brains. They said the particles were just about gone. But they warned there was no telling what would happen if they were infected a second time.

  Would it be worse than the first? Would it cook her brain like Elad’s?

  This was only Vector’s second official mission, and she figured it might be the least favorite of her career. Especially with two guys she barely knew and couldn’t trust. She was in the passenger seat of a Toyota Land Cruiser with Friedman at the wheel and Elad in the back. They passed through a tree-lined street filled with busy shops, hotels, and apartment buildings.

  Three twenty-something men on bikes shot out in front of them from a side street. Friedman had to slam on the brakes. One of the young men turned back and gave them a hand gesture that Skylar had no problem interpreting.

  “Rude,” she said.

  “How many points do I win if I hit them?” he asked, revving the engine.

  The SUV shot forward just enough that the bikers’ indignant expressions turned to fear.

  “Not so brave now,” he said, smiling when all three of the bikers started cursing at him. “I think the short one pissed his pants a little.”

  Skylar couldn’t help but give him a sly grin. Okay, maybe Friedman wasn’t so bad. She liked the sense of humor. Reminded her of her brothers and sisters in the Marines.

  Skylar saw Elad making a horrified expression through the rearview mirror.

  “Do not worry,” Friedman said. “You know, three years ago, you would have told me it was ten points for each person. Double if I could knock them all over in one go.”

  “Whoever I was then, I am not now,” Elad said. “We’ve got a mission to focus on. Not these stupid games.”

  Skylar opened her mouth to say something but then shut it again. Sure, maybe Friedman’s joke was a tad unsympathetic, but Skylar recognized the dark humor of a man who had seen tragedy in his life. She had no doubt his career in Mossad had been preceded by his share of trying experiences in his compulsory military service.

  Sometimes the only way to deal with that kind of pent-up trauma was to laugh about it. Otherwise you ended up in a bad place. One where your mind was trapped by a power darker than the Ring of Solomon.

  But even if she warmed up to Friedman, Elad was right. They had a mission at hand. She’d be damned if she let a joke or two distract her. In a matter of a few hours, they needed to find Ballard and figure out how the Ring of Solomon was going to be used in the upcoming protests. Icing on the cake would be if they could actually stop that attack.

  The protests they were infiltrating weren’t just about a singular event. They had been going on for months. Lebanese citizens were growing restless with the extraordinarily high unemployment rates. When the government had announced a series of draconian new taxes to raise revenues, civil unrest had exploded. This was only compounded by the sectarian structure of the country’s political system, egged on by militant elements of Hezbollah. The tension between Muslim, Christian, Druze, and Jewish sects had come to a head.

  Though Skylar had a grasp of Lebanon’s economic and political background, it was difficult for her to tell which of these factors had set off the powder keg of protests that would happen today around Martyrs’ Square. But riding through the streets, she could tell one thing for certain: people were pissed.

  For the first leg of their journey, the city’s architecture looked like a Western European city with arched windows and balconies. But that quickly gave way to the blockier office buildings that appeared as if they had been carved from sandstone, mixed in with glass-and-metal monstrosities looming next to picturesque mosques with minarets that speared the sky.

  “Just a few minutes away now,” Friedman said.

  The crowds grew denser, marching toward Martyrs’ Square. They surged between the vehicles and passed by the patios of boarded-up restaurants. They held signs in Arabic, English, and Hebrew with demands as diverse as the languages and people carrying them.

  “Unless you want to drive over these people, you aren’t getting much closer,�
�� Elad said from the back seat.

  “I think I would lose points if I did that, so we better stop,” Friedman said.

  Friedman navigated through the crowd and parked on a side street. He switched off the engine then held out his phone so she and Elad could both see the map on the screen.

  “Sources tell us they spotted Ballard coming and going from this apartment building.”

  With his finger, he circled a rectangular building labeled District S Apartments. It was directly adjacent to an expansive parking lot across from Martyrs’ Square.

  “We believe he is staying in a unit on the top floor,” Friedman continued. “A few minutes ago, our asset on the ground said they saw movement in the apartment. With any luck, he hasn’t left. We can make contact and see what he knows about the Ring of Solomon deployment today.”

  “How do you propose we do that?” Skylar asked. “It’s going to be absolute chaos around the square.”

  “Thousands of angry people,” Elad said. “Chaos is an understatement. It’ll be like a war zone.”

  Friedman shrugged. “They’re supposed to be peaceful protests. If we are successful, maybe we can keep it that way.”

  “I hope so,” Elad said, “No matter how peaceful these protesters might be now, it won’t last if they’re infected with the Ring.”

  “Then we must be quick,” he said. “Find Cruz’s man, Ballard, and then leave.”

  “He is most definitely not my man,” Skylar said, giving Friedman a glare that she hoped sufficiently expressed her displeasure at that kind of insinuation. Because if the look wasn’t enough, she knew how to use her two fists.

  He raised his hands defensively. “I mean nothing by it, of course.”

  “Better not.”

  They exited the vehicle and merged into the crowds of protesters streaming toward Martyrs’ Square. Friedman guided them past people dressed in red and white, waving huge flags over the crowd. Voices carried up in chants that reverberated against the neighboring buildings.

  They passed what appeared to be a crater in the ground. Arched stone structures at the bottom were covered in greenery. They looked like the uncovered ruins of an ancient building.

  To her surprise, they were far more modern.

  “That is the remains of the Petit Serail,” Friedman explained, catching her eyeing the ruins. “It was an Ottoman administrative building.”

  “You brush up on your history before you came here?” she asked.

  He shot her a grin. “Not exactly. Let’s just say that I am no stranger to the city.”

  Elad squinted as he peered around. “This city feels familiar to me too.”

  “It should,” Friedman said. “I can tell you for a fact you’ve been here before.”

  They walked toward the eponymous Martyrs’ Monument in the middle of the square. It depicted a woman in a robe holding a torch. She looked suspiciously like the Statue of Liberty. Her arm was around a shirtless man. Beneath them were two more men who looked to be injured. When they closed in on the monument, Skylar saw it was scarred by bullet holes.

  People circled it. They held hands, chanting and praying and singing. The energy of the crowd was nearly enough to sweep Skylar away. To make her feel as though she were a part of history today too.

  Hopefully, if all went well, she would be. Only she would be on the right side of history. And ironically, if she did her job right, if this mission was a success, no one in this square fighting for their rights to be heard would have a clue what she’d done.

  Behind the monument, toward the end of the square, was a massive mosque. Its cerulean roof contrasted sharply with its golden minarets and arches. Apartment buildings and offices surrounded the square, but none were as majestic as the mosque.

  “I will keep my eyes on Ballard’s building,” Friedman said, nodding toward a six-story building with expansive windows and patios to their left. It matched the images of the District S Apartments he had shown them in the SUV. “You two look out for anyone suspicious. Maybe someone who looks like they’re going to deploy the Ring of Solomon.”

  “Not exactly easy to track down an aerosolized nanoparticle, you know?” Skylar said.

  “Well, I expect you two to at least have some experience with—”

  There was a sudden ebbing of the crowd as if a large wave was growing off the shore. Skylar tensed then heard a clamor toward their north, where they had entered the square.

  A group of counterprotesters was advancing into the square, waving signs of their own, yelling and pumping their fists into the air.

  “Things are about to get messy,” she said.

  “Then we better hurry,” Friedman said. He started walking faster toward Ballard’s reported position.

  The sounds of glass bottles breaking against the street sounded somewhere to the north. Skylar spotted police beginning to advance on the crowd too. They struck out with batons and riot shields. Protesters launched rocks and bottles at them.

  Voices screamed over megaphones, a raucous din erupting from every side. Skylar could barely hear the individual demands anymore. It sounded more like a thunderstorm that never let up.

  She felt naked in the middle of it all with only the suppressed pistol holstered near the small of her back. Normally, having a weapon like that gave her some comfort. But in a feverish crowd like this, she might as well toss pebbles at a herd of stampeding buffalo.

  “If someone was going to deploy the Ring, now would be the time,” Elad said, shouting to be heard over the crowd.

  They struggled against the press of people streaming toward the police. They were close to Ballard’s building. Just needed to make it through a parking lot.

  “Maybe the Ring was already deployed,” Friedman said. “That could be the cause of the violence.”

  Around them, protesters had climbed atop the vehicles in the parking lot. Most were shouting and gesturing wildly at the police. Skylar climbed onto the hood of a car to get a better vantage. She surveyed the crowd, looking for the familiar scenes of people ripping into each other like in the videos the science team had scrounged up.

  But while the protesters had a chaotic energy to them, they didn’t share the same animalistic fury she had experienced. And in that chaos, there was organization. Protesters attacked police, police attacked protesters. Counterprotesters joined in the fray at the fringes of the square, colliding like ancient armies on the battlefield.

  It wasn’t sheer anarchy, every man for themselves. These people were aggressive, but they weren’t out of control.

  “No,” she finally said to Friedman. “I don’t think anyone’s been infected yet. At least, if they have, the Ring hasn’t been activated.”

  “Then we still have time to stop it,” Friedman said. “We are almost to the—” He paused midsentence. “I see him! Ballard’s exiting the building right now, heading west.”

  Before Skylar could turn to see for herself, she spotted something that set off every alarm in her head. The police were all retreating from the square. So were the counterprotesters. Hell, they were practically sprinting away, disappearing down the side streets, ceding the entire area to the original crowd of protesters.

  The collision of forces between protesters and police had been frightening, to be sure. But Skylar hadn’t seen the type of brutal violence that would send the police forces running away like scared mice.

  The police knew something was about to go down. Something bad.

  “We need to get Ballard and go,” Skylar said. “Now.”

  -26-

  Naxos, Greece

  The island of Naxos emerged from the aquamarine waters with that abrupt arch of white rock, red-and-gold soil, and low-lying windswept plants characteristic of the Greek isles. Alex stood at the bow of the ferry as they churned through the waters toward it. On a small peninsula jutting from the island, the ruins of the Apollo Temple guarded the small city of Naxos. The city climbed from the port up the side of one of the island’s many mountain
s.

  “The Greek isles never fail to impress me,” Alex said to Arnon.

  She stood beside him, her good eye fixed on Naxos like a raptor seeking prey. The wind tugged at her jacket and light scarf. She wore a wig of curly blond hair that set off her tan skin, giving her a sun-soaked appearance that would make any leisure tourist envious.

  “Do not let a few rocks and olive trees distract you,” she said. “We’re here to find Smadi.”

  Alex bit back his tongue. All his attempts at conversation with the woman had fallen flat. She had a single-minded determination that he both admired and detested. Now that they were finally approaching Naxos, he had no doubt where her mind and priorities were.

  “Trust me, I want to have a little chat with that professor as much as you do,” he said.

  “Doesn’t matter if we can’t find him first.”

  “We’ll find him.”

  Vector HQ and Mossad had both verified that Smadi, under his new alias, had made a booking at the Naxos Castle Suites. To no surprise, the hotel was located just under the Castle of Naxos, a structure built in the early 1200s.

  As soon as the ferry settled into its slip, the pedestrian gangplanks clunked against the pier. Alex and Arnon started off immediately. They walked past the docks filled with fishermen unloading their wares. Restaurants along the port advertised fresh seafood and offered ample seating beneath tents decorated with string lights.

  Tourists disembarked from catamarans and single-hulled sailboats after a day of adventures on the Mediterranean, quickly finding seats to enjoy an afternoon wine. Others clustered around the myriad of gelato shops peppered between art galleries and souvenir shops advertising huge sales.

  Under the gates leading into the winding streets of Naxos Old Town, Alex hurried along a set of stone stairs. He felt as if they had been transported back in time, straight into a medieval town.

  A pair of cats sprinted past them, hissing at Arnon. She gave the feral beasts a wordless snarl, and they scampered away.