Joe Hawke Series Boxsets 4

by Rob Jones

  Deeper he sank, weighed down by the near-full ammo belt and his speargun. He managed to unclip the belt and watched the fresh rounds sink into the black under his feet as he kicked and strained to get back to the surface.

  He burst through it and sucked in a deep breath to find Venter high on the sun deck firing at him with a compact machine pistol. The weapon chattered and spat fire as the gunman sprayed the sea around him with automatic rounds. Kruger was beside him, ordering him to kill Hawke at any cost as he fumbled with his own weapon.

  Eyes wide with surprise and fear, Hawke heaved in a deep breath and flipped himself over to dive into the water. Swimming back down in the black and heading to the boat to use the hull for cover, he thought he’d made it when he felt a savage, searing pain in his arm. He spun around in the water, air bubbles exploding from his mouth as he screamed in pain.

  He saw the wispy white line of an underwater bullet trail as the projectile ripped its way down into the depths. The trail was tinged red with blood. He turned and looked at the location of the burning pain and saw a neat, inch-deep gouge mark in his right shoulder. The bullet had punctured his upper arm and burst out of the other side leaving a deep channel of bloody, torn muscle in its wake.

  He swam back up toward the relative safety of the hull’s waterline with blood pumping from the fresh wound on his shoulder. He slipped under the boat’s hull, swimming around the stern end of a chunky structural keel. He came to the surface, ready to surprise Venter. Closer now, the South African commando launched a renewed assault on him and pock-marked the sea’s surface with more bullets.

  Hawke fired back with the speargun. The projectile whistled through the air and wedged itself in Venter’s stomach, spraying blood all over Kruger. He was so shocked he never even screamed. He reached down and held the metal rod sticking out of his stomach with a terror-stricken face and turned white in the face.

  “Come on in,” Hawke said. “The water’s lovely.”

  Venter passed out from loss of blood and shock and tumbled off the side of the yacht. He hit the water with a tremendous splash and bobbed up and down in it face-down, allowing Hawke to use his body as a stepping stone as he reached for the stainless steel telescopic boat ladder.

  With a sea of burning detritus from the trawler all around them, Hawke now watched with a crushing sense of defeat as a Kamov Ka-60 lifted off from the helipad on the sun deck, rotated in the air and swooped down low over the water. It headed back to the land and was quickly nothing more than a small black smudge on the horizon.

  He climbed back up onto the top deck to find the rest of his team assembling around him. “Sorry, Joe,” Scarlet said. “But they got Lea and Danny.”

  “And the codex,” Ryan said.

  Kim sighed. “And the idols.”

  Hawke tensed his jaw. “I’m calling Rich. We need to know where they’re going and fast.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Dirk Kruger stepped out of the NH90’s narrow cockpit door and walked through the helicopter’s cabin until he reached the door to the Oracle’s private suite. His shirt was still stained with Venter’s blood and in his hand, he gripped an automatic pistol.

  Outside, the warm blue waters of Biscayne Bay slowly melted into Card Sound. Tiny paradise islands were everywhere, little keys of palm trees and white sand dotted here and there like gems on a blue velvet cloth. They had boarded the chopper straight from the private jet in Miami and were now descending to land on the Oracle’s private paradise island of Copperhead Key.

  A small island in the Florida Keys, Otmar Wolff had bought it for the princely sum of $105 million dollars. He had used it for many things over the years – entertaining politicians and greasing the wheels of power, planning his archaeological ventures, even holding depraved parties for his fellow cultists. Its thirty acres offered total privacy and came with a small airfield and full service and dockage for up to fifty tons.

  Kruger glanced out of the window just in time to see the clearing at the center of the island and the ominous outline of an airship sitting in the tropical dusk. A number of Athanatoi cultists were busy working in the airfield. Seeing it, the South African knew the plan the Oracle and Faulkner had been cooking up really was about to happen and there was no turning back now.

  As he waited to be summoned inside, he turned to his left where Lea and Devlin sat. “All the trouble and misery you caused is coming back around again to you now. I literally cannot wait to watch you die.”

  Devlin winked and cocked his head, earning him a ferocious pistol-whipping with the gun’s grip. The Irishman’s head smacked back against the fuselage and then slumped forward. He was out like a light.

  Kruger blew Lea a kiss and then the Oracle ordered him to enter.

  He stepped inside the modest cabin at the rear of the chopper and found the Oracle screwing the cap up on a bottle of sparkling, glittering liquid.

  The elixir.

  “What do you want, Dirk?”

  His eyes followed the golden liquid in the bottle. The Oracle slipped it inside his pocket and breathed a shallow sigh of relief. When was he going to get some of this stuff – this magical elixir that promised eternal life? He looked back up to the Oracle and gave his reply. “The pilot just told me we’re landing on the island imminently.”

  “Good. Are all our preparations in order?”

  “Yes, sir. What exactly is going to happen tonight?”

  The Oracle smiled. “Tonight we destroy America.”

  *

  When they landed, a number of Athanatoi cultists quickly whisked Lea and the unconscious Devlin away from the chopper and into what looked unnervingly like a dungeon. Like her, they removed his gag and untied his hands and then dumped his body down on the slimy stone floor before chaining him up beside her.

  One of them kicked him in the ribs for good measure before they slammed and locked the floor. The foul chamber was plunged into almost total darkness, the only light shining through the bars in the tiny hole in the door.

  She ran to him and lifted his head up from the cold stone. “Danny! Are you okay?”

  With his head cradled in her arms, he started to stir. “Holy Mary Mother of Christ flying on the back of a flamingo, what the fuck was that?”

  “He belted you because you winked at him, you idiot.”

  “You think it knocked any sense into me, girl?”

  “Like buggery it did,” she said, climbing to her feet. “What the hell were you thinking, winking at that son of a bitch like that? He could have killed you, Danny. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  Groaning with pain, he crawled up to his elbows and rubbed the fresh wound on the side of his head. “On reflection, it wasn’t the best idea I ever had.”

  “You’re a fool, Danny Devlin, but a brave fool.”

  He looked into her eyes. The chains grated on the flagstone floor as he brought his hands up to brush against her face and then he leaned in to kiss her.

  “Danny, no.”

  He stopped, lowered his head and sighed. “I’m sorry…”

  “I love Joe.”

  His shoulders slumped down and he shook his head, but then she heard him laughing. “You’re right, I’m such a fool.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “You won’t tell Joe?”

  “No.”

  “Thanks, because I think he’s strictly a second chance only kind of guy.”

  She sucked in her lips but then returned his smile. “You’re right on that one, Danny and we all love you being on the team.”

  “I read you loud and clear, Lea Donovan.”

  Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness now and she scanned the dungeon in search of anything they could use as a weapon, or even an escape route. It was a large, filthy space of cold, wet stone with water trickling down from unseen cracks and mould and fungus growing in damp, dark corners.

  Metal chains hung from the walls and then she saw it – a skeleton in rags hanging by its wrists fro
m a metal ring fixed into the far wall, its feet just touching the floor. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “What the hell has been going on down on this island, Danny?”

  He shook his head. “We have to get out of here, Lea, or that’s us in a couple of years’ time.”

  He was on his feet now, beside her. He pulled up the collars on his jacket, dusted himself down and swept his hair back. He turned to her, anxious but still in control. “I need to lose a few pounds but I don’t think that particular diet plan is for me.”

  She twisted her head and pursed her lips. “Don’t speak ill of the dead. Did you never hear that?”

  He shrugged. “I’m just sayin’, that’s all.”

  “Eeijt.”

  They spent a quarter of an hour trying every crack and corner as far as their chains would let them move. They checked the door for any weaknesses but it was solid metal with only a small face-sized, barred window and there was no getting out of that. Then they heard the sound of a key in the door and took a step back as the Oracle and Kruger stepped into the cold dungeon.

  “Still here?” Kruger snarled. “Must be losing your touch.”

  “Get lost, Dirk,” Lea said.

  “Unlock her,” the Oracle wheezed. He looked like he was starting to fade.

  Kruger walked over and unshackled her from the wall. “You’re coming with us now, Donovan. We’re going for a little flight.”

  The Oracle turned and walked back up the stairs.

  Devlin stepped forward. “She’s not going anywhere without me, Kruger.”

  The South African laughed heartily. “You’re not going anywhere, but don’t worry about being lonely. We’ve organized a new cell mate for you.”

  With his words still hanging in the air, an enormous shadow loomed on the wall of the circular staircase behind him. It looked like a monster was approaching and then he realized that was exactly what was happening.

  Kruger stepped out of the enormous monster’s way and laughed. “Meet Boboc.”

  Boboc now loomed into view. At least seven feet high, the Romanian bodybuilder was wearing a white vest which revealed an upper body totally covered in tattoos. Vampires and dragons fought for supremacy on his chest and arms, claws and tails and forked tongues twisted up his neck and throat, the ink twisting all over him in black and blue tendrils. In one hand he held a hatchet and the other gripped a flail mace.

  Devlin took a step back as he took in the seven-foot monster with the medieval arsenal in his hands. “Holy Mother of God.”

  Kruger saw his fear and smiled. “Mr Boboc here has never been accused of being bad company. Apparently, the Oracle is going to increase his reward for every hour he can string out your death. Neat, huh?”

  “You get away from him, you hear?” Lea cried out.

  “He can’t reply,” Kruger said. “His tongue was torn out in a gangland dispute when he was a teenager, but don’t worry. He’s very good at expressing himself with his hands.”

  Boboc grinned and revealed a mouth of smashed, jagged stumps where his teeth had once been. He swung the flail mace around in a circle at his side and brought the spiked metal ball crashing down on the stone floor. It smashed through the surface and blasted splinters of granite into the air.

  “Shit,” Devlin said.

  “And to think he wants to do that to your ugly little head!” Kruger said. “Goodbye, Mr Devlin. Forever.”

  Lea felt Kruger’s hands squeeze her arm as he dragged her out of the dungeon and slammed the heavy door. “You can’t let him die like that!”

  Kruger chuckled. “If you think that’s bad, wait until you see what the Oracle has in store for you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Eden and Alex had liaised with the US authorities and quickly figured out the Oracle’s flight plan to Miami, despite efforts to cover it up. Hawke and the rest of the team had landed in the city only minutes after the Athanatoi contingent.

  A chopper was waiting for them on the apron and they were in the air before the engines on their private jet had stopped spinning. Tracking the Oracle’s NH-90 south across Biscayne Bay had been meat and potatoes for Joe Hawke, but no one was prepared for the surface-to-air missile streaking toward them from one of the keys down on the twilight horizon.

  “Brace for evasive action!” Hawke pulled on the controls and tipped the helicopter hard to port. Pitching the nose to the ground to raise the tail boom, he did all he could to stop the projectile hitting them.

  “Holy shit!” Kim yelled.

  The missile scorched through the sky at the head of a plume of white exhaust smoke twisting in the tropical breeze. The lethal weapon flashed past the chopper and screeched into the eastern sky behind them, before turning in an arc and heading back around to its target once again.

  “Heat seeker?” Reaper asked.

  Hawke gave a quick shrug. “Or remote control… hardly matters. Look out!”

  He descended the chopper rapidly to avoid the incoming missile. Their ears popped as he piled the helicopter down toward the surface of the sea. The key was rising up now and approaching fast. A large swimming pool surrounded by loungers and palm trees was at the eastern end of the island and now Hawke saw a number of men in black setting up a grenade launcher at the side of the pool.

  “Something tells me they don’t want us to land!”

  The grenade launcher crew fired on them and Hawke tipped the chopper aggressively to the left to avoid their rounds. He was too late. The grenade exploded and shredded the rotors, blasting them to pieces, instantly and fatally wounding the chopper.

  He struggled with the helicopter’s controls as the missile streaked past them and headed for the swimming pool area. The crew abandoned their grenade launchers and ran for their lives as the weapon smashed into the decking beside the pool and exploded in a massive fireball that lit up half the island.

  The chopper burst though the cloud of smoke billowing up from the destruction below. Situated to the left of the pilot’s seat like the handbrake on a car, the collective lever altered the pitch angle of the chopper’s rotors. This normally changed the machine’s lift and could even determine its rate of descent even if a helicopter’s engine cut out. It was usually possible to glide the machine safely to earth using this collective lever in a process called autorotation.

  This allows the pilot to constantly change the pitch to keep the rotors spinning even without the engine, but not if the rotors had been blasted to shreds by a fragmentation grenade. Fighting with the anti-torque pedals as he tried to keep the chopper straight and level, it didn’t take an experienced helicopter pilot like Hawke long to know that this bird was going down, hard and fast.

  He did all he could, desperately manipulating the pitch of what was left of the rotors in a bid to keep some kind of rotation going and slow the descent of the doomed aircraft. At the same time, he tried to edge the chopper toward the jungle running around the outside of the island. If they hit the hard ground at this speed, it was doubtful anyone was walking away, but if he could use the thick blanket of mangroves and palm trees around the island it might just arrest the fall enough to provide some sort of cushioning effect.

  Hawke had flown many missions in helicopters, both as passenger and pilot and he’d had more than his fair share of close calls, but this was easily the most dangerous situation he’d ever had in one. Worse than that, the injuries on his arm and leg had been dressed on the plane from Greece but were still giving him a lot of pain.

  The ground rushed toward him and the chopper now started to spin uncontrollably on its vertical axis. With time fast running out, he called over the comms to the rest of the team. “Brace for impact!”

  “Not this again!” Ryan yelled.

  The chopper plunged into the tropical canopy, its shredded rotors slicing the tops of the palms like two hot knives through butter and flinging the debris in all directions. Inside, the battered and terrified passengers held on for their lives as the machine smashed dow
n through the trees and crashed hard into the sandy ground.

  The landing skids instantly buckled and broke away from the main body. The spinning chopper’s tail boom whacked into one of the tree trunks and tore clean away sending the tail rotor violently ricocheting off into the jungle. The horizontal stabilizer tails ripped off as it shredded its way through the undergrowth before coming to a dead stop in a wall of vines.

  The main rotors jammed into yet more trunks like blunt axes, bending and stopping with a deep thud, halting the drive shaft and burning out the main motor before the forward-motion of the chopper’s body ripped them off and sent them crashing to the ground.

  The cabin of the helicopter, now without a tail boom or rotors, or skids, skidded along the jungle floor until they collided with a thick, low branch which punched a hole through the windshield. Nearly decapitating Reaper in the co-pilot’s seat, it had the effect of spinning the chopper around one-eighty degrees and finally bringing them to a stop in the center of the thick jungle.

  The aluminum on the main fuselage bent and crumpled, bursting open on the starboard side and sending fuel spilling out on the sandy ground. With the stench of jet fuel rising into the battered and dented cabin, Kim came to and tried to bring her eyes into focus. She was dazed, dizzy and nauseous. She realized she must have been knocked out at some point, probably after smashing her head into the window pillar on her left side.

  She blew out a breath and tried to get her head together. She was shaking like a leaf and her heart was beating so hard and fast she thought it might just burst out of her chest. Then she smelled the fuel.

  She could smell it strongly and hear it running out of the helicopter. She looked out of the window and saw a pool of it collecting around what was left of the chopper. It must be coming from a severed fuel line, she thought.

  We have to get out of here.