by Rob Jones
Hawke glanced at his watch. “When are the first flights out of the airport?”
“Just after five a.m.”
“Shit,” he said. “that’s less than twenty minutes away. We’d better get running.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“This is a zero-sum game, gentlemen,” Vice President Davis Faulkner told the faces staring back at him over his opulent mahogany desk. “Either we get what’s inside this ancient city or our enemies do.” He leaned back in his leather captain’s chair and deftly sliced the tip off a cigar. “Get that son of a bitch Packard on video conference right now.”
Josh Muston leaped from his seat and hurried across the room to one of the plasma screens situated on the far wall. When he turned it on, George Packard, the head of the NSA was chewing his lower lip and waiting nervously to speak with the Vice President.
When silence filled the room, Faulkner began. “As you all know, we’ve been working alongside a non-governmental force for some time now in a bid to secure a number of relics from the ancient world.” He settled back into his chair once again and puffed on the thick musky cigar. “In fact, many of these treasures and weapons originate from a time a good deal older than the ancient world.”
Muston and Mayhew, the Deputy COS exchanged a fraught glance. Was the old man finally bringing them inside the inner circle? They’d heard rumors about a man named Wolff who wasn’t what he appeared to be, a man who had harnessed the power of immortality. Some were saying he was dead now, finally, after thousands of years. It all seemed too insane to be true.
Mayhew was first to speak. “The problems we had in Greece and Miami were brought on us by the ECHO team. They got hold of the Sword of Fire which led them to the King’s Tomb well ahead of us, and they stopped the chaos we had planned for the Five Eyes conference, delaying our plans Stateside.”
“And now our intel guys are telling us they’re closer than ever to reaching the Citadel.”
“What’s our response?” Packard said.
“It comes in two stages,” Faulkner said. He looked like he was starting to perk up. “First, we go all out to capture this pre-Sumerian city known as the Citadel. We need their knowledge, technology and weapons. The second phase involves us eradicating the ECHO team, and I mean the full package.”
“The full package?” Mayhew said, turning slightly pale. “Are we certain that’s really necessary?”
Faulkner leaned forward in his chair and jammed his cigar stub down hard in the glass ashtray. “You’re not going weak at the knees are you, Brian?”
“Well, no, but…”
“There are no buts when it comes to ECHO, Mr Mayhew. The full package will not only eliminate them physically from this world, but also remove any trace of their ever having existed from all paper and digital records… and the same for all their friends and relatives. It will be as if they had never existed.”
“Seems like we’re using a sledgehammer to crack a walnut, Sir.”
“You want me to use that sledgehammer to crack your walnuts instead, Mayhew?”
“No, Sir.”
“Good, then get on board, man. I can’t use someone who pees their pants every time a tough decision has to be taken.”
“Sorry, Sir.”
“But what about President Brooke?”
Faulkner looked at him with cold, steady eyes. “Never mind about President Brooke. You just leave him to me.”
*
The assassin known throughout the world’s grimy underbelly as Cougar opened her apartment door and stepped into the lonely half-light of the hallway. Her recent journey to Greece to kill Magnus Lund had gone without a hitch, as her missions always did, but she was glad to be home and see her boy.
“Matty?”
No reply. She checked the answerphone and saw one message. She lowered her bag to the floor and hit the play button.
Hey Jess, it’s Justin. I guess you’re out at work or something. I tried your cell but no answer there either. I called to say that I found a great place here in Los Cabos. It’s perfect for us, but only if we can find the money because it’s mucho dinero. Anyway, take it easy babe and call me when you’re in. Hope Matty’s doing better these days. Call me.
He signed off with a kiss and then the machine bleeped as it reached the end of the message. The tinny electronic note echoed around the silent apartment for a second or two.
“Matty?”
She stepped into his bedroom but no sign of him. The bedsheets were all over the floor alongside the pillows and his alarm clock. She felt her heart quicken. Had something happened to him? Why wasn’t he answering her? Turning, she slipped her Glock from her holster in a lightning-fast fluid motion and raised it into the aim. Pushing the bathroom door open with the toe of her boot she checked the room was clear and moved back into the hall.
If there was anyone here, then they knew she was back – calling out to her son had given that game away – but she still had the advantage of knowing the apartment better.
And of being her.
She spun around the doorway of her bedroom with the gun raised and found her son.
He was sleeping in her bed, sheets twisted and tangled around his ankles and head resting on a sweat-soaked pillow. A number of inhalers were strewn on the carpet and the ceiling fan whirred gently above the whole sorry scene. He had come into her bed to sleep, maybe in the middle of the night.
She sighed a breath of relief and slipped the gun back into the holster. Taking care not to wake him, she rested her palm on his forehead and checked his temperature. A little high but nothing to worry about. The sound of his intermittent, rattling wheeze as he struggled to breathe made her feel a mix of anger and pity.
She walked back through to the kitchen and prepared some coffee. Sipping the strong, black brew she perched on the edge of her sofa and flicked through her cell phone messages. Nothing from Garcetti, which was good. She finished the drink and stretched out on the soft leather couch. Yawned and closed her eyes.
Two down and nine to go. As she slipped into sleep, her mind leapt from visions of the new house in Los Cabos to the pack of marked bullets she had in her bag. The next hit would require another chartered government flight and more time away from Matty. She felt her shoulders tense and worked hard to stretch the muscles in her neck and try and relax.
She saw the name of the next hit on the bullet. A neat engraving for sure, but another grim task ahead of her. Another family told of a loved one’s death and another funeral full of bitter tears. Daniel Devlin and Magnus Lund both gone now, and a third to follow very soon. None of them deserved to die, but she had no choice. She shook the thought from her mind and imagined diving into the pool in Mexico. Justin sipping a beer and Matty fixed up and laughing.
And then she was asleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Scarlet fell through the Tokyo night. The northern elevator car raced toward her as she neared her target. She slammed down onto the steel roof, slick with rainwater, and skidded to the edge at high speed. It happened like in a nightmare – slow and deliberate as she toppled over the edge. She thrust out her left hand and grabbed one of the car’s support posts, arresting her fall and spinning back around toward the center of the roof in one fluid motion.
Drawing her weapon, she fired on the hatch and blasted open the lock. Kicking it open she dropped inside and landed like a panther in the center of the elevator. The two startled guards stood like lemons for a second too long. Their shock at what they had just seen gave her all the time she needed to aim her gun at Jojima’s forehead. “Hands up! All of you!”
Hashimoto and Mori obeyed, raising their hands into the air
“Rings, now.”
Jojima looked confused. “You want my rings?”
“And I said now.”
“All of this for a common robbery?”
Scarlet remained perfectly still, the gun still pointing in the woman’s face. The elevator raced toward the ground. She pulled back the ham
mer, just for the psychological effect. “Now.”
Jojima scowled and started to slide off her rings one by one. She took her time, as cool as black ice. Never show the enemy you’re rattled. “You realize, you will be executed for this.”
“Just hand over the gold, sister.”
Jojima looked at her like she was an insect. “Here.”
Without a direct order, Hashimoto stepped forward and took the rings with a respectful bow of his head. He turned to Scarlet and stretched his arm fully out.
In his palm, she counted five rings, including Cyrus the Great’s ring – just as their intel had informed them. She took only this ring and slipped it into her pocket, leaving the diamonds and rubies and emeralds and opals for Jojima’s bony, withered fingers.
The Japanese woman’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. These gems are worth ten times more than that old junk.”
“Shows what you know.”
The elevator reached the parking lot level and stopped. A gentle ping alerted them all to their arrival and the brushed steel and smoked glass doors gently swept open. “Turn around, and keep your hands pointing at the sky.”
They obeyed, but she could see Jojima bristling at the humiliating nature of the whole robbery.
She ran out into the rain just as Ryan’s elevator reached the floor. The doors slid open and Zeke and Lexi jogged across the lobby and joined them outside the enormous skyscraper. “We took the regular elevators,” Zeke said.
“Yeah,” said Lexi. “We’re not heroes like you.”
Scarlet looked at Hiroko and handed her the jewellery box. “This is yours, I think.”
Hiroko fought back an unexpected wave of emotion. “Yes, thank you.”
“We need to get out of here in a hurry,” Ryan said. “Look over there.”
He pointed to the underground parking lot where the black Merc SUV Scarlet had seen earlier was racing up the ramp.
“They’re going to pick up Jojima and her goons and then we’re the main course,” Ryan said.
“We can’t outrun them!” Lexi said.
“We don’t have to outrun them,” Zeke said. “Not when we can ride in style!”
He nudged his square chin over their shoulders as the black Merc squealed to a stop outside the lobby and Jojima and her guards who were now drawing their weapons.
“You can’t be serious?” Lexi said.
“Sure, why the hell not?” he said, pumped to the max with his idea and a childish grin on his face. “Looks like our prayers just got answered, right?”
Scarlet gave in. “All right, everyone into the limo.”
As the limo idled outside the lobby, a group of businessmen and geishas were stepping out of the lobby and heading over to the car. The small party shuffled quickly through the rain, starched two-piece suits, polished shoes, kimonos and oil-paper umbrellas, but Zeke was first to the driver’s door. To the vocal protests of the driver, the towering Texan swung open the heavy door and grabbed him by the shirt collar. “Out you get, man.”
One of the geishas gasped, and a business man began shouting and pointing at him.
Zeke paid no mind and pulled the driver out and threw him to the ground, raising more than one eyebrow among the ECHO teammates, then he climbed in and adjusted the seat to allow more leg room. “It’s now or never!”
He fired the engine up and revved it a few times while the others piled into the back of the Cadillac DTS Stretch Limo. Sleek, black with tinted windows and a full sixteen feet long, the whole car growled when Zeke stamped on the throttle. The 4.7 litre beast under the hood responded with another roar and the limo surged forward, crashing through some decorative shrubbery and swerving out into the street.
“Great wheels!” Ryan said.
“Sure is,” Zeke called back. “What a beauty!”
The car powered forward, windshield wipers working hard to clear the rain. A specially adapted version of the car was used by George W. Bush as his presidential limousine, but apparently it was not so popular with the leading lights in the Yakuza firmament who were now firing on it with all they had. Now, with little regard for the car’s care, Zeke drove the enormous vehicle around the corner at the end of the street and hit the throttle to gain some speed on the straight.
Pumped to the eyeballs with adrenaline, Scarlet Sloane opened the electric sunroof and stood up to her full height so the upper part of her body was sticking out of the top of the limo. “Weapon!”
Ryan pulled an MP5 from his bag and passed it up to her.
With a little effort she squeezed the MP5 machine pistol up through the gap and aimed it at the pursuing Yakuza in the Merc.
Wildly raking their car with bullets, they swerved and skidded in response. A panicked driver struggled to keep the car on the road as she peppered the windshield with rounds and punched a dozen holes through it, killing both him and the other man in the front passenger seat. The Merc lurched wildly to the right and careered off the road. Mounting the kerb with an axle-busting crunch, it plowed through the front window of a busy sushi bar and sent the patrons screaming and running for safety in every direction.
Lexi saw it all through her open window.
Hiroko looked like she was going to be sick.
“Did we lose them?” Zeke yelled.
“Nuh-uh.” Lexi pulled her head back in from the window and moved down the limo toward the driving compartment. “They’re reversing back out, and there’s another load of goons just turned the corner, right Cairo?”
“Right,” Scarlet called back through the open sunroof. “Silver Honda SUV fifty meters behind us is Yakuza too, and they’re much more heavily armed.”
“Great,” Ryan said. “All we need now is for the sodding sniper to be hiding around here somewhere and then we may as well just kill ourselves and save all these arseholes the bother.”
Racing west along the Metropolitan Expressway, the gangsters in the Honda opened fire. Bullets chased after them, chewing into the tarmac as Zeke swerved to avoid having their rear tires blown out. The Yakuza’s aim got better, and now the bullets ripped into the angled trunk panel on the very rear of the limo. One of the rounds hit the lock and the trunk’s lid popped open, obscuring Zeke’s rear view mirror.
Turning to the side mirrors, he saw the Honda was closing in, and two of the gangsters were hanging out of the windows. It was almost comical, except for the fact one of them was holding a submachine gun and he was aiming it right at them.
He heard Scarlet firing back and saw sparks spitting up all over the hood of their car as her rounds hit their mark. The Honda swerved hard to the right, pulling the man with the submachine gun back inside.
The limo screeched its way around another corner and they found themselves racing toward the notorious Shibuya scramble crossing. Tens of thousands of people were all over the street with a sea of neon signs and traffic lights hanging above them like a stormy electric sky.
What looked to Scarlet like a Minebea machine pistol made short work of the limo’s back end, blowing out the window and punching holes in the metal trunk rim and side panels. Bullets shattered the glass and plastic housing of the brake lights, but the real trouble started when Hashimoto took out the rear tires from the battered Merc behind them.
Scarlet fired back. Ripping the Honda’s front tires out, the wrecked SUV swerved off the road and crashed into a noodle bar. Celebrating the destruction of the Honda lasted a few seconds before Zeke cried out from the front.
“We’re going down!”
Already under stress by the speed Zeke was punishing the Limo with, the tires now exploded like bombs and sprayed shredded vulcanized rubber all over the street. Zeke struggled to control the long vehicle, whose ass was now swaying all over the place.
Without the rubber tires, the steel wheels scraped and scratched on the asphalt, spitting orange and white sparks from the wheel arches like fireworks.
Zeke checked the speedometer and then his mirror. “We’re slowing down and t
he bad guys are closing in. We need a new plan.”
All eyes swiveled to Scarlet Sloane.
“Just keep driving, Tex,” she said, loading her weapon. “We’ll keep them off for as long as possible.”
“And what then?” Lexi said. “They’ll be on the phones, Cairo! They’ll have a dozen other cars all over us in minutes.”
“I’d have thought of something by then.”
Ryan shook his head. “I am not paid enough for this.”
The Merc containing Hashimoto and Mori pulled alongside them. Mori aimed the Minebea at them and raked a mag’s worth of rounds up the side of the limo.
Zeke saw it coming and swerved wildly to the left but with the rear tires blown out the car quickly spun out of control and tipped over. Scarlet only just managed to crawl inside before it crashed into its roof and skidded in a hail of sparks for fifty meters down the road before finally coming to a stop a few hundred meters short of the Shibuya scramble crossing.
The impact of the flip had banged Scarlet’s head on the door pillar and knocked her out, and now Ryan and the others struggled with their belt buckles.
Ryan was free first, and was upside down as he strained to unbuckle Scarlet’s belt when someone pushed the muzzle of a nine mil handgun through the open window and into his face. He strained up to see Hashimoto’s grinning face. Mori was behind him but no sign of Jojima. He guessed she had been whisked away to a safe house while the threat was still real.
“Ring.”
Ryan punched the back of the seat and crawled across the limo’s long ceiling. Gently slipping the ring off Scarlet’s finger, he handed it to the man. There was no need to tell him he had two others in his pocket.
