by Rob Jones
“There!” Nikolai raised his arm and pointed across the vast airport mall. “I know that man. His name is Benedict. He is a senior acolyte. The men either side of him are his students. The man with one eye is Stefanus, and the man with the ponytail is Boaz.”
“Not the sort of chaps you want to meet on a dark night,” Lea said.
Hawke led the way, speeding up his walk while being careful not to draw any attention to himself as he moved closer to the Athanatoi warriors.
But then things changed fast. Walking with her parents, a child dropped a cookie and screamed. Benedict and the other cultists turned instinctively and instantly saw Hawke and the rest of the team closing in on them.
There was no hesitation. In one fluid movement, Benedict drew a Marlin BFR from his shoulder holster and spun around as he lifted it into the aim.
Hawke immediately recognized the powerful handgun. Chambered in .450 and capable of firing colossal 350 grain rounds at nearly two thousand feet per second, a direct hit would mean losing a massive percentage of your bodyweight followed by instant death. “Get down!” he yelled.
“Buggering fuck!” Lea said. “That’s a handheld cannon!”
He fired and the round struck the façade of a water vending machine, blasting the front window to pieces and exploding most of the bottles inside it.
Hawke slammed down behind the counter of a nearby KFC and told the workers to get out the back to safety as fast as possible. Lea and Reaper piled in after him as the fast food restaurant emptied in a hurry but Nikolai was still running for cover.
Then the lead flew. The Russian’s heart pounded in his chest and his mouth was as dry as sandpaper. Making it behind the cover with seconds to spare, he made his arms into a cradle and tucked his head in them to avoid eye damage from the flying splinters and pulverized plastic and smoke. The airport was now a battlefield and the cult he had sworn allegiance to but betrayed were winning the fight.
They threw grenades and raked security guards with automatic fire.
Hell was unleashing all around them.
Peering back over the bullet-shredded frontage of the cookie store he saw something that made his skin crawl. Benedict had grabbed a small, lost child of no more than ten and was dragging her back into the cover of the escalator with a gun to her head. Her terrified face was obscured in his black clothes as he pulled her away from her mother and father with a warning to stay away. Behind him, Stefanus and Boaz were giving the motherload of all cover fires as their compatriot finally reached the safety of the escalator with a final warning: let us leave this place or the child will die.
CCTV cameras swiveled and security guards broke off from their attack and Nikolai knew that all hell wouldn’t stop the cultists now they had the child.
Hawke wiped the sweat from his forehead and blew out a sharp, controlled breath. “Will they hurt her, Kolya?”
Nikolai knew from the Englishman’s face that he already knew the answer, but he answered out of respect. “Yes, my new friend. They will kill her if we don’t do as they say.”
The child’s parents were inconsolable with grief. The father’s face an unforgettable twisted rictus that only a once-in-a-lifetime terror could inflict; the mother a sobbing mess of red eyes and tears streaking down her burning cheeks.
Instantly shepherded behind an improvised security barricade by security guards, they called out to their girl not to worry – that they wouldn’t let anything hurt her – but everyone who heard it knew it was just raw instinct.
Everyone but the child, who believed every word she heard her desperate parents call out.
Nikolai felt an unquenchable rage burning inside him like lava. He thought of his own childhood and the hideous scars seared into his mind by the slaying of his own family – his mother’s screams as the bullets tore through his heart, the look on his sister’s dead, sightless eyes as her body lay out in the blood-soaked snow.
Never again.
Like a volcano, his own turmoil reached the point of no return and then burst through the surface at the weakest point. Leaping to his feet, he screamed at his former associate with anger burned on his face. “Put the child down, Benedict!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Silence, traitor!”
“I said let her go!”
Stefanus and Boaz watched their boss for his response. Above them all, a giant plasma screen now played live footage of an anti-terror team arriving at the airport. The ticker racing along the bottom the screen read: ONE CHILD TAKEN HOSTAGE AT AIRPORT TERROR ATTACK.
“You will die for this treachery, Kolya…”
Flanked by Stefanus and Boaz, Benedict now made his bid for escape. He walked backwards, still gripping the frightened, sobbing child. The gun pushed into her young temple. Everyone felt the same mix of abject disgust and fear. Push this man too far and he might just do it, they all thought.
There was no might in Nikolai’s mind. He knew Benedict better than anyone and he knew not only would he do it but the act would be committed with zero guilt or conscience. He would simply perform his rituals before sleep tonight and then the murderous matter would be settled in his mind forever.
He also knew he would almost certainly kill the child as soon as he no longer had a use for her but that use would involve taking her on board the aircraft as insurance. No fighter jet would shoot them down while they had her on board. He guessed that when the cultists were safely at their destination, they would kill her and dump her body.
He had to act now. If they got her onto the plane she was a dead girl walking.
“I’m going after her, Hawke.”
“We all are,” Hawke said.
“Form an orderly line, gents,” said Lea.
Guns now drawn, they followed the acolytes outside. The sun was higher now, but still low on the horizon. A 777 roared in from the east, probably Los Angeles International, and screeched down on the asphalt. Puffs of white smoke burst up from the undercarriage and the reverse thrusters growled in the dawn.
To their left, the three cultists and the sobbing child were almost at the private plane.
As expected, Benedict was dragging the girl up the airstair. He pushed her roughly inside the plane as Stefanus and Boaz darted in behind them and closed the door. The engines were already spooling and the plane turned to the taxiway.
“If we try and stop the plane, they’ll kill her,” Nikolai said. “I just know it.”
“And they have the goddam ring too,” said Lea.
“Call off your attack or we kill the girl!”
Reaper’s gun was raised. “I’ve got the shot, Hawke.”
“No! She’s too close.”
“What then?”
Hawke glanced over his shoulder at the FedEx car park. “I’m going after the girl.”
He made an instant calculation that he could make it, and burst into a full-speed sprint in the direction of the FedEx building.
“Are you crazy?” Nikolai said.
“You be the judge,” Lea said. “Watch.”
Hawke’s boots pounded on the tarmac as he drew closer to FedEx building and straddled the motorcycle. Turning the key, he revved the machine before steering it in a tight arc and heading out of the car park.
He twisted the throttle and quickly shifted up to full speed, fast approaching nearly one hundred miles per hour. Looking ahead he saw the Gulfstream. The sleek white aircraft was turning from the final taxiway to the runway now, the early sun glinting on the metal of its smooth rounded hull.
The engines spooled up and created a mirage behind the aircraft as the heat from the twin turbofans blasted out into the atmosphere. The pilot increased power again, building thrust ready for the take off, and the jet responded instantly, speeding even faster along the runway.
Hawke knew his only hope was to cut across the large grass area in between the two runways and meet it before it gained too much speed. Turning the bike, he scrambled across the dusty grass.
Looks
like you’re going to make it, but what are you going to do when you get there, idiot?
More power to the aircraft as he pulled alongside it, just keeping up as it raced along the runway. He steered closer to the wing, so near now he could see the shocked faces of the Athanatoi on board the plane.
No time for niceties, he said, forgoing a cheery wave, and leaped from the bike onto the aircraft’s port wing.
Harder than he thought.
The speed of the jet was faster now, and the air resistance immediately knocked him backwards and blew him down to the trailing edge of the wing where his boots crunched down into the slit created by the extended flaps.
Behind him at the rear of the jet, the engines roared like hell itself but there was no going back now. Falling off an aircraft going at this speed and hitting solid asphalt would mean death, and if not death then a year in traction.
No thanks.
Gripping onto the leading edge of the wing, he watched the end of the runway as it rapidly approached. No more than twenty seconds before this thing was at V1 and lifting off into the great blue yonder.
Maybe this was a mistake?
No time for regrets. He pulled himself along the short wing and reached the fuselage just beside the external door release. With one hand gripping onto the leading edge of the wing, he reached his other hand out to the door release and pulled it down like a fruit machine lever with all his might.
Snapping his hand back to his body, he grabbed for his gun as the door rolled back into the jet’s fuselage. He fired on the men who had raced to the door to shoot him.
He struck one in the chest and blasted him back inside the cabin just as the plane hit V2 and the pilot started to rotate the aircraft ready for the climb. The nose pitched up and knocked him off his balance. As he tumbled to the trailing edge of the wing, he threw his hands out and grabbed onto a hydraulics line in the gap between the main body of the wing and the flaps.
Another cultist appeared in the door but knew better than to fire a gun at a wing full of kerosene. The Englishman clung on nervously as the aircraft roared into the sky, the twenty degree pitch flinging his legs off the back of the wing from which he now dangled like a dying man.
A loud whine of hydraulics and the flaps started to retract. Hawke knew they would crush his hands if he didn’t get out and back onto the wing in time, and managed to pull his right leg up and use the moving flap as purchase to push himself up out of the cavity and back onto the wing.
The wind whipped at his hair as he crawled closer to the door, which was now closing again. Hawke fired on the man and killed him, just managing to reach the external lever and open the door a second time before the plane banked to the left.
Grabbing the seal running around the door he pulled himself inside just before the plane banked hard to the left. No time to think about how he would have tumbled to his death during the turn had he not been inside the jet, he raised his gun and fired on another man who was running toward the girl.
He took him out before he reached her, leaving him and the terrified child alone in the cabin. He closed the door and ran to her. “Listen, I’m here to save you.” As he spoke, he lifted her into one of the luxury white leather seats and buckled her in. “You’re going to be okay. I can fly this thing, but I just need a word with the pilot first, all right?”
She nodded but said nothing. She was frightened out of her wits, but he knew what he had to do.
Padding up the cabin, he slid a round into the chamber and fired on the cockpit door’s lock five times before blasting it to pieces. Booting the door open he slammed his body against the side of the cabin just before bullets raked up the jet’s ceiling.
“Okay,” he muttered. “So that’s how you feel.”
He spun around and emptied his magazine into the two pilots, instantly killing both men who now slumped forward in their harnesses.
He stuffed his gun into his holster and released the pilot from his harness. Dragging him out of the way, he jumped down into the seat and checked the gauges. None damaged thanks to his accurate shooting, and he quickly gained control of the aircraft and radioed into the airport to tell them he was bringing it back in.
“How’s the girl?” the woman on the ATC said.
Twisting his head, he craned his neck around and saw the kid still buckled into the seat back in the main cabin. “In shock, but safe.”
“Understood. You have first priority on Runway 8.”
He reduced power and levelled the aircraft, turning to port as he prepared to make the landing. “First priority on Runway 8, over.”
The Ring of Akhenaten was theirs, and he had saved the child’s life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jack Camacho and Kim Taylor landed at Washington Dulles Airport and hailed a cab. There was supposed to be a government car waiting for them but when they finally got outside the airport it was nowhere in sight. They walked out to where the cabs parked up, and Kim was unnerved by the absence of the official car.
“I don’t like it, Jack.”
“It’s just a cab,” he said deadpan. “The poor travel in them all the time.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Stop being an asshole.”
“So they forgot our car! It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Ordinarily I’d agree with you, but not with all the shit that’s going down in DC right now. It’s frightening me.”
He turned to her, more serious now he could see how rattled she was. “What are you saying? That there’s been some kind of coup already and we’re on a blacklist?”
She looked back, her face straightening with a new fear. She bit her lip as she thought about his words. “Maybe that’s exactly what I am saying, yeah. Things are getting totally crazy right now, Jack! Alex was very clear about the threat the President is under.”
“And we’re here to help her and work everything out, No one’s going to harm the President or Alex on our watch, right?”
She nodded, but his words hadn’t steadied her nerves at all. Alex had been more than clear when they had spoken earlier. In fact, the young woman had sounded scared out of her mind, and they both knew she was the last person who would exaggerate a threat or let herself get spooked by something that wasn’t real.
Kim wasn’t sure exactly what was going on in the city tonight but she knew it wasn’t good. She had a bad feeling that something very dangerous was unfolding all around them and she had to work hard to stop feeling like a bug in a Venus fly trap, struggling to escape as the leaves slowly crushed her down and trapped her forever.
“Listen.” Camacho’s voice was smooth and relaxed. “You’ll feel better when we get to the White House. Alex is waiting for us there and we can grab a shower and get something to eat in the Residency. We’ll get a full briefing from Agent McGee and maybe even get five minutes with the President. After you’ve seen how normal and boring everything is you’ll be fine. Alex is probably just worrying too much about her father. You know how she is.”
Kim’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I do, and that’s why I think we could be in danger.”
The cab cruised through the Washington suburbs – Highland Park, Cherrydale, Colonial Village – and then crossed the Potomac on the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge. The ride was smooth and slow, traffic building up as they drew closer to the city’s beating heart.
After a long silence, Camacho spoke up. “Like I say, let’s just wait till we speak with Alex and Brandon, and then we’ll decide what sort of danger we’re in.”
*
Davis Faulkner wasn’t ashamed to feel nervous as he sat at the top of the long table and watched the members of the US cabinet enter the room. After years of planning he was almost ready to make his move and show the Oracle what he was capable of, and yet for the first time he had started to look beyond the cult leader. No one was untouchable, right?
After a preamble and some coffee, he went straight to business.
“The evidence is clear, ladi
es and gentlemen. President Brooke used his position as our Commander in Chief to abuse the Constitution and use his powers to give our enemies aid and comfort.” He leaned forward in his chair and jabbed at the papers on the table in front of him for emphasis. “It’s all right here!”
The Secretary of Defense sucked air in through his teeth and shook his head. “I don’t know about this. I can see the evidence, and I admit that it’s compelling enough, but treason seems to be taking things too far. The President has such wide-ranging powers in foreign policy that I think you’ve got a hell of a job cut out trying to prove this charge.”
A murmur of agreement filled the air and Faulkner could see he was losing the room.
“We have the power under the Constitution to remove him from office for doing what he has done. Dammit, Kelvin… he’s supplied foreign terrorists with weapons and intel, and well…”
The Secretary of State leaned forward. “Is there something else, Mr Vice President?”
“Yes, Sarah, there is.” He gave a heavy sigh and signaled for Josh Muston to activate the overhead projector and pull the drapes. As darkness settled over the secure room, Faulkner watched with veiled pleasure as his Chief of Staff started the slide show.
“What the hell is this?” Sarah Montague said.
“What you are looking at is the scene of a crime.”
“Looks more like a bloodbath,” the Secretary of the Treasury said, disgusted.
Faulkner grimaced and put on his best horrified face to mirror those around him. “These pictures were taken in the Caribbean very recently. They show the bodies of two units of Navy Seals. All of them killed by the ECHO team using US weapons and intel provided by President Brooke.”
A rush of shocked gasps filled the room. “Good God…”
The Attorney General watched in horrified silence as Muston casually flicked through the images of the slaughtered Special Forces. Corpses everywhere. Blood on the sand. Gaping bullet wounds. Missing limbs. It looked hot and desolate.
