by Rob Jones
“Cougar took her out a few hours ago.”
“Good,” Faulkner said without emotion, running his fingers along the edge of his desk. “If there are any survivors from the fight in Iraq, I still want her to continue with the mission and hunt them all down one by one until they’re all gone, got it?”
“That’s the plan, sir. I’ll contact Pegasus immediately.”
The new president gave a nod of satisfaction before spinning around in his leather swivel chair and facing the rest of the top brass assembled in the Situation Room. These were the world’s most powerful men and women and they had all sworn to obey his orders.
And that put him in nearly as good a mood as when the Special Ops team had reported their success in securing the Citadel. Details were sketchy. The fighting was brutal, apparently, and the building was partially destroyed by some kind of self-destruction mechanism. The team reported that there was enough left to study, to pull apart, to analyze, but the real news was the death of the Oracle.
Gone to hell, probably.
Now he and he alone commanded the most devastating military force on the planet, at least until the missing treasures of the Citadel were discovered, and then he would control them as well as all the nukes. For a moment he almost felt giddy with the thought of such unbridled power resting in his hands. If the legends were true, and he found what the Oracle had told him awaited them in the Citadel, he would be the first person in history to control the entire planet.
Now the Oracle was dead, of course.
Muston put the phone down and walked over to the new Commander-in-Chief. “That was General Patterson, sir. President Brooke and the others arrived at Tartarus a few moments ago. They’re being transferred from the aircraft to the underground detention center as we speak.”
“Jack Brooke.”
Muston was confused. “I’m sorry, sir?”
“You said President Brooke.”
“It’s customary to refer to…”
“Not with him it’s not,” Faulkner snapped. “The man’s the worst traitor in American history. He’s to be stripped of the title President, got it?”
Muston looked around at the blank, inscrutable faces of the men and women commanders around the long table. None of them offered him any hope of a way out. “Yes sir, Mr President. I’ll look into it with the Attorney General right away.”
Faulkner looked away and started flicking through more images, this time of memos.
“What are they?” Muston asked.
“These are Presidential memoranda ordering the transfer of more weapons and technology to the ECHO team. All signed by Brooke.”
They shared a grim smile.
“Yes, sir. The signature is almost perfect.”
“Naturally. See to it that they get into the press.”
“Yes sir.”
Out of nowhere, Faulkner laughed a loud, booming laugh and reached around to slap Muston heavily on the back. “I know I can trust you, Josh.” He stared at the generals and admirals at the table. “He’s one helluva guy, right?”
A murmur of agreement rippled around the low-lit room.
“What sort of force they got down at Tartarus?”
An admiral spoke up. “Three thousand troops, sir, plus a small civilian staff of two hundred and around fifty medical. The island is airbrushed right the hell off all maps, including all satellite imagery so no one’s finding it – not on paper maps or Google Earth. It doesn’t exist.”
“An island that doesn’t exist, that isn’t on any maps and is guarded by three thousand US troops,” Faulkner said, steepling his fingers. “Sounds like Brooke’s not going anywhere until we’re ready for the trial.”
“Yes, sir, Mr President. Makes Gitmo Bay look like a Sunday School picnic.”
“You tell General Patterson that Brooke and his daughter, plus McGee are traitors awaiting trial for high treason and that he is to guard them with his life. If anyone busts them off of that island, Patterson and his entire top team are spending the rest of their lives there, and not as guards but as prisoners. You tell him that.”
“Yes sir.”
Faulkner started to relax for the first time since ordering the coup. Now, with Brooke well and truly out of the way, the head of the snake was decapitated and the threat of a counter-attack was all but dead. And Muston’s suggestion of Tartarus was inspired. An artificial island built in total secrecy and never registered on any maps, not even classified military ones, there was no way the goddam ECHO team was getting their asses there to save their hero either.
He breathed a sigh of relief and pushed back into his chair. He felt his shoulders slope a little as the tension bled out of his body. He had done it. Brooke was arrested and out of the country on a prison island that was so remote it could only dream of being in the middle of nowhere. The ECHO team had failed to secure the treasures of the Citadel and most important of all the Oracle was dead and his army of crazy monks scattered to the four corners of the earth like the ashes from a thousand burned temples.
Facing the military commanders, he lit up one of his fat cigars and took a deep puff, chewing the smoke in his mouth before blowing it up into the low lights over the desk.
“Ladies and gentleman, we have a world to take over.”
Muston looked smug. With the mysterious Oracle out of the way there was no one to stop them now. His mind drifted to the Special Ops reports… how the dying guardians had screamed the name Koru in their last breaths. Probably nothing, he thought, all things considered. Maybe worth looking into when they had control of things here in DC. Turning to his boss, he saw the grinning face of the cat that got the cream. “What’s the first order of the day, sir?”
“That’s easy. I want the President of Iraq on the phone right now. When the devastation clears around the Citadel, we’re going to need to secure the entire location and go in once again. Something tells me we haven’t even begun to scratch the surface as far as that place is concerned and it’s vital to our national security interests that it’s a secure US-Iraqi facility. No Russians, no Chinese, no Brits, no French, or anyone else. If there really is any missing technology from that civilization, or weapons, or knowledge, I want it and I don’t want anyone else to have it. Got it?”
“Yes sir.”
Faulkner smacked his hands together and dragged heavily on the cigar.
“Good. Then let’s get to business.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
A day later, the ECHO team had flown south over the Persian Gulf and checked themselves into a penthouse suite in one of Dubai’s most luxurious hotels.
Hawke leaned on the balcony rail outside and watched a tug from the United Emirates Navy tow the yacht they had fought on back into port. There was no more smoke billowing from it now, but the fire damage was harsh and he guessed it was a clear write off. But what did that matter now?
After the battle of their lives, the Oracle was dead. Burned to death in a savage plasma blaze. When he closed his eyes, he visualized his blackened bones crushed inside the iron sphere or under one of the shrines he so longed to find. The man who had become kingmaker to so many governments around the world was now no more than a pile of ashes, as were his leading acolytes and cult members. ECHO had ended the threat they posed and shut down the endless series of terror attacks and relic plundering that had characterized Otmar Wolff’s depraved reign.
But Hawke was tired. During this war, he had aged like anyone else. His bones ached and his muscles burned. He stubble was growing more silver by the week. It took longer than it ever did to get out of bed in the morning. The recovery time for his injuries was also stretching out. What used to take one night to heal now took a week. He looked at the younger Ryan Bale or Nikolai with envy.
“That was epic,” Zeke said, cracking a beer.
Scarlet was two bottles ahead of him. “You can say that again.”
“So what’s next?” Lea said. “If you ask me… wait – my phone’s ringing.”
; Lexi rolled her eyes. “Oh God what now?”
Reaper watched Lea’s face as she read the caller ID.
“It’s Alex,” Lea said, her eyed flooding with panic. Lea wiped a tear away, exhausted and broken and with no end in sight. “Alex, go ahead – you’re on Facetime.”
Hawke turned to Ryan. “Trace it, now!”
“On it.”
“Alex, are you okay?”
“I’ve been better,” she said.
“Why can’t we see you?”
“I’ve got a hood over my head. We all have. Me, Brandon McGee and my Dad.”
“Jesus.”
Hawke heard Alex’s voice contort with fear. “He’s invoked the Twenty-Fifth, Joe! They actually arrested my father for treason!”
“How are you speaking with us?” Ryan asked.
“Agent McGee managed to smuggle me a phone. He’s loyal to Dad.”
“This can’t be happening,” Scarlet said.
Lexi shook her head. “This is really, really bad, Joe.”
“So what’s happening right now?”
She started to break down.
“Hold it together, Alex,” Lea said. “You can do this!”
“Where are you now, Alex?” Hawke asked.
“On a plane. They’re taking us to a place called Tartarus. It’s some kind of prison island used for extraordinary renditions and terror suspects. I don’t know anything anymore. Like I said, I’m on a plane with no windows. There’s no light. It’s so dark. Dad’s on here too. Agent McGee says Tartarus is some kind of black site and that we seriously do not want to go there. He doesn’t know the location or he’d tell me. I trust him.” She took a long breath and tried to calm herself. “I trust him! Who else can I trust?”
“You’re not alone, Alex,” Camacho said. “Hold tight.”
“They’re coming after all of you,” Alex said. “You’re on the list too, Agent Banks.”
“Oh my God,” Kamala said.
Hawke said, “Alex, I want you to contact us when you land. Unless they’re flying around in circles to throw you off the scent we might be able to use the time in the air to work out the location of this Tartarus.”
“Sure thing, Joe. Wait, someone’s coming! I have to go.”
“Alex, wait!”
The image jumped all over the place and then smacked into the floor with the camera facing up. They all saw the roof of an aircraft – vents, lights, overhead bins. Then they all saw something else – a boot heel come out of nowhere and smash into the camera’s lens. The signal cut immediately and the screen went black.
Hawke felt a sickening feeling in his stomach, crawling up his throat.
Alex was gone and the call was cut. They stared at the dead, black screen with horror on their faces. “Looks like she lost the phone,” Lea said.
“Damn it!” said Hawke.
Kamala was stricken with fear and confusion. “She said I was on the list.”
“I’m so sorry,” Lea said. “It’s because you tried to save Kim. You’re one of us now, whether you like it or not.”
“I don’t know what to think. I have to get back to America. My family!”
“You’re looking at your family,” Reaper said gruffly. “Bienvenue, ma nouvelle amie.” A cloud of smoke drifted up to the wires where the smoke detector used to be. “Bienvenue.”
Kamala shook her head and collapsed down onto the bed. “This can’t be happening.”
“It’s happening all right,” Lexi said. “Now you run with the shadows just like the rest of us.”
“I’m not a fugitive!” she protested. “I’ve dedicated my life to law enforcement. I’m in the Secret Service.”
“Not any more, you’re not,” Ryan said.
“Shit,” Zeke said. “Guess that means you’re stuck with me too.”
Scarlet pursed her lips, drew her eyes away from his biceps. “We can probably fit you in.”
“Well, I don’t know about us but you…” Ryan said, preparing one of his best lines, but then he stopped talking and took a sip of his beer instead. “Sorry, now’s not the time for cheap gags.”
“Said the senator to the escort girl,” Scarlet said, deadpan.
A ripple of subdued laughter went around the hotel room.
“Cheerfulness in the face of adversity,” Hawke said. “That’s what we say in the Royal Marines.”
“Come on, you heard Alex, Joe!” Lea said. “Faulkner really has put us on the Most Wanted! We’re outlaws for God’s sake.”
“Us versus the world,” Ryan said. “Who wants a beer?”
Nikolai rejected the offer of a drink. “I drink only water.”
Scarlet’s jaw fell open. “But this is ECHO.”
“Hell, gimme his!” Zeke said, snatching the bottle from Ryan’s hand. “I could sink about thirty-five of these babies right about now.”
“Thirty-five?” Scarlet asked, lifting an eyebrow. “That’s fighting talk, Tex.”
He grinned and blushed. “Maybe just six, sweetheart.”
Hawke measured the temperature of his team and saw things were getting too hot. They’d had a lot to process. Danny, Magnus and Kim were all gone – murdered by the sniper, most likely Alfredo “The Spider” Lazaro. Alex Reeve and her father President Brooke were gone too, but thankfully still alive. Whisked away by Faulkner with Brandon McGee to an unknown Black site.
But they’d had their victories too. The Oracle was dead. None of them really understood what they had seen back in the Altar Room deep inside the Citadel, but they all knew it was the end of Otmar Wolff. They also believed Nikolai when he told them that without their leader the cult would start to crumble and crawl back into the holes they came from.
Who the mysterious, unaccounted force was at the Citadel – none of them knew, not even Nikolai. They had vanished as quickly as they had arrived and seemed more focused on guarding the Citadel than attacking ECHO.
And new friends had joined them, proving their loyalty and showing their mettle in the heat of war – Ezekiel Jones, the former tank commander, Athanatoi acolyte Nikolai and Kamala Banks who had risked her life to stay with Kim when an active shooter was in the vicinity.
Lea’s phone rang again. “Eden.”
Hawke sighed. “Something tells me he’s not going to like our report.”
Lea told him about Alex’s report and then flicked the phone to speaker. They all heard Eden’s upper-class English voice as he said, “And something tells me you’re not going to like what I have for you, either.”
Hawke braced himself. “We can take it, Rich.”
“I can confirm everything Alex has told you, and there’s more bad news. Things are moving fast. Faulkner’s freezing our assets wherever they can find them,” Eden said grimly.
“Our money?” Scarlet asked.
He nodded. “We need money for everything we do, from paying for jet fuel to bribing officials to buying weapons and ammo. Without money we’re powerless.”
“A good job you have Nikolai on your team, my friends,” the Russian said. “I never needed money to get whatever I wanted in life. You tell me what you want and I get it.”
Reaper gave him a hefty pat on the back. “Merci, mon ami.”
But it’s not going to be enough, Hawke thought. Nikolai might be able to use his skills to acquire them food or hotel rooms, hire cars or gasoline, but he was going to struggle when it came to providing private jets or submachine guns or fake passports. Still, it was better than nothing.
“Thanks, Kolya,” Hawke said. “We appreciate it.”
“Stealing food to survive?” Zeke said. “Shit, I thought this was going to be like James Bond and now you say we’re eating out of trash cans.”
Nikolai tutted. “Never! Not with me around.”
“And not with me around, either,” Hawke said, steeling himself for the oncoming battle. “We’ve been through too much together to be starved like rats and snuffed out by a scumbag like Faulkner.”
When t
he room’s heavy bakelite telephone rang, everyone jumped. Lea was closest. She picked up the phone between the beds and spoke in hushed tones for a few moments before hanging up and turning to the others. “That was the front desk. They say our cards have been rejected. They say we have an hour to pay for the rooms or they’re going to throw us out.”
A grim silence filled the room.
Scarlet was first to speak. “So it’s already started.”
“What cash have we got?” Hawke asked.
They turned out their pockets and threw it on the bed.
Ryan scanned the pile in a few seconds. “Less than a thousand bucks US.”
Kamala stared at the messy jumble of bills and coins scattered in a heap all over the bed and gasped. “How does he do that?”
“Don’t go there,” Lea said.
Lexi blew out a breath of frustration. “That’s not going to take us very far.”
Nikolai took off his gold ring. “This is worth two thousand.”
“And this watch is a thousand euros,” Reaper said as he unbuckled the strap.
Lexi took off a ring. “Maybe a thousand… I can’t stop thinking about Alex.”
“I still can’t believe she said we’re on the FBI’s Most Wanted Fugitives list,” Lea said. “That’s not just public enemy number one in the USA, but the entire world.”
“What – us versus the entire world’s military?” Ryan said. “That seems a little unfair.”
“He’s right,” Scarlet said. “They don’t stand a chance.”
“So what do we do now?” Zeke asked.
“Yeah,” Ryan said. “What do we do about Alex and Jack Brooke?”
Reaper gave a long Gallic shrug and started to search through the pockets of his denim jacket for his tobacco tin. “The answer is obvious, mes amis.”
“More than obvious,” Hawke said, his jaw tightening. “We go and get them, is what.”
THE END
