Joe Hawke Series Boxsets 4

by Rob Jones

  “The Crombez thing?”

  “Not with you.”

  “Reaper said they were good friends back in the day.”

  “What of it?”

  “You think there’s a potential problem there?”

  “Not at all. Do you?”

  “No.”

  He sighed. “Then why bring it up, Cairo?”

  “Just putting it out there.”

  “You don’t get much more trustworthy than Vincent Reno. I’d stake my life on that.”

  “Let’s hope you don’t have to, darling, or things might get messy.”

  Her words echoed in his head for longer than he’d expected them to, but when the rest of Kashala’s team appeared in the yard it quickly refocussed his mind. “And then there were six.”

  “Plus Dimitrov’s goons,” she said. “Although they don’t look like they could fight their way out of a Chinese lantern.”

  “Don’t write them off too soon. Untrained men with guns can be just as dangerous in my experience. What are they doing now?”

  Below, the mercs and mafia thugs were working together to load a number of crates into the back of some trucks parked up around the perimeter of the yard.

  “Looks like they’re loading a lot of kit into the trucks,” Cairo said. “Maybe Kashala’s about to pull out. Maybe we wait till he’s gone and then attack.”

  “Or maybe he double-crossed Dimitrov and he’s about to drive away with the lyre.”

  “Maybe we should wait and attack the trucks when they move out.”

  She fixed her eyes on him, both their faces obscured by the same black camo cream. “Maybe we should stop saying maybe?”

  “Where did I get you from?” he said with a sigh.

  “We got you, as I recall. You were just a homeless waif when ECHO pulled you out of the gutter.”

  He let it slide. “We can’t wait for the trucks to pull out, and those walls are too high for our grapple hooks. The only way we can get into the place is by smashing right through the front door. That’s going to raise some eyebrows.”

  “But we still get to storm a castle. With turrets and everything.”

  He sighed. “I can see how excited you are about that.”

  She lowered her voice to a sexy velvet tone. “That’s just the usual erotic frisson of being so close to you.” As she spoke, she gently brushed the top of his hand with hers and winked at him. “Darling.”

  “Pack it in, Cairo.”

  She wasn’t listening to him. “And it has a moat, too!”

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Natch.”

  Hawke turned quietly and pulled the monocular away from her eye. In all his long years of experience and travelling around the world he had never in his life met anyone even vaguely in the same ballpark as Scarlet Sloane. He was proud to call her a friend but she sure knew how to irritate him. “Then what did I just say, Cairo?”

  “That we can’t wait for the trucks and we have to go in through the front door.”

  “Top marks.” He raised the monocular and whistled. “And there’s Dimitrov himself.”

  “Where?”

  “On the top floor,” he muttered. “In the window by the eastern turret.”

  “I see him.”

  “That’s the best bet for the lyre,” he said. “We need to get everyone over here and get this show on the road.”

  They gathered the rest of the team and briefed them on the plan to blow the gates and seize the lyre. Hawke would lead a core team into the battle while Kamala and Nikolai would maintain their position on the ridge. Here, they could monitor the enemy’s movements and stay in radio contact.

  Without wasting any more time, they walked down the final slope and approached the ancient castle walls. When everyone was in position, Hawke slipped out from behind the trees and crouch-walked through the darkness with one aim in mind: blowing the front gates and creating an ingress point.

  The wrought iron gates had once been black, but were now covered in a turquoise patina of rust. He worked silently and quickly in the dark, drawing on years of experience. After rapidly securing the charges on the gates, he slipped back over to the team.

  “All done. Everyone ready for party time?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  “Get ready then,” he said. “Because when these babies go off it’s going to be like sticking your hand in a wasps’ nest.”

  Gripping the remote in his hand, he pushed the button and detonated the explosives he had just fitted on the gates. The charge blew them clean off their posts and sent bent, twisted iron bars, screw, nuts and bolts flying in all directions.

  The car-sized explosion lit the black night in a short orange flash and then everything went dark. A few seconds later, a series of searchlights switched on and Reaper heard the screams of shocked, terrified men scrambling to see what had happened.

  “Looks like it’s on,” Hawke said.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Joseph Kashala was staring at the Bulgarian as he opened the bag and looked inside. The mafia man’s face tightened as he reached inside and pulled out his treasure. Holding the lyre for the first time, his hands began to tremble.

  He passed it over to a rotund, short man with ruddy cheeks and a messy bird’s nest of greying brown hair on his head. The man took the lyre in his hands and began to study it carefully. It was the right weight, shape and size but countless centuries on the seabed had eroded it and some of the ornamental carvings and embossed lettering had deteriorated badly.

  “Well, Dr Parvanov?” Dimitrov said. “You are a leading authority in this field. Is it authentic?”

  “I believe so.”

  Dimitrov strolled to his window and surveyed the peace and quiet outside. To the south, the moon was shining on the tops of the fir trees in his beloved wolf enclosure. Stepping out onto the balcony he listened for the beautiful sound of them howling, but there was nothing but the wind in the eaves overhanging the balcony.

  Perhaps they were feeding.

  Walking back inside, he fixed his eyes on Parvanov. “You’re certain?”

  “As certain as I can be at this time, but I will need time in a lab to make an official authentication.”

  “Perhaps later,” he said. “There is no time for that now.”

  Parvanov dipped his head slightly in respect. “As you wish, but at least allow me to continue studying it by eye.”

  “Of course.”

  “And now you give us our money,” Kashala said. He and his men had finished loading their trucks in the courtyard and were keen to get out of here. “One million dollars each.”

  Dimitrov looked over at him. “Or perhaps you would like to earn some more?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Acquiring the lyre was merely the beginning of the story, General Kashala. At this precise moment in time, this harmless-looking bronze instrument is just about the most dangerous thing on the planet. If you want to see how the story ends, you will need to accept my offer and offer your protective services to me for a few more days.”

  They were standing in the Bulgarian’s private apartment at the top of the castle, and now Dimitrov walked over to an antique drinks’ cabinet. Unscrewing the cap off the top of a bottle of expensive single malt whisky, he raised an empty glass in front of the Congolese general’s face and gave it a little shake. “Can I buy you a drink while you think about it?”

  Kashala took the whisky and downed it in one. “What do you mean when you say it’s the most dangerous thing on the planet? It looks like a load of old junk to me.”

  Mukendi and Demotte laughed and shared a high-five. When Kashala turned and glared at them they shrank back into the shadows.

  “This lyre belonged to Orpheus, General.”

  “So you have said.”

  “And Orpheus was one of the only people ever in history to go to Hades and make the return journey.”

  Kashala stepped forward, took the whisky bottle from Dimitrov�
�s hand and poured a triple shot into his glass. Tossing the bottle back at his men, Crombez caught it in one hand, took a long swig and passed it along.

  “Go on.”

  “It was my contention that this lyre would lead me to Hades. Upon inspecting it, I can now tell you that I am certain it will do that.”

  Kashala sneered. “That thing will lead us to Hades?”

  Dimitrov nodded again and fought the smirk on his face. “And just imagine that.”

  “Wait a minute,” Chumbu called out. “Hades is hell, right?”

  The mercenaries shared a silent, dark look with each other, each one determined not to look fazed by the subject. Demotte shrugged. Crombez rubbed a rag over the muzzle of his submachine gun. Mukendi laughed and slapped his thigh. “Whatever its name is, I can’t wait to go there.”

  “It has many names,” the Bulgarian said. “Hell is merely one.”

  Block took a slug of the whisky and coughed. “And why would anyone want to go to hell?”

  “In the spirit of adventure?” Dimitrov said.

  Kashala was unimpressed with the answer. Jabbing him in the middle of his chest with a thick, meaty finger, he made his point. “You tell me why you want to go there, and no more bullshit.”

  “In the markets of Ankara, I once chanced upon an ancient manuscript written by Orpheus himself. In these he refers many times to a very violent and terrible power in the Underworld. I would like to acquire that power.”

  “What power?”

  The tense conversation was ended abruptly by a loud explosion, followed by the hard metal report of gunfire echoing up from the courtyard below.

  A startled Dimitrov looked at Kashala. “What the hell is that?”

  The Congolese man padded to the window. If he felt an ounce of fear he wasn’t showing it. Peering down, he said casually, “Mercs.”

  “What the hell are they doing here?” Dimitrov said. “I thought I ordered you to kill Jagger and his whole team?”

  “And we did, Mafia Man. This is another team. I don’t recognize them.”

  Crombez glanced outside and saw the team streaming into the courtyard. They had blown the gates and were now firing on Dimitrov’s men. “I know one of them. His name is Reno. He works with a team called ECHO.”

  Kashala looked anxious for the first time. “As in Joe Hawke?”

  Crombez nodded.

  “That spells trouble,” Kashala muttered. “But we can take them.”

  Dimitrov snatched up the lyre and gripped it to his chest. “Whoever it is, you are to kill them all.”

  “Who says we work for you?” Kashala said. “By my count, you still owe me and the rest of my team a million dollars each.”

  More gunfire from below. Dimitrov heard his men screaming in Bulgarian as the invaders cut through them like a hot knife through butter.

  “A million more for each man to kill this team and come with me to Hades.”

  Kashala took his sweet time. Gunfire didn’t rattle him and never had, no matter how close it was when he heard it. After working some figures through his mind he spoke without a glance at any of his men. “We will do it. We will go to hell with you, Mafia Man.”

  “You made the right choice.”

  “If you tell me more about this terrible power you are searching for there.”

  A grenade exploded in the yard outside. More men screamed as a cloud of dust and smoke blasted up the side of the castle’s keep.

  “The truth is I don’t know. It’s just speculation based on the texts. All I can say is that it’s a terrible weapon. I believe that if it’s harnessed, it will be the most hideous, violent force ever unleashed on mankind.”

  Kamala grinned. “Sounds more dangerous than the devil himself.”

  Dimitrov licked his lips nervously. “Are you with me?”

  “Yes.” Kashala turned to his men. “Whoever those assholes are, kill every last one. We have a date with the devil and I don’t want to be late.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The ECHO team had pulled themselves up out of the grit and dirt below the moat and streamed through the smoldering gates. Leaving the burning gate posts behind them, they had sprinted across the castle’s inner courtyard and now broke into two units. Hawke, Lea, Ryan and Reaper headed for the castle’s keep where they had seen Dimitrov through the top floor window. Scarlet, Lexi, Camacho and Zeke made their way to Kashala’s trucks.

  With no light but half a moon above their heads, Hawke now slipped unseen to the far side of the yard and quickly reached a doorway. Firing on the lock with his submachine gun, he blasted it to pieces and booted the door open. Across the yard, he heard Scarlet calling out to the other team as they moved on from the trucks and headed to the villas.

  In reply, Dimitrov’s men streamed out of the building on all sides of the courtyard, rifles and pistols in their hands as they scanned the night for who had attacked and taken out most of the mafia men.

  “They’re drawing their fire,” Lea said.

  “Now!” Hawke yelled. “Inside!”

  Reaper was already moving. “Allons-y!”

  Hawke held the Glock tight in his hands, muzzle pointed down as he made his way up the staircase. Reaper was ahead of him and stepping onto the landing at the top of the stairs, gun raised into the aim and ready to fire. Behind him, Lea and Ryan were a step behind, guns drawn and a look of steely determination on their faces. This was about more than recovering ancient relics or treasures. This was about saving the lives of Alex, Jack and Brandon and clearing their names.

  Without warning, there was a rush of action. The landing where Reaper was standing suddenly exploded in a flash of blinding white light. The force of the explosion blasted the Frenchman off his feet and smashed him into a wall. Stunned and dazed, he crashed to the floor and crawled to the cover of an ornamental wooden storage chest situated on the side of the corridor.

  “Incoming!” Ryan yelled.

  Men streamed out of the door Reaper had approached and one of them threw a second grenade at him, only this one was a proper fragmentation grenade. Still concussed by the impact of the explosion, he struggled to reach it before it detonated. With only a second to spare he grabbed hold of it and threw it back at the men where it exploded in their faces.

  Hawke raised his gun and rushed up the stairs. “Must be Dimitrov’s goons,” he called out. “No one in the Blood Crew would set a stun grenade with such a long timer on it.”

  Swinging into the doorway, he saw three men dead on the floor. The grenade explosion had inflicted terrible wounds on their faces and upper bodies. Turning, he saw Reaper staggering to his feet and dusting himself down. “You okay?”

  A brief nod and a growled reply. “Oui.”

  Hawke and the rest of the team advanced forward down the corridor to a heavy, closed oak door. He shoulder-barged it open and then the team surged into the room, guns raised and sweeping them from side to side to cover all eventualities.

  Empty, but another door to the right.

  Hawke keyed his mic and spoke to the other team. “Study is clear!”

  “Received,” Scarlet’s voice. “No sign of the lyre in the trucks and the villas are clear too. Dimitrov’s going to need a recruitment drive. Must have taken out a dozen mafia men.”

  “Good work, Cairo,” Hawke said, and kicked open the second door.

  The narrow hallway took the team deeper inside the castle. Leading from the front, he counted the rest of his unit into the dank corridor and then slammed the door shut behind them, sliding the heavy bolts into the rusted strike plates in the door jamb. This was the castle’s nerve center, and Dimitrov’s inner sanctum.

  He glanced at his faithful watch, now repaired since the damage it had sustained back at the Parthenon during their search for Alexander the Great’s tomb. What he saw didn’t fill him with joy. They were already several minutes behind schedule and still no sign of the lyre.

  Kicking in the door to Dimitrov’s private apartment, he charged in
to the room and sprayed it with bullets. Lea and Reaper rushed in behind him and tripled the power of the assault by opening fire, but Hawke waved them to stop.

  “They’re not here!”

  “Damn it all,” Lea said.

  Then Scarlet’s voice through the comms. “We have them, Joe. Dimitrov and Kashala and his men. They’ve exited the castle by another door and they’re heading to the trucks.”

  “We’re on our way,” he replied into his shoulder mic. “Keep them busy, Cairo!”

  “Like you had to ask.”

  “We’ll be there in…” He was interrupted by the sound of Nikolai’s voice on the comms.

  “What is it, Kolya?”

  “Kashala is a diversion,” the Russian said. “If you look to the north you will see a man with the lyre,” he muttered.

  “I see him!” Hawke said. “He’s wearing a suit – maybe he’s Dimitrov’s relics expert. He’s not alone, either.”

  “So what do you want me to do?” Scarlet said.

  “Keep Kashala and his men occupied. We’ll go after the lyre. Kolya, you and Kamala get down here and lend a hand. You’ve done all you can from up there.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  Hawke cut the radio and the four of them sprinted back down the stairs until they found an exit leading out to the north of the keep. Bursting out into the moonlit night, they found themselves in a reconstructed classical arcade. Marble pillars, and a central courtyard centred on an ornate fountain sculpture. Through a distant arch they saw the man with the lyre and the mercs heading toward a truck parked in the shadows of the northern perimeter wall.

  “This way!”

  Firing on the truck, the enemy’s response was brutal. They quickly pushed the man with the lyre down behind the truck’s rear wheel, took up good defensive positions including a machinegun nest in the back of the truck and returned fire.

  Hawke counted five men – and this time they were both mafia and men from Kashala’s mercenary unit. At the front was a man so tall and gaunt it could only be Mukendi, and beside him he recognized the cold, hard face of Reaper’s old compadre Olivier Crombez.