by Rob Jones
“You think the old priest sent us on a wild goose chase?” Zeke asked.
“No, I don’t.” Hawke walked to the rock pool and tested its depth. “My hunch is that this is the way out right here, but I’m not risking the lives of this team. Wait here.”
Lea opened her mouth to talk but he was already in the pool, diving headfirst into the black water and swimming through the dark.
“Damn it all,” she said, lowering her voice to a private whisper. “Eejit.”
A tense few minutes passed until he broke through the surface once again. “I’m starting to feel like I’m back on basic training with all this sodding water.”
“Any luck?” Ryan asked.
He nodded. “Not far at all. Thirty second underwater. Anyone can do it.”
Nikolai turned white. “I cannot do this, Hawke.”
“Bollocks you can’t,” he said. “I’ll take you through.”
“I can swim,” he said. “I just don’t like confined spaces… underwater caverns are like a hell for me.”
“You’ve already been through hell, Kolya,” Lea said with a desperate smile. “You can do this.”
He took another look at the water. Black, smooth, forbidding. “All right.”
Hawke breathed a sigh of relief and took the Russian by the arm. “I’ll go through first with Kolya and the rest of you follow. This game isn’t over yet.”
When they broke through the surface, they emerged inside a cave at the base of Mesa Vouno, the vast promontory beneath the ancient city of Thera. Hauling themselves out of the water and staggering to the entrance, they stood in the cave’s mouth and looked out across the shimmering Santorini day.
Above, a dazzling sun pierced the center of the cornflower blue sky and one single aircraft trailed a smooth arc on the eastern horizon. Below, the famous black sand of Kamari Beach stretched away to the north and vanished in a heat haze. Sitting beneath an endless grid of parasols further up the beach, holidaymakers relaxed in the shade. Some were sleeping, some talking, others reading books and Kindles, but they all shared one thing in common – none of them knew what was at stake today.
Closer to their position were a number of caïques. These traditional fishing boats had been used on the Ionian and Aegean Seas long before the modern vessels favoured by fisherman in modern times. Used mainly by tourists in short excursions today, they bobbed about peacefully on the turquoise water at the bottom of the cliffs.
Lea stepped out into the heat. “Let’s walk down to the water.”
“I can see their boat!” Lexi shouted. “Just beyond that promontory to the northeast.”
Hawke saw it too, and Kashala was at the helm. They were racing away from the volcanic island in a small motor yacht.
“Looks like they’ve already seen us,” Hawke said. Mukendi and his mercs were at the stern, setting up what looked like another mortar cannon. “That ain’t pretty,” he muttered, and then he heard the distant crackle of gunshots from the rifles. “They’re firing – get down!”
They took cover behind the caïques and waited until the onslaught was over. At the vessel’s prow, the rounds severed the bowsprit forestay, broke the foremast off at the base and brought the entire rigging crashing down into the sea.
The cream sails splashed down in the water and drew the attention of some of the tourists further up the beach. The report of the distant gunshots had been too faint for them to hear, but the destruction visited on the old wooden boat had alerted them to the danger. Now, those closest to the caïques scrambled out of their sun-lotion slumber and screamed. Reaching for their phones, they sprinted up the black sand toward the neat line of white hotels and apartment blocks to the west.
“We need a boat, and a fast one, right now.” Hawke scanned the beach.
“I don’t see any boats,’ Lea said with a twinkle in her eye. “But there’s a JetSki club a hundred meters to the north.”
He looked at her, fighting back the urge to smile. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Donovan?”
“It’ll be just like old times on Elysium.”
Scarlet turned to Ryan. “Get your wallet out, boy, we need to hire half a dozen JetSkis and you’re splashing the cash.”
“Why me?”
“I just made you the ECHO treasurer. Think of it as a field promotion.”
Ryan muttered under his breath and pulled his wallet out of his jeans’ pocket. “Cash is soaked from our little underwater swim.”
“I’m sure the cards are just fine.”
Legs pounding beneath them, they sprinted up the long beach and weaved in and out of the terrified tourists. Reaching the JetSki club, they were just in time to see the staff fleeing for their lives.
Scarlet gave Hawke a wink. “Handy.”
They ran along the pier, counting the JetSkis as they went.
“There’s only eight available,” Lea said.
“But there’s a mini speed boat!” Camacho said. “Two seats – anyone?”
Jazmin gave it an appreciative nod. “Count me in.”
Hawke jumped down onto the nearest JetSki and turned on the engine. “The rest of you get on one of these. We need all the manpower we can get.”
He took the lead, revving the powerful four stroke engine and steering out into the vast, sparkling sea to the east. The others joined him in an arrow formation, and ahead of them, Camacho and Jazmin in the speedboat moved out into the bay in a grand sweeping motion, spraying up a fine arc of bright white sea foam into the hot Mediterranean sky.
The powerful engines of the speedboat and JetSkis roared, but ahead of them, Kashala’s boat was rapidly moving out of sight.
“Looks like he’s made good time,” Camacho called out.
“We can still do it!” Hawke said.
They ploughed on through the sea, armed with the handful of weapons they had grabbed in the cave. Then Hawke saw movement on the stern of the motor yacht.
“They’re firing the mortar!”
He watched calmly as Mukendi lobbed a mine inside the RPG launcher and fired it out into the bay.
“Number one,” he said quietly. “But he’s way off course.”
An eerie silence followed as they watched the shiny silver mine flying through the air in between the motor yacht and their JetSkis. It crashed down into the sea a few hundred yards ahead of them and the explosion ripped hundreds of tons of water into the air in a vast plume.
Then they saw the mini tsunami racing toward them.
“Brace!”
Still in the lead, the wave was on course to smash into the starboard side of Camacho’s speedboat and would have capsized them had he not steered into it. The bow cut into the crest of the wave instead and they crashed down into the trough behind it.
“That was too close for me!” Jazmin said.
Hawke saw the near miss, speeded up and steered closer to them, riding the waves from the explosion. “Is everyone all right?”
A dazed Camacho gave a wave. “We’re fine.”
“We need to get that cannister!” Hawke called out. “Everyone keep on this!”
“They’re firing again!”
The next rocket ripped over their heads and exploded in the side of the cliff in a devastating shower of rock and sand and gravel. The cloud blew out of the cliff-face into the air above the bay like an expensive Hollywood CGI. Beneath it, a large section at the top of the cliff started to slide down into the sea. Below, the last few stragglers on the beach now screamed and ran for their lives as the thousand-ton deadly cargo tumbled and rolled toward them in a cloud of dust and smoke.
“Run!” Lea yelled, but she knew they couldn’t hear her.
The lethal landslide crashed over the beach and into the sea, causing another smaller tsunami, but at least no innocent people had died on the beach today.
“Bastards!” Ryan said.
“They were trying to divert our attention,” Hawke said. “Make us break off the chase and go over there to the beach to save
those people.”
Seeing no one was harmed, Camacho steered the boat back around to port, increased speed to the main engines and resumed the pursuit of Kashala and his mercs.
Hawke revved his JetSki and accelerated. “We lost some time, but I think we can still make it.”
As he raced toward Kashala’s boat, he realized the plane he had seen earlier on the horizon had now banked to its portside and was flying toward the island.
Toward them.
And it had descended from its altitude of around ten thousand feet and was leveling out, closer now to two thousand.
“Unusual,” he muttered. “Look out for the aircraft,” he called out. “At our ten o’clock.”
Lea saw it next, and then the others.
“Looks military!” Reaper called out.
Hawke was momentarily caught out. “Holy shit!” he said at last. “It’s a US Navy Osprey! Everyone take evasive action and remember, there’s no forward-firing rockets or guns on it.”
The Osprey raced toward them through the hot sky. Hawke was right about there being no chin turret or forward-firing rockets on the V-22, but it still had teeth, and enough of them to chew ECHO into pieces. Now, as it flashed over the top of them the crew unleashed a depth charge dead ahead of them.
“Look out!” Lea yelled.
Then the underwater bomb crashed into the sea and detonated. The explosion was heavy and hard. A deep bass thud came from beneath the waves and then the shock wave blasted thousands of tons of water into the air directly above them.
“Evasive action!” Hawke yelled.
They broke up and raced in every direction to avoid the fallout.
“That was too close!” Ryan yelled. “I can’t even joke about it.”
“They’re firing on Kashala now!”
“And he’s firing back with the mortar and the RPG!”
Lea pointed into the sky and they all watched in horror as Kashala launched an RPG from the stern of the boat. The Congolese general looked on calmly as it ripped through the sky toward the Osprey.
The US Navy pilot took evasive action, banking hard to starboard, but Kashala had been too close and the RPG made contact with the tiltrotor aircraft less than three seconds after launch. Punching a hole in its belly directly behind the landing gear, the explosion was savage, blasting a bus-sized hole in the aircraft’s smooth metal underside and blowing its guts all over the sky above them.
Wires, ailerons, wheels, struts.
Crew.
The force of the explosion tore chunks of metal out from the main airframe and blasted them through the wings, ripping the control surfaces to shreds.
The pilot fought with the controls, but it was over. The Osprey pitched down in a grotesque, stomach-turning angle and roared toward the sea’s surface, the crippled engines howling like wounded animals.
It hit the sea with savage intensity and almost disintegrated on impact. Thousands of pieces of metal and plastic flew into the air in a giant explosion of fuel and fire and dead bodies and sea spray.
When the devastation had calmed down, Hawke pulled up well away from the burning oil and threw the engine into neutral. As the JetSki came to a halt just before the debris field, the others pulled up beside him.
Camacho finished checking the wreckage and steered the speedboat back over to his friends. “They’re all dead.”
Beside him, Jazmin looked like she was in severe shock.
Hawke said nothing, but nodded.
“And Kashala’s long gone,” the CIA man added. “He’s already more than halfway to Anáfi by now.”
Hawke looked out to sea and the vague outline of the island of Anáfi. Its rocky coast and mountainous interior loomed in the Mediterranean haze. He turned back to the burning wreckage. “I don’t think President Faulkner is going to be too happy when he hears about that.”
Lea gave a grim laugh. “I don’t think even a fly would want to be on that wall.”
Hawke revved the JetSki. “Start praying Eden or Sooke or someone can tell us where they’re going, or somewhere there’s a city that’s just had its last sunrise.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Alex Reeve had suffered much punishment in her life, but this was taking her to the limits of her endurance. Locked in a cell with no clue where she was, and not even any idea whether her father and Brandon were still alive. No news, no internet, no phone. Total isolation. What was Faulkner doing from his nest of corrupt power back in Washington DC?
And yet, she hadn’t given up hope. She knew what her father would say, and she stuck by it like glue. After all, he had been a prisoner of war in his youth and he knew what he was talking about. She understood the importance of keeping her mind together and not letting the bastards break her down.
But it was so hard to hold things together in a place like this.
Faulkner was evil; there was no doubt in her mind about that. He had worked hand in glove with the Oracle and his cult to unseat her democratically elected father and seize control of the White House. He was a malicious, treacherous conniving son of a bitch and if she ever got her hands on him, she’d…
Take it easy, Alex.
She breathed out slowly and calmed down.
Hang on tight or fall down hard.
In control of her emotions now, she felt her heart slow down. Another panic attack averted, but then the sound of footsteps outside her cell. Men talking in low, deep undertones. The jingle-jangle of keys and then the unmistakable noise of the lock turning.
This is it.
She gasped when she heard the bolt slide on the door. A frightening, industrial sound as metal scraped against metal and a chunky lock was turned. The sound echoed in her cell as she sat up on her bed and turned to face her captors.
Two men appeared, both wearing military fatigues and with pistols in holsters on belts around their waists. She felt a crushing sense of disappointment and destroyed hope when they walked into her cell. She knew it was crazy, but she had started to believe it was all a terrible mistake and her father had organised everything. Brought all the madness to an end.
Instead, she was looking at two men in military fatigues with serious faces. They marched into the room and loomed over her. No name tags or any other means of ID, she noted.
“Get in the chair.”
“Who are you?” she asked. “Where are you taking me?”
“Stop asking stupid questions and get in the chair.”
One of the soldiers grabbed her by the arm. “Do as I say and get in the chair or I’ll drag you into it.”
She fixed him in the eye, determined not to let him get to her. “You can’t possibly get away with what you’re doing here. You realize that, right?”
He brought his right hand up and struck her hard on the face, knocking her back down onto the bed. She felt her cheek tingle as the blood from the impact rushed up to the surface. With her head buried down in the blankets, she swore to herself that she would show no weakness. Turning to face him, she said, “You’re standing in my way.”
He dumbly looked behind him and saw he was between her and the chair. He grabbed the back of the chair and shoved it roughly over to her. “Just get in it. You have an appointment with a very busy man, and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“You’re going to speak with the base commander.”
*
They wheeled her out of the cell and through various sections of a building that resembled most airports she had ever seen. When they arrived at the base commander’s office, one of them tapped on the door respectfully.
“Come!”
They wheeled her into the office, positioned her in front of his desk and snapped to attention.
“The Prisoner, sir!”
Without looking at the soldiers, he smiled at Alex. “You’re dismissed.”
“Sir, yes sir!”
They filed out of the room and clicked the door shut. It was now she reali
zed the radio was on in the corner and a mellow cocktail lounge jazz piano was softening the atmosphere. It gave the moment a surreal quality she had not expected.
The commander linked his tanned fingers together and rested his hands on the desk.
“Welcome to Tartarus. I’m Colonel Blanchard.”
“Where’s my father and Agent McGee?”
“Enjoying our hospitality in another section of the base. Will you testify against your father’s treason?”
The casual way he spoke such powerful words hit her like a hammer. “Screw you.”
He nodded and sighed. “I thought you’d say that, but if you don’t help us then things are looking pretty bleak for you. I’m not going to lie. Will you help us?”
Partly through anger and partly to stop him seeing them shaking, she dug her fingers into the wheelchair’s armrests. “Never.”
He nodded again. “In that case, I’ll book you in for a session with Mr Mahoe.”
“Who the hell is Mr Mahoe?” she said. “If he’s a lawyer, I’d rather use my own. Get me a phone.”
“A lawyer,” he said. “That’s a good one.”
“So, who is he? Your boss?”
He chuckled. “No, he’s not my boss.. he’s sort of a persuader.”
She felt her blood run cold. “You mean a torturer?”
“Hey, you say potato… now take the brakes off that thing. You’re leaving.”
He pushed the intercom button on his desk and a man answered. “Send them in again.”
“Sir.”
The soldiers walked back onto the room and snapped to attention once again with crisp salutes, long way up, short way down.
“Take her back to her cell and brief Mr Mahoe that he’s needed.”
The two men looked at each other, fear crossing their faces. “Sir, yes sir!”
She took the brakes off and one of them walked ahead while the other wheeled her out of the commander’s office.
“I’ll give you just one more chance to think it over, Alex,” Blanchard called out behind her. “After that, you’re Mr Mahoe’s.”
