“Confirm Hammer,” the disembodied voice floated out of the radio.
“Authentication Bravo-Six-Six,” Kramer said. She rolled, looking back across the village to the temple. A few brave figures emerged, acolytes carrying AK-47s. Kramer pointed the sniper at them. The first three had dropped before the others scuttled back into the temple.
***
Eight miles out to sea and twenty-thousand feet in the air a single F/A-18 Super Hornet levelled off as the pilot pointed the nose of the aircraft towards the temple. The target’s co-ordinates were already input into the GPS guided bomb slung beneath the jet. The pilot passed a final instruction through the flight-panel mounted touch screen to update the aircraft’s position. Diagnostics ran a final check and gave him the go.
The BLU-109 JDAM dropped from the Super Hornet, inertial guidance activating the tail-fins, making micro-burst adjustments as the 2,000lb bomb began its glide pattern towards the target. The pilot banked the F/A-18 hard right, parallel to the coastline as he watched the cockpit display. He keyed his radio and said, “Lance, the Hammer is falling.”
***
“Copy,” Kramer said. She glanced out to sea, even though there was no way on earth she would spot the inbound ordnance.
Looking back at the temple, she saw the night-vision glow of four or five gunmen huddled in the entrance. They were about to get the surprise of a lifetime if they lived long enough to appreciate it. Kramer smiled a cold smile. The priests and their acolytes deserved everything they were about to get, and more.
A whispered, ‘five seconds’ came out of the radio. Kramer raised her voice so the troops around her could hear and said, “Incoming.”
She saw the impact of the hardened penetration bomb as a puff of shattered stone on the upper right side of the pyramid. By the time she thought about how far in the bunker buster would penetrate it had scythed deep into the heart of the structure. The warhead detonated when the delayed action tail-fuze spun down.
Kramer couldn’t see the warhead explode, but she saw the effects as the super-hot gas expanded and found an exit through the tunnel entrance. The gunmen sheltering inside were blown out. Kramer saw them tumbling across the ground before the ferocity of the blast tore them apart. The rest of the high-explosive sought other ways out, building an ever-increasing pressure wave that fractured the pyramid that seemed to lift the outer surface apart. Flames and debris burst high into the night-sky as the stone structure began to collapse in on itself.
The shock-wave rolled over the village and reached Kramer and her unit. It felt like short, gale force wind. Grass flattened around them, and instinctively Kramer ducked lower. She heard the rainfall sound of stone fragments falling back to earth as the smoke and dust of the blast was blown away to the south. The temple no longer existed, all Kramer could see was a jumble of rubble and fitful flame. She keyed the radio and said, “Anvil, Hammertime. One-hundred-per-cent strike. Thanks for your help.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” the pilot’s reply came back. “Have a nice day. Anvil, out.”
The villagers were awake now, spilling out of their houses to stare in horror at the remains of the temple. Kramer watched them for a moment before moving to where Buhl and Ranson waited with the two freed prisoners and the unconscious girl from the temple chamber. “We need to return them to the village. Buhl you escort the two walkers, Ranson carries that one. I’ll be your backup.” She looked around. “The rest of you get the boat in the water; we’ll join you in five.”
They walked down to the village in near silence. One of the prisoners wept as her friend tried to comfort her. Kramer hoped it was because she’d been freed and not because the temple had turned to dust. As the lights from the houses brightened around her, Kramer flipped off her goggles. She glanced at the girl Ranson carried and realised how young she was. Twelve? Thirteen? Sweet Jesus, they were going to cut out her heart.
One of the villagers spotted them. The word spread and a couple of hundred faces turned towards them. Kramer saw fear, uncertainty and maybe a little anger. She tightened her grip on her assault rifle. “Stop here,” she said.
Buhl and Ranson waited. Kramer separated from them, edging right, so she had a clear field of fire. No-one moved until one of the women Buhl held gave a shout and pulled free. She ran towards an elderly couple who stared at her in shock and then delight. As the three embraced, another man came forward. The second prisoner turned to Buhl and gave him a fierce hug before she met the approaching villager halfway and fell into his arms.
Kramer saw the mood change. Smiles now. People were gathering and welcoming the two women home. She didn’t relax, just waited. Kramer saw them coming with hesitant footsteps, a man and a woman who grasped each other’s hands in fear.
“Yadira?” the woman called out.
Kramer walked forward, beckoning Ranson to follow. The girl’s mother put her hand over her mouth when she saw the slumped form of her daughter. Kramer said, “She’s sleeping.”
The woman reached out and put her hand on her daughter’s forehead. “Chéen táan u wenel.”
“Yeah,” Kramer said with a smile. “I guess.”
Ranson passed the girl to her father. They waited there, watching as he cradled his daughter and kissed her cheek. The mother stared at Kramer for a moment before she reached out and touched Kramer’s arm. “Ki’ bolal.”
Her smile told Kramer everything she needed to know. “Look after her,” Kramer said.
The woman nodded, smiled again, and turned to follow her husband. Kramer hoped Buhl and Ranson couldn’t see the tear in her eye.
“Gentlemen,” she said. “It’s time to go home.”
2
Hugo Dawson’s hand engulfed Ben’s as he said, “Sorry to see you go, Ben. If you ever hanker for a bit more adventure give me a call. We can always do with someone like you in the team.”
“Thanks, sir.” Ben tried not to grimace as the bones of his hand ground together.
“And now, if you forgive me, duty calls.”
Which Ben took as a dismissal. At the door, he paused. “There is one thing,” he said. “Is Kramer around?”
“She left early. New mission.”
“What’s she up to?” Ben stepped back into Dawson’s office.
The retired general fixed him with a hard stare. “You know I can’t discuss operations with people who aren’t part of the department.”
Ben hoped the smile he fixed on his face didn’t look to false. “Of course,” he said.
Dawson nodded. “Dismissed.”
Ben stopped himself from saluting. So that was it. Papers signed, secondment ended, and out of the loop. At least Kramer would tell him all the juicy details when they caught up. Or would she? Knowing Kramer, her lips would be sealed as tight as Dawson’s. Ben closed the door. He found his soon-to-be-former desk and sat at it. His laptop and tablet were locked away now. His security pass sat on Dawson’s desk and as soon as he walked out of the door that would be this part of his life over.
A couple of technicians, guys he didn’t know that well, were laughing about something. He wanted to say goodbye but by then one took a phone call, and the other began tapping away at a keyboard. Time to go.
As he stood, the telephone on the desk rang. Ben stared at it. The technicians were busy. Ben sat, picked up the phone and said, “Hello?”
“Ben Scarrett?” a clipped, female voice asked.
“Yes.”
“Transferring a call for you.”
“Thanks.” Ben glanced around. The technicians took no notice. The line clicked a couple of times until he heard a voice say,
“Ben?”
“Yes?”
“It’s John McGrath.”
“Hey, John.” Ben sat back in his chair. “How’re you doing?”
“Um,” McGrath hesitated. “To be honest, not good. I’ve got someone with me who wants to talk to you.”
“Yeah? Who?”
He heard the phone being passed o
ver. “Ben, it’s Geordie.”
“Geordie?” Ben sat forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “What are you doing with McGrath?”
“It’s a fucking long story, mate. We’re in the shit and need help, big time.”
Ben knew Geordie. A good guy and a better soldier. “What kind of help?”
“Off-the-grid help.”
Damn. “Give me a minute,” Ben said.
Dawson stared hard at Ben when he walked into the general’s office. “I need a couple of minutes,” Ben said. “There’s a call holding on line five.”
Dawson waved him in. Ben sat as Dawson put the call on loudspeaker. Ben made the briefest of introductions. “Geordie is one of the British special-ops guys who took Emily out of the States. He worked with us at Darlford and down in Cornwall. He’s a top man.”
Geordie spoke, uninterrupted, for two-minutes-twenty-seconds.
At the end, Dawson said, “Where are you calling from?”
“A throwaway phone.”
“Do you have another contact number.”
Geordie recited one. Dawson wrote it down. He drummed his fingers on the desktop, and his eyes never left Ben. “We’ll call in one hour.”
“Right,” Geordie said. “Thanks.”
“That’s scary,” Ben said, when the call ended.
“We had our doubts about the situation over there after Douglas Congrave died.” Dawson scratched his chin. “This is not the kind of call I wanted to take.”
“Are you going to help him?”
“I can’t,” Dawson said. “I need authorisation from the President, and if I go there, the information will leak back across the pond.”
Ben sat in shock. “You’ve got to help,” he said. “I know Hannah and Daisy that Geordie was talking about.”
“He wants off-the-grid help.”
“I know. I heard him.”
Dawson smiled, and it reminded Ben of a hungry wolf. “Like help from people who don’t work for the DSI.”
It took a good few seconds for that to sink in. “You mean me?”
“Your severance was dated yesterday. All your personnel files have been archived. If anyone snoops in our systems, you don’t exist.”
Ben closed his mouth when he realised it had hung open for long enough. “On my own?”
Dawson shrugged. “There’s nobody else we can use.”
“But Geordie is special-ops. If he can’t handle the guys he’s up against, how can I?”
Dawson tapped his desk. “Good question. So where do we get you that help?”
Ben shrugged, “I guess you must know people who used to do this kind of thing for a living. Maybe one of them could come out of retirement?”
“Maybe.” Dawson sat back in his chair. He didn’t speak, but neither did he take his eyes from Ben.
After about a minute of feeling uncomfortable, Ben said, “What?”
“Wait outside.” Dawson pointed at the door.
Uncomfortable changed to uncertain as Ben sat back down at his desk. Dawson would make a good poker player. Whatever the retired general was thinking made Ben wish he hadn’t answered the call. Or better yet, transferred it and walked away. After all, he had resigned. No-one seemed to notice him still sitting there, so Ben grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen and began doodling. When he got bored of that he went and made himself a coffee. Returning to his desk he kicked back, put his feet up and wondered how long Dawson would keep him there.
Twenty minutes later two military cops Ben didn’t know came in escorting a handcuffed female he did know. Itzel looked a whole lot better than the last time he’d seen her. Clean, rested and wearing a blue shirt and trouser uniform she gave Ben a brief smile when she saw him. The cops frogmarched their prisoner passed Ben and up to Dawson’s office. One cop banged hard on the door. Dawson opened it. He let the three in, pointed Ben back into his chair, and closed the door.
He isn’t, is he?
Ben let the remains of his coffee go cold. Ten minutes later the cops came out without their detainee and left the room. Now Dawson did beckon Ben into his office. Itzel sat in the chair that Ben had occupied not that long before.
“This is a bad idea,” Ben said, before Dawson could even speak.
“Why?” Dawson sat back behind his desk.
“She’s a killer,” Ben told him, and added to Itzel, “No offence.”
“None taken,” she said, with a smile.
“Itzel has been very co-operative since her arrest.” Dawson gave Ben a hard stare. “Yes, there are areas of her previous history that are illegal. But think about this; she was taken from her home as a four-year-old by the High Priest and brainwashed into believing in him. He trained her to kill and sent her on those missions. She didn’t question him. But right at the end, when she did, she knew he was wrong and so saved your life when she could have abandoned you.”
“So she’s a brainwashed killer,” Ben said.
Dawson chuckled. “Who has agreed to travel to Scotland with you.”
Ben looked from older man to younger woman. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” Itzel said. “We made a good team in Yellowstone.”
“We almost got killed,” Ben reminded her.
“But we didn’t. And General Dawson has made me a very generous offer which I have accepted.”
“Which is?” Ben asked.
“Immunity from prosecution and new identities for her and Ramon,” Dawson said.
“I don’t believe this.” Ben shook his head.
“Why not?” Itzel asked. “You said I was like your GI Jane friend. Hard as nails.”
“I know I did, and you are. But a couple of days ago, I wanted to put a Hellfire missile up the tailpipe of your car.”
“And now we’re the best of friends,” Itzel said with a smile.
Ben closed his eyes. Think. He opened his eyes and said, “She’s pregnant.”
Dawson smiled. “Good try,” he said, “but we’ve run blood tests and they came back negative.”
Ben looked from Dawson to Itzel and back. He could see the decision had been made by the way the General stared at him.
Oh, man, how am I going to explain this one to Kramer?
***
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The Tomb (Scarrett & Kramer Book 3) Page 36
