Project Icarus

by R D Shah

  Ryan’s shoulders sagged slightly and his lips parted in sheer astonishment as he stared at the photo.

  “I took it from Bauer’s ‘Hall of Fame’. It’s old, but it is definitely you.”

  Ryan was now breathing heavily, but he continued to shake his head furiously, his anger getting the better of him. “This is outrageous. I’m not a Daedalus mole!”

  Munroe lowered his gaze to the weapon in Ryan’s hand, which was raised slightly towards him. “Then why are you pointing that gun at me?” he asked calmly. “You are pointing it at me, sir. Aren’t you?”

  There was silence between the three men as the barrel of Ryan’s gun wavered slightly, and then he raised it up, pointing it directly at Munroe’s chest. “Well, I suppose there’s no need for any more bullshit. In fact I rather prefer it this way. You’re meant to be dead, Captain Munroe.” Ryan glanced at the gun still in Munroe’s hand. “Drop it on the floor, and don’t be foolish, Captain. You’re fast, but you’re not that fast.”

  Munroe slowly bent his knees and dropped the gun to the floor as Ryan now glanced over at McCitrick. “And you, the great mole hunter John McCitrick. You couldn’t sniff out a turd if it was right under your nose. You even bought my act in Parliament, which, if I do say so myself, was a sterling piece of work.”

  Ryan was looking pretty pleased with himself and he sucked in a deep breath and expelled it with pleasure. “No one would ever expect the Home Secretary to place a Semtex device directly under the PM’s seat; they never check my bag upon entering. Privileges of the office. Security is far more concerned with checking the public than an MP at the centre of power. I simply walked in earlier that morning, stating government business, and placed the package before returning a few hours later, a little late I might add,” Ryan raised his eyebrow, arrogantly enjoying telling his story, “and caused the blast by a remote detonation device in my pocket. I will admit I might have cut it a bit close, but it made for excellent media coverage, and the resuscitation of the young girl… well, who could have scripted that!”

  McCitrick looked repulsed and he glared at Ryan with disgust. “A lot of good people died, Jacob, and the damage you’ve done will take the country years to recover from.”

  The sentiment was lost on Ryan and he winced at the idea. “Recover! You idiot, John. We’re only just beginning. We’re the future.”

  “You’re a fucking Nazi, Jacob. The lowest form of scum humanity has ever served up.”

  Suddenly Ryan’s cavalier attitude evaporated and he snarled in contempt at McCitrick’s labelling.

  “My colleagues and I were bred and educated to be what the Nazis only aspired to be. They came close, but coming second doesn’t amount to shit in the game of global power.”

  “And what is that exactly?” Munroe asked, noting the familiar sudden change in demeanour that he had also seen in Hans Bauer. “You were born to do one thing, and one thing only. Create the fertile conditions for those who will really be in power if Daedalus gets its way. The Fourth Reich is a powerful idea, and pure bloodlines will always supersede those that are bred to do their bidding. Your buddy Hans Bauer taught me that. In fact he seemed to see Project Icarus as meat for the grinder. A means to an end.”

  “Oh, please. Bauer’s had his time. You’ve seen to that, Captain, and those old fools with their bloodlines will be the first to peter out in the political landscape to come.” Ryan’s eyes squinted and he shook his head slowly. “I don’t think you understand, either of you. I, and others like me, were born to rule. It’s in our DNA. You can call it the Fourth Reich, national socialism, whatever, it doesn’t matter. I and many like me see this for what it is. It’s about power. It’s about dominance. It’s about a world that can barely control itself through democratic means. Humans have always needed a master to guide them and tell them what to do in their lives. It is Daedalus who will answer the call. And what a beautiful future it will be. There is nothing you can do to stop it. Once the wheels of oppression begin rolling it is near impossible to turn back the tide. Besides, you’re too late. In under twenty-four hours’ time I will be visiting Buckingham Palace to have my premiership confirmed, officially. So, what are you going to do? Half the politicians have been wiped out and even if you did tell the British people, which you can’t, they would never believe you. A Nazi spy for the Fourth Reich?” Ryan expelled a confident and bellowing laugh. “No, I think not. So, here’s what’s going to happen. I am going to shoot you, Ethan. Then I’m going to shoot you, John. My team will clean up the mess and then, gentlemen, tomorrow morning, I will meet with the Queen to be confirmed as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom and in the coming days and weeks I will use my considerable power to take apart DS5, piece by piece. They will be labelled as a rogue operation and classed as a terrorist group. The plan has been in place for a long time, and I will use its greatest strength against itself: its clandestine anonymity. The leaders of the US and France have no idea you even exist, and by the time I’ve finished they will believe you are traitors to their own governments. I will enjoy watching your compatriots burn. It’s true what they say, a person’s greatest strength is their greatest weakness, and I will take great satisfaction in your own secretive and shadowy cover being used against you.”

  Ryan straightened his arm, preparing to shoot. “Any last words, Captain? I would ask John here, but it will be the same old self-righteous bullshit he always comes out with.”

  “There are a couple of things, sir. Ambassador Breams. Did he go through the same mind-fracturing process as Icarus?”

  “Bauer really told you a lot, didn’t he?” Ryan replied, sounding surprised as he cocked the gun. “It took a lot of work to get him into that position, and all he needed was a sentence to click him into gear. His key sentence was a good one, a Walt Disney quote actually: ‘all our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them.’”

  Munroe looked unimpressed and immediately moved on to his next question. “And why did he shoot the Chancellor? Presumably it was to open the position for a Daedalus operative? Much like yourself.”

  Ryan shook his head. “No, the new Chancellor is not part of Daedalus. I would know if she was. Whatever high command have planned, it goes far deeper than that. Why do you care?”

  Munroe now smiled politely. “No reason. I just don’t like loose ends. No stone unturned. Well, that’s all I have, and If you’re going to shoot… aim high.”

  “Thank you, Ethan, I will.” Ryan gave one last triumphant grin, and pulled the trigger, but there was no muzzle flash, no recoil. Instead there followed only the sound of a dull metallic click and Munroe turned his head, offering a view of the small white earpiece hidden in his ear canal. Ryan’s eyes widened, but as he opened his mouth to speak, the back of his head exploded in a puffy red mist and he dropped to his knees before collapsing to the floor with a thud.

  Munroe now looked over to the building opposite to see Colonel Remus already sliding the Mk 21 modular sniper rifle back into its case. “Solid shot, Colonel.” He removed his earpiece and looked over at McCitrick, who was staring blankly at the still twitching corpse of Home Secretary Jacob Ryan.

  “In the next hour Minister Ryan will be involved in a tragic car accident. His head will be so badly crushed that no trace of a gunshot wound will be found. We will ensure that any photos or paper trails to his links with Daedalus are destroyed and he will go down in history as a great man who stepped up to the plate after the attack on Parliament. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  McCitrick bent down and picked up his gun, which he then passed over to Munroe. “I want the firing pin back in my firearm within the hour, Ethan.”

  “I’ll do it for you right now.” Munroe holstered his own gun, retrieved a small piece of metal from his pocket, and then set about reassembling McCitrick’s weapon. “Have you made a decision on my own situation? My connection with Project Icarus?”

  McCitrick watched in silence as Munroe quickly replaced the firing pin. Once down
he passed it over to the DS5 section head, who continued to stare at him. It appeared his boss was making his mind up there and then and Munroe held the gaze, never once breaking eye contact until McCitrick delivered a nasal snort. “A son cannot be held accountable for his father’s actions. Whomever they may be.”

  It was a relief to hear, and Munroe offered a small nod of his head.

  “Every member of DS5 knows, and they’re all fine with it. So nothing’s changed. Besides, we feel that having a super soldier on our side could be most beneficial.”

  Munroe winced at the title. “Could you please never use that term again?”

  McCitrick actually let slip a vague smile at his embarrassment. “Very well, Ethan. But your teammates will take the piss out of you relentlessly for the foreseeable future.”

  “I can deal with that.”

  McCitrick nodded grimly, and then turned his attention back to the body of Jacob Ryan. “It’s a damn shame. I always liked the man, but the havoc he’s caused… Shocking.”

  Munroe offered a conciliatory nod. “It’s concerning that Daedalus were able to install someone so high up the political ladder. If they could get the Home Secretary, then who else could they have?”

  “Exactly.” McCitrick held out his hand and Munroe shook it firmly. “That’s what we’re going to find out, and I suspect this is only the beginning. Now get going. Sloan’s downstairs waiting for you. We have work to do, but I want you to take the night off. You deserve a few hours of R&R. We’ve got our foot in through Daedalus’s door, and Bauer may not sing like a bird at first but given some time he should yield results. We are now on the offensive. Consider what happened over the past few days the end of the beginning. We’re just getting started. Lots of work to be done. We still don’t know why Ambassador Breams killed Chancellor Schenk but, suffice to say, we shall be keeping a very close eye on the new German Chancellor, regardless of what Ryan had to say.”

  “I might have some thoughts on that, sir. It will all be in my report,” Munroe said.

  McCitrick offered a nod. “Off you go then. And don’t let me down, Ethan… Oh, and you can call me John from now on… unless you piss me off. In which case it’s sir.”

  Chapter 32

  Peter Devon was already waiting by the gates of Strawberry Field children’s home as Munroe pulled up in his black BMW 330e. He switched off the engine and glanced over at Sloan, who was sprawled out in the passenger seat wearing a pair of black tinted Ray Ban sunglasses which she had perched on the tip of her nose. She had offered to make the trip with him and he’d accepted. They’d be spending a lot of time together in the future and even given the past few days he still was only just getting to know her. He’d figured they’d talk during the trip. As it turned out she’d hardly said a word and Munroe had finally conceded that she really wasn’t one for small talk, but he was confident that would change… Perhaps. How long it would take, though, was anyone’s guess. “I’ll be waiting,” was all she said, and Munroe nodded and exited the car before slowly making his way over to join the old orphanage overseer.

  “She still looks magnificent,” Devon said as Munroe neared, never taking his eyes off the building. “It’s a shame they shut her down. We did a lot of good in this place.”

  “A fair amount of mystery as well, Peter,” Munroe replied, joining him at the red spiked gates leading up the leafy drive to the building itself.

  Devon passed over the comment and instead continued to stare. “There’s a coffee shop in there now and they offer tours to die-hard Beatles fans. The Salvation Army opened a section for children with learning difficulties, but it’s not the home it used to be.”

  Munroe stood alongside the old man and looked over to see a tear in the corner of Devon’s eyes. “Things never are as you get older, Peter. But without you I can’t imagine how we all would have turned out. Criminals most likely. We all did well by you.”

  The compliment made Devon smile. “But did I do well by you, Ethan? After your call last night I got to thinking. Did I make the right decision by never telling you how you arrived at Strawberry Field?”

  “Well, what did you conclude?” Munroe asked as both men continued staring up at the old orphanage building.

  “I concluded that I did, but I still regret it.”

  Devon turned to face him, the teardrop still swelling within the corner of his eye. “When children arrived at Strawberry I never wanted to cause them more pain than they had already experienced, and you were no different, Ethan. I remember the day you came to me well, and the young lady who brought you. She was adamant about not being your mother, but I thought at the time she just couldn’t bring herself to admit it. Leaving her own child in the care of strangers couldn’t have been an easy thing to live with, and I never questioned her intentions… until now.”

  After leaving McCitrick on the rooftop of the old War Office building Sloan had driven Munroe to pick his car up, still parked near the house where he’d first met Icarus. Police tape still covered the door and the investigation of the hostage situation was still open. It would not stay open for long if McCitrick had anything to do with it, and his name was already being scrubbed from the files. Munroe had dropped off Sloan, not at her home but instead a local pub, which said more about her than her lack of talking ever could, and then headed home and immediately called the head of hostage negotiation and his soon-to-be ex-boss, Mike Regis. There wasn’t much he could divulge, and his work colleague had still been understandably unhappy at Munroe’s actions back on Waterloo Bridge – and also the fact that his car had been a complete write-off, shot to hell with the engine destroyed. All Munroe had been able to say was that it was governmental business. But the fact that there would be no investigation into the man Munroe had shot had gotten right under Regis’s skin. The man was a straight shooter, no grey areas, only black and white, and the whole thing stank to him of a cover-up, a flaunting of the justice system. He was right, too. He was also not happy when Munroe had handed in his notice, effective immediately, without even a reason. It had been the final straw. Regis had left him with the parting words, “Look after yourself, Ethan. It’s what you’re good at,” before hanging up on him.

  Munroe couldn’t be angry, he’d have felt the same way if the roles had been reversed, but he knew at some point he would try to rekindle the friendship. Somehow.

  His second call had been to Peter Devon. Firstly to apologise for leaving the Coppa Club so abruptly a few nights back, which the orphanage overseer had been more than understanding of, but also to confront him about his arrival at Strawberry Field. Of course he couldn’t explain how or what he knew, but the mere mention of the woman who had dropped him off that fateful night had caused Devon to ashamedly explain. Munroe now knew she was the Daedalus nurse who had taken pity on the four-year-old who was destined to be terminated, but for Devon she had been just another mother unable to cope. This was all his friend would say over the phone, and his request for Munroe to make the four-hour drive up to Liverpool the next morning had been accepted.

  After all these years it was only now that Munroe discovered that Devon still lived within a stone’s throw of the old orphanage, and to him it made sense. To Devon the children who passed though these gates were family, and the building itself had become part of the clan. Buildings were funny like that, they became a conduit for memories, a tangible representation of all the lives they’d once contained. It was this reminiscing, Munroe figured, that was causing the old man to get sentimental, and he gave him a firm slap on the shoulder. “Jesus, Peter, enough with the waterworks. Don’t go soft on me now.”

  The usual banter had Peter wiping away the tear and he grunted a laugh. “You wish, Ethan. But I do feel bad for not telling you the truth.”

  “Well go on, old man. Get it off your chest.”

  Peter composed himself and then he was back, although he looked perturbed, and as Munroe listened he was surprised by how bad the man felt at holding back this small yet import
ant piece of personal history. It felt strange, because Munroe actually knew more than he did. And that Peter believed the woman to be Munroe’s biological mother was an untruth that he would not refute. The truth was far too messy, and now tied up under the official secrets act, as all Daedalus information was.

  “When your mother dropped you off, Ethan, she refused to give her name. I did try, but in vain. She only wanted to make sure that you were taken care of, and that no mention of her was ever to be made. It was a promise I had intended not to keep, but about a week later I saw this in the papers.”

  Devon held a newspaper cutting in his hand and unfolded it before passing it over to Munroe.

  WOMAN SLAIN IN HESWALL, the headline read, and next to it the picture of the same nurse Munroe had seen back at Bauer’s office. The writing underneath read: ‘Mary Cane of no fixed abode’, and the article went on to report that the battered body had been found dumped by the roadside and that the police were asking for any eyewitnesses to come forward.

  “She didn’t go far, Heswall is just a short trip from here,” Devon said, tapping the page with his finger. “After I saw this I thought it best to just let things lie, but now… well now, I’m not sure if I did the right thing.”

  Munroe stared at the article for a few moments longer before handing the cutting back. “You did the right thing, Peter. I’m good with it.”

  With an accepting nod, Devon took back the piece of paper and slid it into his trouser pocket. His shoulders sagged in relief and he expelled a short breath. “Thank you. It’s been weighing at the back of my mind these past years.”

  “Not anymore,” Munroe replied, smiling as Devon raised a finger into the air as he always did when about to add something to a conversation.

  “You should know that it was her that named you. She told me your name and blood type but that was all. Your name is, and always has been, Ethan Munroe.”

  The extra bit of information made Munroe smile. “Thanks, Peter, good to know. And I’ve always known you had my back. Now, I’m afraid I need to get going.”