Soul Meaning (Seventeen)
Page 30
Footsteps sounded behind us. We turned and stared at the figure striding across the floor of the bunker. ‘Victor wants you,’ said Bruno.
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘Reznak called.’ We were on the ground floor of the lodge. The Bastians had recovered some of the equipment from the operations room and were busy setting up camp in the kitchen. I ignored the activity around us and studied Victor’s face intently while he spoke. ‘The Godards are in Europe.’
I took a step forward. ‘Where?’ I demanded curtly.
There was a flicker on one of the smoke-stained walls. An infrared, night vision satellite image appeared on a projection screen. One of the Bastian techs behind a keyboard focused on it.
We stared silently at the grainy picture.
‘They’re on an island in the Mediterranean sea, somewhere between Sardinia and Sicily,’ Victor replied steadily. ‘The only reason we know its location is because Dimitri provided us with the exact geographic coordinates.’ He paused and glanced at me. ‘It doesn’t appear on any maps of the area. In fact, according to the US Geological Society and the European Federation of Geologists, it doesn’t even exist.’
‘It sure looks real to me,’ muttered Reid.
The island was a fortress. A jagged ring of rocks surrounded the rugged land mass and churned the dark waters around it into a roiling, foaming death trap. Tall, white-topped waves surged and crashed against sheer, three hundred-foot high cliff walls that soared vertically above the sea. A few night birds danced and swirled above the silver spray. Tendrils of scrub and the odd dead tree clung to the otherwise bare rock face.
On the summit of the bluff stood a castle. A nightmare concoction of towers, rooftops and terraces, it sprawled across the prominence like a dark scar on the land. Narrow courtyards and labyrinthine paths intersected the extensive gardens that fronted it. The entire structure was surrounded by hundred-foot high, towering brick ramparts. Barred casement windows glimmered in the walls, the leaded glass reflecting the glare from the security lights around the perimeter of the monstrous citadel.
Figures were visible on the roofs and the extensive walkways that topped the walls. More still moved on the ground. The place was swarming with Crovir Hunters.
‘Reznak and the rest of the Crovir Councils have been summoned to the island,’ said Victor. ‘Vellacrus is apparently intending to make an example of Tomas Godard.’ He paused, his expression hardening. ‘He will be the first Bastian to be exposed to the Red Death in six hundred and fifty years,’ he added stiffly.
I clenched my fists and ignored the numb coldness spreading through my limbs. ‘When does she plan to do this?’ I said, staring unwaveringly at the immortal.
Victor shook his head. ‘Not for a day or two, at least. She’ll have to wait until all the Council members are gathered on the island.’ He glanced at Costas, who stood scowling silently at the back of the room. ‘Dimitri tells me that one out of the other three First Council members has pledged to help him stop Vellacrus and Thorne, as have several Crovirs in the Second Council and the Assembly. They each have about a hundred men under their command.’
A wry smile rose on Reid’s face. ‘So, what you’re saying is, we’re kinda outnumbered three to one.’
Costas grunted. ‘We wouldn’t be in this position if the Bastian Councils stopped sitting on their hands and did something.’
Victor turned a steady gaze on him. ‘Roman will persuade them.’
‘When? By then it might be too late!’ barked the Council member. He paused, his expression brooding. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that—’ He lapsed abruptly into silence.
Victor crossed the floor and stopped in front of the frowning immortal. ‘The friends who betrayed us will be made to atone for their treachery,’ he said quietly.
A hunted look flitted across Costas’s face. ‘Seven hundred years,’ he murmured huskily. ‘That’s how long I’ve known Grigoriye. You would think after all that time I’d know the man inside out.’ Silence followed his tortured words.
‘I suspect there are others in the Bastian Councils who want to imitate his actions,’ said Victor finally.
Costas scowled. ‘They will have to answer to my blade if they do!’
My gaze shifted to the satellite image on the screen. ‘When do we leave?’ I said curtly, struggling to hide the anxious impatience in my voice.
‘We can be airborne in two hours,’ said Victor. He walked to a table where a map of the Mediterranean Sea lay spread out and frowned while he stared at it. ‘But first, we have to consider the small matter of logistics.’
We left the compound an hour later. As the large convoy of SUVs and vans travelled swiftly through the night to the private airfield where we had landed days previously, Victor and Costas made a number of long transatlantic calls.
A cool breeze was blowing in from the Virginia coastline when we reached the landing strip. The C-40 Clipper stood waiting in the glare of a dozen halogen floodlights. Shadows soon danced across the grey fuselage when the cargo hold was filled with weapons and hardware. Still recovering from the injuries of the last twelve hours, some Bastian Hunters moved more slowly than others.
We took off after thirty minutes. It was a nine-hour flight to our destination. Victor finalized the details of our operation and ordered everyone to get some rest.
Despite my bone deep exhaustion, sleep proved unsurprisingly elusive again. I stared out of a window, my mind filled with images of Anna and our grandfather from the previous two weeks. My fingers unconsciously tightened on the armrests, my emotions fluctuating from anger and frustration to fear and anxiety at their fate. Clouds glowed in the moonlight beneath the belly of the plane; occasionally, a break in the white blanket afforded a glimpse of the dark waters of the Atlantic below.
‘Can’t sleep?’ someone eventually murmured beside me. I looked to my left. Reid had moved across the aisle and taken the seat next to mine.
‘No,’ I said tiredly.
Reid studied me for several seconds. ‘We’ll get them back,’ he said softly. ‘You have to believe that.’
‘I know.’
‘Look on the bright side,’ Reid added wryly. ‘At least half the immortals on the planet are no longer trying to kill you.’
I smiled faintly and leaned back against the headrest. My gaze shifted to the dark sky outside. Memories of the night before flashed past my eyes once more. It felt like a lifetime ago since I held Anna in my arms.
Sometime before noon the next day, we crossed the Mediterranean Sea and landed on a military airfield in the south of Sardinia. I stepped off the plane onto hot, cracked asphalt and looked around.
The base was teeming with officers of the Italian Air Force. A dozen transport and fighter planes, as well as a pair of combat search and rescue helicopters, stood parked across the extensive tarmac. Some of the men paused to glance at us curiously before going about their duties.
While the Bastians unloaded the cargo hold of the C-14, I gazed toward the cloud wreathed peaks to the west. Two dots appeared above the shimmering foothills of the mountain range; seconds later, a pair of F-16 fighter jets boomed overhead and disappeared in the azure skies to the east.
‘That’s a sight you don’t see every day,’ said Reid. I glanced at him. My gaze shifted to the cigar in his hand. ‘Oh, this? I got it from Costas.’ He grinned at my expression. ‘The bulldog’s bark is definitely harsher than his bite.’
We followed the Hunters across the tarmac to a large hangar, where Victor and Costas stood talking to a tall, distinguished-looking grey-haired man in uniform. ‘This is Major Vincenzo. He’s the commander of the base and an old friend,’ said Victor by way of introduction.
Shrewd black eyes studied us from beneath a pair of thick white eyebrows. ‘Are these the two men you want me to coach?’ the major said in a soft and surprisingly smooth accent.
‘There are six others,’ said Victor. He signalled to a group of Bastian Hunters hovering close by.
Friedrich nodded briefly as he approached. His injuries appeared to have healed and he walked with a barely visible limp. ‘Victor thought my skills might come in handy.’
The major stared at him critically. ‘How many jumps have you done before?’
‘Ten,’ the German Bastian Hunter replied steadily.
Vincenzo nodded, his gaze shifting to the sky outside the hangar doors. ‘We’ve got six hours left till sundown.’ He turned and strode off briskly. ‘Come with me, gentlemen.’
We headed after him to a DHC-6 twin otter plane sitting on the baking asphalt some hundred feet away. Several figures were loading a large amount of gear into the rear of the fuselage. The turbo engines roared into life when we reached the aircraft.
‘Get in,’ said the major curtly. ‘We’ll go through basic drills in the air.’ He paused. ‘Have any of you performed accuracy landings before?’ Bar Friedrich, there was a general shaking of heads. Vincenzo frowned. ‘Well, we’ll have to see what we can do.’
‘Oh boy,’ Reid muttered behind me as we climbed inside the plane.
The light was fading fast when we made our final descent to the base several hours later. I stepped off the aircraft and glanced nervously at the kaleidoscope of orange and pink streaks arching across the horizon to the west; though my heart still raced and my limbs shook from the intensive training we had received, I was aware that time was fast running out for the Godards.
The major was the last man to leave the plane. While his officers wrapped up the equipment we had used during our exercises, he dropped onto the tarmac and gazed at us steadily. ‘That was good work,’ he said with a satisfied expression. ‘You’re all fast learners. I can safely say that none of you are likely to kill yourselves after what we’ve just put you through.’ A guarded look appeared in his eyes. ‘As to what happens after that, I’m not in a position to comment.’
We headed back to the hangar assigned to the Bastians. The brightly lit confines were a hive of activity. A line of army trucks and jeeps stood at the ready at the doors of the building; the Hunters were gearing up to leave.
We crossed the floor to the command center set up in a corner of the vast space. The lights from several monitors cast shadows on the faces of the people gathered in front of the terminals. Victor looked around at our footsteps. ‘How did it go?’ he said.
‘Well, the major said we wouldn’t die,’ Reid replied drily.
A faint smile crossed Victor’s face. ‘Coming from Carlo, I would take that as a compliment.’
I stared past him at the flickering screens. ‘Are we ready?’ I said, trying to hide the edge in my voice.
‘Yes,’ said Victor with a nod. ‘Dimitri and the remaining Council members arrived on the island an hour ago.’ He glanced from the monitors to his watch. ‘They’ll have the radar jamming devices set up by twenty-hundred.’ He paused and gazed at me with narrowed eyes. ‘Costas and I will be heading for the port in fifty minutes. You should get some rest before you leave.’
Although I felt drained from the flight drills we had been put through, I was too tense to follow his advice. I found a deserted spot at the edge of the airfield and practised with the swords under the rising moon. It took all of my concentration to quell the nervous tension building inside me and focus on my moves. A warm breeze blew in from the sea and soon flicked the droplets of sweat that beaded my face and arms onto the tarmac.
Not long after, the Bastian convoy thundered past on its way to the city of Cagliari, some ten miles south and to the east on the Sardinian coastline. Anatole waved from behind the wheels of the leading SUV; Victor nodded stoically from the seat next to him.
‘You almost done?’ said Reid, coming up behind me.
‘Yes.’ I lowered the daisho and slowly sheathed the blades.
‘Good. We should get some food.’ Reid grimaced. ‘I hate to think what might happen if we eat too close to take-off.’ I smiled faintly and followed him to the hangar.
Two hours later, at exactly 21:00, we finally left the base.
The refuelled DHC-6 climbed steadily in an easterly direction, its twin engines filling the interior of the fuselage with a steady drone that would have made conversation difficult if any of us had been in a mood to talk. Not that we could have easily, with the face masks that connected us to the central console delivering the one hundred percent pure oxygen we needed to inhale to flush out nitrogen from our bloodstream and reduce the risk of decompression sickness associated with our high-altitude, low-opening jump.
Two of the major’s lieutenants had accompanied us on the flight. As instructed by them, I spent most of the ninety-minute journey concentrating on my breathing and checking Reid for signs of hypoxia and hyperventilation.
‘If I’d known I’d be doing a HALO jump soon, I would have quit smoking months ago.’ Reid’s voice was low even through the earpiece attached to my head.
I leaned forward and peered at him anxiously. ‘How’re you feeling?’ It was difficult to see his expression through the glass visor of the helmet on his head.
‘I could do with a smoke,’ came the dull reply.
I sighed, shook my head and settled back in the seat. A crackle of static echoed in our earpieces. ‘We’re fifteen minutes from the drop zone,’ said the pilot. ‘Check your gear.’
The eight of us rose and went through the safety procedures we had been taught that afternoon under the keen eyes of Vincenzo’s lieutenants. Another voice came over the earpiece moments later. ‘Hey, can you guys hear me?’ It was the Bastian tech at the base.
I observed the series of nods around the fuselage. ‘Yeah, we hear you,’ I replied into the mouthpiece.
‘Victor called,’ said the tech. ‘Reznak’s men are in place. They’ve secured access to the external security cameras and the radars. You’re good to go.’
There was a further crackle from the earpiece. ‘ETA five minutes,’ warned the pilot.
‘Good luck,’ the Bastian tech added quietly.
I switched on the portable oxygen bottle on my back, disconnected from the console and checked my flow meter. One of lieutenants opened the loading door on the port-side of the aircraft. Cold air rushed inside the hold. ‘On three,’ he mouthed, signalling with his fingers. I followed Reid to the exit and stepped off the plane, the wind whipping at my jumpsuit as I dropped forward. Seconds later, I was in free-fall.
The HALO jump over the Mediterranean Sea was from thirty thousand feet. As the dark landscape spread out beneath me, I reached up, switched on the night vision goggles beneath my helmet, tucked my arms to my sides and angled my head down. The island appeared as a grey-green shadow in the waters ahead and slightly to the left, the image strangely stark under the ambient moonlight. I turned towards it and concentrated on keeping my breaths slow and steady. Soon, the audible altimeter sounded in my ears, indicating that I had reached a terminal velocity of 170 mph.
The fall lasted almost two thrilling minutes. At the two thousand feet signal, I reached behind and pulled the pilot chute out from the bottom pocket of the container strapped to my back. There was a slight tug as the bridle lifted the deployment bag holding the main parachute: the canopy unfolded above me, its suspension lines feeding steadily through the slider. I braced myself for the sudden deceleration and reached for the steering toggles. One hundred feet below and to my right, Reid’s parachute swooped towards the rapidly enlarging landmass. I headed after him.
Seconds later, we landed on the rooftop of one of the castle’s towers. I hit the ground with a soft thud, rolled, pulled the wakizashi out of its sheath and cut away the lines before the chute could drag me over the edge of the terrace. There was movement at the corner of my eyes. I ducked, twisted on my feet and stabbed the Crovir Hunter raising his gun in the chest. The immortal crumpled. I caught the limp body and lowered it quietly to the ground.
A dull noise suddenl
y rose behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. My eyes widened. Heart leaping in my throat, I turned and ran towards the two figures struggling silently near the north-east parapet of the rooftop. A second before I reached them, the men fell from the tower.
I dove forward, slammed the tip of the wakizashi into a groove between two stone slabs and slid over the edge of the parapet with an outstretched arm. My fingers closed over flesh. I came to a juddering stop with my body halfway above a lot of empty space.
The silence beneath me was broken by a soft thump.
‘That was close,’ murmured Reid below me. He dangled from my grasp, his feet swinging over the hundred-foot drop. I glanced at the dark shape of the Crovir Hunter lying at the base of the tower and pulled Reid up with a soft grunt.
We crouched and carefully studied the adjoining rooftops. ‘Everyone okay?’ I murmured tensely in my mouthpiece. A series of affirmative responses sounded in my ears. The six Bastian Hunters had alighted safely.
The distant boom of waves crashing into the rocks hundreds of feet below was the only noise that reached us. No cries of alarm sounded in the night; our landing had gone undetected. Friedrich waved briefly from a nearby tower and disappeared in the gloom.
Reid and I removed our flight gear and headed for the door tucked in a corner of the rooftop. Beyond it was a dark and narrow stairwell. I paused at the top of the steps and glanced over the metal banister. A further four landings were visible below. Silence rose from the lower depths of the turret.
We moved silently down the spiral staircase and reached the bottom moments later. A closed, iron-plated oak door stood facing us. Faint voices carried through from the other side. I glanced at Reid. ‘On three?’ he said softly. I nodded, slid the Glock 17 and the Smith & Wesson from the holsters on my hips, checked the suppressors on the guns and moved to the side of the doorjamb.
Reid’s bullet struck the lock with a dull metallic twang. The door crashed open on his first kick. He stepped out of the way. I turned, dropped to one knee, raised both guns and fired.