Omega: A Jack Sigler Thriller cta-5

by Jeremy Robinson

  “Jack,” she said, “Alexander tells me that you have a woman for whom, you too, would cross the oceans of time. You must miss her very much. I am so grateful you were willing to come assist him.”

  King just nodded. He didn’t think it would be right to tell her how he didn’t have much choice in coming. It was also water under the bridge for him. But the mention of Sara, made him yearn to be done with this mission — especially since they were so close to the end now.

  Alexander had left them after lunch to obtain some horses. King was left to chat with Acca over wine.

  “He’s missed you terribly. Everything he’s done over the years was to keep his identity a secret and to make this all possible.”

  “Tell me about your time,” she said, sitting back in her chair.

  He laughed. “It’s so different in many ways, but still the same in others. We’ve made many advances. Men have travelled to the moon in a flying cart, I guess you would call it. Most of the carts on the ground are propelled by what would seem like magic, but is more of a complicated series of metal parts that make the wheels move, fueled by a liquid we pump from the ground and refine. People live indoors, and we have boxes to keep our food cold in the kitchen, and other boxes to cook with. We have rooms in our homes where you can defecate and urinate, and water will flush those things away from your house to a place where the waste is treated and broken down into mostly harmless parts. We can hold a small device in our hands and speak to people on the other side of the world with it. But we’ve also made so many terrible things. Weapons that can kill a man in a blink. Weapons that can destroy entire cities just a fast. There are wars in the future that will claim millions of lives, and there are men, who would, if given the chance, destroy all of humanity.”

  Acca sat up in her chair. “It sounds terrible. How did so many things come to be made? Were they gifts from the gods?”

  King smiled. “No. Most of these things were simply developed over time by man, to fulfill one purpose or another. It’s our nature to turn just about everything into weapons.”

  Acca seemed to digest this information, while sipping more of her wine.

  “And what do you do to make this strange world of yours a better place?”

  King thought about the question for a while. He thought about his life — first in the military and later with Chess Team. He decided to break it down into the simplest terms possible. “The people who kill innocents, who seek out power at the expense of others, or who, in their madness, want to destroy the world…” He looked up at her eyes, saw his mother for a moment, and said, “I find them. And I stop them.”

  “And if they can’t be stopped?”

  “Then I kill them.”

  Acca nodded in understanding. She was no stranger to violence. “Why do you do it?”

  King had often thought about the bizarre nature of what he did, but he rarely gave thought to why. It was like breathing. He just did it.

  “It’s the right thing to do,” he said.

  Acca smiled. “I can see why she likes you.”

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Antonine Baths, Carthage, 2013

  Richard Ridley was sweating. It took concentration to use the mother tongue to animate inanimate things, like mud and stone. The larger the golem, the harder it was to not just grant the thing life, but also give it direction. Purpose. A mission it would follow until its undoing. And as far as golems went, it didn’t get bigger than the Colossus.

  The statue was made of iron, bronze, brass and stone, but unlike other such statues built many centuries later, this one was not hollow. It had been filled with crushed stone and rock of varying sizes. Over the centuries, coral and sediment had cemented the interior spaces between the brass plates forming the skin, so that even though much of the iron tie bars inside had rusted away, the statue held its integrity. Making the thing stand and walk, as if it were alive, meant forcing breaks along joints that did not exist, and grinding the stone and metal past each other, then re-bonding the molecules, so the limbs did not simply fall off.

  He had used the tongue to animate things before, but the Colossus was huge, and it was taxing his abilities. Sweat poured down his face, and his arms felt weak. He mumbled the guttural language, repeatedly, like a mantra, to keep the statue alive.

  Once the shooting had started, he had a hard time seeing where to direct the statue. He was startled initially at the automatic weapons fire, and he had simply stopped the thing from walking. He should have known some of the Chess Team would make it out of Omega and past his men. Their skills, while a constant annoyance, were impressive. He had ducked behind the ruins with Seth and sent the Colossus toward the sound of gunfire, stomping on anything that moved, while Trigger and Carpenter returned fire. Without time to imbue the statue with intelligence enough to control its own actions, Ridley really needed a higher perch from which to control the statue. If he could see where he was sending the ancient statue, he’d be able to steer it better. He considered the minaret on the nearby mosque, but then realized he’d only need to keep the Chess Team busy for a few minutes longer.

  The statue was his. It was one of the first antiquities he had discovered in his endless search for ancient knowledge and power. He had built his Omega facility right next to it on the shore, and had paid a fortune for the sea wall in his office, so he could look at it and dream of one day making it walk. It had been a long journey from there to here. Now, he was finally making the thing move. If only the last members of Chess Team could be dealt with, he would soon have the Chest of Adoon, and then the remaining military forces of the world would fall before him. Oh, certainly they would try to destroy him first, with their special forces teams, assassins and probably even a nuclear warhead. But none of those things would work.

  He stuck his head up over the stone barrier, quickly checking on the position from which the gunfire was coming. Then he looked to the sky to see where he had sent the Colossus on its last blind sprint. He was getting closer.

  He dropped down behind the stone wall, just as a bullet pinged off the top of it, missing his head by less than an inch.

  “What can I do?” Seth asked from beside him.

  “Crawl that way. Peek around the side of that rock and shout directions to me, while I try to steer our large friend.”

  Ridley returned to mumbling the ancient language commanding the statue, as Seth scrambled away to another nearby block of stone exposed from the sandy soil.

  The ground trembled as the Colossus charged back into the center of the Antonine Baths, its footfalls crushing blocks of stone and fragments of columns as it came.

  “Turn right a bit,” Seth called from his vantage point.

  Ridley made the mental adjustment and uttered the harsh words from the back of his throat.

  “Good, now bring it closer to us.”

  The rumbling footfalls sped up, as the creature lumbered faster toward their location.

  “They are running for the trees now. Try to angle it to the left—” Seth began.

  Suddenly, their position was riddled with bullets, shots ricocheting off the stone, and hitting all around the ground of their hiding place.

  “Fuck!” Ridley’s concentration was broken. He lost control of the Colossus, and it stopped moving, frozen in mid stride. He and Seth scrambled away from the stone and down the embankment to the beach, away from the gunfire.

  Somehow, it was coming from above them. Ridley scanned the skies, looking for a helicopter or something, but he found nothing. He looked up the beach to their former hide. Carpenter was dead. Trigger was scooting across the sand toward a stone block, trailing a river of blood from one limp leg. The man wouldn’t last long.

  “Where they hell did that come from?” Ridley asked.

  He frantically looked up and down the beach. At the north end, he saw figures in black moving into the ruins — more of his men. Finally. The local military would be dressed in garishly bright camouflage — exactly the wrong color for th
e local environment. The police would be dressed in black, but they would be carrying plastic riot shields with Arabic text emblazoned across them.

  Now he just needed the mercenaries to keep the Chess Team busy long enough. He needed to get the Colossus under control and bring it to him. All he needed was a few uninterrupted minutes.

  Suddenly, more bullets ripped into the sand from above, and Ridley and Seth leapt back, diving into the water.

  “There,” Seth was shouting and pointing. “It’s coming from up there!”

  Ridley looked up the body of the Colossus. Right up its chest to the cape bunched around its neck and the head with its pointed crown. On top of the head, next to one of the spires jutting off the crown, Ridley could see brief flashes of light.

  “Son of a bitch! One of them is on top of it. How the hell did he get up there?”

  “Can you toss him off?” Seth asked.

  “I can do better than that,” Ridley said. He tried to ignore the hail of bullets occasionally peppering the sand of the beach, and he sat down in the shallow water, letting the warm water rise to his neck.

  He began uttering the strange ancient language. He closed his eyes and let them roll up into his head, as he focused on one thought.

  One command.

  He repeated it in his mind, and then his mouth and tongue uttered the thought in the foreign language over and over again.

  Slap. Your. Head.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  Antonine Baths, Carthage, 2013

  Bishop swore as his MP-5 ran dry. He’d been firing at the spot where Ridley and his men were hunkered down, when the gigantic statue went on a thunderous rampage, crushing everything under foot, before returning to the shore and suddenly stopping.

  Then Rook had started firing from his perch up on top of the statue’s head. Ridley’s concentration must have broken.

  “Longer you keep them off guard with shit like that, the more chance we have of finding you a really big step-ladder, Rook,” he spoke into his throat mic, as he set his submachine gun down on the sandy ground, and pulled out a pistol. It was better than nothing. If Peter and Lynn made it back with Knight, he’d get a spare magazine from them.

  “Hardy har har,” came Rook’s reply. “I’m getting sun burnt like a friggin’ scorpion up here.”

  Queen fired off a final blast of gunfire from her own weapon until the magazine was empty. “Just keep firing on Ridley’s position. If he can’t concentrate, he can’t move that thing.”

  Queen turned to Bishop. “Any more mags?”

  He shrugged. “Was gonna ask you,” he said, even though he knew she was out.

  “Shit.”

  Bishop heard movement behind his position and whirled the 9 mm around. Peter and Asya were struggling along, with Knight in between them. The little man looked like he’d been worked over by someone Bishop’s size. Lynn came behind them with an MP-5, covering the group as they moved. Bishop got up and ran to them. He slipped into Asya’s place, taking Knight’s weight.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Some bald guy missing an ear kicked the crap out of me. He said something about ‘his forces’, so I guess he must have been in charge,” Knight’s voice was weak.

  “Ridley’s not running the show?” Bishop said.

  “He looked a bit like Ridley, but it wasn’t another duplicate.”

  Queen came and joined the group. They all crouched as another fusillade of bullets came their way, pinging off the stone ruins.

  “This guy is missing an ear, you said?” she asked.

  “Was. The golem squashed him flat.” Knight closed his eyes.

  “I think I know who that was,” Queen said, accepting a fresh magazine from Peter, as Lynn handed Bishop her MP-5. He gave her the 9 mm in exchange.

  “You do?” Bishop asked.

  “Darius Ridley. Richard’s brother. I met him in the Ukraine. I’m the one who took the ear.”

  “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer prick,” Knight mumbled. “Where’s Rook?”

  Bishop pointed, and Knight tiled his head to look up to the Colossus. “That’s the Colossus of Rhodes. Rook’s on top.”

  “Is he steering it?” Knight asked, his eyes wide.

  “Nope. Just hitching a ride.”

  As if to prove the point, another burst of gunfire erupted from the crown of the stationary statue, raining down on the beach. Rook let out a whoop, his voice faint, but he was clearly enjoying the crazy situation that would petrify most people.

  “He ought to just chuck grenades down,” Knight said.

  “I think he’s out. Besides, I’m not sure they’d make it to the ground before going off.”

  “Who are we shooting at?” Knight asked.

  “Ridley, one clone, two mercs,” Queen said. “I might have hit one of the mercs.”

  “So let’s rush them while Rook has them pinned,” Knight suggested, then fell into a bout of coughing.

  “Yeah, ’cause you’re in shape for a quick sprint up the beach followed by some hand to hand,” Bishop said.

  “Let me at ‘em,” Knight wheezed.

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Peter said. “I know I’m not my son, but I’ve been in a few scrapes. We can flank them while your man on the statue keeps them pinned. If we wait until their reinforcements come, we’re dead. If we wait until Ridley can control that giant again, we’re even more dead.”

  Queen looked like she was running through scenarios in her head, then she nodded. “Bishop, the beach from the south. Lynn, stay here with Knight. Peter, with me to the north. Asya, you stay in the middle and make them think we’re still here.”

  “I’m a better shot than Peter, why don’t I come with you?” Lynn asked. Queen and Bishop looked at her and Peter. The man nodded in agreement with the plan.

  “Fine, let’s go.”

  Bishop ran down a dirt road to his right, keeping low, so the short rock walls still standing from the ancient bathing complex shielded him to some small degree. He scanned the area ahead, then the tree-line to his right, the giant statue near the beach and back toward Knight’s position with Peter. As he brought his eyes back to the beach, he caught a glimpse of motion where there shouldn’t have been any, far to the north, through the ruins. He dropped behind the low wall and rolled to a stop. Then he crawled next to the wall, inched up to the top and took a peek.

  He didn’t see anything for a full minute. Then he saw a man dressed in black dart from one block of stone to another. He wondered if Ridley’s boys were trying the same thing he was. But then he saw another man move through the ruins. Then another.

  Shit.

  He keyed his microphone. “Queen, you read?”

  “What?”

  “Reinforcements. North end. Wearing black and leap-frogging through the ruins.”

  “Dammit.”

  Bishop checked the statue again. Its hand reached up toward its head. “Rook! Get out of there! The hand is coming up! You gotta move!”

  The gunfire from the top of the Colossus stopped, as the creature’s huge hand swung up and slammed down on top of its head, as if it were trying to swat away the world’s largest deerfly. The impact made a cracking sound as loud as a peal of thunder.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Antium, Latium, 780 BC

  The machine was amazing, especially considering the date. The lab was full of metal components that shouldn’t exist for thousands of years.

  There was a massive arc of thin metal that looked like gold, supported by a wooden frame, shaped roughly like the Greek symbol Omega: Ω. The top of the arch was taller than Alexander — easily enough room for three normal people to use the arch as a gateway. The structure stood in the middle of a huge lab. Rough unsheathed copper wire wound around the frame and the golden metal. At the far end of the room, an old wooden waterwheel stood. King could tell at a glance that the younger Alexander had tried to power the arch with crude electricity from the waterwheel, but he knew it wouldn’t have been nearly eno
ugh power.

  The design of the electrical wiring, the layout of unsheathed coiled cables across the stone and the bent metal plates that lined the outside of the arch like armor reminded King of the dimensional portal he had passed through in Norway. There were other molded metal shapes, the purpose for which King could not fathom. In one part of the room, a small pit was gouged out of the stone floor and filled with a noxious green chemical liquid, through which some of the exposed copper wiring ran.

  “A lot of this stuff looks like you built it with knowledge of future sciences. If this is your first trip back to the past, how did you pull that off?” King asked.

  Alexander sat heavily in a chair near the apparatus and looked at King. “You’ve lived here in the past long enough to know that history and myth often present a less than accurate picture about ancient events. Science becomes religion, or witchcraft. Sometimes even the most extraordinary events or discoveries are forgotten and erased from time.”

  King leaned against a wall and nodded. Acca sat in a chair nearby, listening, but her face revealed nothing about whether she was already privy to the information Alexander was about to share.

  “How do you suppose people of this time would have explained me? A man of my strength and vitality? Someone with knowledge of things most people would consider magic? Even though I’ve spent most of my life keeping what I knew hidden, people occasionally catch a glimpse of what I can do. How do you think they would explain it?”

  “Hercules. Bastard son of Zeus,” King said.

  “Precisely. You’ve known me over two decades. Do I like snakes?”

  “No. You always let me go first if there were snakes.”

  “So what’s the likelihood I throttled some of them in my crib? People make up stories about people they perceive as heroes. I didn’t always keep to myself. Before Acca, I was arrogant and a showoff. Stories got told, and they amplified over the years. Some of it was based in truth. You know the Hydra was real, and you met Cerberus. But was I the offspring of Zeus? Of course not. As far as I know, Zeus doesn’t exist. And I’ve told you this was my first trip back to the past. What does that leave?”