Blood War (The Bloodeaters Trilogy Book 1)

by Rees, Kevin

One of the team motioned him to join them. As he walked over, his boot skidded on something. The aqueous slime suggested an eyeball was glued to the sole. Eddie desperately wanted to run out into the night screaming. The absurdity of what he was about to do became suddenly magnified. It was only the ever-watchful gaze of Maya, who wanted to prove to Karl he was a burden to the mission that kept his next footstep steady. He focused on the woman and walked towards her.

  ‘I take it I report to you.’ He knew his voice belied the exterior he was trying to desperately hold onto.

  She reached over the reception desk, picked up a small pack and tossed it to him. Eddie caught it and, for a split second, almost threw it back in her face like Sam had done. He could feel somewhere in his primitive brain a switch had turned from revenge into anger. He closed the distance between them in one step and was gratified to see a small flicker of surprise cross her face. Who the fuck did this bitch think she was? Then she changed in the space between a blink, taking away the beauty and replacing it with a snarling mask. It was his turn to show surprise. Eddie fought every signal his body was frantically sending to his brain to back down. Maya was within inches of his face, her eyes locked with his. He could taste her breath on his lips and see her expanding pupils drawing him in like a black hole. In those few moments it already felt he was way over the event horizon. Eddie dropped the pack and folded his arms, hoping his neutral stance would prove she didn’t intimidate him. For the second time, Maya allowed him to witness a subtle look of confusion. Eddie knew it was his opportunity to end this standoff as no one else was going to intervene.

  ‘You really need to change your mouthwash, princess.’ Inwardly he winced at using the term he reserved for Kat. Eddie knew it would either push her into attack, or add to her confusion, giving him precious seconds to determine his next move. He knew her strength was formidable, having felt it earlier. The response, however, wasn’t as Eddie predicted.

  A young man dressed in baggy jeans, a basketball shirt that was way too long and a cap whose peak pointed due west came out of Jason Ridley’s office and walked up behind Maya. He was laughing loudly, allowing the other team members who stood watching the face-off, to relax a little also. Eddie broke off his steadfast gaze to glance at the kid. He noticed some blood on the otherwise immaculate shirt. Eddie guessed Jason Ridley had administered his last shift.

  The young man put a hand on Maya’s shoulder, still laughing at Eddie’s jibe. ‘He’s got you there, sis. You can’t deny you do get dragon breath on occasions.’ He came around Maya and seemed to quickly dissolve the tension. She took a step back and released a long, slow breath, which seemed to deflate her body until there was loose material appearing in the tight uniform. Her face also relaxed, returning soft, exquisite lines that didn’t immediately assemble back into the stern expression of earlier. Maya stared at him briefly before walking over to the others who formed a protective huddle around her. Eddie could swear he saw a hint of admiration, or something before she turned her back on him.

  ‘Hi. I’m Cole,’ the kid said, extending his hand. ‘Your comms man.’

  They shook.

  ‘Say again, my what?’

  ‘Jeez, guy, and you were in the SAS? You’re not switched on yet, are you?’ Cole said with mock pity interlacing with his playful tone. ‘Comms, short for comm-u-nic-ation,’ he grinned, showing a perfect set of white teeth.

  Suddenly, Eddie felt as if someone had strapped him into a fairground Waltzer and cranked the speed up to insanity. He was surrounded by blood and death; his friends were cut into pieces; he wanted to find Kat, but Maya was conflicting his feelings; somehow he was back in the army and about to assault an enemy who were on a different evolutionary scale. And here was some Jamaican kid, with a veneer of Harlem ghetto lecturing him about communication.

  ‘Put this on.’ Cole handed him a throat mike. ‘Hey bro, are you okay? You look like you’re gonna chuck.’ Cole moved a few steps back, not wanting his blood-soaked trainers to include vomit.

  Eddie straightened and took the microphone. It was something he’d used in Iraq and knew the feel of it on his neck meant there were only a few more minutes before the shit got real. He remembered to position it left of centre, and gave Cole some test signals. The kid acknowledged he was receiving him.

  Lars was giving one last briefing, motioning Eddie to join them. Once in the huddle, arms were placed around his shoulders, drawing him into the team, which he had to admit felt good. Maya stood opposite and watched him as Lars delivered his battle speech. There was something new in her expression — something almost carnal. That’s if his own desire wasn’t clouding his growing infatuation. Eddie was so taken with her, he didn’t feel the pressure building up on his shoulders, as the team seemed to be sucking in all the air around them and squeezing their arms tightly. He closed his eyes and listened, trying to ignore the pain as they began to recite something with growing volume. With each line their clothing seemed to stretch as their bodies began to expand, testing the fabric to near collapse. Then they broke off with a roar, leaving Eddie to wait for the feeling to return to his arms.

  The group, led by Lars, made for the doors that took them back inside the corridors. Eddie ran after them, knowing they wouldn’t carry any passengers. He ran as best as he could with carnal thoughts of his own raging through his head, and a growing need to be by Maya’s side. She glanced over her shoulder to check on him several times, even slowing a little to let him catch up. Eddie noticed how her uniform accentuated every curve of her body and he watched lustfully as her tongue flicked over her lips leaving them glistening and wet. He wanted to taste her again more than anything.

  Up ahead, Lars signalled for the group to stop. He motioned for Eddie to come forward. Reluctantly, he moved away from Maya and went to the Swede. Silently, Lars pointed to three corridors, asking Eddie which one they should take. Eddie paused, trying to get his mind off the girl and onto the mission. The middle corridor seemed the quickest route.

  ‘CODE RED... I REPEAT, CODE RED... WE HAVE MOVEMENT SPOTTED ON THE THIRD FLOOR... WE CANNOT CONFIRM THIS IS YOUR PRIMARY TARGET... CHANGE MISSION PLAN AND DEPLOY TO INVESTIGATE... REPEAT, MOVE TO THE THIRD FLOOR.’ Cole’s voice ended with static.

  Lars looked at Eddie and smiled. ‘We can’t always be right, can we?’ He turned to his team. ‘Okay, we move up the stairs.’

  Eddie followed, stung by Lars’s barely disguised gibe. He knew Father was where he said he would be, and that’s where Kat would be. So why was he following Maya and the team who were running in the opposite direction? He tried convincing himself he was not abandoning Kat. But each time he tried to think about her, Maya’s image brushed her away like chalk off a blackboard.

  A sudden burst of gunfire above his head swept both women quickly out of his mind as he dropped to the floor.

  9

  Central America - 2019

  The figure moved quickly through the unlit tunnel with the assured footsteps of someone who needed no light to scythe away the damp darkness of the slippery floor. So silent was their movement, only the constant plop of water echoed off the low ceiling and narrow walls. It added its own percussive beat to the claustrophobic effect of being entombed in some dank hole that never saw light. The passageway had been used by generations of masters and servants with dark, clandestine agendas to fulfil, anointing the ambitions of the few, while protecting old secrets worthy of such status from those with equal ambition.

  The figure stopped and thrust a hand into the pockets of a long overcoat casually draped over a shoulder. Fingers swept the pocket frantically until one of the digits touched a squared edge. The hand came slowly out. Gripped tightly between the forefinger and thumb was a small rectangle of plastic with holes punched at irregular intervals along one side. The examination moved from the card to the wall, tracking across the stone until a faint red glow glimmered weakly in the darkness. The small light was attached to a lock that secured a studded door. One swipe of the plastic key th
rough the device changed the red light to green, and a small click turned locked into open.

  The door led into a dimly lit passageway ending at the steps of an ornate staircase. Along the wood-panelled walls expensive oils and watercolours hung blindly, waiting for adoring eyes to give them purpose. The figure checked before stepping into the light. Out of the protection of darkness emerged a slight, dark-haired man, dressed casually, except for a tight black skullcap that made his appearance more sinister than his feminine features could support. Balanced against that was his stealth and natural cunning, which spoke of strengths that went further than his outward androgynous appearance.

  Morgan Cruz-Smith was — in his mind — the ultimate spy in the employ of his current master. The pay was generous, and not just for the timely information he gathered, it was his undeniable ability in gaining confidences. He moved effortlessly among the powerful, political hierarchy that threatened or acted against the ambitions of the few he offered his services to. All were charmed by his casual conversation, and confused by their need to be closer to him when inquisitive eyes were turned away from politics. The hot whispers of plots and secrets so easily obtained by a small lingering touch to a knee, or a hand languishing a little longer on a shoulder. Women were also mesmerised by his effeminacy, and how in tune he was with their thoughts and feelings. He could laugh at the appropriate time when they talked about their lack of good sex, or encourage their knowledge of scandal from husbands unburdening themselves after days in the political pit. With soft eye contact, followed with an understanding shake of his head, he drew out the information as easily as a letter-opener slicing through flimsy paper to reveal its innermost secret.

  Such was the importance of the vital information he had just obtained; Cruz-Smith had broken his own rule about making contact directly without prior arrangement. His mole in the Directorate had, after three drinks and a promise of his phone number, let slip details of an active operation in England involving Karl Felton and his team. Given Felton was in direct opposition to his paymaster, Morgan had to alert him before time and political gain could be made in Felton’s favour, especially as the operation involved Father.

  Morgan moved with incredible stealth and silence through the house alerting no one to his presence. His body seemed to flicker like his shadow as it briefly visited the panelled walls and dusty alcoves; He reached an ornately painted door and pressed his ear to the wood. Satisfied the room held only the sound of one occupant snoring, he opened it and stepped back into darkness. His eyes needed no time to adjust, he could see the mound swathed in expensive sheets and gold threaded blankets. Morgan almost felt a physical revulsion as the smell of stale sweat reached him. It was an odour all too familiar that still held a strong hatred for this employer. His first contact with the man in the bed had been as a spy for a senior member of the council, and Morgan quickly discovered his disinclination for men like him.

  He walked to the bed and began to shake the sleeper’s shoulder. ‘Praetor, wake up.’ Morgan watched as the man opened his eyes, slowly at first, before jumping up and almost shouting his name out. The young man placed a hand on his mouth and immediately regretted the action as sticky saliva ran like molasses between his fingers.

  The man swiped the hand away. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Did anyone see you come into my room?’ The fat man looked over Morgan’s shoulder to reassure himself his secret hadn’t been compromised by the young fool. ‘What are you doing here? I thought we agreed you wouldn’t come back to my house under any circumstance.’ He was aware of his heart thudding against his rib cage. The presence of his spy at some time in the morning without his sanction turned his suspicion into fear. What if a higher bidder bought Morgan’s loyalty, could he go from spy to assassin? It was certain Thoragan would never have woken up if his man had turned.

  ‘Praetor Thoragan, I know this is out of protocol, but I had to speak with you now. Karl Felton has found Father in the UK. His team are in the process of deploying troops to destroy him.’ Morgan watched the reaction in Thoragan’s bloated face. The minute twitches and contractions around the mouth and the narrowing of his eyes spoke volumes as to the seriousness of the developing situation, and also to the fat man’s political ambition. ‘You see, I couldn’t wait until morning. By then Felton may have killed Father, and I know how that would affect you and...’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Morgan,’ Thoragan interrupted. ‘You made the right judgement. I must seek an audience with Senator Talin-Baye. Return to your place and contact her from there? Tell her you’re acting as my personal assistant and I have discovered something of importance that needs her immediate attention. Tell her it’s to do with the council. She’ll respond to that.’ He rested back on the bed, his tongue flicking out of his mouth, sending more saliva running down the hillock of his cheek.

  ‘Will the Senator respond through me, or will she contact you directly?’

  Thoragan narrowed his eyes and looked at the man standing over him. He could never trust him. After all, he was a mercenary of sorts and could be paid by someone else’s purse that ran deeper than his. ‘Why would she respond through you, Morgan?’

  ‘I only meant...’ the young man stammered, ‘Perhaps she may want to use me as a go-between and not have any direct contact or involvement.’ He sensed Thoragan was again testing him. ‘Or perhaps you would like me to keep your name out of this in case it damages your campaign, Praetor.’

  ‘When you speak to the Senator, tell her to contact me. You needn’t have any further involvement until I instruct you differently. Understood?’ Thoragan reasserted himself now the shock of his sudden awakening was fading.

  Morgan agreed and backed out of the room, leaving Thoragan to return to his political chess. As he negotiated the dim corridors, Morgan stopped and wiped the cold saliva from his fingers onto a priceless Titian before returning to the secret passage. Morgan couldn’t help thinking perhaps it was time to gift the plottings of a madman to another soul. Thoragan was powerful, but so was a piranha until it was tipped into a tank of sharks.

  10

  The gunfire stopped almost immediately and was replaced with excited chatter Eddie took as cursing in any language. The speech was harsh, like the warning a lioness might give if you stepped too close to her cubs. Eddie could make out Lars’s voice as he issued commands. Then he heard another sound layered in amongst the men’s. It was someone whimpering softly like a child. Eddie didn’t recognise the tone at first, stripped, as it was, of its arrogance, because it was as distant as the Earth was to the Sun to the person he knew it was coming from.

  The team dragged their captive down each step with a sickening thud of bone meeting concrete. Eddie emerged from beneath the stairwell and moved to the bottom step just as Maya rounded the corner. He saw the brief confrontation had ignited her kill-switch, which glowed with pure bloodlust. Without a word she pushed him roughly against the wall, barring his chest with one arm in case he might display his inbuilt frailty to intervene in what was about to happen as three members of the team came around the corner holding up a body. The bloodied man was Doctor Phil Jones, stripped of all his authority, hands bound with plasti-cuffs and moaning as if in intense pain. Eddie was finding it hard to make a visual connection with the bedraggled man who twenty-four hours earlier had been the immaculate, arrogant bastard of his department.

  ‘Maya, I know this man. He’s one of our doctors and not one of them.’ He pushed her arm away and was knocked back against the wall with her face inches from his. Instinctively, he brought the heel of his hand up quickly and struck Maya under the chin, dropping her to the floor, where she lay stunned and bleeding from a torn lip. Eddie readied himself for any retaliation. But before she could react Lars dived in-between them, using his massive frame as a barricade. He held out his hands as a warning to the others not to move.

  ‘Enough... stand down. I said stand down, Maya!’ Lars’s voice growled, but it had little effect.

  She
was on her feet and advancing towards Eddie. Lars blocked her path and made a grab for her wrists. A look of incomprehension spread across her face as if he had openly betrayed her.

  ‘We need this man, and he is under my protection. Is that understood, Maya?’ The Swede let go of her arms, praying he didn’t have to restrain her again.

  Lars glared at her, knowing the close bond they shared had altered in the time it took for his heart to beat a dozen times. Maya turned and walked back to the rest of the team who shuffled uncertainly around her. The tension was physical; the silence broken by the groans coming from their captive, who was barely conscious. Eddie slowly edged his body from behind Lars, who remained motionless as he watched the girl walk away from him. Eddie took the first steps cautiously, pressing his back to the wall in the hope this would act as some form of reassurance he wasn’t going to be hit by those loyal to Maya. He approached the men holding the doctor and could see they were momentarily paralysed and unsure. As a unit they were loyal to whoever led them. But this was unprecedented, as further loyalty lay with Karl Felton and his kin, who they swore to protect with their lives. It would be up to Lars how this mission would end if his leadership were tested.

  Eddie turned to the doctor. His colleague’s face was deathly pale, and he was panting quickly like a dog. Eddie did a quick visual assessment, there were three neat, round holes in his trousers and blood pooling between his Pringle socks. Gunshot wounds to his legs, that’s what the firing was, he reasoned. Even with his scant knowledge of the team, he knew with enough certainty they were deliberately placed shots. Any one of these combatants could have slotted the doctor with just a quick glance and a squeeze of the trigger finger. Also, the MP7s they carried were deadly accurate. So why shoot him? Phil would have put his hands up and surrendered in a second.

  ‘Phil...It’s Eddie. Can you hear me?’