by Rees, Kevin
‘Bialowieza.’ He hadn’t used that word in a long time, and it felt strange to reform the letters in his mouth. Maybe there was an opportunity, some common ground to foster between them if they could meet without that fool, Thoragan manipulating the outcome.
As he plotted his next move, the clouds parted, allowing the moon to bathe the darkness with subdued light. Some of the light reflected off the pane and shone onto the face of a fugitive. Sixsmith drew back from the window. He hunched down and took out the last of the stale sandwiches he had in his bag. As he ate, he mulled over his memories of a mission in the vast Polish forest. One of many training exercises he hadn’t given any thought to in years. Sixsmith hadn’t seen its potential significance, until now. He even knew the location where the object his men found had been shipped to — Base 301 – Code Name – Disneyland. He guessed the boffins would still have it locked away in some dusty crate, somewhere. Sixsmith chuckled quietly and tapped the side of his head; all the information in there could save his life. With that thought being mined for all possibilities, he carefully checked the café for anything he may have dropped that could identify him to some nosy, Gendarme. Satisfied, he tightened the straps on his rucksack and left the café. Cautiously, Sixsmith crossed the overgrown car park, ducking low amongst the sparse cover. He took an easterly route, seemingly sure of his destination, and sure of Father’s. It seemed Thoragan had given out two keys to his safe house. And that’s where Sixsmith would head to find the man who, perversely, could be his only salvation. He knew it was a dangerous gamble. But, if his instincts were correct — and they rarely let him down — it was possible Father was looking for something he’d lost in that forest. Maybe, Sixsmith considered, it had to do with the strange bones his team dug up in Bialowieza? It would be very dangerous bait he was dangling as a guarantee against his life. Of course, he would insist on going with Father to recover the objects as part of the deal. Drip-feeding its location to ensure his protection from those in Intelligence who would like nothing better than to spit-roast him over an open fire.
As Sixsmith made his way across the French countryside, he saw ahead of him a long and gruelling journey encompassing half the world, which would end at Base 301. They would have to get close to the facility and find a way of getting in. Infiltration wasn’t his speciality, and he wasn’t sure if the crate he’d shipped was still there. Of course it would be prudent not to tell Father. Still, he would guide the Bloodeater into the Nevada desert, to Disneyland, where Father might find all the answers he was looking for.
And what about after the mission? Sixsmith chuckled to himself, as he ducked into a small copse. He had already planned his escape as soon as he became Thoragan’s pawn. With the help of some contacts he could still count on, he would head to San Diego and detour south into Mexico. He’d heard the fishing in Baja, California was good all-year-round. Providing he remained vigilant and kept out of the sun, Sixsmith would no longer cast a long shadow for his pursuers to find. The crazy Bloodeaters, and the powerful Third Bloods could wage their little war as he sipped tequila while watching the sun sink into the ocean.
Except of course there was still that one unanswered question, which had caused him sleepless nights since he stole the file to sell to the CIA. He knew the Americans were focusing all their resources to find their “special” people. And all the other countries that had been granted knowledge of the Third Bloods and Bloodeaters were equally as anxious for their own results. He expected his former employers would continue to conduct covert surveillance and capture missions of certain key individuals identified by their new allies. As to their plans for them, he was no longer part of that world and didn’t care. Though, he did still hold onto a little curiosity after the abortive mission in the hospital. After all it was him who made first contact. That surely allowed him a stake in the final outcome, as long as he was careful not to expose himself.
As the night air frosted his breath, the answer to the question remained frozen to the lips of Colonel Sixsmith. It was a question with a huge significance for all mankind who hadn’t yet woken up to the existence of two superior, evolutionary, hominid species. Two separate races of beings they had shared a planet with for thousands of years, coming together in what could be one final apocalypse. And, if he were correct, an answer to a simple question could stop a war, and could alter the balance of power forever.
He wanted to ask it the moment he saw him, and be the first to find the answer, before others looked to a completely new agenda. And that agenda could see covert services tasked with assassination rather than risk losing a precious asset. Now Karl Felton was dead there would be a vacuum, which could expose the truth even more if he were without the protection of the Thirds. Sixsmith was sure they would keep him very close.
So the question would have to wait patiently, like a virus waits for its destiny to arrive until someone will rise to their feet and ask.
Who the hell is Eddie Keagan?
Acknowledgements
I have a number of people to thank, but only one gave me the opportunity to fulfil my ambition to write this book, and that’s my wife, Carol. This book is dedicated to her for her sacrifice, her love, and her belief in me. Without those three elements this book would not have been committed to paper.
There’s also my family, Sahra, Neil, Trevor, Beryl and Shirley. And I can’t forget our little man, Sam.
I want to thank Adam Croft for his exceptional editing skills and advice throughout the writing of Blood War. He is an incredible editor and made my book much more reader friendly than I could ever hope for.
Lisanne Radice, Editorial Consultant, for her invaluable input.
Jane Dixon-Smith, for taking an image that’s been in my mind since the inception of this book and producing an astonishing cover.
And lastly, I want to thank Nicola Thurston (Blood War’s first reader) for her support, proofreading and positive comments.
