by M. W. Duncan
“There are now many buildings like it. Our energy requirements are mostly met through clean resources. It’s years before its time.”
“You’re lucky to live there, Mr. Crispin.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it, Ryan. Planning and strategy breed success. I suppose you’re curious as to where we are going. We’ll, it’s a small eatery which I like to frequent. Very expensive, popular with those who work in the financial sector. Mr. Rennie back there, doesn’t think I should be walking the streets like this. If he had his way, I’d be wrapped in blankets, kept under lock and key. Ah, here we are.”
The windows of the small restaurant were blacked out. Rennie moved ahead and pushed the door, holding it open for Hector and Ryan. His face was so serious, so bleak. A bell jingled and an immaculately dressed man, his hair well-oiled and slicked back appeared as if from nowhere. He conversed with Hector in hurried Japanese before showing the two to a rear room. The restaurant smelt of delicious spices and oils.
Hector indicated that Ryan should sit.
“We have water, Ryan, or would you prefer something else? Diet Coke? I would not suggest the latter.”
“I don’t like Diet Coke. Water will be fine.”
He poured water from a jug for the both of them. Ryan sipped. Rennie remained outside the door.
“Do you know why I chose here, Ryan? It’s because I have an understanding with the owner. He ensures that this room remains free from unwanted attention and surveillance, and I enjoy some of the best oriental food in the city as well as making a sizable donation to Mr. Goto. It’s a useful arrangement and suits my purpose.”
“It’s nice. Really nice.”
Hector held up a finger. “This is about what I want and can have, rather than what is necessity. I afford myself luxury. I’ve ordered for you. The food shall arrive shortly. What did you notice as we walked here, Ryan?”
“Mr. Crispin?”
“It’s a simple question, Ryan,” he said, hands spread. “What did you notice?”
What had he noticed? He had focused on Hector. The press of people, felt like a current trying to flush them back. “The streets were busy, very busy.”
“Good. Good, Ryan. Yes. The people. What do you believe they were thinking as they went about their business? I’ll tell you, Ryan. Each and every one, consumed by the pettiness of their lives. Sheep herded along by government. They sicken me, content to float along in life so long as they can achieve low level goals. Sickening really.”
Ryan put his glass down.
“Your father, Ryan, he was one of the founding members of The Owls of Athena. What I’m telling you now, is a result of the foundation of trust we’ve built. Partly due to the link you have through your father, partly due to the work you’ve done. I will reveal to you what few know, the aims that we have.”
No please, I don’t want to be involved in this anymore. I want to go back to my old life, knowing nothing and just existing on the fringe of society. “Certainly, Mr. Crispin.”
“Not too long ago, the world balanced on a knife edge, a moment of sheer cataclysmic potential, so much so we may all have woken to nuclear war.”
“You’re talking about the Cold War?” Ryan assumed, venturing that one question harmless.
Hector nodded, tilting his glass. “I am indeed. On one side the USSR, on the other NATO. The world held its breath. The Owls of Athena trace their origins back in the annals of history. We’re not quite sure of our original founding member but this is not important. Our goal has always been to safeguard this world, to watch for the moment the nations of the world become so dangerous, so unpredictable that intervention must be staged to pull the world back from the brink.”
“The Carrion Virus? That’s the start?” Ryan shifted in his seat. Too many questions.
Hector smiled, placing his glass on the table. “Indeed. Would you like to know how we acquired the virus?”
Ryan nodded. He wanted to know, but didn’t want to hear.
“The Carrion Virus was created at a time when billions of dollars were being pumped into non-conventional methods of warfare. The United States conducted research into biological warfare. The result was the creation of the virus. Now, here is where events become murky and the exact details are lost. The virus was created, tested and deemed too dangerous to ever become viable. It was stockpiled to be destroyed. Some of our number, high ranking military members, secured the stockpile for our use. As far as the United States military knows, the virus was destroyed, the evidence classified above top secret and forgotten. Nations may control an awesome arsenal of nuclear weapons but imagine a weapon that turns a nation’s strength, its own people against that country. Eaten from the inside. The Owls of Athena have carried the heavy burden of this responsibility for several decades. Until now.” Hector leaned back in his seat, the padded wood creaking with the movement. “And I’m sure you’re asking, why now?”
“Yes, Hector.” He tugged at his tight collar.
“The world is slipping into an abyss. People don’t realise this simple yet undeniable fact. State-run media propagates the idea that everything is okay. All the bad things in the world are happening elsewhere. The truth is much worse. Governments are no longer accountable to the people. Tyrants, hidden in the shadows rule corrupted bureaucracy. People are reverting to an almost medieval level of barbarism. We are losing ourselves to the point that it is necessary to act. Your father when he was alive voted for action. He understood the importance of what we are about to achieve.”
Ryan’s mouth flapped open and closed.
“You look surprised. The outbreak you orchestrated in Aberdeen was the first step. We’re in preparation to unleash the virus globally within the next few years. You see, in order to safeguard the survival of this world, we need to tear down the established and corrupt governments. The Carrion Virus is a perfect weapon. We can cripple or destroy a population and yet keep damage to infrastructure to a minimum. When the time is right, we can emerge and retake the remnants and shape what’s left to a more structured ideology. You see, Ryan, what we’re doing is changing the world. Not just changing it but ensuring our continued survival and flourishing. In time, of course.”
The old man seemed to be enjoying their conversation. How could he sit there spewing such horror from his mouth, without needing to adjust his top button? What scared Ryan most was the absolute conviction he detected. The Owls had the means to escalate the outbreak, and intended to do just that.
“Well, shall we eat?”
Hector pressed a small buzzer at the side of the table. A hidden door, undetectable in the wall, opened and staff entered carrying steaming platters of food. The world had turned to a place Ryan did not understand, a place of dark potential and horror. He yanked at his collar again, and hoed into the food.
***
“You’re not thinking clearly, Eugene! You can’t just throw your hands in the air and walk away from this!”
“I’ve given more than most when it comes to combating this outbreak! What more can I give, Ben? What more?”
Both men shouted, Holden from sorrow and frustration more than anything else.
“When the allegations were made against me you promised to keep me safe. There was nothing safe about that place. And to escape, we nearly died. Jane is being treated for hypothermia. I, only for good luck, am here before you.” The truth brought more pain than those revelations. While the doctor was wrongly accused of the first outbreak, he could be rightly accused of the second. It was never supposed to end like that. Stupid! I am so stupid! The guilt weighed heavily, a noose of metal around his neck. “Good, innocent folk died back there. Good folk, wanting to fight the outbreak. It’s too much.”
“It’s not your fault, Eugene.” Williamson’s face softened. He turned to Eric who stood in the corner, leaning against the wall. “What of the facility?”
“We never pushed on to the facility. We secured the doctor and Jane and retreated. We eliminated thos
e trying to stop us.”
“Losses?”
“None. None of ours.”
“And we don’t know who they were?”
“Nothing to identify them, but well-armed and well-funded.”
Williamson crossed to Holden. “You’re tired, Doctor. You’ve endured a traumatic experience. More than one. Don’t make any rash decisions on the strength of recent events.”
The words were hollow and meaningless. Holden suffered a crushing fatigue that would not leave him.
“Yes, I’m tired, Ben. You have no idea how tired. There will be no more research from me.”
“Eugene, you are the eminent researcher in this field. Think about that.”
“I believe I’ve made my feelings painfully clear.”
“And what will you do without my protection?”
“I won’t be threatened into submission.”
Eric stepped forward. “Perhaps what we need is to have a break, and talk about things tomorrow. It’s late. Many things have happened.”
Williamson stormed to the window, his back to the two men.
“Get him out of here, Eric.”
Holden stood, a great effort, his weary bones almost betraying him. They left the room and walked down the long corridor.
“Don’t judge him too harshly, Doc. He’s in a tough position. We all are.”
“I’ve been a commodity to be used. I’ve had enough. I’ve seen enough. Too much death and sorrow. Too much for one man to take.”
Eric made a sound of understanding. “Williamson is a military man at heart, he sees us all as strategic pieces. He’s a realist, he knows that you’re important, probably our best chance of beating this thing.”
“He’ll have to look elsewhere. My endurance has dissipated.”
“Does the phrase The Owls of Athena mean anything to you?”
“No, and I have no interest in any owl, or wherever the thing is from. No interest in anything related to this place from here on in. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“The girl, Jane. Do I know her? She seemed familiar.”
Holden smiled. “She should seem familiar, you rescued her from the hospital in Aberdeen. You helped evacuate some of the medical staff and patients.”
“The police officer?”
“Yes, he did not survive. Now, I must find some sleep.”
Holden walked away, not looking back.
***
Brutus watched the building from the street corner. It was used as a safe house before the mission. Now, Andor Toth and a few of his men, bodyguards probably, waited for the second team to return. Only all members of the second team were dead, and Brutus would return bringing hell with him. Tomorrow, he would use Toth as a bargaining chip.
Brutus checked his watch. He had more pressing matters. He got into the vehicle he’d liberated from the desert, his destination a bar far from the tourist areas of the city. He had been there once when doing freelance work. Unofficially, the bar was a kind of mercenary exchange. Business was agreed and traded on the dirty floor of the stained beer hall. The environment, while not pleasant was one that Brutus felt comfortable in.
The bar was quiet, only a few of the tables occupied. Nobody paid much attention to Brutus when he entered. The rule of the bar was simple. No weapons. No violence.
“Brutus! Over here.”
When they returned from the Sinai, Brutus called one of his former associates, Artyom Vetrov. Vetrov had worked for the Kremlin many years ago. Now, he was freelance and with a healthy remnant of connections. They became friends one night in Afghanistan, sharing some awful whiskey, huddled by a fire under the stars.
“Two.” Vetrov held up two fingers to the barman.
“Brutus, good to see you,” said Artyom, his Russian accent thick. He reached out and brought Brutus into a tight embrace, slapping his back before releasing him. He pointed to the scar on his face. “That is a new one, yes?”
They sat. Two glasses of whiskey arrived. They touched glasses and both men drained their drink and thumped the empty tumblers on the table. The whiskey was cheap, like the kind they shared in Afghanistan. It was a tradition. Vetrov raised another two fingers.
“How’s business, Artyom?”
“Things were good until all that craziness in Scotland. People are nervous. People need hired guns to reassure them. I sell guns, and men to use them, and reassurance.” He smiled revealing a gleaming gold tooth.
The waiter leaned over and poured.
“Yourself?”
“Busy here and there. Business has been interesting if not good.”
“Are you still with Black Aquila?” asked Artyom.
“Not as such, no.”
“I must admit, I did not expect to hear from you. Since your call I’ve been wondering what would bring my friend to call at my door.”
Brutus decided long before entering that honesty, for the first time in a while, seemed to be the best option. “I came to you for help, and with a business proposition.”
“Making money? You have my attention.”
“How long has it been since you worked for the Kremlin? Officially and unofficially.”
“Officially, it is coming up to ten years.” He picked up his glass, and swished the gold liquid about. “Unofficially, you never fully stop working for them.”
“What do you know of the virus outbreak back in the UK?”
“Enough to know that the rest of the world should be wary and watching with great concern.”
Brutus leaned in close. “And what would you say if I told you I had a live sample, fully infected, restrained and ready to be transported within twenty-four hours?”
Artyom leaned back in his chair, wiping sweat from his forehead. The heat was stifling. He retained a neutral expression, a tactic he no doubt employed for all business negotiations.
“And where did you acquire this sample?”
“Here, Egypt. And she won’t be missed. Untraceable. Nobody will be looking for her. I imagine that every functioning government would love to get their hands on a subject infected with the Carrion Virus. As far as I know, Russia nor its allies don’t have access to this.”
“What do you want from me?”
“For the moment, what I want is cooperation, help to move from nation to nation since there’s so much travel restriction. Not just me, but my team and some equipment, too. Perhaps money, or further equipment.”
“To what end?”
Brutus leaned back, matching his companion’s posture. “Now, Artyom, you know not to ask questions you can be sure I won’t answer. Can you facilitate this for me? You’ve still got the contacts, I assume?”
Artyom drained his drink. “I’ll need to see the asset.”
Brutus drained his. “Outside.”
The two men made their way out and across the street. Late evening and the street was almost deserted. Some distance away, car horns blared. Somewhere in the night, a cat mewed its mating call. Brutus unlocked the vehicle and opened the boot compartment.
One final check to ensure they were not followed, and Brutus pulled at the hessian sack. The infected rocked back and forth, rolling roughly. Brutus held it in place and peeled the bag back. She was restrained to the maximum. Arms tied behind her back at the wrists, ankles tied together, as were her knees, and a spit-guard covered her head.
Artyom stepped back, his hands raised in fists.
“She’s secure,” reassured Brutus.
The infected thrashed and fought her restraints, her eyes fixed on her two captors. Her bloodshot eyes bulged. A thick vein pulsed down the centre of her forehead. Dried blood coloured her face, like some savage painted for war. Beneath the gag, she chewed on her restraints. A low rumble built in her throat. Remarkable in a way, considering how much punishment she received during her subjection. Her body displayed little signs of injuries other than the original sores from the virus.
Artyom said something in Russian. A little colour dropped from his weather-beate
n face.
“So, what do you think?” asked Brutus nonchalantly, not wanting to draw attention to them. Even quiet streets bristled with eyes and ears.
“Can this be real?” he muttered.
Brutus pulled the sack back up, tightened the ends and pushed her out of view. He closed the boot and stepped back. “It’s real. That’s what we’re dealing with back home. They’re fast, deadly and ruthless. Your country needs to be ready to meet this threat. No matter how prepared they are, the infection will spread past the borders of Britain. This could be the difference between a crisis and a disaster.”
Artyom nodded, though his mind seemed elsewhere. He nodded, over and again. “Keep it secured. I need to make some calls. Tomorrow, how do I contact you?”
“You don’t. I’ll contact you. Twenty-two-hundred-hours. You can meet me at my location. By then, I’ll have a better understanding of what it is that I require.”
Artyom banged the vehicle door twice. The infected thrashed harder.
“You know, Brutus, had it been anyone but you I would have taken this infected and sold it myself. Anyone but you.” It was not a menacing statement, more matter-of-fact. “I’ll get in touch with my contacts back home, see if we can come to an arrangement. Either you have just made us both incredibly rich, or we are dead men walking. Tomorrow, at twenty-two-hundred. I need some more of that rotten whiskey.”
Brutus held all the aces. Artyom was scared and intrigued. Brutus had broken the barriers between fiction and reality. The Carrion Virus had arrived in Artyom Vetrov’s life.
***
It was on Magnus’s watch that a visual of Toth was confirmed. Toth had returned to the safe house. It was time to strike. This was the time that Fisayo and his comrades were to report back. Brutus’s men were positioned on all street corners, weapons hidden in a carry bags. Brutus himself crouched directly across the street, in the cover of a derelict car, long ago rusted to its bare bones. The street masking the safe house had been selected wisely. Passers-by were a rarity, almost like the locals knew not to attempt to come close.
