by M. W. Duncan
Brutus said nothing for a moment. There was a chance Toth lied, but the man feared for his life. Brutus looked to infected and back to Toth.
As if reading his thoughts, Toth said, “It’s the truth, Brutus. I swear.”
“They’re going to screw the world, then what? They rule over the cinders?”
“You might think that The Owls sound foolish or short sighted with their plan, but that’s not the case, I can assure you. They have contingency plans for when the pandemic occurs. The Owls and those they deem important will go into hiding in holdings called bastions, refuges against the virus where they can survive until it’s time to emerge and guide the remnants of the world. Brutus, they can do this. Years of planning, many billions of dollars and a diehard commitment. You can’t fight them. You can’t stop them. The best thing to do is disappear, find a quiet corner of the world and weather the coming storm.”
“How long until they release more of the virus?”
Toth remained silent.
“How long?” Brutus pulled his assault rifle to his hands and drove the stock into Toth’s stomach.
Air rushed from Toth.
“How long?”
“A few years, maybe less. Plans are fluid. It depends on how this current test resolves.”
“These bastions, how many are there in the UK?”
“Three,” said Toth spitting. “One in Scotland, two in England.”
“How many people can live there? How many people are required to run the operation?”
“Please, Brutus, let me go.”
Brutus raised the weapon a second time.
“A few thousand. With supplies for that much to last a year and a half.’
“Good. Good, Andor. Have a break. I’ll get you some water and then we’ll continue this conversation. You see, I wanted to disappear and live a quiet, wealthy life. Now, The Owls of Athena have reduced the chances of me achieving this to nil. I need to make provisions to survive what’s coming. If the world is to die, I’ll cling onto its corpse.”
***
Brutus walked from the back room, blood smeared across his knuckles. Andor’s blood. After the first pause in their talks he grew reluctant again.
Niall checked his watch. “You were in there for two hours. What’s happening?” He seemed nervous, probably aware they lingered somewhere not safe.
“We’re bugging out. Pack up. Get the angry bitch and the scared little mouse ready to travel.”
“What about Toth?” asked Freddo.
Brutus wiped his hands on his trousers. “Bring him, too. I’ll bring the car round. We’re going back to the hotel.”
***
Artyom Vetrov opened the vehicle’s door and slipped inside. He wore a shirt more unbuttoned than fastened. Large aviator glasses hid his eyes.
“You were right, Brutus. My associates back home are interested and keen to negotiate.”
Brutus shook his head. “No negotiation, Artyom. I tell you what I need and you agree. Simple.”
“That is not how business is done, my friend.”
“It’s how I’m doing business. Listen well. I know your associates have resources which I need to tap into. I need a way to return myself and my team, less than ten of us, to the UK unannounced, bypassing quarantine control. Once there, I need weapons, enough for twenty men, several hundred rounds for each weapon, and grenades and equipment to live off the radar for a year. We need to be back in the UK within three weeks. And money. Five million. Cash. Payable on handover.”
Artyom whistled low. “Moving you from Egypt to the UK in three weeks with a travel ban affecting much of Europe is no small feat. The rest, weapons and money is easy.” He clicked his fingers a few times while looking down to his feet. “You selling the woman to my government means a great deal to them. They were prepared to offer you a great deal more, money things. The travel will be difficult but you have my word, in three weeks you’ll be stepping onto British soil.” Artyom spat into his hand. “Shake and we can have a drink.”
Brutus shook the offered hand, then overtly wiped his hand along his shirt.
“Ah, Brutus my friend. You never minded your hands getting dirty.”
“Blood doesn’t smell as bad as your breath, Arty.” Brutus considered asking Artyom to join him on the endeavour he planned, but his Russian friend no longer placed himself in danger’s way. He ran business, traded and got fat.
“We’ll drink now, yes? I shall meet you in a few days when things have been arranged.” He thumped the dashboard of the Land Rover. “I shall also see to new plates for this. You’ve been sloppy since being here, Brutus. I need to protect my investment. People are looking for you.”
“What makes you think someone is looking for me?”
“You wouldn’t be asking for help otherwise, my friend.”
“Perhaps you’re right. When does the transfer take place?”
“Soon, Brutus. I’ll contact you with where and when. Be ready to leave with an hour’s notice.”
***
Brutus gathered his team in the largest of the rooms they rented, a space covered with bags and sleeping rolls. It was a far cry from luxury but it was quiet, out of the way and crap enough to keep them uninteresting. It suited their needs.
Conversation amongst the team was not upbeat. No surprise after recent events. Payday and home were the only things spoken of, and even they were discussed with a commonplace tone. The bombshell Brutus was about to drop would test their trust in him. They watched him in silence, some stood and others sat. Brutus stroked his beard, more unkempt than he usually maintained. Opportunities to tend appearances were infrequent of late.
“Things have gone from bad to worse in recent times. That isn’t what I had planned for us. I thought it would be an easy payday. Instead, we’ve lost friends and we’ve been hunted.”
“Not to mention those infected, Brutus.” Ash Gibbons leaned against the rear wall, arms crossed, munching into an apple.
“Apologies won’t change things here. A solution may. And I think I’ve found one. The incident in the Sinai didn’t occur the way they told you. The outbreak was not something identified by the Egyptian Government. In fact, I suspect that they have no real idea what occurred there. Our employer and his group, The Owls of Athena, engineered the outbreak specifically.”
Roy cleared his throat. “Craig and I talked about this while we were observing the village. We both agreed that an outbreak could not have taken place there naturally. Too isolated with only a handful of people going in and out.”
“The Owls of Athena are some shadow group, with aims I don’t fully understand. They want to see outbreaks of the Carrion Virus and I got us tangled in their web. I know all of you want to go home. Since you were assembled here in Egypt that has become almost impossible. Travel restrictions are in place around the UK. The infected girl we captured from the village, I’ve done a deal, and we’re selling her to an interested party. We’ll receive enough money to see us covered for the money we were expecting, and assistance to return home.”
Freddo flicked the blade of his combat knife with a finger. “Who are these people in this party? I’m all for going home, Brutus, but I want to know who you’re getting us mixed up with. We’re already tangled with The Owls. Who next?”
“The Russians. Some of you will remember my friend Artyom. He’s still connected, and the Russian Government is anxious to acquire a sample of the Carrion Virus in a live host.”
“Goddamned Russians,” spat Magnus Munson. “He’s pushed us into the claws of some shadow organisation and now we’re jumping into bed with the Russians?”
“Calm down, Magnus,” urged Niall. “We’re already in trouble. Brutus has a way to get us back home with a ton of money. Then we go our separate ways. We don’t need to see each other again.”
“Not quite,” said Brutus.
“What do you mean, not quite?” demanded Magnus.
Ordinarily, Brutus would bully or intimidate peop
le into compliance, but he needed his team onside. “I’ve spoken with Andor Toth.”
Niall and Freddo passed knowing looks to each other.
“He has suggested The Owls of Athena are planning to intensify the outbreak to the point of a pandemic. We’re looking at this happening within a few years. Imagine an outbreak in every major city in the UK. We’d be overwhelmed.”
“This is crap!” Magnus stood from his chair. “You need us more than we need you. You’ve got yourself into some trouble you can’t handle on your own, and you’re looking for someone to watch your back.”
“Stay here all you like, linger in Egypt. I’m trying to pay you all back and get you prepared for what’s coming next. We can’t stop this. The Owls are burrowed into multinational corporations and ingrained in the military. When this storm comes, we can either be prepared or watch everything die. That’s a fact.”
“So what are you suggesting we do?” asked Stuart Taylor.
“The Owls have prepared bases in the UK, some place where the select few can wait out the infected, self-contained sanctuaries, stocked with enough supplies for several years. When the outbreak comes, and society is breaking down, we strike, and take one of these places for ourselves. I’m giving you a chance to keep your family and friends alive and safe.” Brutus was not a man to care for another human being. Anyone he called friend could be terminated at any time if necessary. That was his law of the land. But to secure a bastion on his own was a big ask. He needed these men, needed them if he was to survive the future’s pandemic. He knew to mention the safety of their families, was another way to ensure their support.
“How do we know he’s telling the truth?” Magnus asked of Brutus. “How do you even know Toth is telling you the truth?”
Niall stepped forward. “Before the outbreak in Aberdeen, what, three months ago, you wouldn’t have believed the infected were real. I think Brutus is telling the truth.”
“The Russians will provide us with weapons, enough to take and secure one of these bastions. Bloodlessly if we can, if not, well, if not we do what we’re trained for. I know you don’t want to believe this is true, but I wouldn’t be wasting my time if it wasn’t. Who’s with me?”
Magnus was the only man not to raise his hand.
“This is crazy, Brutus.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on. I don’t want to die for half-promises and other people’s gain.” He looked at the rest of the team, one by one. “Ah, shit. These guys trust you. I might as well, too. Let’s go home.”
***
The Russians were good to their word. They met with Brutus on the second day, all dialogue conducted through Artyom. He was flanked by a group of ten soldiers, heavily armed and silent. Spetznatz. Special forces, probably.
Brutus and his men were flown on a Russian military plane to Cyprus, where they boarded the freighter vessel Askold. In fourteen days they would be close enough to Britain, and would board an inflatable from the freighter and make landfall at night. The ship’s crew was charged with security of the weapons locker. Should the ship be boarded by unwelcome forces, the weapons were to be thrown overboard. Brutus was in possession of the money and supplies. Everything was going according to plan. Brutus kept Andor Toth with him. The two captured mercenaries were no longer a logistic to consider. They were taken care of in Egypt. A bloody but brief end. Toth was valuable and resigned himself to incarceration. He mourned the fact he was taken, and proposed repeatedly that death would come for them both. No doubt The Owls were looking for him, but would they be looking on a Russian ship travelling through the Mediterranean?
The cabins were small and cramped, bunks stacked with a communal bathroom. It did not matter. They were going home. Enthusiasm was present. They chatted, laughed, and lamented the loss of their comrades. Brutus was not sure they fully believed the outbreak would be a pandemic in a matter of years. That did not matter either. Soon, there would be all the evidence they needed when the infected were tearing apart their neighbourhoods.
Brutus slipped from his bunk, landing light. He stepped out onto their balcony, a private area away from the crew where one could take in some fresh air. The commercial passengers section of the ship was locked away from the rest of the ship. The Russian crew had minimal contact with Brutus and his men.
He closed the door behind, the cold steel of the balcony cold on his feet. He pulled a cigar from his pocket not intending to light it, more just having it to hold. He leaned on the rail. The ship cut a steady path through the water, the constant drum of the engines and the breaking of the sea the only real sound. It was peaceful in a way. Quiet, but not enough for Brutus to relax. Brutus would never be able to relax again. Not when he knew what was coming.
The door behind opened.
“You kept your word.” Niall joined Brutus at the rail. He leaned over and spat.
“Everything I’ve said is the truth, Niall. As farfetched as it sounds, I wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble to get back home if I didn’t think we needed to.”
“Home. What is home to you, Brutus?”
“It’s wherever I don’t need to carry a rifle twenty-four-seven. Where I can sleep with my eyes shut.”
“A few of the others think your intentions are good, but that things aren’t as bad as you paint them.”
“And you?”
“I don’t think you care what I think.”
“You’re right. But humour me.”
“I believe you.”
“If they’d been in Aberdeen, they wouldn’t doubt it.”
“But they haven’t. They’ve seen some infected and it shocked them. To think that anyone would release the virus to the world, it just doesn’t make sense to them. But I’m trusting you, with everything. If the virus spreads from Aberdeen then we’ve got a problem. I want to keep my family safe. I’ll follow you, Brutus.”
Brutus lit his cigar, and blew out a long stream of blue smoke. “This is something new, but we’re soldiers, we make a living from death and war. I’m a survivor, and I always will be.”
“All what we’ve seen reminds me of a quote I heard somewhere. The strong do what they can, and the weak suffer what they must. We just need to make sure we’re not the weak. I’m with you, Brutus.” Niall clapped him on the shoulder. “Come inside. We’re going to crack open some beers.”
“I’ll be in soon.”
Niall left him alone with his thoughts. Brutus had learnt to be a survivor and not depend on others at a young age. Brutus was eight when he realised the world didn’t give a damn about him, or anyone. They were at a play park, his sister Marta and him. She was only five. A sweet, innocent girl who Brutus doted on. Their mum drank too much and left her in his charge for the day while she headed off to one of her hotels and the myriad of men that pretended to love her.
The dog, black and tan beast struck from nowhere. It grabbed Marta by the ankle, pulling her from the swing and threw her to the ground. Children screamed, parents scooping them up as the Rottweiler pinned Marta to the ground, its jaws clamping down on her arms. Brutus, himself crying shouted for someone to help. No matter where he turned, he saw horrified spectators. Not one person stepped forward to help. Brutus picked up a large rock at the edge of the swing area and charged the dog. It had Marta by the throat by the time he reached her. He struck out with his improvised weapon, and hit again and again and again until he caved in the dog’s head. Beneath the swing the dog and Marta died.
The world didn’t change that day. Brutus changed. Brutus saw the cold truth of the world. It offered no security, no promise of innocence maintained. He lost his sister and childhood, but gained something - a glorious burden. The knowledge of how to survive.
Screw the Carrion Virus. For the next fourteen days all he would care about was freedom from fear, fear of the infected. And beer.
***
With the toe of his boot Eric nudged a tray of dirty dishes left outside Holde
n’s door, the remains of the doctor’s evening meal. A half-eaten sandwich on brown bread, and a salad that looked as though a fork had churned the lettuce and taken nothing. The knocks on the door echoed. Eric had tried a number of times. Holden was not answering. Since back in Aberdeen the doctor saw nobody, only leaving his room to visit Jane. Food was provided three times a day, and three times a day the majority was left at the door for the cleaners.
“Eugene? I just want to make sure you’re okay. Is there anything you need? Open up and we can talk.”
Nothing. Not even muffled sounds of movement. Eric could not blame the doctor for his enforced isolation. He was an old man, used to lab work, and should not have been made to run through a forest or held hostage.
“You know where I am if you need to talk, Eugene.”
A dark smudge marred the white door. A small handprint. For a moment, Eric wondered who it could belong to. He walked back to this room, the ruined carpet squelching under foot.
How many people were infected now, or dead as a result of the infection? Aberdeen’s population of two-hundred-and-twenty-thousand could have suffered a dramatic decrease. The true figures would probably never be known.
Operations for Black Aquila were grinding to a halt, with all tasks and assignments taken over by the new surge of American military. Williamson lived in hope that Black Aquila would once again be called upon to take a lead role in the battle. Eric doubted this. Too many people died and too many mistakes were made.
He looked forward to home. The thought of seeing Jacqui and the kids filled him with hope of a different kind, a hope that things could still be normal in a life so very far away. Maybe soon he would be back there. In the interim, he would make himself available to Williamson.
