“I saw it on her face in that moment, even though she couldn’t admit it to herself. It really came together for her while she was taking care of you after you got hurt. The first time, I mean.”
I’d been unconscious on that Exodus ship for a long time with Ling watching over me. “Florence Nightingale syndrome?”
“Something like that. I don’t think she’s admitted it to herself. She’s been hurt before. She’s not ready yet.”
“What should I do?” Why am I asking this girl for advice?
“I don’t think you’re ready either, Michael,” said Ariel, looking up into me with that eerie gaze of hers.
I hadn’t had nightmares about Sarah’s death for a week. That was progress, I suppose.
Still unsure of what to say, and more than a little uncomfortable at how insightful she was, I changed the subject. “Listen, about this thing in Central Asia, I don’t know much—”
“Exodus buries the work in layers of deceit. I hate it. I hate all the secrets and lies. But it’s necessary. Sala Jihan has ways of finding things out.”
“Sala Jihan. The warlord?”
Ariel looked up at me like I’d said something strange. “Yes,” she agreed. “He must be stopped. Besides, you’re a wanted man. Majestic is almost everywhere, but they’re not allowed in The Crossroads. Jihan’s shadow may be the safest place for you. There are some places that even Majestic can’t go.”
“So where do I come in? I’m not in any kind of shape to do much right now.”
“Every little bit helps, Michael,” Ariel said with a smile. “The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world. You’re supposed to go, because remember, fates intertwine.”
“I have a confession to make, Michael,” Ling said, breaking the silence as we boarded an ornate elevator. She pushed the ‘basement’ button.
After some of the weird things I’d heard from Ariel, this should be good. “Okay.”
“The reason I’ve brought you here, is in the hope that you would be persuaded to help Exodus in The Crossroads.”
That was her confession? After what Ariel had said part of me had been wondering if Ling would come out and say she had feelings for me, but right now she was all business. “Ariel seems to think I should go.” Ling had insisted that my going with her off of Lorenzo’s island in no way obligated me to go to war with her. This was the first time she’d brought it up since we got on the plane.
“The young lady is full of surprises . . . and is surprisingly perceptive. So?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“I have an ulterior motive for asking you to come on this operation with us. It’s not just that we need every possible body. I told the Council you’d be an asset to us. Exodus doesn’t like bringing in outsiders, but we’re going to have to rely on them a great deal in this case.” The elevator came to a stop. The mirrored doors opened, revealing a very spartan underground level. “Saving Ariel in Mexico made you a hero in the eyes of many. Having you on board would be excellent for morale.”
I exhaled heavily, suddenly feeling very silly. “Really?”
Ling always had one hell of a poker face. There was nothing to be gained from trying to read this woman when she was being professional. She left the elevator and started down along concrete hallway. “Really,” she confirmed. “It’s a rare thing for someone who is not a member of the order to risk so much, and sacrifice so much on our behalf.”
Following along, I wondered if my reputation had been somewhat inflated. The thing in Mexico was more luck than anything else, and I’d hardly done it single-handedly. We passed strangers in the hall. All of them were watching me. “I hope I live up to everyone’s expectations,” I managed.
Ling flashed me a brief smile. “I reported events precisely how they occurred, but I must warn you. People who weren’t there may have heard, and then embellished it in the retelling. I have heard some interesting versions of what happened in Cancun. The fact you single handedly held off a battalion of UN peacekeepers and the cartel is remarkable.”
“Great.” I sighed.
Ling paused, and turned to face me. The expression on her face softened. “I’m . . . I’m sorry,” she said, looking down briefly. “I’m putting you under a great deal of pressure, aren’t I? Please forgive my presumptuousness.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I owe you my life. Asking me to help out after all you went through to get me isn’t unreasonable. I just . . .” I trailed off. I was having a hard time putting it into words. “I don’t know what it is you think I can do. I don’t want to let you down.”
“I know what you can do,” she insisted. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
“Mexico was a long time ago.”
“Not that long. And you have only grown in experience since then, am I wrong?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “Michael, I . . . like you. Even so, I would not ask you to come with me if I did not think you would truly be an asset to the operation. I believe in you, even if you do not, and I believe we need your help. Many of our members are inexperienced in combat. For quite a few of them, this will be their first time going into battle. They’re well-trained, and enthusiastic, but inexperience and outnumbered. Having a seasoned veteran with us, even if only in an advisory role, will be beneficial.”
I chewed on that for a second. Somehow, I had gotten the idea that Ling was asking me to come along out of pity or something. I know it sounds dumb, but after everything I’d been through I wasn’t necessarily thinking straight. Her little pep talk was good to hear, and it wasn’t like I didn’t have experience in training other forces. In my time at Vanguard, I helped train multiple armed forces, from Africa to South China. Corporate called it “partnership.”
That sounded right. Partnership. With Exodus. Just an advisory role. I can handle that. I looked back up at Ling. “By the way, why are we in this basement? Where are we going?”
“We need to outfit you with equipment for the operation. You’ll need weapons, body armor, clothes to wear, cold weather gear, and so forth.”
“I haven’t said I’m going yet.”
“You haven’t said you are not. Come on, we have everything you may need.”
“What are my needs, exactly?”
“If you decide to join us you’ll be with me. What I’m going to be doing remains to be seen, I’m afraid.”
“It’s not like you to not have a plan.”
Ling smiled again. “No, it’s not. My mission was to rescue you. There was no guarantee that operation would succeed or that I would return alive. They planned the operation at The Crossroads with the assumption that I would be unavailable.”
“Assume the worst-case scenario until proven otherwise.” That attitude had kept me alive, even if it brings frequent accusations of pessimism and cynicism.
“You and I will be among the last to arrive at The Crossroads,” she said. “Shen and Antoine are already on their way there.”
We reached a large supply room, where paramilitary clothing and gear of all sorts was stored on racks and in bins. The room smelled like a surplus store. Two attendants spoke briefly to Ling in French. One of them pulled out a measuring tape.
“Hold on,” I protested.
Ling tilted her head to the side. “Humor me, Michael. You need new clothes one way or the other.” It was true; I’d been wearing the same set of clothes I’d had on when I was captured the year before.
They took my measurements, then went to work supplying me with new clothes. I was skinnier than the last time I’d done something like this. “So Shen and Antoine are already gone? They’re breaking up your team?”
“My team has been broken up for quite some time. Shen and Antoine are all who remain. They’ll be put to better use elsewhere.” There was sadness behind Ling’s professional mask. “But I still need soldiers I can count on.”
Sometime, when we were alone, I resolved to ask her about what happened to her team. Right now I fe
lt like I was being swept along by a very strong current. “So, if I was to say yes, how would we get there?”
“There are only two practical ways into The Crossroads,” Ling replied. “Rail and road. There is an unpaved airfield, but in the winter it is snowed over and requires a short-field-capable aircraft fitted with skis. Arriving there by air would likely attract more scrutiny than we want. We’ll be flying into Kazakhstan and traveling the rest of the way by road.”
“You just drive there? Even in the winter?
“The Kazakh government expends a lot of effort to keep the mountain roads accessible year round, to help the mountain villagers, of course. Obviously this has nothing to do with the wealth generated by the illicit flow of drugs, arms, and slaves.”
The quartermaster brought me several sets of fatigues in the British Pencott camouflage. I held up the overwhites. “Like I haven’t had enough snow lately.” One attendant fitted me for body armor while the other attempted to find a pair of boots that would fit me. He said something to Ling in French. “What did he say?”
“He said that Americans have very big feet.”
I was given a backpack, hats, gloves, goggles, a face mask, knives, a radio, rope, even an ice axe. It was a ridiculous amount of gear, so much that I had to borrow a hand cart to transport it down the hall with. “Jesus,” I said, looking at my cart full of swag. “You guys don’t screw around with gear issue, do you?”
“It wouldn’t do for a person of your reputation to show up poorly prepared. We will go by communications and get the encryption loaded into your radio before we depart. Communications are going to be difficult, at best, during this operation.”
“I can imagine.” The more dudes you have running around with encrypted radios the less likely it is that anybody will be able to hear anybody else.
“And here we are,” Ling said. “The armory.” A set of heavy vault doors had been opened, but a locked gate was installed behind them. Two men were present in the vault. One was armed with a pistol on his hip. The other had some kind of large revolver in a shoulder holster. A man after my own heart!
I pushed my little cart off to the side of the hallway as Ling spoke to one of the armorers. She showed him some kind of identification badge. He studied it closely before letting us in. Exodus ran a very tight ship.
My mouth fell open. I have been through a lot of combat in my life. War has been my profession for years. But behind that paper-thin veil of stoic professionalism, I’m a gun nut at heart, and the racks of weapons left me salivating. “Which one do I get?”
“Whichever one you want, Michael,” Ling replied. The pistol-packing armorer didn’t say anything but gave me the stink eye. Fair enough. I wouldn’t want some jackass poking around in my gun safe either. The one with the big wheelgun, a short, dark-skinned man of ambiguous ethnicity, grinned widely at me with extremely white teeth. He could recognize a fellow enthusiast.
I returned my attention to the racks, only giving a cursory glance at the heavier weapons. I wasn’t interested in carrying an M240 through the mountains in waist-deep snow.No, I was looking for a rifle. Something that suited me. There were plenty to choose from. One rack had nothing but SIG 551 carbines fitted with all of the latest accoutrements. Another contained similarly-updated Steyr AUG bullpups. Against one wall was a rack of M4-style rifles; against another were HK G36s.
“Maintaining this many different systems has to be a strain on your resources.”
Near each rack were bins full of magazines and boxes of tools and parts. In a way, it made sense, though. Exodus is a clandestine organization that operates outside of the law. I wasn’t sure how they acquired weapons, but I was certain it wasn’t the legal way. It’s probably easier to keep your weapons purchases on the down low if you buy small lots from a variety of sources, rather than trying to standardize across the board.
“Exodus purchases what we can, where we can, with few questions asked.”
In addition to the racks of rifles, there were more specialized weapons, like bolt-action sniper rifles and shotguns, but that wasn’t my thing. I was getting discouraged. I could see nothing but rows of 5.56mm assault rifles.
As if reading the disappointment on my face, the revolver-toting armorer approached me, still smiling. “You no find what you like?” he asked in heavily-accented English.
“These are all five-five-six. Got anything bigger?”
The armorer’s beady eyes lit up. He crossed the room, rummaged around for a few seconds before returning with a rifle in his hands. “SIG Seven-Sixteen,” he said eagerly, handing me the rifle. I retracted the bolt slightly, checking the chamber, before shouldering it. “Seven-point-six-two. Gun for real man.”
The rifle had a barrel about sixteen inches long and an adjustable stock. It was semiautomatic only, and was topped with a Valdada 1.5-8x variable scope. This will do. I felt the corner of my mouth curl up in a grin. “Okay. I only need one more thing. Do you have any forty-four magnum ammunition?”
The armorer’s eyes lit up. “Forty-four!” He stepped back and reached for the big revolver slung under his left arm. I tensed up as he drew it, but relaxed once I realized he just wanted to show it off. It was a stainless steel Taurus .44 Magnum with a six-inch barrel. “Like Dirty Harry!” he insisted. He reholstered his gun and disappeared into the back again. The other armorer silently sat in his chair and glared at me. The six-gunner returned with half a dozen boxes of Czech and Serbian .44 Magnum ammunition, all jacketed hollow points.
“Will that suffice?” Ling asked, eyebrows raised.
I set the rifle in the padded case I was given, and zipped it up. “Oh yes. I think I’m all set here.”
Ling looked me over. “So I assume this means you’re in, as they say?”
The rifle felt good in my hands. I had nothing else to live for. I was the most wanted man in the world. A knight had just given me a talk about fighting evil and a strange girl had gone off about fate.
“Looks like it.”
“We’re going into harm’s way, Michael,” Ling said. “You don’t have to go with us.”
“So you keep insisting.”
I’d spent most of my life fighting other people’s battles. My body was weak and my mind traumatized. I wasn’t in any shape to fight, and I wasn’t really sure what I was fighting for. But what was I supposed to do? Turn back now, after all Ling had done for me, and let Exodus down? They thought me a hero. Would they think me a coward if I walked away? Why did I care?
Ling awaited my answer.
“Would I have to give the rifle back?”
“I’m afraid so,” Ling replied.
“I get to keep it when we’re done, though.”
Assuming I’m still alive . . .
The Exodus mansion had an impressive library.
After a couple of long meetings with Sir Matthew and some of his functionaries, where we discussed the terms of my agreement with Exodus, including modest compensation, I was allowed to roam much of the mansion at will. We would be departing for Kazakhstan soon, and things were going to kind of suck after that, so I was enjoying the luxury while it lasted. I had a huge, soft bed to sleep in, hot baths whenever I wanted, and all the food I could eat. It was amazing.
The other residents of the mansion, or the staff, or whoever they were, generally kept their distance. Everyone was exceedingly polite, but I was still an outsider and they were generally leery of me. The only ones that ever really talked to me were Ling and Ariel.
Sir Matthew was proud of the mansion’s library, and I could see why. There were thousands of books there, ranging from ancient volumes to an entire shelf of paperback pulp novels. A bookish person could keep himself busy in there for a long time. There were many comfy places to sit, with cozy reading lights, and a cheery fireplace crackled and popped in the corner.
I wasn’t there to read, though. The library had a computer, and for the first time in a long time I was able to get onto the internet. I had been out of the loop
since my capture the previous summer. I had no idea what all was going on in the world. I had heard bits and pieces about the fallout of Bob Lorenzo dumping, to the press, Colonel Hunter’s flash drive, but I wanted to see for myself.
I spent several hours in front of that computer, clicking away at news sites, and catching up on blogs I used to follow. I downloaded a .PDF of The Project Heartbreaker Commission Report, which resulted from the Congressional Committee appointed to investigate. It was a long read, hundreds of pages, so I mostly skimmed.
I was startled when the quiet room was suddenly filled with the clicking of high heels. Penelope, Sir Matthew’s assistant, quickly walked into the room, carrying a couple of books. There was surprise on her face when she noticed me sitting in front of the computer.
“Ah, Mr. Valentine,” she said. “I didn’t know you were given free run of the premises. I trust you’ve been making yourself comfortable?”
She said disdainfully. Cripes. “Yeah, everyone’s been super nice. I appreciate that.”
“Well, feel free to use our facilities. I might remind you that while you’re using the computer, please don’t access any social media or personal e-mail. I’m sure an individual of your experience is familiar with operational security, so I shan’t lecture you.”
That sounded like a lecture to me. “See, I’m glad you said something. Hell, I was going to whip out my cell phone, hold it up over my head, make duck lips at it and snap a pic of myself, slap it up on Facebook, and tag myself in it so all my friends would see.”
Penelope’s brow furled into an unattractive glower.
“Actually, turns out I can’t do that,” I continued. “I don’t have a cell phone. Or Facebook. Or . . . ” I paused, thinking about it for a second. “. . . friends, for that matter. So no worries, hey?”
The uptight Englishwoman composed herself. “Please forgive me, Mr. Valentine, I did not mean to offend you. Please excuse me.” She hurried out of the room, heels clicking as she went. She took the books she’d brought in back out with her.
Dead Six 02 - Swords of Exodus Page 20
