The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake 6)

by Leadbeater, David

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Dahl slipped down the handrail that bordered the steps, rapidly gaining on his quarry. At the bottom he managed to deliver a boot to the man’s spine, sending him flailing head first, but through skill or pure blind luck, he managed to arrest his fall and keep running.

  Dahl’s phone rang. He fished it out. Akerman. Bollocks.

  “Are you okay? What is it?”

  “Just wondering how you were doing.”

  “Make your way back to the café, Olle. I’ll meet you there. And stay out of sight!”

  Dahl ended the call as Akerman started to question the aptitude within those last few sentences. The merc loped straight across a road and over a big roundabout at its center. Cars swerved and honked horns, a driver leaned out and waved a fist. Dahl followed in his wake, finding the way blocked by two cars that had ended up so close together they were literally touching bumpers. He leapt feet first, slid along a nicely polished bonnet, and hit the road even faster. The roundabout was bordered by block paving, enabling Dahl to get a good grip. At the top he hopped from upraised block to block, hitting the slope hard and skidding part of the way. The merc caused havoc again, crossing the next road before he rushed into a border of thick trees.

  Dahl burst through seconds later and took a moment to catch his breath. This might be a good place to pause and stop the chase with his handgun. But no. The merc darted into a skatepark, quiet at this time of the day but still populated. Dahl ran hard, clearing a raised wedge formation with a narrow top ledge for BMX’s, then barreling down a set of steps. Another recreational wedge stood before him, sprawling the length of the park. The merc jumped from foot to foot up the vertical surface. Each leap raised him that bit higher until he could clamber over the top. Then he turned, a triumphant grin on his face.

  If Dahl had had his weapon free he could have shot him then, but instead ran hard, aping the merc’s movements, finding the ascent easier than he had imagined. Up above, he heard a gasp, and figured the merc was probably thinking the same. Dahl reached the top. The merc had shown good sense and hadn’t stopped to confront him. He leapt over the edge, still running in freefall, landed, tucked and rolled, then came up without losing stride.

  They skirted a wide, sharp depression in the ground, darting around its edge after each other like storm waters circle a whirlpool, then burst out of the other side of the skatepark, back on to the civilian streets. The chase continued, neither man flagging nor losing ground. Then a huge space opened up ahead.

  Dahl stared. The sign was clear: FC REYKJAVIK.

  A bloody football stadium, he thought. Shit.

  Sure enough, the merc was on the same wavelength. Here was a place big enough in which to lose his pursuer. He arrowed toward it, scaled the fence around the main gates like a monkey, and simply flipped himself over the top, avoiding the razor wire with several inches to spare, then landed adroitly on the other side. Dahl stopped and reached for his gun. The merc took off like a terrified rabbit. Dahl fired once, the bullet kicking up concrete shards from around the man’s feet.

  The last thing he wanted to do was willingly enter a rival’s football stadium, but Dahl stayed his quaking heart and shot out the locks on the fence. Ahh, he thought, feeling marginally better, then rushed on through.

  Distance and time focused into a narrow tunnel for Dahl as he hotfooted it after his target. The figure leaped from a car bonnet to a low balcony and then up further still to the second floor, swinging his whole body up like a trained acrobat. For a second, his hand lost purchase and he scrambled desperately, all the while allowing the Swede to close the gap, but then he steadied his grip and took a firm hold. Once there, he broke a window and disappeared inside. Dahl made the same leaps, paused as he crossed the broken threshold, then dashed inside. He saw black clothing only a few feet ahead, racing along a corridor, and then the man veered away. The sound of gunfire preceded the even louder sound of exploding glass. Dahl entered the same room and, through the shattered high, wide, box seat picture-window, saw the merc leaping from seat back to seat back, going deeper into the stadium.

  Dahl jumped down from the window, feeling his feet strike the hard plastic of the chair backs and then hopped forward, repeating the move again and again. In tandem, they bounded down the rows of seats, the harsh sea breeze helping to keep them cool, the sense of the wide open football field ahead serving only to disorient them. Dahl was three rows behind his quarry. With one crazy leap he knew he would be able to catch the man in mid-flight, but worried about the landing. Too many variables even for him. As they reached field level the merc must know he had nowhere else to go. He used his last jump to launch his body as far as he was able, flying high across the outer track, landing on the edge of the green field, rolling, and coming up with a handgun clasped between two hands.

  Dahl stood, legs apart, on top of the last row of seat backs, aiming his own gun. “Drop it.”

  “I’ve trained in this shit my whole life,” the merc gasped. “Who the hell are you?”

  Dahl said nothing. The merc’s gun wavered just an inch. The Swede needed no other opportunity. He fired instantly, watching as the bullet struck his opponents upper chest and sent him sprawling backwards, red blood spraying across the newly mown green grass.

  He jumped and ran forward. “Who sent you?” he shouted as he ran and knelt by the merc’s side. “What is it you want with the tombs?”

  The eyes swam with pain. “Fuck you.”

  Dahl mashed the barrel of his gun inside the gushing bullet wound. “Easy or hard way, wanker. Which do you want?”

  Back arched, the merc roared for Dahl to stop. “You think they tell us that? All I know is that professor guy gave my boss some vital information. So vital, he had to go.”

  “What sort of information?”

  “Some kind of message they found in the tomb. The kind that makes powerful men sit up fast.”

  Dahl caught that one. “Powerful men?”

  “The guy I work for.” The merc grimaced and slumped back down. “Makes you look like a fuckin’ pussycat. He’s the devil and all his demons in a fucking truck and he’s driving us all straight to hell. Now, either shoot me or get the fuck away from me, you English arsehole.”

  Dahl backed away. He didn’t correct the man. Something told him he should make all haste and get back to Moscow. Something told him that time was rapidly running out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Drake didn’t relax until they had the professor tucked away inside the safe house. He threw down his pack and weapons, and took a bottle of water from the fridge, drinking it quickly. He watched Mai carefully place the man at the round table and take an inventory of his wounds.

  Hayden said the word and Kinimaka fetched the first aid box. Only this one was more like a suitcase. The CIA catered for everything. Mai set about tending his wounds.

  Drake motioned to Hayden. “Says his wife is being held by the Russians. In America.”

  “What? Christ. Where?”

  Drake told her and listened as she made the call to Karin. He took another bottle of water from the fridge and set it down in front of the professor.

  “We work for the American government,” he said. “Tell us what you know.”

  “None of you guys sound American,” the man said. “Except her.” He nodded at Hayden.

  “But we did just save your ungrateful Yankee ass,” Alicia growled. “And we’ll try to save your wife’s too.”

  Drake pushed the bottle closer, watching the man sweat, smelling his fear. “We’re most of the team that found the three tombs of the gods. Talk to us. We can help.”

  Mai cleansed one of his wounds with gentle dabs of a swab. “Why not start with your name?”

  “Sure. I’m sorry. My name’s Wayne Patterson. I’m a professor of historical archaeology at the University of Pittsburgh.

  “Why are you in Moscow, Wayne?”

  “That Razin asshole and his goons. They made me work for
them. Abducted me in Iraq and brought me here. When I wouldn’t cooperate they found out my address back home and . . .” he took a breath, “kidnapped Audrey. Please, you have to help her.”

  “We will,” Drake said. “Why were you in Iraq, Professor Patterson?”

  At last the man began to unwind a little. “Can’t you guess? A professor of archaeology in Iraq? Babylon, of course. That place is . . . was my passion.”

  Drake nodded and settled back. “We know something of what you found. Why don’t you tell us the long story.”

  “They say Babylon was the first place where evil amassed in this world. I’m talking about evil men, vile groups. Evil deeds. The city of heavenly sin. Always, it has had a connection to evil. From the days of the bible to the time of Hussein. It’s fitting then, that Babylon might now in fact save the world. Sit back and grab a glass, this is the mystery story to end all mystery stories.”

  ****

  “Babylon was the largest city in the world – twice. Ringed by eight gates, the largest of which was called the Ishtar Gate. Alexander the Great, the man who once ruled the majority of the world, lived and died in Babylon, ending his days at the palace of Nebuchadnezzar. On his deathbed a dance was performed – the Saber Dance, or the Dance of the Seven Veils. Alexander often referred to himself as the son of Zeus. Now all of the above is pure fact, recorded in history.”

  “Babylon translates as the gateway of the gods.” Yorgi spoke up from his seat on the couch. “Is that why Alexander settled there?”

  “I think Babylon drew him in. Other than that, it’s some major coincidence that the man everyone at the time believed to be a son of the highest god ended up there. He founded over a dozen Alexandrias. The most extensive library in ancient history. He knew Egyptian pharaohs, emperors and queens. He’s been called the greatest king and the wisest man who ever lived.”

  “Probably all bullshit,” Alicia cut in, breaking the spell. “Legends always improve over time.”

  “Maybe you’re right. But back to Babylon. The Etemananki Ziggurat was built inside the city, accidently demolished by Alexander, and said to be the first ever Tower of Babel. Its foundation mound was so enormous it can still be seen today.”

  “Wait.” Drake said. “The first Tower of Babel. I thought there was only one.”

  “Oh no. There are hundreds of towers, all built for the same purpose, erected all over the world. But that’s another story. One I will get to later. The Babylon we all know was actually built over the site of an even more ancient city, also called Babylon. This original city was razed, destroyed in much the same way as the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, wiped off the map by God’s holy fire as punishment for their abhorrent sins. Now, it is said that men later dug a pit and removed the dread remains of that city and reburied them within the foundations of the new city. So we have the enduring legend of the pit of Babylon – a terrible black hole, devoid of all light, where nothing will ever exist again save for the sludge of death and destruction.”

  “I know a few places like that,” Alicia said. “They’re called night clubs.”

  “Babylon was the center of the world. Alexander its greatest king, surrounded by fierce warriors and the most learned of all men. It stands to reason that he would be the possessor of many secrets. And if he heard tell of something that might end the world, would he not take note?”

  Drake sat up now. Suddenly, the professor was talking his language.

  “Would he not make provision?”

  Drake knotted his brows. ”You’re saying . . .”

  “That if a man like Alexander could, he would find a way to save the world.”

  Now even Alicia leaned forward. “And did he?”

  “Oh yes.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  “But why would a man like Alexander believe in some kind of world-ending device?” Hayden questioned, stepping forward. “Would he not question its authenticity?”

  Professor Patterson smiled. “Ah well, he knew all about earth energy and the vortexes. Sacred places that hold shattering power. Truth be told,” he sighed, “the learned people of those times actually knew a lot more about them than we do today. Now it’s all classed as . . .”

  “Bollocks?” Alicia offered.

  The American blinked. “Not sure what you mean there, little lady, but I have to say the notions that earth energy exists are today seen mostly as fanciful at best. It’s never been proved you see. Not officially, though several well-funded agencies are secretly investigating the possibilities. The idea that the Earth had a deeply buried current of power running through it. No one wants to hear about it.”

  “What does earth energy have to do with the end of the world?”

  “Well, I will ask you this. Do you think the destructive power of the elements could destroy it?”

  “Yes.” Drake remembered something. “An element overload that causes destruction, chaos, rivers of fire.”

  “And what do you think is the best way to describe the four elements?”

  “They’re energies,” Mai said quietly. “Provided by the Earth.”

  Patterson smiled. “Sure enough. The ancient civilizations knew all about earth energy. Many of them worshiped it in some form or other. Now, the most obvious signs of earth energy appear at an earth energy vortex. Basically a place of great power. A focal point, possibly a convergence of currents. Think of sites like Uluru-Kata Tjuta – Ayers Rock – in Australia. The Great Pyramid. Glastonbury Tor. Haleakala Crater in Hawaii. If you’ve ever visited these places, you’ll understand what I mean. Have you ever stood at the edge of the Grand Canyon, lost in its silent, overwhelming vastness, and wondered as to how much latent power a sacred place like that can hold? Or Waimea Canyon on Kauai. The Meteora Rocks in Greece. The Reflecting Desert in Bolivia. Death Valley, Nevada. Crystal Caverns, Mexico. The Fairy Chimneys of Turkey. The Great Blue Hole of Belize. I could go on.”

  Drake interrupted, “Do you think the three tombs were positioned purposefully at earth energy vortexes?”

  Patterson nodded. “Undoubtedly.”

  “Excuse me.” Kinimaka walked through from the kitchen area. “This kind of history lesson certainly has its place, but as far as we know the world ain’t in danger. Now, how does it lead to Razin abducting you and using you to find these swords?”

  That seemed to snap Patterson back to the real world. He stared at Hayden. “Have you found my wife?”

  “The call’s gone out. We’re waiting to hear.”

  “The seven Swords of Babylon were made to Alexander’s instructions. Formed of a special material they were each inscribed with a different message which, when read whole, would allow a man to wield the unlimited power of the gods.” Patterson looked each person in the eye in turn. “They were said to be mystical, powerful, and possessed of a tremendous secret that could shake the world to its very foundations.”

  “How?”

  “That, I don’t know. As I said the message – the instructions, if you like – are inscribed into the swords.”

  “I wonder what Cayman has to do with all this,” Drake mused, staring at the pockmarked table. “I’ll take a wild guess, Professor, and say that Razin wants the swords only to bargain with. He’s not interested in the tombs.”

  Patterson shrugged. “I don’t know. He does know about the tomb at Singen, though. When they found the first sword they found what they later knew to be the layout of the tomb at Singen.”

  “They’ve already found a sword?” Hayden gasped.

  “Oh, they’ve found four. I’m good at my job, miss.”

  “Four?” Hayden sounded like she was choking.

  “The first four were buried in the pit of Babylon. That’s where Razin searched first. The safety of my wife depended on my accurate research and I could not disappoint. The remaining three swords – they were buried at the Tower of Babel. The original tower.”

  “This message inscribed on them,” Hayden said. “Can you be more specific?”
/>
  “I haven’t read it. Actually, I can’t read it.”

  Drake swirled his water. “Why not?”

  “It’s written in this new language they’ve found.” Patterson looked depressed. “The language of the gods.”

  No one moved. Drake assumed everyone else was as stunned as he. “Alexander knew the language of the gods?”

  “Like I said—”

  “Yeah, yeah, son of Zeus. Wisest of them all. Etcetera.” Alicia pushed away from the table.

  Drake eyed Mai, then turned to Hayden. “This mission isn’t over. We need to recover those swords.”

  Hayden was checking her phone. “That was Dahl. He’s on his way back. Says ‘with crucial information’. We’ll wait for him and then go to Iraq. My guess is – Razin’s already there.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Drake used the downtime to allay at least one demon. He made the call to Ben Blake, the one he’d been promising himself to make for the last few weeks. A careful, profound conversation was long overdue, but, even as he dialed the phone, Drake knew this call probably wouldn’t go well. In some ways, he still partly blamed Ben for Kennedy’s death, but that was the soldier in him unable to accept that the kid hadn’t made at least some attempt to save her. On the other hand, he had dragged Ben into this from the very beginning and, at first, it had just been the two of them. Not even six months had passed since they’d begun their quest for the bones of Odin, and an awful lot of turbulent water had passed under the bridge since then. Ben himself had gotten blood on his hands and faced death many times. And now that Drake was at least starting to move on with Mai, a few things had attained a clearer perspective.

  Ben Blake had been his best friend before all this began. Ben had offered his friendship and his help for free before, and after, he knew what kind of man Drake was. The poor kid had lost Hayden Jaye, possibly the best catch of his life. He deserved better than being shunned.