The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake 6)

by Leadbeater, David

  Patterson stared at him. “You’re a real comfort.”

  “I’m not here to comfort you.” Drake walked away and across to Mai. She greeted him with a smile.

  “Ready to hit Iraq, go kick some Russian arse and grab us some swords?”

  “I’d follow you anywhere, Matt.”

  Drake stopped his spiel. Mai’s reply hadn’t sounded quite right. “Are you okay?”

  “The Clan’s looking for me,” she said softly. “They will never stop.”

  “Listen,” Drake sat down next to her. “You’re not alone in this. It’s not even just you and me.” He pointed at the assembled team. “Every one of those guys. Every single one will fall in and help. We’ll get this Babylon thing out of the way and then—” he squeezed her hand. “Sort you out.”

  Mai’s expression, if anything, darkened. “You don’t know them, Matt. You just don’t know them like I do. Nor who their leader is . . .”

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  The team were transported to the nearest American base, and then on to Camp Adder in Iraq, a tight hub of military operations and communications. From there, the terrain was rough and dangerous, negotiable only by the onboard computer that led them unerringly to the pre-registered coordinates. Drake stepped out of the big, uncomfortable Army vehicle, seeing the lights of Camp Babylon in the distance. Whoever had decided to place a military base atop one of the world’s greatest ancient ruins had certainly been hitting the monkey juice hard that night.

  Unless the Americans were looking for something, he thought. And the base was a smokescreen.

  Their own destination was a little way off yet, across the pitch darkness of the desert. The team made ready, donning night-vision goggles, arming up, and checking coordinates. This was to be purely a reconnoiter, thus everyone was going, including Patterson and Akerman. Patterson would have knowledge of the dig site. Akerman was in it for the excitement.

  “Stay close,” Dahl warned the energized translator. “And keep quiet, or I’ll have to gag you.”

  “You and your wife,” Akerman said. “Both sound just the same.”

  Alicia sidled up to the Swede. “You can gag me any time, Torst.”

  “And what would your new boyfriend think of that?”

  Alicia’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Even Mai sent her a sly smile. Drake pondered the fact that there were no secrets anymore in this team. He looked at Yorgi. “You got any more secrets to tell us, pal, before we move out?”

  “About the Russians?” Yorgi shook his head. “No.”

  Drake caught the nuance. “What about anything else?”

  Yorgi hesitated. “We will talk. Later.”

  Drake moved out last, Mai at his side. Hayden and Kinimaka led the way, followed by Alicia and Dahl, the civilians amongst them. Dueling currents of air picked up bits of sand and flung them at the interlopers. Tangles of scrub grabbed at their ankles. A high sandbank rose out of nowhere, making them scramble to the top, and, once down the other side, the distant lights of the American base disappeared altogether.

  Still they walked, guided only by the handheld satnav. After what seemed like an hour, Hayden held a fist up and the team came to a stop. Drake heard the click in his ear.

  “Target dead ahead. Absolute silence now unless it’s essential.”

  Drake peered hard. Even this close, it was hard to make out what they were looking at. A small circular winch, maybe six feet high, rose out of the desert ahead, insignificant amongst the many higher mounds that surrounded it. No doubt in daylight, it would even appear abandoned. There was nothing else. No huts. No vehicles. No Russians. Drake stared.

  The Bluetooth connection clicked again. “I see a camouflaged area to the right.” It was Mai, eagle-eyed as ever. Now that she’d said it, Drake discerned the slight swaying of a camouflage net in the steady breeze. Blocky shapes stood underneath it, no doubt vehicles, crates and some kind of shelter. “Got it.”

  A faint light emanated from the middle of the gantry, silvery lights shining up from whatever lay within. The glow was swallowed by the night as soon as it cleared the man-made apparatus, carefully regulated.

  “I’m guessing that’s a hole,” Drake whispered. “Must be the pit.”

  Professor Patterson’s connection clicked several times before he managed to make himself heard. “I can confirm that. It’s where Razin will have found the first of the swords, according to Alexander’s histories.”

  “How do you know so much about Alexander?” Mai asked.

  Patterson blinked. “What can I say? Of the literally thousands of texts, accounts and histories written of him, I have read about 90 percent in my time. The Pittsburgh University acquired for me a few works written by people who actually knew him, such as Ptolemy and Callisthenes. And of course there are the accounts of Aristotle – his teacher.”

  “Aristotle?” Mai’s eyebrows raised. “I did not know that.”

  “Oh yes. It’s difficult to question the fact that Alexander became one of the wisest and greatest Kings of all time, if not the greatest, isn’t it? I spent years studying the histories of Macedonia – his homeland. Did you know his empire covered three continents? The story of the swords and seven veils is well-known, but the cross reference that they were buried in the pit and the tower, rather than in his tomb, came from some more personal accounts.”

  “You said the other swords are buried at the Tower of Babel?” Hayden interrupted.

  “Yes. Over there.”

  Eight pairs of goggles turned to see where he was pointing. “Sorry. To the North.”

  Even in the murk Drake distinguished a wide knoll, rounded at the top and surrounded by steep slopes. A sudden sense of ancient mystery swept over him. Here was the Babylon of old; resplendent with plundered beauty, wicked sin and eternal pleasure. Here was the capital of the old world, once a city of splendor, but now a crumbled ruin. But under these eternal shifting sands, who knew what unlimited wealth of ancient riches awaited the courageous treasure hunter?

  The clatter of metal on metal sounded in front of them, and a swaying bucket rose into sight. A man clambered out of the hole; clothes and face filthy, curses flowing from his mouth, before he wandered off in the direction of the camouflage tent.

  “They’re still checking out the pit,” Hayden pointed out.

  “Probably searching for more artifacts.” Alicia said. “The few megalomaniacs I’ve known were nothing if not consumed by greed.”

  Professor Patterson hadn’t taken his eyes away from the distant mound. “Though the seven swords were made to Alexander the Great’s blueprint, including the inscriptions, he never actually used any of them. Amongst the seven, there was one called the Great Sword, the principal weapon. Its inscription was critical in understanding the rest, so I believe. Unfortunately, we don’t know in what order they were buried.”

  Kinimaka shifted uneasily, his odd bulk not exactly suited to lying still for long periods of time. “Feels like there’s a friggin’ scorpion up my ass.”

  Alicia grunted. “Try high kicking whilst wearing a G-string. Then you’ll know real pain.”

  “Mano,” Hayden whispered. “You’re vibrating.”

  “Oh.” Kinimaka reached into his pocket and turned his cell phone off. “Kono again, no doubt.”

  “That sister of yours is worse than the scorpion,” Alicia commented before turning back to Patterson. “So, Prof, what’s the lowdown on this dance? The Saber Dance. Sounds kinky.”

  “Ah. Performed once only at Alexander’s death bed. Also called the Dance of the Seven Veils. The dancers performed with the swords wearing very little other than diaphanous gowns.

  “And that pit?” Drake indicated the dimly lit hole that lay before them. “That’s the site of the original Babylon?”

  “Not exactly. That site remains unknown. The pit is where the last remaining dregs and ashes of the city were buried, out of sight of human eyes and minds. The city’s vile waste; from burned humans to charre
d artifacts to scorched bricks and soil, were all deposited in there, buried forever, never to be seen again.”

  “Because it was evil?”

  “In the same way as Sodom and Gomorrah were seen as evil in the Bible, yes.”

  “I’m just thinking that evil connects well with tomb three at Singen. We were constantly reminded that all the evil gods were buried there.”

  Patterson nodded, barely discernible in the dark. “It’s been called everything. Supposedly bottomless, it was described as the lair of Ctulhu. Remember HP Lovecraft and his fantastical demons? The entrance to Purgatory. The source of the Black Death, plague, and every other major disease of the last few thousand years. I would not want to descend into that filth, my friends.”

  “It’s just a hole in the ground,” Kinimaka pointed out.

  “But it has . . . something.”

  “Earth energy? Is this one of your vortexes?”

  “I think so. Yes. Can’t you feel an inexplicable stillness, a marvelous awe?”

  Drake frowned. He had visited some of the places Patterson mentioned earlier. It was true that when a person stood and gazed at something wondrous, it felt like more was at work than simply Mother Nature’s plan. Something deeper.

  “When we have time, you might want to explain this earth energy theory of yours in more depth, Professor.”

  “Be glad to.”

  Hayden shuffled back in the sand, dragging at Kinimaka’s belt to give him a start. “We have what we need,” she whispered. “Let’s go and plan how to storm this place.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  Jonathan Gates hurried into the crisis meeting, still dazed and unable to fully grasp the absurdity of the situation he currently found himself in. Twelve men sat around the enormous table, stern gazes reflecting either the precedence of their station, the gravity of their concerns or the depth of their desperation. These were powerful men – undoubtedly some of the most powerful men in the world – but they were still only men, fighting to be heard.

  President Charles Coburn nodded toward him. “Jonathan, sit down. We can get started.”

  Gates took his seat, seeing the Vice President, the Secretary of State, the Assistant to the President for National Security Affairs, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the President’s Chief of Staff and the Counsel to the President all assembled along with Directors of the CIA, FBI and Homeland, plus two five-star generals.

  President Coburn indicated the latter two. “General Stone and General Edwards. You should start at the beginning.”

  Stone took the lead. “We believe the three tombs at Iceland, Hawaii and Germany represent the biggest threat to America’s freedom and security since the cold war. Forget Al-Qaeda, the potential threat inherent through ownership of Singen’s doomsday device is unprecedented. And now,” he half turned toward Gates, “with the latest revelation that a second method of activation probably exists, I feel – we feel – that America should take the initiative.”

  If possible, the expressions at the table grew even more severe, but it was still impossible to gauge where everyone’s view would land. Or better, Gates thought. On which side everyone’s agenda would be best served.

  “Go on.” Coburn leaned over as his assistant whispered briefly into his ear.

  “The only way to be safe and sure is to activate the device, see what it does, then deactivate it, either making it unusable or burying it in a deep hole somewhere.”

  Gates saw an immediate head shake from the Director of the CIA and counted him as a potential ally. “It’s already in a deep hole,” the Director said. “And a German one at that. How do you propose to pull that one off, General?”

  Stone pursed his lips. “Any way we can, sir. This is the country’s wellbeing at risk.” He was clearly pursuing the security and vulnerability angle which, Gates imagined, was the main reason he hadn’t been kicked straight back to base. A clever angle, more important to the people assembled in this room right now than anything else.

  Especially to the President. “What makes you think you can turn it off again?”

  “NASA send men into space. MIT train supercomputer engineers. We surely have enough learned minds between us to disable an archaic device. It might not even work.”

  “But we need to know,” the other General spoke up.

  President Coburn turned to Gates. “Your team is pursuing this one, Jonathan. Assuming we can talk the Germans into cooperating, what’s your take?”

  Gates studied the President. Though in his mid-fifties he looked more like a fit young man of forty, with the face and physique of someone who looked after himself and worked out regularly. Gates had heard it said that Coburn only slept three hours every night, not because of the demands of the job, but because that was all he needed. The President’s face was now open and expectant. Gates had never taken him for a fool. That said, he still decided to appeal to the man the President used to be and, deep down, undoubtedly still was.

  “You were once in the field, sir. You know the importance of letting the team do its work. Eyes and boots on the ground are crucial and need paying attention to. They will come through.”

  “How can you possibly know that?” The President wasn’t blustering or complaining, or even drawing on past experience. It was a sincere, viable question. And not a man in this room really cared that the President had once fought with honor for his country. Since he had signed that oath of office he had become, by necessity, a very different man. One who was sometimes forced to bend, like a tree amidst a hurricane.

  Gates tried a different tack. “They’ve never failed us before, sir. They did, in fact, discover all of these tombs. They captured Dmitry Kovalenko—”

  “I’m aware of the team’s accomplishments, Jonathan,” Coburn interjected. “But unless you can give me a concrete reassurance that your team will stop the device being activated a second time, then I suggest you give me a straight answer.”

  Gates licked his lips. “We don’t know for certain, Mr President.” From the corner of his eye he thought he saw General Stone’s face crease into a smirk, but when he glanced that way, the man turned his head.

  “Mr President,” Stone said. “Give me the resources to at least put a plan into place. Let me prepare. Then, if the Secretary’s team doesn’t come through, we at least have a valid back up.” Everyone heard the inflection and several almost smiled.

  “It’s too risky,” Gates said.

  “It’s riskier not to try,” Stone affirmed. “The country’s independence is at stake.”

  Gates flinched inside. He knew precisely what would happen if Stone found himself in command at Singen, but the sway of this room was leaning toward General Stone. With such support, the President would surely have to honor a simple request. But Stone was angling for glory, and almost everyone here would accept the General’s declaration that America possessed the bright minds capable of deactivating Odin’s device on spec. Maybe it did.

  Trouble was, Gates thought. Rather than working at NASA or studying at MIT, the mindset they needed now was more likely to be that of the peculiar loner slapped in jail for hacking supercomputers or the weird bedroom lout hitting the top of the leader boards of the new Tomb Raider game.

  Courage, strength, skill, a trace of crazy and the flair for fantasy. It was what they needed. He thought of it as the motto for SPEAR. If what the team had learned so far was true and the old gods were again part of all this, then the crazy and fantastic might be the only things that saved them all in the end.

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  Karin Blake knew it was a race against time. Though the last week could best be described as an intense, stressful whirlwind, she knew that these next few hours would move swiftly from excessive to extreme.

  She was alone in the new HQ. Komodo had set out hours ago on his quick jaunt to Pittsburgh, aiming to meet up with Romero, Smyth and two other Delta soldiers. Patterson’s wife was still being held prisoner inside their compact home. Even though
the professor’s release had been effected a relatively short while ago, Karin had expected something to have happened up at his suburban house, but it seemed the head Russians – Razin and Zanko that they knew of –were far too busy to take note. Or perhaps the news hadn’t filtered down yet. Karin ran a last check through Komodo’s comms.

  “Going smooth so far, T-vor?”

  “As Mountain Dew, my little Kazmat.”

  Karin smiled at his use of their pet name. “I take it the soldier boys haven’t arrived yet?”

  “Still waiting. These comms are amazing, Karin. Sounds like you’re sitting next to me.”

  “I wish.” Karin was nevertheless quite excited about being alone in the HQ. It showed the level of trust Gates had in her. It showed that her future, through Jonathan and SPEAR, was bright and full. It showed she could have a life again.

  “Heads up,” Komodo said. “They’re here.”

  The team leader went off comms for a little while to explain the situation to his new crew. Karin expected him to return in a few minutes and readied the loop that would patch them all through the same piece of equipment, linking them to each other and, via satellite link, to her. The new HQ was a little undersized, with no windows and employed the outdated parking-garage-only access method, but they had made it work. The cutting edge communications and surveillance systems took up most of the main room, the team’s gear filled the second. There were no cells, no interrogation rooms, just a small basement that contained, in Karin’s opinion, the HQs coolest feature.

  An underground escape route that led straight into the Pennsylvania mall.

  What girl couldn’t love a thing like that? she wondered. Even better, it was an awesome, busy getaway location with dozens of exits, guards and places to hide. And to top all that, she could use the tunnel to grab lunch too!