by S. T. Boston
Then a small team who'd been sent to London to survey the location of the host IP address had sent photo files back that had filled Asmodeous with rage. Four Arkkadian Elders were on Earth, operating out of an intelligence style cell in Greenwich, London, and among them was Oriyanna. His master did not want them taken alive. Unlike the Earth-Humans, he wanted them dead, out of the equation for good. A strike team would hit them at the same time, that way no one had a chance of warning anyone. Once the Earth-Humans had arrived on board they would be made to watch as he poisoned the world, reducing its cities to nuclear dust and leaving enough radiation in the air to kill every living thing on Earth. After that he suspected that his mater would want to end them himself, death on a more personal level. Once the task was complete, Ben as well as the other Earth-Breed would be given passage on Arkus 2, a lifetime travelling deeper into the universe than anyone had ever been, searching for other rare jewels of life where they might settle. The prospect filled him with nervous excitement as he imagined what wonders he would witness.
“Benjamin!” the exotic and steely voice snatched him from his daydream. “Ben, do we have any news?”
He felt a hand clamp down onto his shoulder, twisting in his seat, Asmodeous' amber eyes fixed his with an expectant anticipation, Hawker felt his bowels drop and immediately needed the toilet, he respected his master in a fearful manner, only too aware of his power and authority. “Sir,” he began, clearing his throat as he spoke. “From what I'm seeing, North Korea will be the first to the table, I'd say within the next twenty four hours. The Americans are balls out trying to catch up, they have a number of bugs in the system preventing them from going live, same for the Russians.” Ben stuck his hand into the holographic display and swiped it left, then from the bottom he pulled up a second screen that displayed a hacked satellite feed. “The Americans have been monitoring the North Korean silo closely.” He pointed to a slightly grainy image, his finger disappearing into the picture. “They are getting to a state of readiness, sir.”
“Let me know as soon as their systems are live,” purred Asmodeous, he seemed to ooze confidence and physical presence in a way that Ben had never seen. He was dressed in Earth-Human attire, an expensive grey suit which bore a trouser crease so sharp you might cut yourself on it. The black shirt beneath his matching blazer was secured to the top button and contrasted against his sandy blonde hair. “I think a little test of your abilities might be in order.” He smiled and stepped back from the terminal. “And who knows, it might just set things in motion a little sooner than we expected. Whilst I do long to push the button myself, I would take a certain enjoyment out of seeing the maggots destroy themselves. Proof positive that they should never have been entrusted to live on this planet.”
“Of course, sir.” Despite his nerves Ben relished working this close to the action. Uneasily he brushed an invisible spec of dirt off his GAP hoody, then straightened out 501s.
“Also have someone see if we can get any news from the field, I want to know as soon as we have them in custody and the four kills have been confirmed.”
* * *
The acrid smell of gun smoke and hot metal clung in the air like an invisible fog, Nicolai Peltz, however, enjoyed the aroma; it was the scent of battle and death. His black Magnum tactical boots crunched their way across the countless shards of broken glass that now littered the lounge carpet. Crouching down he studied the bullet ridden bodies of Bliegh and Rhesbon, as well as the multitude of hits they'd taken, the two that counted were the ones that the M40A1 sniper rifle had inflicted. The pair had sizable head wounds, the rounds had penetrated deep into their skulls, ending their long lives in a blink of an eye. Fresh blood still leaked lazily out of the wounds where it met the thick, off white carpet that seemed hungry to soak it up. Peltz kicked a lump of shattered plasterboard out of the way and adjusted the belt of his black combat trousers. He looked mean and purposeful, as well as the tactical boots and combat trousers he wore a tight black tee-shirt with a tactical vest zipped over the top. On his vest he carried a number of his favourite tools, including a Glock G26 9mm handgun. The semi-automatic weapon was one of his personal favourites, at a mere 19 ounces it was as light as it was deadly. Accompanying the Glock was a M26C Taser with four cartridges, for those occasions where he might need to take a subject alive. “What's the situation upstairs?” he called out in his stern voice. His Eastern European accent added to the sound of authority, and he liked it.
“One body in bed upstairs,” came the soft southern US drawl of Jim Croaker, another of his little team and his second in command. His feet drummed rhythmically down the stairs, followed by the third member of the assault team, Drew Richards. Both men were of impressive stature, toned and not one of them under six feet tall, with close, purposeful buzzed haircuts. Their matching attire gave them all the appearance of a private army, and in truth that's exactly what they were.
“Looks like he took a right peppering,” Richards said, a morbid smile on his face. Proudly he flicked his phone's screen to life and present Peltz with a gruesome picture. Blood splattered the length of Taulass' body, the bullets seemed to have hit him in the legs first and then worked in a wave up his body.
“Is there a head wound?” asked Peltz, his voice completely unaffected by the image before him.
“Hard to tell,” said Croaker, a vein of uncertainty in his voice. “There was so much blood.”
“I'll check him in a bit,” said Peltz surreptitiously. “I can't leave anything to chance.” Peltz had been on the clean-up team that was sent to take out Xavier, although not in charge of that team he'd been party to the cluster-fuck. He would have staked his life on the fact that the Arkkadian was hiding in the panic room and as such had used a large amount of plastic explosive to take care of the matter, for years he'd believed they'd killed the Watcher in that house, however thanks to the account written by Adam Fisher it seemed he and the crew he'd been with had failed. Fury had eaten at him for many days after reading that Xavier had in fact escaped the property before they'd even destroyed it, not only that but gone on and made it all the way to the Pyramid and played a part in stopping the virus. Peltz felt sure that once his master had seen this, he'd be killed. Instead he was given a second chance, a chance he was not willing to throw away. “And the girl, Oriyanna?” His voice was expectant.
“No sign of her,” Croaker replied, his usually soft southern drawl wavering a little further.
“Then as it stands,” smouldered Peltz, “this mission is a fucking failure!” His usual stone-cold grey eyes were smouldering with rage. “When morning comes and we make contact with the boss, what am I expected to tell him?” His eyes worked methodically back and forth, flicking from one man to the other.
“I had her in my sights,” Richards protested, “I'm sure she was hit.”
“Well, evidently fucking not,” he screamed. Richards offered no reply, his mouth opened and closed a few times, as if he were trying to speak. “What room is the third body in?”
“Straight up the stairs, first on your right.” Richards answered, trying to sound helpful. The distant sound of sirens was getting closer.
“Okay, I'll look,” sighed Peltz. “We don't have much time, and we still have one outstanding to find.” Police attendance didn't really worry him, but it would make the situation messier. Peltz thumped his way to the top of the stairs, being careful not to take a splinter from the landing bannister that was shot to shit with automatic rifle fire.
The bedroom door was open, nonetheless he pushed it further back against its hinges, clicking the bedroom light on he looked expectantly at the bed. The grey duvet was soaked in crimson, as were the pillows and the sheets, but much to his horror the bed was empty.
* * *
Laying on his side in the pitch-black space above his room, Taulass gripped his shredded flesh in silent pain, gritting his teeth he just about managed to stifle the cries and whimpers that longed to come out. Just six feet below he'd heard on
e of the men who'd come to kill the team storm into his room. This was the third such visitor. The first two pairs of feet that had rushed in to check the small bedroom had stood by his side and looked at his bullet ridden body. Taulass had waited, played dead, feeling sure one of them would discharge a round into his skull to be on the safe side. Thankfully their slightly lacklustre attention to detail, and the sheer amount of blood on his face, had seen them leave, believing him already dead. In those vital few minutes Taulass had managed to roll his repairing, yet pain-soaked body out of the covers and with nothing but a strong urge to live driving him on, he'd managed to reach up and dislodge the small square roof access hatch located in his room. Standing on the antique oak desk he'd just about found the strength to haul himself up and into the small cavity between the ceiling and the grey slate roof, just managing to wipe away a tell-tale print of blood that he'd left on the rim of the hatch. Thankfully the carpet in his room was black, and hid any blood that had dripped from his body as he'd crossed the room. Having slid the hatch silently into place he rolled onto his side, wrapped his arms around his bleeding torso and lay there, shaking in pain.
The person below, the one intruding into his private quarters, was taking an age, obviously held with the perplexing image of an empty bed, where not two minutes previously had lain what he'd believed to be a corpse. Unfortunately for Taulass he knew the perpetrator would understand the reasoning for his sudden resection. Where any normal Earth-Human would be running from the house in fear of a zombie attack, this one knew the truth. Despite suffering enough bullet wounds to kill even the strongest of men, the head shot which was needed to dispatch of an Elder had been missed. A clean heart shot would also prove slowly fatal, but Taulass as confident his vital organ had been missed.
Just a few feet below he heard footsteps pacing the room, a cupboard was flung open, sounding as if it were done in rage more than the need to search. Then the sound of his bed being upturned echoed up from below. Closing his eyes Taulass prayed that the intruder would not take a look toward the ceiling, which would undoubtedly give away his hiding position. After the sound of the bed came an unearthly scream of frustration followed by heavy feet stamping out of the room, onto the landing and down the stairs. In the distance the wail of sirens gradually drew closer, a neighbor had obviously heard the assault taking place and called the authorities. Taulass hoped for the sake of the men and women rushing to the scene, who undoubtedly would consist of police and medical staff, that those responsible would be well clear of the house before their arrival. He had no doubt that if they were still at the scene they'd dispatch the attending officers and paramedics with no more regard than a person might swat a pesky fly. Rolling onto his back and trying to find a comfortable position, his mind raced, wondering what had happened to the other three. Were they dead, their bodies crumpled in pools of blood two floors below? Was he the only one left?
“The fucking bedroom is empty!” came a furious voice from the ground floor. Despite the distance and mixture of timber and masonry between them it echoed throughout the house, as if on a tannoy.
“Impossible,” he heard a quieter voice defend, there was a definite tinge of panic to it.
“So we are now missing the girl and one of the males.” Silence. “Do you know what they will do when they find out about this cluster fuck?”
“It wasn't our fault,” the other voice piped in, the panic more evident. The loudest of the team didn't reply, there was a brief second of eerie quiet before a gunshot rang through the building.
“Croaker, I swear if we don't fucking find those two, we will be heading the same way.” There was no reply from what Taulass guessed was the third member of the team. It was obvious that the weakest link had been disposed of. Turning his lips in and biting against them to prevent a much needed gasp of pain, he heard the voice say, “They can't have gone far, we will take the car and do a street by street search. If we have no luck then we might need to call the other team, the one going after the Becker girl. Once they have secured her they can help.” Heavy feet tramped their way across the old timber floorboards on the ground floor, even from his hiding place he could hear the aged wood creaking in protest. The two intruders reached the front door, it slammed shut with such force that Taulass was sure the whole building shook.
Finally allowing himself a gasp of pain he felt grief and relief flood his body, both sensations juxtaposing against each other. Oriyanna was alive and likely out of the house and out of harm's way. Sadly, that meant that both Bliegh and Rhesbon had been killed.
In the dark of the roof space he felt for the hatch, his trembling fingers found the plywood lip and pried it open. The dim light from the room below cast shadows into the small space, for a few long drawn out moments he listened, making sure no one had stayed behind. The house was still and silent. The wail of sirens was close, Taulass knew that the police and forensic teams would examine the house from top to bottom and he couldn't allow a certain item to fall into the hands of people who didn't understand it. Lowering himself painfully onto the desk he staggered out onto the landing, his eyes taking in the utter devastation caused by the volley of automatic gunfire which had peppered the building. He paused, one hand clutching the bannister and supporting his weaken body. He had at least five puncture wounds to his torso and two in his left leg, there was another round that had sliced open his right calf making it excruciating to walk or take any weight. The bleeding was subsiding, albeit very slowly. He had no idea how long it would take for the multitude of wounds to heal, but guessed it would more likely be hours than minutes. What he did know was that he needed to rest and let The Gift do its thing.
Moving again, he half walked and half fell into Oriyanna's room, getting to the built-in wardrobe he flung the sliding door aside, it glided smoothly on the runner. Dropping to his knees, he located the safe and keyed the combination, 240113. Opening the door his eyes fell immediately on the item he was after. The recall tab. It was small, around half the size of an average mobile phone and half as thick. Grasping it the device felt like a well-polished piece of black glass, tactile and expertly bevelled on its four sides. There were strict rules set out by the council about what Arkkadian technology could be stored on planet, this little device was it, nothing else was permitted. Alongside the recall tab was a Glock G42, he collected it up and closed the sliding door, and not worrying about shutting the safe he left the room. The police were just minutes away and he needed to take care of his fallen colleagues, he couldn't have their bodies being taken by the authorities.
Using his free hand for support he traversed the stairs and hobbled into the lounge, locating the main computer, which much to his surprise seemed to have survived the gunfire. Taulass pushed a combination of buttons, this set into motion a program designed by him that would wipe the hard drives, leaving them as clean and blank as the day they'd rolled off the production line. The room would soon be destroyed, but computer hard drives often survived fire damage.
Taulass left the Swiss-cheesed lounge, not stopping to investigate the body of the freshly executed intruder who was bleeding out on the carpet, and went through to the kitchen where he spun the dials to maximum on all six of the stove's gas hobs. The invisible and noxious substance began escaping eagerly from the appliance with a gentle hiss, for good measure he also turned on the oven's gas supply and opened the door. Leaning against the back door the sirens finally and noisily arrived outside of the house. Soon they would be in the building, and if that happened he wouldn't be able to bring himself to do what was necessary. He slid out of the back door, blue lights illuminated the ground floor of the large house, making his movements look epileptic and erratic. Taulass had no idea if there would be enough gas in the kitchen to have the desired effect, but unfortunately he didn't have any more time to spare. Moving back into the garden he raised the Glock, removed the safety and aimed the weapon through the window, the muzzle lined up with the stove. Gritting his teeth and turning his face away h
e squeezed off two rounds. The effect was instant, although not as impacting as he would have liked. A massive whhoommppp blew the windows out and forced the back door open, it slammed back against its hinges as it hammered against the wall, the top pane of glass smashing and showing the concrete path in a million jewel-like crystals shards.
The explosion might not have wiped out the ground floor but it would stall the police until the London Fire Service arrived, and by then the whole place would be an inferno.
Pain stabbing every part of his body, Taulass headed deeper into the overgrown garden and scaled the rear fence. Painfully he dropped into the back garden of his neighbor's property, he needed to rest and heal, and it was all he could focus on.
Scaling another fence and a brick wall he found himself on a surprisingly well manicured lawn, a small set of three plumb trees sat in the far corner of the garden, all three were still just about hanging on to the last of their summer leaves as if in some attempt to deny the autumn, which felt more like winter. By the gnarled trunks was a green summer house. Crossing the garden Taulass forced open the door and slumped into a well cushioned sun lounger, his body singing in relief as the soft fabric enveloped him. Trying his best to relax, he closed his eyes. In a few hours, once fully healed, he would need to get mobile and to the safe house. He just hoped Oriyanna would be there.
Chapter 13
There were not many times in his life when Sam felt completely not in control of a situation, even the day he'd been shot rescuing Adam from the Afghan village, and even during the ordeal that had seen him almost die in the bowls of the Great Pyramid, there had been an element of control, that he was driving his own destiny. However here, locked in a cell that he had zero chance of escaping from and with god knows who on the way to take him out of the inspector's hands, he felt despair gradually creeping over his body, like a cold and unwelcoming blanket. He knew things worked a little differently in this new and uncertain world but he felt damn sure the American Government would not have got an order past the French authorities to take him to the US Embassy for questioning without a few well-placed people in the background to oil the hinges of an otherwise drawn out and protracted procedure. Closing his eyes, Sam just hoped that thread of doubt he'd seen flicker across Ackhart's eyes was enough to make him dig a little deeper and find out what was really going on. The wire-clad clock that hung above the thick metal door to his own personal hell told him the time was almost two am, doing the math Sam worked out that in Washington it would be around eight pm, likely too late in the day for the inspector to get in touch with any one of the nine to five, shiny bum, desk driving agents that would handle such a case, maybe he'd call the embassy in Paris, but then again it was that likely he wouldn't. Time was growing ever shorter, if the people collecting him were on time, as he knew they would be, he was down to his last ten minutes. Sam felt like a man on death row, hopelessly awaiting a last minute stay of execution.
