Alliance of Shadows (Dead Six Series Book 3)

by Larry Correia

  “It’s working,” I said sadly. “My country is in decline. It’s a mess.”

  “When your country has a civil war that involves the use of atomic weapons,” Ling said, “then you can call it a mess.”

  “Fair enough,” I admitted. “So how is this Romefeller guy going to be able to help?”

  “They have a thousand times our reach,” Ling replied. “Hopefully the threat of catastrophe will make him listen to us.”

  “Hmmm . . . They do not want the world destabilized,” Ariel mused. “That’s not to their benefit. Plus, regardless of what Blue is, it was designed with them as the target, so it can’t be good for the Illuminati to have it executed.” She obviously didn’t like where her current train of thought was taking her.

  “Say Romefeller does listen, and he’s smart enough to see that Katarina’s nuts. What’s in it for us? Because they’re part of the same social club he finds her for us?”

  “That’s the idea,” Ling said.

  “Then what?” Skunky asked. “I’m sure this is a dumb question, but is there any reason we can’t just shoot her in the face and call it a day?”

  I shrugged. “Varga told Lorenzo that that isn’t good enough. She dies, Blue goes off. It’s insurance. Is that true? I’ve got no idea.”

  Ariel gave me a long look, one of those unsettling gazes that reminded you of just how intensely, almost unnaturally, blue her eyes were. “Maybe. She’s dangerous. I think you will have to kill her before all of this is over with. I’m sorry, but you probably will have to.”

  “I’m okay with that,” Shen stated. Which I believe was the first thing he’d contributed to the conversation in days.

  “But that won’t do it, by itself. She’s not dumb. She’s very, very smart, actually, and more sadistic and vindictive than you know. She’s angry, so angry. She would burn the world down if it meant she could be queen of the ashes. She’ll have everything planned out so that even if she’s gone, Blue will still happen.”

  I sighed, a little frustrated. The kid was probably right. “What are the odds Romefeller sells us out to Katarina, or otherwise screws us?”

  Ariel tilted her head to the side as the whole group watched her. Strangely enough, this group of trigger pullers actually put that much faith in her opinion.

  “Flip a coin.”

  It was my decision to make. “Romefeller it is, then. Anybody disagree?”

  There were a lot of uneasy glances exchanged, but they didn’t have any better ideas.

  “Just be careful, Michael,” Ariel said. “Making deals with devils out of desperation is the main reason the mission at the Crossroads fell apart. Romefeller cannot be trusted. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “Okay, kiddo, I . . .”

  “Promise me!”

  Yikes. “Okay, okay, I promise. I won’t trust the son of a bitch as far as I can throw him. The feeling will probably be mutual, considering I offed one of his golf buddies a couple years ago.”

  Chapter 6: The All-Seeing Eye

  VALENTINE

  Zurich, Switzerland

  September 10th

  “You know,” Ling said, looking up at me as she straightened my tie, “you clean up rather nicely. It’s nice to see you in something besides cargo pants and combat boots for once.”

  I looked her up and down as I smoothed some wrinkles out of my suit jacket. It had been a long train ride. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Ling’s gray suit looked like it had been perfectly tailored for her. Her skirt was short enough to be attractive without looking unprofessional. From the way she walked in them, you would have thought she wore heels all the time. Her hair was done up in a tight bun, and she wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. She didn’t need them, but even a bit of Clark Kent level disguise helped when you were traveling through unfriendly territory.

  “You look like a naughty Asian librarian.”

  I never would have teased her like that in front of her team, but it was just the two of us. She struggled to keep from smiling as she told me to keep quiet and focus on the task at hand.

  “Yeah, you shushing me isn’t doing anything to diminish the librarian thing.” That actually got her to laugh a little before she put her serious face back on. Truth be told, I was cracking jokes because I was nervous. I was unarmed, in an unfamiliar city, and I was a wanted fugitive. So far, the fake identity that Exodus had given me had held up: I was allegedly a Canadian citizen. Probably backpacking across Europe, seeing the sights, I liked to imagine. Ling told me that I had, perhaps, gone overboard in my fake backstory, but it’s not my fault the woman has no imagination.

  The people we were seeing today knew who I really was, and I wasn’t comfortable with that. I scanned the busy streets of Zurich nervously, expecting Underhill and a Majestic black ops team to pop out at any moment. But it had to be this way. This was my mission, and my real identity lent authenticity to my claims. My fake Canadian alter-ego couldn’t get a last minute, one-on-one private meeting with a billionaire. Michael Valentine, the soldier of fortune, who had exposed Project Heartbreaker, and was supposed to be dead, could.

  We entered the lobby of the gleaming office building and made our way to the reception desk. “Yes?” asked the bored-looking looking receptionist. She had a thick French accent.

  “We’re here to see Mr. Romefeller,” I said quietly.

  “He’s expecting us,” Ling added.

  The receptionist looked at one of her computer screens. “Ah, yes, there you are, Monsieur, Mademoiselle.” We hadn’t even given our names. “He is expecting you. Please, take a seat, and someone will be along shortly to take you to where you need to go.”

  Ling and I sat in the lobby, next to a fountain, for an agonizing twenty minutes—there weren’t even any magazines to read—until a pair of security men came to get us. They were dressed alike, in dark suits, with ID badges hanging from lanyards around their necks, and radio earpieces. The taller of the two, a German man with closely cropped blonde hair, politely asked us to follow him. He led us out of the lobby into a secure area, swiping his badge to get the door to unlock. Inside, we were checked with a metal detector. The German patted me down very thoroughly, while a Swiss woman in a blue security guard uniform did the same to Ling. Once they were satisfied, we were led to another elevator.

  The security man once again swiped his badge and punched some numbers onto a keypad, calling the elevator, and indicated for us to step inside once it arrived. “This will take you directly to the correct floor. Someone will be there to meet you. Good day.”

  “Word,” I said, stepping into the elevator. Ling rolled her eyes at me and thanked the man. The secure express elevator took us all the way up to the top floor.

  “Tread carefully, Michael. By all accounts he is a charming and reasonable man, but one does not rise to the top of such a conspiracy unless possessing merciless cunning.”

  The elevator came to a stop with a soft, electronic ding and the doors slid open.

  “This is it,” I said to Ling. The room we found ourselves in was huge and well-lit, a luxurious foyer. Floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall gave us a spectacular view of Zurich. Ling’s heels clicked on a marble floor as we made our way to yet another reception desk. Leather couches and wooden coffee tables, set upon an expensive-looking rug, made for a nice waiting area.

  The woman behind this desk was expecting us, but before we reached her, a door off to the side opened, and a trio of men in suits approached. Two of them carried suppressed MP9 submachine guns, and my body tensed up. Ling put a hand on my arm, warning me to chill out.

  The man leading the security detachment wasn’t openly carrying a weapon. His suit jacket was unbuttoned, and he was a good bit shorter than his compatriots. He wore sunglasses indoors for some reason, but something about him seemed immediately . . . familiar.

  It hit me like a ton of bricks a split second later when the bastard opened his stupid mouth.

  “Well, well, well,” Tailor
said, taking off the shades. He’d lost some of his Tennessee twang and more of his hair, but there was no mistaking that lumpy, misshapen head. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Michael Valentine, showing up here? You got a lot of balls, Val, I’ll give you that.”

  “Tailor?” I hadn’t seen him since after Exodus had snuck the survivors of Dead Six out of Zubara. We’d been friends for years, but our last parting hadn’t been on the best of terms. I eyed the pair of armed goons flanking him, both of whom stood a head taller than him. This would have been awkward even without the hired muscle, but they weren’t helping.

  “And if it isn’t the mysterious Miss Ling,” he said, nodding at her. “I don’t believe I ever thanked you for getting us out of Zubara.”

  “You most certainly did not,” Ling said coldly. As with me, every muscle in her body was tense, though she tried to hide it.

  “What in the hell are you doing here, Tailor?”

  “That’s it? Seriously? No ‘hey, man, good to see you’? No ‘I’m glad you’re alive, buddy’? Just ‘what are you doing here’? I work here, that’s what. The question is, what are you doing here? I oughta have my boys here shoot your ass.”

  I shook my head slowly. “Then fucking do it. Get it over with. Any world where you can get a supervisory position is a world I don’t want to live in.” I looked at his men. “Trust me. He used to be my boss. Get out while you still can.” I looked back at Tailor. “Get on with it.”

  His face twisted into a smile, and he started laughing. His men looked at each other awkwardly as he cackled. They looked outright confused when he stepped forward and hugged me, slapping me on the back. “Holy shit, Val! I can’t believe you’re here! Sorry, man, I was just fuckin’ with you. Couldn’t resist. How the hell are you?”

  What an asshole. I looked down at his name badge. “Wilhelm Schneider? Really?”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t really pass for Swiss.”

  The whole thing was bewildering. “What . . . what in the hell are you doing here? How did you end up in Switzerland?” I looked at his two men again. “And what’s with the mooks? No offense,” I told them. “Mooking is honest work. Is it mooking? Mookery? Whatever. You know what I mean. I used to mook myself.”

  The security men scowled at me, but didn’t say anything.

  Tailor just shook his head. “You got a reputation around here, you know. You killed Rafael Montalban.”

  “Motherfucker, you were there, too!” I protested.

  Tailor raised a hand to calm me before I got too riled up. “I know, I know. Just relax. Look, it’s a long story. Believe me, it took me a long time to work my way to this position. You’re going to see the big man in just a minute. He’s been waiting for you. Later on, when we get time, I’ll catch you up.”

  The receptionist at the desk looked over at us. “Mister Romefeller will see you now, Mr. Valentine.” Her English was perfect. Way better than Tailor’s.

  I nodded at her, then looked back at Tailor. “I’m glad you made it okay.”

  “You too. Good luck in there.” We shook hands and parted ways.

  As we headed for the office door, Ling whispered in my ear, “Don’t trust him.”

  “Of course not.”

  Alastair Romefeller’s office was palatial, to say the least, and huge. It took up the corner of the building, with floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls and a waterfall decoration on another. The fourth wall was lined with bookshelves and mementos of military service, including a UN officer’s beret and a suit of medieval armor. An ornate wooden desk filled one corner.

  Romefeller himself was standing by one of the windows, hands behind his back, looking out over the city. As Ling and I approached, he turned to face us, and we were looking at a very unassuming man. He was older, probably mid-sixties, with hair that had skipped gray and gone right to silver. Romefeller had probably been a very handsome man in his youth. He was thin but appeared fit, and wore a dark blue three-piece suit.

  He stepped forward and shook my hand firmly. “Good to see you, Mr. Valentine,” he said cordially. He gave Ling a much gentler handshake. “Ms. Song. Thank you both for coming.” He had a hint of an accent that I couldn’t quite place.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” Ling said.

  “It was an unusual enough request that it piqued my curiosity.” He indicated the chairs in front of his desk. His attitude was confident, but not smug, like he understood he was important, but wasn’t going to be a dick about it. “Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss.”

  The chairs were big and plush. Ling sat down, crossing her legs primly, and adjusted her fake glasses. I sat down next to her, feeling out of my element. Romefeller’s desk looked as if it had been carved by hand. The engraving seemed innocuous from a distance, but upon closer inspection some of the imagery was odd, with things like all-seeing eyes above pyramids. It wasn’t exactly subtle. Miniature flags of the United Nations and the European Union were mounted in a wooden holder on his desk.

  “Drink?” He offered. Ling and I both politely declined. “I hope you are not offended if I have one.” Romefeller produced took a bottle from his desk and poured himself a shot of golden liquor before sitting down in his gigantic leather chair. The floor had to be raised on that side, because even though I was taller than he was standing up, he now appeared to be looking down at us. That had to be some CEO psychological trick. It made his chair seem vaguely thronelike.

  “This is unorthodox,” he said, almost apologetically. “I don’t normally agree to meetings with known members of a terrorist organization. It has, as you might say, poor optics. As such I greatly appreciate your discretion in this matter.”

  “Discretion is something we also value, Mr. Romefeller,” Ling answered. “This is unorthodox for us is well.”

  I exhaled heavily. “Yes, yes, we’re all very mysterious and secretive. Forgive me for being blunt, sir, but we have a serious problem on our hands.”

  “Oh? Do you now?”

  “I said we have a problem, as in what’s about to go down is going to ruin your day too. That’s why we’re here.”

  Ling looked at me like she was trying to kill me with her brain. Romefeller leaned back in his chair. The leather was so soft it didn’t even creak. “I appreciate your candor, Mr. Valentine. I’m afraid I don’t get enough of it these days. What is it I can do for you?”

  “Are you familiar with a program called Project Blue?”

  Romefeller’s demeanor barely changed, but that had gotten his attention at least. “Vague rumors, that’s all. It was some manner of plot against . . . let’s call them European interests.”

  “You know who I used to work for, so let me clarify what I do know for you, Mr. Romefeller. Project Blue was originally concocted to be a master stroke against the Illuminati meant to disrupt their operations and remove their influence form the world. The groundwork was laid, but it was never intended to actually go forward, except in the gravest extreme.”

  He nodded slowly. Apparently that matched what he’d heard. “As I said. Rumors.”

  “Do you know what Katarina Montalban has been up to?”

  Romefeller was quiet for a moment, processing what I had just asked him. Those two questions in a row were like asking do you know where the matches went? Followed with by the way, how is our local arsonist?

  “Though I’ve not seen her recently, I know Katarina Montalban. You could call her a family friend.”

  “I didn’t think that psychopaths had friends.”

  “Ah, so you’re acquainted with Kat then.” He was playing it cool. “This must be about the recent unpleasantness in Asia. I heard a bit about that, terrible business. I can see why Exodus would want to have a word with Ms. Montalban, but I’m unclear how that relates to me in any way.”

  “She has Blue.”

  At first he just shook his head and chuckled, like silly terrorist, quit pulling my leg. But then he slowly realized I wasn’t lying, and as he thought
through the implications of a crazy woman inheriting a shadow government plot to really fuck up his world, the cool demeanor cracked.

  “Dear God. It’s worse than we feared. Please tell me everything you know.”

  So I did. Ling and I spent the next twenty minutes or so explaining what little we actually knew. From the genesis of the project, to Hunter spilling the beans, to Gordon selling it to Big Eddie, and culminating with his little sister inheriting it and a whole bunch of baggage.

  When I was done, Romefeller sat there in silence, his liquor untouched in front of him.

  “Does the name Evangeline have any significance to you?”

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t mean anything to me,” he said. “Why?”

  “Evangeline was the last thing Colonel Hunter said to before he died. The name is related to Project Blue somehow. Even the men who authorized Blue didn’t know how, and the only living person that helped set it up has defected. So they don’t even know, but whoever Evangeline is, she was important enough to torture me for months trying to find out, so I was kind of hoping the name rang a bell.”

  “It’s an extremely common name here. Without knowing details of their foul plot, who knows? Perhaps it was a code name for someone? Katarina Montalban, perhaps? Your former employers were quite fond of their code names and such.”

  “Evangeline is the key to this whole thing. At least, the people plotting your downfall seemed to think so.”

  “We know Project Blue could potentially kill millions,” Ling said. “Perhaps it’s some kind of attack, or a weapon of mass destruction. Everything we’ve gathered so far indicates it is a mass disruptive event. We need to know more.”