I nodded. “Thank you. Do you have the bullet?”
He fished around in his coat, producing a plastic bag. I held it up to the light. It was a small blood-spattered pill, barely deformed by its passage through the body.
“That’s a tiny round,” I said.
“Yeah,” Pete said. “Looks like in the four-ish millimeter range.”
“The shooters had MP99s. They could be chambered in six point five by twenty-five and loaded with armor-piercing rounds. AP ammo uses saboted four millimeter sub-caliber penetrators.”
“Could be. But six point five AP can punch through a centimeter of mild steel. How would it get stuck inside her?”
“Perhaps the bullet passed through an intervening barrier,” the doctor suggested.
Or a body.
“The bad guys must be anticipating body armor,” Pete said. “And the caliber they’re using is pretty rare, too. They’re a cut above what we’re used to.”
“Could be a clue. Doctor, thanks for your help,” I said.
He yawned. “Just make sure the patient receives follow-up care.”
In the morning, the carabinieri didn’t lay siege to the embassy. Instead, Will O’Connor stormed in. He had taken the trouble to prepare a sharply pressed gray suit but ruined the effect with a gaudy green-and-white checkered tie.
After a quick breakfast, we gathered the major players in the embassy’s SCIF. Immune from external eavesdropping and regularly swept for bugs, it was the only place in the building where we could speak freely
O’Connor took the head of the table. I sat on the other end, Eve to my left and Pete to my right. Luigi, the leader of the cell we extracted, positioned himself next to Eve.
“It’s a real circus out there,” O’Connor said. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“Thank you for coming to save us,” Luigi said.
“No problem,” I said.
“What will happen to Angelina? She will need medical attention.”
O’Connor nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve arranged to evacuate her by air to a private Hesperian hospital. Nobody will ask questions. You’re all under our protection now.”
Eve pursed her lips. “You can’t be doing this for free. What do you want from us?”
“Hey, easy there. We’re on the same side. We both want to know who is after you. We’re allies, and allies help each other.”
He was smooth, but Eve’s face told me she wasn’t buying any of it.
“That’s it?” she asked.
“That’s it.”
“I can live with that.”
For now, she didn’t say.
“Good.” O’Connor placed his briefcase on the table. “Pete, we have a new set of identity docs for you. Consider your old ones burned.”
Pete nodded, accepted the briefcase. There was no way he could use his old cover identity now that it was linked to a destroyed rental vehicle. We didn’t need overzealous investigators tugging on that thread; it was easier to simply burn the identity and to begin again. It was a good thing the locals didn’t have DNA testing for Westerners. Yet.
Nemesis Program operators had multiple sets of backup identities, prepared long in advance. I wondered if Hexenhammer had similar resources. Or what those who didn’t have backup IDs would do.
Flounder and die, most likely.
“We located some of the hardware on your hackers’ wish list,” O’Connor said. “They came in with my flight, and they are being loaded onto the airship as we speak.”
“Which hardware?” Eve asked.
He shrugged. “Don’t ask me; I’m not a techie.
“If it stops them from whining about their rigs all day, I’m cool with it,” I said.
It was a seemingly innocuous exchange, but I suspected O’Connor had brought it up as a covert signal of support. We got what you asked for; we’re on your side. With an outsider in the room, the only reason he would bring it up now is if he calculated that the benefits outweighed the costs.
“What are you going to do with us?” Luigi asked.
“We want to discuss that with you,” O’Connor replied. “We propose flying you to Hesperia with your friends. We’ll place you in a safe house under protective custody and debrief you.”
“A polite way to say house arrest.”
“I’ll be honest with you. Many of my colleagues and superiors think Hexenhammer are terrorists, and we have no evidence to prove otherwise. I had to go out on a limb here just to get you a doctor. It’s safer for everyone if you can keep your head down for the time being and tell us your side of the story.”
“We can help you.”
“How?” I asked.
“We are Hexenhammer’s logistics specialists. We have a network of safe houses, contacts in the black market, caches of munitions and weapons.” Luigi cracked a smile. “No offense, Mister Luke, but I would rather not fight assassins with finger guns and ambrosia.”
“None taken,” I said. “However, we still don’t know how the enemy found you. We have to assume that everything associated with your identities has been compromised.”
“Not everything. I have a clean identity—one that has never been used before.”
Pete raised an eyebrow. “Not to be rude, but do you have any experience with covert operations in denied environments?
“No, but I do have an arms cache. At least allow me to give you access. I’m sure you’ll need the firepower more than me.”
“I need to look at those weapons,” Eve said. “I need to compare them against our records.”
“There are no discrepancies,” Luigi said.
“Yes, but we need them to know that,” she said and turned to O’Connor. “I am perfectly willing to share our inventory records with you. Luke and the others can come with me. Won’t that prove that we weren’t responsible for the Chios strike?”
He shook his head. “It’s a piece of evidence, but not enough. There are plenty of ways to get machine guns and ammo on the black market, and why would anyone planning such an attack leave records?”
“You saw the gunmen at Chios. What they did is not humanly possible, and we don’t have any covenanters in Hexenhammer,” Eve said.
“I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but so far, all we have is your word. If you want to convince anyone, you need to provide hard evidence.”
“The bad guys run a tight ship,” Pete said. “They haven’t left anything behind that we could use.”
“Not for want of trying, mind you,” I said. “We tried to snatch a prisoner earlier. He killed himself before we could detain him.”
“Yeah, that worries me, too. The enemy is clearly fanatical to their cause, whatever it is. I don’t know if we can take anyone alive.”
“We’ll check for suicide pills next time,” I said.
“Good. I’ve tasked Daniels with penetrating the investigation into the gunfight. There may yet be evidence we can recover from the scene—evidence that will lead us to the enemy.”
“Don’t count on it,” Luigi said.
“What do you mean?”
“I watched the news this morning. They say the shooting was a feud between rival Mafia families. Che palle! Someone prepared this story for them. Our enemy is powerful enough to tell the media what to say; who’s to say they can’t also tell the police how to act? No, I suspect your man Daniels will quickly learn that the evidence mysteriously disappeared or was completely fabricated.”
“We will keep that in mind,” O’Connor said. “Don’t you still have hackers on the case?”
“Yes, but nothing yet,” I replied. “Can the cyberwar cell help?”
“Only if you can give me hard proof that the Interpol task force is compromised.” He shrugged. “You know how it works.”
“Unfortunately.” I handed over the bagged bullet. “We recovered this from Angelica. Perhaps you can do something with it.”
Pete nodded. “Yeah, the bad guys had MP99s chambered in six point five by twenty-five m
illimeters. That’s a rare gun in a rarer caliber. Maybe there’s a batch of missing MP99s somewhere.”
O’Connor accepted the bag. “Every little bit helps.”
I handed him the pistol I had taken from the driver. “This too. Glock 19 Gen 8. Common as dirt, but who knows what you’ll get from it.”
O’Connor carefully slid it into his briefcase. “I’ll get Daniels to follow up on that too.”
“Whoever the enemy is, he has a mole inside our organization,” Luigi said. “How else could they track us down so effortlessly?”
“We’ve come to the same conclusion,” Eve said. “You have followed the list of security precautions I sent you, yes?”
“Yes. Cold cover identities, cryptocurrency, untouched bank accounts… None of them worked. The enemy found us anyway. Whoever traced us knew everything about us.”
“Sounds like a high-level mole,” O’Connor said.
“Yes. Eve… I have to ask, but have you considered that one of our founders might be responsible?”
“It’s…” she sighed. “It’s looking that way. I mean, they’re the only persons of interest still on our list.”
“Who are the founders?” O’Connor asked.
Their names were highlighted on the dossier I’d sent him. He was trying to elicit more information from her.
Eve pursed her lips thoughtfully. “The first-generation members. When I started Hexenhammer, I approached a few people for help. For advice. They taught us tradecraft, provided material help, even participated in operations.” Eve rubbed her temples. “It’s hard to believe, but… they knew the most about us. Cover identities, locations of safe houses, accounts…”
“Your network was vulnerable to internal disruption,” O’Connor said.
“We didn’t have a choice,” she snapped. “There are too few people out there willing to do what it takes. Once we got off the ground, the plan was to transition from a centralized transnational organization into a decentralized horizontal network with national cells, each independent of the other.”
“We were in the process of transitioning when the arrests began,” Luigi mused. “Right when we were at our most vulnerable. This cannot be a coincidence.”
“Who knew about the transition?” I asked.
“Frank and Luigi, but I think we can rule them out. Mike and Vidar, the other senior Krakens. Stepan, the propagandist. And Hans, the spy.”
I called up Eve’s list of suspects and highlighted the names. None of them had surnames attached.
“Eve, I have to ask,” Luigi said gently, “but have you considered your father?”
“No! That’s impossible!”
“We can’t just rule him out–” O’Connor began.
“No, it really is impossible. My father brokered the initial introductions after I made a pitch to him about starting a ‘self-defense training group’ for journalists and writers. That’s all. He never participated in any Hexenhammer operation, and no one wanted to bring him in.”
“All right, all right,” O’Connor said. “I understand.”
Pete and I remained silent. I could just hear the cogs turning in O’Connor’s mind: Build up a dossier on Jan Martel ASAP.
“It might be the Rhosian, Stepan,” Luigi said. “Never liked the look of him.”
“Why do you say so?” I asked.
“When this crisis began, he disappeared completely. He doesn’t answer emails, and he won’t chat with us on the forums, but he is still delivering his webcasts as if nothing is happening. He didn’t even speak a word in our defense.”
“Luigi, who is Stepan?” O’Connor asked.
We knew who he was—but only what Eve allowed us to know. And Luigi didn’t know that.
“A so-called ‘alternative journalist,’” the Italian said. “One of Eve’s friends. He runs a regular webcast talking about politics and current affairs.”
“He could be in hiding while maintaining his day job,” O’Connor suggested. “If he suddenly stopped his webcast, people would become suspicious.”
“I can’t see Stepan doing this,” Eve said. “He’s not a killer.”
“It doesn’t mean he isn’t willing to let others do the dirty work. Or that he isn’t being coerced.”
“We still have a list of suspects,” I said. “We should continue to work the list, contact them and tell them we want to gather everybody in a safe place. The mole will want to arrange a hit. But this time, we’ll be ready.”
“You mean you want us to be bait,” Pete said.
“Well-armed bait. I’m done being on the back foot. When the giants come for us again, I want to be one ambushing them.”
“I can help with that,” Luigi said. “I have plenty of guns and ammo in storage.”
“Let’s see them,” I said.
***
The enemy’s deception plan brought the cops out in force. The carabinieri had come to reinforce the locals. Everywhere we went, there was an armed police officer within shouting distance. Despite Luigi’s reassurances, Pete remained on edge until we were clear of the city.
Outside Rome there was barely any sign of civilization, much less police. After WWIII, the Italians had doubled down on environmental preservation and restoration. Acres and acres of lush forest rolled into the distance. Like Sardinia, the air was pure, and the land pristine, desecrated only by the odd motor vehicle.
More than once, I caught Eve staring wistfully out the window. What was she thinking about? I wanted to know, but I was afraid to ask. So, I didn’t.
We passed through several towns that dated to medieval times or earlier. Despite the passage of centuries, the ancient brick and stone buildings remained standing, but they were all surrounded by newer edifices of steel and painted concrete. Modernity and demographics demand their due.
After three and a half hours on the road, we arrived at our destination, an ancient farmhouse far off the beaten track. At first glance it looked like another historical artifact: the surrounding field had long ago gone to seed, the sun had bleached the building to a dirty cream, and there were no evident signs of life. There were clear fields of fire in every direction, without terrain features that could mask attackers.
Parking half a kilometer away, Luigi turned on his phone and logged into a secure web site.
“I have security cameras installed around the building,” he explained. “If there were any movement, it would be logged here.”
He played the stored video footage. The only movement the cameras saw were curious foxes, birds sheltering from a harsh thunderstorm and a nest of rabbits. All the same, the Nemesis operators went ahead first, approaching the farmhouse at a low crawl.
When I was sure the others were out of sight, I rolled out my charagma and inspected the building in voidsight. There was no one home and no roosting daimons waiting in ambush. Still, I kept up appearances and hid the charagma.
Once at the farmhouse, I unlocked the door with the key Luigi gave me, and we swept the building for traps and surveillance devices. A thick layer of dust coated the bare walls and floors. There was nothing inside, not even furniture. The only sign of life was a large, lonely spiderweb on the upper floor. The door to the basement was locked tight, but I was confident no one was inside. We called in the rest and waited for them at the entrance. When Eve and Luigi brought the cars around, I asked, “How did you find this place?”
Luigi smiled. “Operation Gladio.”
After the Second World War, the nascent Atlantic Alliance prepared itself for the next one. Across Western Pantopia, the Alliance secretly established stay-behind paramilitary organizations to form the nucleus of anti-Soviet resistance. These cells would harass the Soviets everywhere they could through sabotage, guerrilla warfare and assassinations. In Italia, the local stay-behind organization was named Gladio.
“And how were you involved in Gladio?”
His eyes twinkled. “Let us simply say I used to serve in a position where I had to know such things.”
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Eve chuckled. “Way back in the day, my father met Luigi during multinational military exercises. Back then, Luigi was part of the 9th Paratroopers Assault Regiment. My father said Luigi went on to serve in Italian intelligence, but he didn’t specify which agency.”
“All to the good. A man must keep his secrets, yes?”
“Is that why this place is so empty?”
“Yes. All Operation Gladio safe houses and caches are erased from the public record. No private entity can buy or sell any Gladio asset. Even after World War Three, when Gladio was officially disclosed to the public, we chose to keep most of the assets secret in case we ever had to activate them. This particular facility was closed down after the war; Hexenhammer rehabilitated it.”
The Soviets had never invaded Italia in force. The closest they came was landing Spetsnaz groups in the early days of the war. Including terror units. After the war, under pressure from the media, Rome finally declared that Gladio had never been formally activated. It’s well and good to portray an image of total transparency, but you never give away the full extent of your capabilities.
I told Eve to stay at the top of the stairs and keep an eye out. Luigi led us down into the basement and unlocked the door with an old-fashioned key. Darkness greeted us. A loud, sharp BEEP followed. Flicking on the lights, he punched in a code into a control panel recessed into the wall next to the door. A softer beep followed.
Stepping aside, he gestured grandly at the room.
“Signora e signori, welcome to our humble arsenal.”
The air hung thick with the heavy metallic odor of gun oil intermingled with a thin coating of dust. Unpleasant, yet not unfamiliar. Shelves lined the walls, stacked high with wooden and metal crates. The crates were sterile, but plastic-lined labels hung from every shelf, describing their contents in Anglian and Italian.
“To your left, we have firearms. To your right, ammunition. At the far end, miscellaneous equipment. Please enjoy.”
Hammer of the Witches (The Covenant Chronicles Book 2) Page 27
