The Vault of Poseidon (Joe Hawke Book 1)

by Rob Jones

“What happened to you, Cairo?” He wasn't looking at her now, but staring at the floor. He was thinking about the damage the past does to the present.

  “If I told you that it would keep you up at night, Joe. It’s better you get your beauty sleep – you need it.”

  He raised his eyes to see her staring absent-mindedly across the Geneva skyline. The sky darkened with the threat of rain. A waiter dropped a plate and some cutlery and knocked her from her daydream. She focused on the man’s behind as he picked up the knives and forks, and she grinned like a Cheshire cat.

  Hawke smirked. “Same old, same old.”

  Scarlet simply shrugged her shoulders, closed her eyes for a moment and made a long, satisfied sigh.

  She got up from the table and gently stubbed her cigarette out in the little ashtray. She turned and glanced over the rooftops. It was beginning to rain a little.

  “I’ll let you work with me on this,” she said.

  “I think you mean I will let you work with me on this.”

  “You wouldn’t want to work against me, Joe.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You’re at such a disadvantage, darling.”

  “How so?”

  “You’re just a man.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the temple, rubbing her hand slowly up the back of his head as she did it. Blood-red fingernail polish, expensive perfume.

  “So you’re on board?” he asked, undeterred.

  “I am, yes. But the question is – are you up for this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, aren’t you a little over the hill? Perhaps you’d prefer to go home and relax. Get some of that aggression out on Call of Duty or something.”

  “I’ll take that as a challenge,” he said, as she walked slowly away from their table. “You’re working for me,” he shouted after her. “Not the other way around, Cairo.”

  She didn’t turn back, but simply called over her shoulder: “No one calls me that anymore, Joe.”

  “I do.”

  “Are you coming or not?” she said.

  Hawke smiled and got up from the table.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Call me old-fashioned,” Hawke said. “But my idea of a good night out is not sitting in a stationary Citroën, freezing my knackers off while waiting for a drug-dealing scrote to come home.”

  He was sitting outside Martin’s apartment in the maze of winding streets that was Geneva’s Old Town. They were parked outside an expensive café lit up bright orange in the wintry darkness, and a light snow was falling but not laying.

  The apartment, just across a medieval square, was now and for the last few hours under the constant surveillance of Eden’s makeshift team. Hawke yawned and grabbed a handful of peanuts. In the front, beside him, was Lea, while Ryan was in the back with Scarlet Sloane.

  “As I recall,” Scarlet said. “Your idea of a good night out used to be farting five pound notes into beer glasses in the sergeant’s mess.”

  “Now that is simply not true,” Hawke protested. “It was ten pound notes.”

  Lea rolled her eyes and shook her head in disgust.

  Hawke was defiant. “It’s not true. I was joking.”

  “You haven’t changed, at least,” said Scarlet.

  Lea opened the file that Eden had given her back at the hotel. It was essentially the one Matheson had brought to the meeting but with several sections missing. Unlike Baumann, Vetsch was not former military, but just pure underworld scum with busts for everything from drug dealing to extortion to pimping.

  How he had gotten out of prison for his last conviction was questionable, but most linked it to Zaugg’s influence, running through Baumann. As for Didier Martin, he was simple pondlife and should crack like an Easter egg with the slightest application of pressure.

  Scarlet finished her macchiato and tossed the paper cup out the window into a nearby trash bin.

  “Good shot,” Ryan said.

  “I could hit you in the throat with a hunting rifle from half a mile away,” she said flatly. “While you were jogging. That was not a good shot.”

  “Fair enough,” Ryan replied, and sank back into his scarf. “Just trying to be nice.”

  “Cairo Sloane and nice?” Hawke scoffed. “Not so much.”

  “That’s not what you thought back in Helmand that night.”

  Lea turned in her seat. “Oh yeah?”

  “Forget it.”

  “I can’t believe in a car full of ex Special Forces it takes me to point out that Martin has come back – look.” Ryan pointed across the square where a man hunched into a dark raincoat was passing the marble medieval fountain. He spat into it, and looked over his shoulder before briskly jogging up the steps outside his apartment.

  “Could be anyone, boy” Scarlet said dismissively.

  “Hey, less of it, grandma.”

  “Grandma? I’m not even thirty.”

  Hawke nearly choked on a peanut. “Come off it, Cairo. Besides, he’s right – the light to his apartment has just gone on.”

  “That’s as maybe,” Scarlet said, turning to Ryan and running her fingernails along his upper leg. “But you’d beg for it if you thought you had half a chance.”

  For once, Ryan was totally, completely speechless.

  “And who’s this, I wonder?” Hawke said.

  A gold Lamborghini pulled up in the square outside Martin’s apartment. The lights closed into the hood and the engine powered down. It was like watching a lioness go to sleep. The door opened and a man in a leather jacket stepped out, warming his hands with his breath.

  “Vetsch!” said Lea.

  “The very same,” Hawke added, narrowing his eyes.

  “You let a weasel like that chase you around New York?” Scarlet said.

  “He had a team of Uzi-wielding maniacs,” Ryan said.

  “Basic training,” said Scarlet. “Eden should have called me earlier.”

  Vetsch walked casually up the steps and moments later the two men were standing in Martin’s apartment talking.

  “Time to join the conversation,” Scarlet said in her cut-glass Oxford accent. She pulled a small device out of her bag.

  “What the hell is that?” Ryan asked.

  “What the hell is what?” Hawke asked without taking his eyes off the apartment.

  “Looks like a light sabre,” said Ryan, clearly impressed.

  Hawke heard Scarlet sigh. “It is not a light sabre, boy. It’s a very high-quality laser microphone.” She put on some headphones and opened her window, gently resting the mic on the sill to keep it steady.

  Inside, Martin and Vetsch were now arguing about something.

  “What are you getting, Cairo?”

  “Sadly, not much – not unless you can speak whatever the hell they’re speaking.” She passed Hawke the headphones.

  “It’s Schweizerdeutsch,” he said, passing the headphones back to her. “Swiss German.”

  “Sounds like a cross between Dutch and Klingon to me,” Scarlet said. “I was hoping they might speak French. It’s so much more sophisticated.”

  “That’s your laser microphone in the jacks then,” Lea said, smirking.

  “I'm sorry?” Scarlet asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s not really true about what happened in the sergeant’s mess, is it?” Ryan asked, his face the picture of genuine concern.

  Hawke smiled. “Why do you ask?”

  “I just can’t believe things get as bad as that in the army.”

  “Of course not,” Hawke said reassuringly. “Things get much worse than that. And it was the marines, not the army.”

  “We wouldn’t let a man like Hawke into the army,” Scarlet said.

  Hawke smiled. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s not forget we’ve got a job to do.”

  Lea opened her door. “So let's do it. Ryan, stay here.”

  “Damn!” he said. “I was hoping to sneak into Martin’s apartment and strangl
e him with his braces for information.”

  Lea glanced back at Ryan. “Very funny.”

  “But that’s not how you get information out of a toerag like that,” said Scarlet, opening her door.

  “You too, Cairo. In the car.” Hawke’s tone was firm.

  “Eh? Eden put me in here to fight, not babysit Ryan – no offence.”

  “None taken.”

  “We need a backup unit, and you’re it. You know how these things work.”

  “So put Miss Ireland in backup.”

  Lea scowled.

  “In the car, Cairo. I mean it. Eden put me in charge and I want Lea up front with me. We’ve fought these guys before and we both know their moves.”

  Scarlet sloped back into the car, but this time in the driver’s seat, and adjusted her black roll neck in the mirror. “If you say so, darling.”

  Hawke and Lea crossed the square and walked past two or three cafés and boutiques before reaching Martin’s apartment. It was two storeys above a pharmacy which was closed for the night, the green glow of its sign reflecting in the melted snow outside in the street.

  “We’re opposite a police station.” Hawke gestured over his shoulder.

  “Great,” Lea said. “Let’s keep this quiet or it could get really out of hand.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Hawke looked across the square where Scarlet and Ryan were sitting in the shadows of the side street in the Lexus. A fleeting doubt crossed his mind about whether or not he could really trust Cairo Sloane, but if Eden had vouched for her then he could live with it.

  “You think Ryan will be okay back there?” Lea asked.

  “Sure. Her bark is worse than her bite.”

  “I meant if anything kicks off with Vetsch, Joe.”

  “Oh sure – that too. She can look after him. Trust me when I tell you there’s only one person in the world more ruthless than Cairo Sloane.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “If you’re nice to me I might tell you one day.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Who said it was a man?”

  They slowed up at the bottom of the apartment steps and rang the bell.

  “Oui?”

  “J’ai une pizza pour vous, monsieur,” Hawke said.

  Lea gave him an appreciative glance. “Not bad,” she mouthed. Hawke nodded his head with exaggerated pride.

  “Je n’en veux pas. Allez-vous en, maintenant.” The reply was gruff and short.

  Lea winced. “I’m guessing that’s not polite.”

  Hawke thought again. “D’accord, j’ai besoin de la blanche, mec.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Lea whispered.

  “I think I asked him for heroin, but my accent is so bad he’ll just think I'm a foreigner.”

  “Pas ici!” Then the door buzzed open.

  Upstairs, it didn't take Vetsch long to recognize Hawke and Lea. He reached for his gun, but Lea had a Glock 17 in his face before he knew it.

  “Forget about it, laddo, and hand the old shooting iron over before I blow your balls off.”

  Vetsch gave her his gun, a Colt 45.

  “Now sit the fuck down.” He did as he was told.

  Hawke stepped forward and checked Martin for weapons, and after pulling a Heckler & Koch USP from a shoulder holster and a flick-knife from his rear pocket, told him to sit down next to Vetsch.

  “You guys must be paranoid carrying all this junk around,” Lea said. “And put your hands behind your heads.”

  “Baumann will gut you for this,” Vetsch hissed in heavily accented English.

  Hawke ignored him. “What do you know about Hugo Zaugg?” he asked.

  The men gave each other an uncertain glance and then looked at Hawke in terrified silence.

  “Shoot that one in the knee,” Hawke told Lea, pointing at Vetsch.

  She stepped forward and cocked her gun for effect.

  Vetsch was cool. “We both know I work for Baumann. No one gets close to Hugo Zaugg. Ever. I hear he was very upset about your activities in New York.”

  “What about Baumann?” Hawke said, ignoring his comment.

  Vetsch’s eyes crawled from Lea’s Glock to Hawke’s eyes. He grinned, his forehead starting to sweat. “Baumann has access to Zaugg, but that is all I know. Everything is compartmentalized.”

  “And where is Baumann?” Hawke asked.

  “Herr Baumann is very hard to find.”

  “You mean he’s wanted by every police force in Europe so he keeps a low profile.” Lea said.

  Vetsch shrugged his shoulders. He seemed to be re-evaulating the situation. “Baumann is not the sort of man you cross. He will kill me for telling you this.”

  Hawke moved closer. “I want to find Baumann.”

  “I will die first.”

  “Try that one,” Hawke said, indicating Martin.

  Lea pushed the Glock’s muzzle into the top of his knee bone.

  “Well, I won’t die first!” Martin said, breathless with terror. “I can tell you how to find Baumann.”

  “Silence, you fool!” spat Vetsch.

  “He can be found at...”

  A second later and everything changed.

  Vetsch moved like lightning, the hands behind his back pulling a knife from a shoulder holster and slashing at Lea’s hand before spinning in his seat and cutting Martin’s throat.

  Lea recoiled instinctively to check the wound on her hand, dropping her gun. Martin slumped forward, eyes bulging with fear, and then collapsed on the wooden floor tiles where his blood spilled out in a large pool.

  Vetsch picked up Lea’s gun and sprinted into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him and wedging something behind it.

  “Are you okay?” Hawke asked Lea.

  “Yeah, sure. So stupid of me to drop that gun. I’m sorry, Joe – I guess I’ve been out the army for too long.” Her hand was bleeding heavily.

  “Forget it.”

  Hawke smashed in the kitchen door and saw the window was open. The drapes blew into the room with a gush of icy air. He went to the window and looked out. “A fire escape, but he’s not in the street. He must have gone to the roof. You get to Cairo and get your hand fixed up, then follow me as best you can in the car.”

  “You’re not going up there after him?”

  “He’s our only lead to Baumann and Zaugg!”

  “If you’re going, I'm going.”

  “With your hand like that?”

  “Screw my hand!” she shouted, grabbing a towel from the side and wrapping it tightly around the wound. “I want my damned Glock back!”

  They climbed up the fire escape to the next storey and clambered out onto the roof. It was below freezing now, and ice had begun to form on the tiles, making them slippery and their route across them dangerous and unpredictable.

  Lea joined Hawke who was standing in between two tall chimneys and surveying the moonlit rooftops. His breath was visible in the cold night. Ahead, maybe two or three houses, Vetsch was crawling into the frozen darkness, his outline now a silhouette in front of the gentle glow of the city beyond.

  “There’s our man,” he said.

  “There’s our rat, don't you mean?” Lea held to the bricks for balance in the rising wind.

  “Let’s get after him,” said Hawke, setting out across the apex of the roof.

  Lea followed, choosing her steps carefully as Vetsch’s more desperate method widened the gap between them.

  A blast of icy air rushed off the lake and cut into them. Hawke put his head down and tried to push on, but Lea slipped and fell backwards, her arms flailing helplessly in the cold night as her upper body tipped back over the edge of the roof. She screamed in terror.

  Hawke spun around and grabbed her by the belt, pulling her roughly towards him and grabbing her around the waist with his other arm. His parkour had made him immune to the fear of heights and turned any urban environment into a playground for him, but he’d forgotten how an
y normal person would view running across rooftops in the middle of the night.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, this time no jokes. Her face was lit silver in the moonlight.

  She nodded, still pale with the fear of what had almost happened. A quick glance over her shoulder at the street below made her shudder as Hawke released her.

  “Be more careful from now on, okay?”

  Ahead, Vetsch was almost out of sight as he skipped fearlessly along a distant roofline, the ornate copper spire of St. Pierre’s Cathedral rising behind him. For good measure, he turned and fired blindly at them, his bullets crackling away into the night.

  “Damn it, Joe Hawke!” Lea said. “What the hell am I doing here? I could be at home, you know!”

  “And miss all this? Where’s your spirit of adventure, girl?”

  They watched Vetsch descend on one of the fire escapes and hit the street. Hawke searched for the closest way down and caught sight of a much closer fire escape. It took them halfway to street level, where from his view on the lower roof he looked out across the streets of Geneva’s Old Town and watched Vetsch sprinting into the night.

  They jumped off the lower roof and gave chase.

  Vetsch turned a corner and hit a busier road, with cars and mopeds moving slowly around the Old Town’s ancient streets.

  Hawke scanned the road in both directions. Which way did he go?

  Then they saw him. He was running through a crowd of people gathered outside a café and trying to disappear into the cheerful throng. They gave chase once again.

  Vetsch led them into a maze of backstreets. He turned and fired at them once more, warning them not to continue their pursuit, but Hawke felt differently about the matter, and so did Lea. Hawke returned fire, whacking a chunk of plaster out of a wall a few inches above Vetsch’s head as he darted around a corner.

  They raced after him, Hawke cursing himself for letting Vetsch get away, but using his anger to fuel the pursuit.

  Around the corner, there was another small square ahead of them, centered around a small stone fountain behind which Vetsch vanished into an alley.

  They followed into the darkness to find a dead end where there was only one door, but now closed. Hawke kicked the door hard and it burst open, hitting the inside wall with a loud smack. A staircase led to the next floor, and they could already hear Vetsch breaking his way through another door somewhere above them.