The Vault of Poseidon (Joe Hawke Book 1)

by Rob Jones

  Then, things changed.

  Rapidly and for the worse.

  She saw four more men appear at the end of the corridor and set up with impressive efficiency what looked from this distance like some kind of updated Browning M2, a heavy machine gun.

  Seconds later it was on its tripod and another second after that bursts of fire spat from the muzzle as it propelled its 50 cal tracers along the corridor in a deadly arc.

  They struck the walls and book cases with such velocity they acted like a wrecking ball and sent chunks of carbon fiber, aluminum and splinters of wood flying through the air, creating thousands of lethal projectiles. And it was so noisy! She’d forgotten just how noisy the heavy stuff could be.

  She returned fire but it was of little use against the M2, and it was only a matter of time before its tracer rounds completely annihilated her cover and took her out of the game permanently.

  She had to retreat to a new position and find Sophie and Ryan. This, after all, was the same weapon she had once used to suppress ISIS positions in Syria. Trying to fight it with a submachine gun was the definition of insanity.

  Then just when she thought all hope was lost, the moment came that she had been waiting for.

  She heard the telltale clunk as the M2 hit the end of its feed, and seconds later one of the soldiers tossed the ammo case aside and slotted a new one into the side of the heavy gun. They were reloading.

  She withdrew along the corridor, covering herself with occasional short bursts of fire from the 416 as she retreated back, rolling backwards twice and then crouching on her haunches for the final few steps.

  The men fired on her in response but Lea was faster and took out two of them before taking cover behind the corner wall at the end of the corridor.

  She made her way to the engine room where she found Ryan and Sophie hiding behind one of the engine housings.

  “I took a few of them out but it won’t buy us much time,” she said. “We need to work fast and really fuck this engine up. It’s the only way of making sure Zaugg doesn’t get off this boat.”

  “Er, that’s not true,” Ryan said.

  “What are you talking about?” Lea asked. “He’s not likely to swim back to the mainland is he?”

  “You’re forgetting about the rather splendid helicopter sitting on the rear deck.”

  “Oh, fuck it!” Lea kicked the side of the engine. “One of us has to go and sabotage that as well.”

  “Well don’t look at me,” Ryan said. “I wouldn’t know one end of a helicopter from the other. I studied the classics.”

  Lea steeled herself. “I’ll go. You and Sophie stay here and make sure this engine stops working.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Commodore Hart touched down at Eleusis Airfield in an unmarked Gulfstream IV which Hawke guessed was paid for by some faction inside the British Government. The base was eighteen kilometers from Athens and used by the Hellenic Air Force.

  He met her at the aircraft and saw at once that she had aged well and that she was still super fit, as they used to say in the commandos. Her blonde hair was tied back in a no-nonsense style, and she had a determined, honest expression on her face.

  The first thing she did was introduce him to two men from V Squadron, code-names Chief and Sparky. As he spoke to Hart the two men unloaded some pretty serious equipment from the cargo door at the side of the plane.

  “At least tell me what the ‘V’ stands for, Olivia!” he asked her.

  She ignored him, and ordered the men into a Jeep Cherokee waiting at the side of the plane. “We have a lot of planning to do, Joe, and you’ve been out of the game for a long time.” She glanced at his stomach.

  “That’s pure muscle,” he said, and meant it. “You cheeky cow.”

  “Same old Joe Hawke.”

  They drove across the base to an outbuilding she had already arranged with the base commander. As they drove, Hawke watched the Greek air force personnel shuffle about their business and he thought about how it didn't matter where you were in the world, a military base always had the same features.

  It reminded him of all those years he’d spent as a commando in the marines and even as an SBS soldier. Life was simpler back then, in the squadron.

  “These places never change, do they?” said Scarlet. She too was peering at the base over her sunglasses and presumably recalling her SAS days before she joined the Secret Intelligence Service.

  They went ahead of the others and waited in a non-descript military briefing room normally used by the senior officers at the air base.

  Moments later Olivia Hart strode into the room with Alexis Pavlopoulos, the base commander. He was a solid-looking military officer with a square, clipped hairstyle and dark brown eyes. After a few brief words of introduction they turned their attention to the attack on the yacht.

  “It’s been a long time, Olivia,” said Pavlopoulos, kissing her on both cheeks and warmly shaking her hand.

  “Indeed it has, Alexis. Is your air force still flying paper aeroplanes or have you graduated to real ones yet?”

  Pavlopoulos was undeterred by the barb. “I heard a few days ago that the Royal Navy was making yet more cuts,” he countered. “Apparently you do not even have one aircraft carrier at sea. A sad end to what was once the world’s most powerful naval force, don't you think?”

  For a moment there was silence between them, and then they smiled and briefly embraced once again. All was good.

  “You know each other?” Scarlet said.

  “We go back a long way,” Hart said.

  “I trained with the commodore here when I was a junior officer,” said Pavlopoulos.

  They took their positions at the table and Pavlopoulos suddenly turned to the matter at hand. “Now, I’ve been briefed by Commodore Hart here about the situation, and of course the Minister of National Defence here in Greece has confirmed everything and given me clearance to assist you in the capture of Hugo Zaugg. I can tell you that our government is very keen to question him about his activities in our territory, particularly the islands.”

  “Your government will have to get in line,” said Hawke. “There are a lot of people who want to get their hands on Zaugg.”

  “We can argue about that later,” Hart said. “We have to catch him first.”

  “Quite,” Pavlopoulos said. “And so on that note, I would appreciate any information you can give me.”

  Hawke spoke first. “The first thing to say is that those bastards are holding three of our team hostage, and I’m not too keen on them getting killed in the crossfire. The assault team are all in this room, so everyone pay attention.”

  Hawke described Lea, Ryan and Sophie to the others.

  “The basics are that Zaugg has made a push to locate the vault of Poseidon, which we now believe is a real location. He also wants to secure the contents of the tomb.”

  “The contents?” Pavlopoulos asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “They depend on who you ask,” Hawke said. “But most people agree it contains pretty much the biggest treasure known to man, especially in the form of gold and precious stones, particularly diamonds, rubies and sapphires. Some of this treasure we think was collected by Poseidon himself, but the rest was probably a tribute to him after his death.”

  “Or disappearance,” Scarlet added quietly. “He was supposed to be immortal, after all.”

  “And this is what Zaugg wants?” Pavlopoulos said.

  “Partly. We know Hugo Zaugg is already rich beyond most people’s dreams – worth hundreds of millions of dollars at least. The gold in the tomb would be priceless though and clearly it would increase his wealth beyond measure.”

  “So what is his motivation?” Pavlopoulos looked at them each in turn, studying their expressions carefully.

  Hawke said: “There’s some dispute about this, and that depends on how you interpret the phrase ‘ultimate power’. Some scholars think it refers to his trident which had the power to cause earthquakes and
tsunamis on an unprecedented scale and unlike anything we’ve seen in our time.”

  “This is the worst possible news,” Pavlopoulos said.

  “You’d think so,” Hawke said, “but it gets worse. Professor Demetriou here has interpreted the phrase ‘ultimate power’ to refer to his immortality.

  “His immortality?”

  “Poseidon was a god, and that means he was immortal.”

  “You cannot say was immortal,” Scarlet said. “Immortal means he is still alive, doesn’t it?”

  “Not necessarily, my dear,” said Demetriou. “It just means that you will live forever if left alone. If someone cuts the head off an immortal they’re hardly going to grow another one, are they?”

  Hawke thanked the professor for the image, and started to speak when Scarlet suddenly interrupted him.

  “Look, the upshot of it all is we’re up to our tits in trouble and we need some help.”

  “Thanks for that, Cairo.”

  “Well, let’s just get on with it!”

  “What are his forces?” Pavlopoulos asked.

  “There’s a second in command by the name of Dietmar Grobel, but we know next to nothing about him. Under him is a former member of the German Special Forces named Heinrich Baumann, a total psycho by all accounts. He was running another nutcase by the name of Vetsch but we took him out in Geneva.”

  “So who’s on the boat?”

  Scarlet spoke next: “It’s impossible to know exactly, but Zaugg, Grobel, Baumann and however many men with guns he can accommodate, presumably.”

  “And Zaugg’s the turd at the top,” Hawke added.

  “There’s that word again,” Demetriou mumbled.

  “You’re sure?” Hart asked.

  “What do you mean?” Hawke asked.

  “Maybe someone’s pulling Zaugg’s strings, is what I mean.”

  Hawke considered the thought for the first time, but put it out of his mind. “If there’s someone higher than Zaugg then we’d be talking political class.”

  “And your point is?”

  “Let's not go there, Olivia.”

  Pavlopoulous looked considerably more anxious than when he’d walked into the room a few moments ago. “Okay, I can give you one chopper, a new Eurocopter Cougar with two crew.”

  “Excellent,” Hart said. “They seat twenty, don’t they?”

  “We should be able to take them with twenty,” Scarlet said, considering the logistics of it all with undisguised delight.

  “You’re not getting twenty of my men,” Pavlopoulos said sharply. “I’ve been cleared to give you three.”

  “Three?” Hawke said, disappointed.

  “The Minister wants this kept small and extremely quiet. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly clear, Alexis,” Hart said, calming the situation. “And we’re very grateful for your assistance. Aren’t we, Hawke?” Her look told Hawke they were all very grateful, so Hawke nodded reluctantly.

  “We can work with your three men,” Hart said. “I have two of my men from V Squadron with me, and Hawke and Sloane here are former Special Forces so that makes seven Special Forces soldiers plus me makes eight. You make nine, Alexis. That should be sufficient to take out a boat of mercs.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Hawke said. “Or we’re all an hour away from a burial at sea. When can we start?”

  “It will take another half hour until the transport is ready,” Pavlopoulos said.

  At that moment the door burst open and a junior aircraftman wheeled a trolley into the room.

  “Ah!” said the Greek officer, watching the trolley get closer. “We all must eat before we assault the yacht.” On the trolley was a pile of standard Greek combat rations: beef, vegetables, cheese, biscuits and two jugs of coffee. “I’m sorry, but at such short notice...” Pavlopoulos said apologetically.

  “Let’s get it down us fast, everyone,” Hart said, and they all pulled a plate from the trolley and started to eat. “We’re not fighting without calories.”

  As they got stuck into their meals, they spoke more about the mission.

  “So tell me more about this Zaugg,” Pavlopoulos asked.

  Hawke was unsure how much to give away. “We know so little. Our research has turned up a few things – private industrialist turned big-time collector of archaeological relics. He’s the son of a former Nazi – an SS officer by the name of Otto Zaugg. We think that’s where all this started, back in the war here in Greece when he killed an Italian archaelogist and stole his research.”

  Pavlopoulos stopped chewing and a look of serious disgust crossed his lean face. “Don't talk to me about what that vermin did to my country in the war.” His eyes clouded with hatred. “They executed my grandfather – a brave resistance man.”

  “I understand,” Hart said. “This is your chance for revenge.”

  “If this is being funded with Nazi money then it will be revenge,” he said, returning less enthusiastically to his meal. “We must stop him.”

  “Or the sky will burn, apparently,” Scarlet said cheerfully.

  “Sorry?” Pavlopoulos looked up once again, a piece of beef on his fork.

  Hawke cleared his throat. “Our other team found a reference to the sky turning to fire if a mortal man tries to control the source of eternal life. We don’t know what it means. We didn’t get a chance to speak with them before they were taken by Zaugg’s men.”

  “And all mankind burning to death, wasn't it?” Scarlet added, mischievously.

  Hawke was dismissive. “It’s just an old legend.”

  They finished the food quickly and packed their weapons as the Jeep returned to drive them to the helipad. Outside Hawke was struck by how warm the winter sun was today. It had been a long time since he had been in the Med at this time of year.

  As they climbed into the Jeep, Hawke’s cell phone rang. He checked the screen. It was an incoming call from Nightingale.

  “I’ve got to take this,” he said. “Just give me a second.”

  He stepped off the Jeep and took the call.

  “Hi, N.”

  “Just a quick one, Joe.”

  “But you haven’t even bought me dinner.”

  Silence, then Hawke said: “Sorry, what is it?”

  “Kinda bored a moment ago and decided to go hacking around in your friends’ pasts.”

  “You realize some people watch movies in their spare time?”

  “This is something you should know, Joe.”

  Suddenly Hawke was all business. Nightingale’s tone rarely got this sombre, and as his entire relationship with this woman was over the phone he had gotten to know her tone very well.

  “What is it?”

  “Checked out your girl Scarlet Sloane.”

  “Cairo? Why?”

  “You told me she was in the SAS for a few years and then she joined MI5, right?”

  “That’s what she told me.”

  “Then she’s lying. I have a close contact in Five and he’s never heard of her. Ran some internal checks, and still nothing. I don’t know who she’s working for but it’s not MI5.”

  “Wait a minute,” Hawke said, his mind racing with the information. “First you tell me Sophie Durand is not really with the DGSE, and now you’re telling me Cairo Sloane isn’t really with MI5. What the hell is going on here?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s something you’re going to have to get to the bottom of, Joe, because there’s a lot of deceit flying around here and you could could get hurt. It’s possible at least one of them is working for Zaugg.”

  “Which is not a very comforting thought,” he whispered. He knew what had to be done to traitors, but then for the first time he considered if Nightingale was the one feeding him false information. No, never. He shook the thought from his mind and climbed into the Jeep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Lea moved long the yacht’s corridor quietly and quickly, keeping her head down and her gun ready to fire. It had been many years s
ince her Rangers training – more years than she could remember, but some things you never forgot.

  Now, her mind was clear and focused. She had to get to the helipad and sabotage the chopper. Zaugg was probably planning on taking the yacht to wherever he decided the tomb was, but the helicopter was an escape route waiting to happen and it had come down to her to take that option away from him.

  As she slipped unnoticed through the enormous superyacht, she thought about the last few hours in her life – meeting Joe Hawke at the British Museum, fighting Vetsch in New York and Geneva and now a final push to thwart Zaugg’s insane attempt to secure the treasures of Poseidon.

  She wondered if she could ever love a man like Hawke. She’d known enough military goons in her time, but he seemed different. Like her, he had left the service behind him and was trying to fit back into Civvy Street, into the real world.

  But then she thought about Syria. She thought about the catastrophic decision she had made when she ordered the soldiers of her covert sub-unit to leave their position in order to rendez-vous with a chopper.

  She had made an error on the coordinates and instead sent them into the wrong clearing. They got pinned down under enemy fire and three of them had died.

  She knew how Hawke felt about officers, especially incompetent ones, as he had put it so delicately. When he found out she was responsible for the deaths of three of her soldiers it was unlikely he’d want anything to do with her.

  The guilt she carried on her shoulders was enough without a jumped-up SBS sergeant adding to it. At least she could get this right – disable the chopper while Ryan and Sophie took the yacht’s engines out somehow. That way they were at least giving Hawke and his team a fighting chance when they finally worked out where they were and launched their rescue attempt.

  *

  Ryan and Sophie stared at the enormous engine in awe. Full-scale marine propulsion engines were bigger than either of them had realized, so big, in fact, that they could walk inside it.

  Descending a shining stainless steel staircase into the engine room they were faced with two walls of engine pipes, wires, panels and gauges, all lit by powerful overhead fluorescent lights built into the ceiling.