The Shadow Of Medea (Luke Temple Series Book 1)

by James Flynn

  Luke could see Mulberry was descending into shock.

  Mulberry continued, “And it was a valid thought. Your survival did ruin the plans. When you took her and killed the others, you destroyed everything. Now Medea has Seona!” He spat out some phlegm. “You and I are now both wanted men.”

  Luke took aim at Mulberry’s head.

  “No, no, wait. I know … I know who Medea is.”

  Luke lowered the MP5SD and waited expectantly. “Go on.”

  Mulberry attempted to sit up straight but the exertion was too much. “It’s Sir Peter … Sir Peter Villier.”

  Luke couldn’t help but let the machine gun drop, it was the last name he had ever expected to hear. The Director General of MI6. “You’re lying. Sir Peter is like a brother to Prussias Latvik.”

  Mulberry shook his head. “I know, but it is him. He wants Seona, and now he has her … I found out yesterday.”

  It didn’t make any sense to Luke. “He could have got Seona whenever he wanted, why go through all this?”

  Mulberry was now applying pressure to his leg. “I don’t know; that’s the truth. I can only surmise that he must have wanted it to seem like terrorist activity.”

  Mulberry knew he had given Sir Peter the perfect cover story; the whole time he had thought that he was blocking the truth from Sir Peter. Instead, he had been a pawn in a bigger game.

  Luke flicked back through all the news updates, all the speculations. It was starting to make more sense. Seona’s kidnap was meant to look like another strategic terrorist strike. That’s why his name hadn’t been released. He slapped Mulberry to keep him alert. “The guys knew who I was. Who else does?”

  “No one, I only gave them very select information on you, just enough to single you out, I swear ...”

  “So where is Seona now?”

  Mulberry rested back against the wall, “I don’t know, but my money would be on here.” Mulberry took out a small piece of paper from his trousers; his hand shook as he passed it to Luke. On the paper was an address scrawled in biro.

  “What’s this?” demanded Luke.

  “That’s Sir Peter’s home address. It’s an estate out in Surrey.”

  Luke eyed Mulberry. “What do you want me to do with this?”

  “Medea is Sir Peter. Once he’s dead, we’re both safe … Alex.”

  Luke smashed the gun across Mulberry’s face; a crumpled photograph fell from Mulberry’s jacket pocket. It was of a woman and child.

  “That isn’t my name anymore, you saw to that. And stop talking bullshit. You want him dead so that you are safe. It’s over for me, Seona, and Aubert. I’m finished regardless. They have my picture. If they let me live long enough then they will tie all this up and hang it round my neck. This is now about getting her out.”

  Mulberry didn’t respond, he just sat looking at the photo of his wife and son, rocking with pain and shock. Luke let his mind ignite a flurry of ideas and scenarios. He knew Mulberry wasn’t lying; there was a desperation in his words; Sir Peter was Medea. It was a crazy notion, but Mulberry had no reason left to lie, he needed Sir Peter dead in order to secure his own survival.

  If that was where Seona was being held then that was where Luke would go. Seona’s words played clearly in his head: To take revenge, she killed their children.

  He now knew Seona would be killed. He would have to be fast, planning was not an option. He pulled the machine gun up and turned away.

  “Wait, what are you going to do?” Mulberry called after him.

  Luke replied over his shoulder, “What I was trained to do … complete the mission.”

  “And what about me?”

  “I’m sure the world has other plans for you, Mulberry.” With that, Luke faded into the shadows.

  65.

  The guard threw his cigarette butt on the grass and stubbed it out. He paced aimlessly across the lawn for the hundredth time that evening. He cursed inwardly at pulling night duty for the third night in a row; he had never got used to sleeping during the day and was shattered. It was without doubt the most boring detail he had ever pulled, standing in Sir Peter Villier’s garden, staring out into nothingness for hours on end.

  What was the old man expecting? The guard chuckled at thinking of Sir Peter in his stately home, paranoid that the Second World War was not yet over, posting night guards all over the grounds. At least he knew it was extra cash at the end of the month; he was desperately trying to save for the future. He looked up at the regal home that Sir Peter inhabited. He dreamed of owning a home like it; the back garden where he was standing stretched off endlessly into the night.

  Checking his watch, he picked the free-range radio off his belt and radioed in his time-check. Alpha Romeo. This is Alpha Indigo. Everything quiet. Repeat. Alpha Indigo quiet. Over.

  There was no reply. He assumed that Alpha Romeo was either taking a piss or was perhaps dead from boredom. He kicked a small stone out of frustration; he knew that what he was really annoyed at was missing out on Leanne. Leanne was a stunning girl that he had met the previous week in a dead-beat bar; they had got chatting and he was amazed that she agreed to go on a date with him. Unfortunately, the date was scheduled for that evening; it would have to wait. As the guard’s thoughts drifted to Leanne’s long legs he didn’t even flinch as an arm gripped around his neck followed by a hand around his forehead. In one sharp movement the guard’s neck was pulled up and rotated violently, cracking the vertebrae and severing the spinal cord.

  Luke let the limp body fall to the ground. Breaking someone’s neck was not about twisting it as hard as possible, but more like opening a jar – you have to twist and pull. He immediately lay flat to the ground. Group 9 instructors were ringing in his ears again: The Five Ss Of Camouflage: Shape, Shine, Shadow, Silhouette and Spacing.

  Luke had arrived on target around twenty minutes earlier. He had abandoned the stolen car he had acquired a mile away and trekked the rest, making sure to minimise the Five Ss, sure signs that would make him stand out in a person’s field of vision. Luke had not had time to formulate a solid plan; he would have to rely on the improvisational skills and instincts that had served him so well before. The guard lying next to him was the third that he had silently killed. The security surrounding Sir Peter’s estate had been less than expected; Sir Peter obviously felt that he had covered his tracks sufficiently. The house was an enormous old building; there were four towers which constituted the four corners of the house.

  Luke moved ten yards back to his left, timing his crawl with the arc of the security camera positioned at the rear of the house. He reached the detonator wire and felt in the dark for the clacker. The great thing about Claymores was their ability for a synchronised detonation using only one trigger. He had created five small grass mounds within one hundred metres of the house for the Claymores and dug them in so that the blast would focus outwards toward the south west tower of the house, to the left of the large front-entrance steps. Luke was now crouching facing the north east tower on the opposite side of the house; he ran the detonator wire through his fingers and checked the clacker. All five mines would go off together, the solid steel ball bearings ripping through stone and glass, slicing through the south west corner. In the ensuing confusion he was going to enter through the rear and clear each floor room by room.

  The MP5SD was strapped across his back, he swung it round and double-checked the mechanism; he now had two spare magazines taped to the side and a third stuffed in his pocket. He figured that if he couldn’t get the job done with that amount of ammo, then he wouldn’t get it done at all. The gardens had no border and merged with surrounding greenery in all directions; the sweet smell of summer flowers hung in the air. Luke kept pinned to the ground, focusing on each window in turn; there were no signs of life, but if Sir Peter had guards outside, there would be some inside. Sir Peter is Medea.

  Pulling the clacker up by his face, Luke scanned the perimeter. To trigger the mines, all he had to do was close the elect
rical circuit; the electrical impulse sent down the detonator cord would initiate the blasting cap of each individual mine. Luke raised himself into a crouching position, habitually checking the cord connection with the clacker; he couldn’t afford a misfire. The grounds were still silent; he triggered the electrical impulse by closing the circuit with the clacker. An instant later a thunderous roar echoed around the grounds and the south west corner of Sir Peter Villier’s regal home was ripped apart by thousands of steel ball bearings.

  66.

  Prussias Latvik was in agony. He had been sitting on the old wooden chair for hours; his limbs were numb where they were tied so tight and his neck ached with every turn. The room was stuffy and every weary breath circulated around the cramped space. His eyes had become fully dilated and he could make out the shapes of the room. The mirror was now a menacing shadow in front; Prussias swore he could see a thousand faces all around him reflected in the darkness.

  The cold outline of the television was still taunting him, seared across the now-blackened screen was Seona. Prussias felt sick at the thought. He was helpless; all the money and power that he had built up counted for nothing. He knew his wealth brought enemies, and he had put himself shoulder to shoulder with the work of intelligence and military communities. He wanted to stamp out everyone who dealt blows to freedom, especially freedom of earning.

  His resolve was hardening as to how he would punish the people responsible for this act. He settled down as the gravity of the situation once again struck him. Why would they let me live? Please let my daughter live.

  He had seen the light recently and decided to head back to his motherland and put his wealth to use, building a stronger nation. There was greatness in Russia that needed uncovering. He would be leaving behind a nation that had embraced him ... he baulked at the thought. Where is that nation now? He knew that a whole army would be searching for him, he trusted Sir Peter to be doing everything within his power to help his old friend. He wished in that moment that he had not parted on such bad terms with his old friend. He could now see why Sir Peter was so adamant about the need to fight terrorism. Prussias promised himself that if he should survive he would always financially support the fight against terror.

  The lights flickered on and Prussias had to squint to adjust.

  “Mr Latvik, the time has come. Such is the chariot that the sun, father of my father, has given me to defend me against my enemies’ hands.” Medea’s voice sounded even more treacherous than normal.

  “You will not get away with any of this! Do you know who I am friends with? Make it easier on yourself, let Seona go and I will give you all the money you could ever want.”

  “What we want, Mr Latvik, cannot be bought with money. We want to rise up, take what is rightfully ours, and most importantly we want to strike back at the heart of what tries to destroy us.” Medea’s lyrical prose rolled from the speakers.

  The endless words infuriated Prussias. “Who are you? At least tell me that, you coward! Tell me who you are!”

  “Who we are, Mr Latvik? We are the Belarusian Public in Exile, and it is our crusade to rid our country of the filth that has infested our land.”

  Prussias let out a moan, he had not heard of the group but he was fully aware of the hatred that existed between Belarus and Russia. He felt like a man caught in a world that had turned into a battle zone; nowhere was safe, and violence seemed the only action people wanted to take.

  “No reply, Mr Latvik?” Medea laughed. “Terror is our only weapon. You took from us, and now we take from you.”

  The television screen let out a high-pitched buzz as it came to life. Prussias screamed at what he saw. He rocked and fumbled around to try and stand but his ties wouldn’t allow it. Seona sat in the same position, but now she was blindfolded. Behind her stood the squat Aegeus and in his hand he held a pistol to Seona’s head.

  “I beg you, please do not hurt her; she has nothing to do with all of this. Kill me ... please, I beg you, do not hurt her.” Prussias wailed at his reflection.

  The distorted voice of Medea came back tirelessly. “You must understand that she is merely a sacrifice. The world that you have created is a dangerous one, and you must be made to see that; to see that we are willing to do anything for our country.”

  Prussias screamed and tugged at his bonds. He couldn’t believe any of it was real; he had seen the clouds appearing in the past few years but he never thought it would affect him. He had stepped away from the fight, and now the fight had found him.

  “It will be quick, Mr Latvik, you have my word.”

  Prussias saw the bald man cock the pistol and place it against Seona’s head. He let out a primal scream, trying to break his bonds through brute force. The effort surprised him and toppled his chair over; he fell onto his side. It took a few moments for him to realise that it wasn’t the scream that had knocked him over but an almighty explosion that had shaken the foundations of the room.

  He raised his head to look at the TV screen. Seona was still alive and the bald man had disappeared.

  67.

  Sir Peter’s ground floor was like a warren; each room was small and rustic, books and antique furniture lay everywhere. The house had an old musty smell.

  Luke was clearing each room as fast as possible. As yet, he hadn’t encountered anyone; he was moving eastwards, hoping to reach the south west corner last. The smell of warm metal and smoke was strong. As he moved out from a small alcove room packed with collectables, he entered into what must have been the main hallway. He heard a man on a radio drawing nearer. Its location is the front right corner, no movement yet. Get everyone out. The man appeared into the hallway with the radio, but before he could say another word, Luke let off two rounds into his chest, kicking him backwards. Luke moved quickly past him, collecting his radio as he went. A transmission crackled. Roger that. The Yankees are down in the sublevels. Repeat, the Yankees are down in the sublevels. No sign of any X-Rays up here.

  Luke knew that ‘Yankees’ was a reference to any innocent parties in the house. It had to mean Sir Peter. He now also knew that the house contained sublevels, a term only used for floors below ground. That’s where Sir Peter would be.

  He doubled back; he needed to find an entrance to get below ground. Moving back toward the kitchen, a shot thumped into the wall next to him. He turned and let off a three-round burst down the corridor; the guard jumped against the wall and the bullets skimmed by. Luke flew through the door nearest him as the guard fired off more rounds. The room had another door leading out directly opposite. Luke ran across and pushed out the other side. The radio crackled to life: Contact, contact, contact. One X-Ray confirmed moving west along the ground level.

  Luke kept moving, trying to put as many angles as possible between him and his pursuer. As he turned a blind corner, he was confronted with the back of a guard. He smashed the butt of his gun down hard on the back of the man’s head, and within a flash Luke was on top of him, pointing the muzzle into his face.

  “Where is the entrance to the sublevel?” The man’s eyes were wide with fright. “Where?!”

  The man shook his head; Luke jammed the muzzle hard into his teeth, breaking his front two. “One more chance, where is it?”

  “The back, it’s in the grounds at the back. It’s covered by a steel manhole cover.” The man spat out his broken teeth and blood.

  Luke swung the butt hard against the bone behind the ear and the guard was knocked out cold. Luke needed to now make his way back outside. He moved off, trying to remember the path back to the utility room where he had entered. The radio gave another burst: Level one secured.

  The guards were systematically combing the house for any other intruders. The authorities would have already been notified. Luke knew it was imperative that he kept up the momentum of surprise. He crashed through room after room, across soft carpets, and past dated oil paintings. He almost bumped head-first into a guard about to enter the room that he was exiting. The guard squeez
ed his trigger out of fright; the bullets tore under Luke’s arms. Luke was too close to raise his gun so he drove a knee hard into the guard’s stomach and as the man buckled Luke put two bullets into the back of his head.

  As he exited the room he found himself standing in front of the small utility room where he had entered the house. He opened the door and moved across to the window. The grounds were now lit by searchlights attached to the house. Luke could see the area clearly, and the security guard with the broken neck was now in full view. Luke could also see that about twenty feet to his right was a dark metal cover which was flush to the ground. In the darkness Luke hadn’t seen it. Heading back out into the grounds would be suicide, but Luke knew he was on borrowed time anyway. He ejected his current magazine and peeled and strapped in a new one. He took in a deep breath, and made a break for it.

  Luke focused on nothing except the metal cover twenty feet in front. The radio came to life: Have one X-Ray moving across the lawn heading to the sublevel. All units do not follow. Repeat. We have our orders. Do not enter that area.

  Luke kept his focus; his analyst’s brain whirred with different options and possibilities, patching together information and scenarios. The cover was corroded from the weather. Two grooves had been cut into the metal and Luke gripped and pulled; it was extraordinarily heavy, but as the lid was lifted slightly the modern rollers hooked on and the metal slid effortlessly away.

  Luke gripped the MP5SD and descended the crooked stone steps that led downwards into the earth.

  68.

  The air was heavy as Luke descended into a narrow corridor which led back under the house. The walls were a mix of brick and earth, the bricks had been laid decades previously and nature was battling to tear away at them. The low ceiling and close walls deadened all noise; small 1940s lights were placed along the brick walls, their casing was criss-crossed by black metal lattices. The corridor was straight as an arrow and Luke kept moving. Every few steps he stopped and let his ears tune into any background noises. Luke figured that he was directly underneath the house but he heard nothing.