by Tom Bane
“Shut up!” Suzy erupted. “Shut up, just shut up, you stupid woman!”
Wrestling with her chains, she threw herself on top of Renu, and writhed her body around as if she were having a fit, Tom watched powerless out of reach. Renu screamed.
In a flash, Rakuta and Getsu materialized. As Getsu leaned down to pull Suzy off, the sharkskin handle of his samurai sword brushed past her hand. Suzy grabbed hold of it, unsheathing the sword in a single smooth motion. Rolling off Renu, she reached up, lunging as far as her chains would permit and thrust the razor-sharp tip at Getsu’s neck, forcing him to spring back. He put his hand to his neck, and his fingers felt the slick wetness.
Suzy’s adrenalin was now flowing through her body, her reflexes almost back up to speed. Before Getsu or Rakuta could react, she took a deep breath and sent the sword whirling through the crisp night air. It flew as straight as a die, and embedded itself in the mast, severing all the ship’s electrical cables, including those running to the anti-sonar and anti-radar devices, in a shower of sparks. The ship’s steering immediately veered to starboard and the giant yacht started to spiral like a hungry shark. Getsu and Rakuta raced to the bridge to regain control of the vessel.
“Sorry about that,” Suzy panted. “I didn’t have time to warn you. I needed to distract them.”
“Don’t worry,” Renu said as she rubbed her neck. “I just can’t believe you pulled it off.”
“I know. My brain suddenly cleared and I could think straight again. I was just praying my muscles weren’t far behind!” She laughed. “But, hey, now you owe me one!”
“Ladies,” Tom interrupted, “you do realize we are still chained to the deck? And they’ll be back once they work out how to override the autopilot. Hey, Suzy, maybe you can find some way of twisting and breaking the chains?” Suzy stretched toward him and started examining his chains to find a weak spot.
A red pulsing dot appeared on the night radar of the Black Hawk UH60 stealth helicopter hovering twenty miles from the yacht, hidden by the night. The pilot banked a sharp left and increased airspeed.
“Red Eagle to Titan, I have a verbal spike in sector five and a positive radar trace.”
“Roger,” the voice at Titan Command Center replied. “That could be just a fishing vessel Red Eagle. I’ll get you some sonar on those coordinates.”
“Manta Three, come in,” Titan said to a waiting stealth boat. “Can you get me a sonar trace on sector five?”
“Roger that, Titan, we’ll get you a Fourier analysis of the engines.” There was a pause before the crewmember onboard Manta Three returned. “Titan, the acoustics show twin gas turbines exceeding critical. That baby’s shifting at forty knots. Shall we engage?”
“Affirmative, Manta Three and Red Eagle,” General Christie’s voice cut in on the intercom. “We have three HVIs on board; male Caucasian, female Brazilian, female Asian. Recover them unharmed. Intel has two male enemy combatants aboard; they are armed and dangerous.”
“Is the enemy vessel armed?”
“Intel says no heavy weapons, Manta Three; small firearms and edged weapons only.”
“Roger that.”
“Manta Three and Red Eagle, go dark, breach and clear.”
“Roger, Titan. Over and out.”
The helicopter’s blade whisper mode made the engine as silent as a shadow. On the yacht’s deck below, Suzy was still trying to work out how to cut through the chain when her peripheral vision picked up a sharp ray of red light scything through the darkness and hovering over the deck.
“Look,” Suzy whispered, “the red light—it looks like a laser-guided sight.”
As Renu and Tom followed her gaze, machinegun fire raked across the ship. Tom and Suzy both twisted to get leverage against their chains, in a reflexive but futile gesture to defend themselves from the hail of bullets. Renu curled up into a tight ball, screaming in terror. As the firing continued, it become apparent that the gun operator’s aim was anything but random. Extraordinary precision protected the three prisoners from harm as the bullets created patterns of shredded decking in sweeping curves around each of them.
The true targets were not so lucky. Within seconds, Rakuta was punctured with bullets and was dead before his heavy body crashed to the splintered floor. Faster and nimbler, Getsu ducked for cover behind an on-deck storage compartment. The stealth copter swerved overhead, as nimble as a hoverfly, its spotlights trapping Getsu in pools of white light. Getsu knew he was completely ill-equipped to overpower the mechanical and human force in the sky above him.
Suddenly the shooting stopped, leaving only the whispering blades and turbine whine of the engines. Then, with a barely audible hiss, two sedative-laced micro-darts shot through the air, honing in on Getsu’s neck. With a groan he fell to his knees before hitting the deck head first, his limbs bent beneath him.
A black pyramid rose out of the sea as red laser beams continued to slice through the dark, pinpointing the foreheads of Suzy, Tom and Renu.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The black pyramid was a Sea Shadow IX 529, a military stealth boat, from which US Navy Seals swarmed onto the yacht as soon as Getsu had fallen. Handcuffed and tranquilized, Getsu was transferred to the Sea Shadow and placed in a guarded cell to sleep off the effects of the darts. The other three were escorted swiftly to the captain’s quarters where they were offered hot chocolate and cookies to restore their depleted sugar levels. Sensing they might be safe at last but still very confused, the three companions sat shaking with a mixture of cold and shock.
Soothed by the ocean gliding past, Suzy recalled General Christie’s instructions on confidentiality as the captain made polite conversation. The whole trip to the Newport, Rhode Island, naval base was smoothed by the SWATH catamaran’s double hull and inboard canard, specially designed to cut through the water with minimum resistance and leaving barely a wake in their trail.
“We’ll be passing you on to the jurisdiction of Special Operations Group,” the captain informed them when land finally came into sight and they were escorted up on deck. The military presence waiting for them on the quayside included General Christie, who shook each of them by the hand before leading them to a waiting limousine. Suzy and Tom had a hundred questions to ask General Christie about what had happened in Piper’s office, but Christie’s body language made it clear that this was not the time for conversation. She was not about to risk any breach of confidentiality, no matter how high the security rating of the base staff was.
Before their motorcade sped off, Suzy saw a drowsy, stumbling, handcuffed Getsu being pushed into a waiting armored van. A guard climbed inside with him and escort vehicles fell into place in front and behind it. Two more escort vehicles drew into place around their limousine as the two convoys set off in different directions.
Getsu was, in fact, totally awake and alert. Once the doors were locked and the van was moving, only one opponent remained. The guard sitting with him wasn’t paying any attention to his prisoner, and as the van tilted on a sharp corner, Getsu seized his moment. Even with handcuffs on he was able to knock out the guard with a vital point head butt to the jaw.
Unlocking his handcuffs with the guard’s key, Getsu could hear the van driver whistling along to the radio. He quickly stripped the unconscious guard of his khaki uniform and donned it. Within only two minutes of striking the first blow, Getsu was disguised and ready to make his escape.
Getsu tugged the guard’s baseball cap down over his face and slammed the sides of the armored car with powerful sidekicks.
BANG, CRASH, BANG
The viewing hatch from the driver’s cab shot open and Getsu wrestled and writhed in mock combat, his back blocking the guard’s view.
“Help!” Getsu shouted.
“What the f—?” the driver cried, as he stomped on the brakes, bringing the van to a skidding halt on the river crossing bridge. The other motorcade vehicles stopped in a disciplined and well-rehearsed maneuver around the van. Armed guards jumpe
d out of the vehicles, taking up position and aiming their gun sights at the back of the van.
A khaki-clad guard stepped out of the van, head down, then staggered like he had been beaten up. His colleagues dropped their muzzles and went to steady him, stunned when he handsprung out of reach across the freeway and over the railings, and into the river waters. Puzzled by their associate’s behavior, the soldiers peered into the van to see where the prisoner was. There, the dazed guard sat in his underwear, rubbing his jaw. By the time they had run to the water’s edge, Getsu had already plucked a hollow reed through which to breathe and was swimming downstream beneath the surface. When he emerged twenty minutes later in the reed beds, the soldiers were still pacing around the banks of the river at his point of entry, ready to shoot him the moment he appeared.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Behind the smoked glass of the limousine, Suzy, Tom and Renu travelled in comfort. As they passed through high wire fences, General Christie visibly relaxed. She glanced at the overhead vanity mirror, aware that this might be her chance to meet the boss. He had to admit she had done well. She envisioned a promotion or maybe even a secondment to the Pentagon. The cavalcade of limousines pulled into what looked like a disused factory site. Deserted warehouses, their paint peeling and only a few windows still intact, stood forlornly, linked by loosely hanging wires. On the ground, reels of cable had fallen on their sides. Everywhere there was a thick coating of dust, disturbed by the vehicles as they passed, floating downward again, sleepily, to blanket every surface.
When the drivers pulled up at the entrance to a big, nondescript building, Christie led them into the deserted warehouse and along a maze of corridors to a harshly lit room. The first thing each of them noticed was the absence of windows. The room was lit by glaring arc lights. In the center were five high-backed chairs arranged in a circle. They looked purposeful and large like industrial made thrones. Beyond them, at the far edge of the stark room, stood a vertical electrical coil, its purpose unclear, but another ominous sign that the reassuring hospitality on the stealth ship was only a temporary respite, perhaps designed to lull them into a more vulnerable and less alert state. A loud clang made them jump, a metal door slamming shut behind them.
“Please be seated,” a man’s voice instructed, blaring from a PA system.
Christie led the way to the chairs. She noted the five chairs arranged in a crescent the moment she entered the room, but there were only four persons. Did this mean she was going to meet the boss face to face? The other three followed her lead, settling themselves into their seats, Tom shrugged his shoulders and Suzy raised an eyebrow.
“What the hell?” Tom broke the silence. Renu screamed. On each chair, curved metal clasps sprung over arms and gripped their legs, spring-loaded to capture the chairs’ occupants. Suzy turned in terror to look at Christie, and saw her terror reflected back. The Tesla Coil sparked into action, crackling and arcing beautiful feathery plasma into the clammy atmosphere of the room. Crimson violet lightning tracks buzzed over their heads.
Glancing down in front of her Suzy noticed something odd about the floor near her feet. It looked like a witchcraft pentagram inscribed onto the concrete. Suddenly a door opened in the dark beyond the arc lights, and an icy blast of air brushed past all of their faces before the door slammed shut. Loud footsteps approached the circle of chairs, accompanied by a shuffling, dragging sound.
Professor Piper stepped into the light in front of them, his face gaunt, his eyes bloodshot. He swayed on his feet, like a drunken tramp, silent as a mouse. Suzy gasped. Had Piper been instrumental in this all along? Had he orchestrated this whole game? She couldn’t begin to make any sense of it all anymore.
Behind Piper was another figure that emerged from the shadows with staccato footsteps and strolled forward into the bright light. It was a young man, not much older than Tom, with thick dark hair falling across his forehead. He pushed Piper down into the fifth chair and, feeling for a release switch, activated the straps round his arms and legs.
“My name,” he said with a small, mocking bow, “is Sanders, Ben Sanders.”
Tom and Suzy stared in disbelief, while Piper sat almost comatose, Renu quivered with fright, her head slumped down. Christie, who was sitting ramrod straight, showed no expression on her face as she glanced at the Beretta in his hand and tried to work out what the hell was happening.
“I am a commander in Special Operations Group,” Ben said. He turned to Christie and inclined his head with an arrow thin smile. “Your boss, General.”
Suzy saw the muscles tighten in Christie’s jaw. Sanders must have seen them too and laughed.
“The professor is feeling a little the worse for wear, I’m afraid. We had to find out the truth and that required a bit of electroshock therapy. Seems he’s now lost his voice.” Sanders chuckled again. “That must be a first.”
Sanders then turned slightly and glared at Suzy. “He arranged that whole pantomime in Oxford, staging his own assassination with the help of his friends at Horus, thinking he could continue helping you two from behind the scenes. All very elaborate, I must say, quite theatrical, with the prosthetics and pig’s blood and an exploding balloon. A bit amateur dramatics perhaps, but he still managed to fool you. Then the gas canister through the window to give him an opportunity to escape. Ah, but he didn’t count on us being outside waiting for him, did you, Professor?”
Piper gave no indication of having heard. He appeared drugged, his clothes filthy, his breathing slow and shallow as if the life force was draining out of him.
“Hey, don’t worry. For an old man, he’s quite a fighter. Martyrdom is not in his repertoire; he’s far too fond of himself alive for that.
“The Horus guys managed to exfiltrate you three before we had time to get inside,” Ben continued. “Very impressive, but we found you eventually, and, according to the general here, for that we owe thanks to you, Suzy, and your sword-throwing skills.”
Sanders swiveled on his heel and smiled at Christie. “Good to meet you at last, General.”
“Sir.”
“I have been following your career for seven years now, ever since I was a young idealist at DARPA, working on a summer internship. My cousin was a rising star at the CIA, in fact he helped me get my next internship as a CIA intelligence analyst, and over time I got to know the inner workings behind the Agency’s cloak of secrecy and at its heart was the Special Operations Group. My cousin made the highest echelons there, but I spotted a convenient loophole, and so it became, shall I say, expedient to arrange his untimely demise. Afterwards, I used a simple piece of official notepaper to offer condolences to his family for his bravery on classified operations, no questions asked—just another agent and just another CIA statistic—persona non grata. I assumed his identity and his security clearances. Just another day at the office, only I came back to work for SOG, and this time I became your boss.” said Sanders.
“But Ben Sanders was an intelligence analyst slaughtered in Mexico,” Christie said. “His heart was ripped out. I saw the photos …”
“Hardly the first mistake you’ve made, is it?” Ben sneered. “Wasn’t me, as it turns out. My guide was the one who got butchered. I only took a shot to the head due to the usual inadequate execution and gung-ho attitude of your SOG operatives.” He shook his head in disbelief. “They didn’t even recognize the code phrase ‘the ceiling is corbelled.’ But I’m OK. Look, nothing but a small scar as a memento.” He pushed his hair back to reveal a grotesque, indented and hairless scar where the flesh had been ripped from his skull. Suzy flinched.
“Handsome, eh? That and sixteen stitches down my face, all thanks to you, General.”
“Whatever you’re doing, you can’t possibly hope to get away with this.”
Sanders laughed and lifted the Beretta, pointing it directly at her face. “Oh, I think I can.” he said, calm as a millpond. He squeezed the trigger twice, in quick succession. The sound of the bullets ricocheted in the sealed roo
m with an ear-splitting echo. Renu screamed. Tom and Suzy jerked away to avoid the shower of blood and splintered skull that sprayed out from what had once been Christie’s face. Sanders turned to face them.
“Now, Tom, I know how much you love numbers. That’s why I had these five chairs arranged in a pentagram. That number, the number five, helped you crack the long count puzzle in Pacal’s Pyramid, did it not?”
Tom stared at the man who would be his executioner.
“I cracked that puzzle as well,” Sanders said. “You did it a little faster than me, granted, but then again you had the lovely Suzy to help you. She’s very impressive.”
“You had my father murdered, didn’t you?” Tom said in a voice so quiet Suzy wasn’t sure for a moment if Sanders had even heard him. Sanders raised his eyebrows but didn’t reply.
“Didn’t you?” Tom repeated, louder and more insistent this time.
“Yes, I’m sorry. That did get a bit messy,” Sanders admitted. “He died quickly though.”
It was clear to Suzy that Sanders was insane, a psychopath, and she tried to distract him. “What about the Great Pyramid?”
“Ah, yes! The Great Pyramid of Khufu. Intriguing, but I still haven’t solved the great mystery of why it points to Orion.”
“No, I meant the murders,” Suzy said.
“Assassinations,” he corrected her. “Well, I’m afraid that, at that time, I was delegating things to my old friend, the general, there. SOG was trying to follow you but your friends at Horus intervened and things got out of hand. It was Horus who murdered my SOG operatives inside the pyramid. They were the ones causing all the problems.”
