Weapons of the Gods

by David Leadbeater

  “He speaks English,” she said. “I heard him relating a story to a tourist.”

  They had expected as such. Such well-traveled archaeologists usually spoke at least passable English.

  “We’re American agents,” Drake told Doukas for simplicity, his brain focused on a dozen relevant concerns at that moment.

  “You are?” Doukas peered at them. “You don’t look it, nor sound it.”

  Drake acknowledged Alicia and Mai. “Aye, ya got that right. Bad start. Listen, let me get straight to the point. You’re in danger. We’re here to help. Problem is—we need the Chain of Aphrodite to make that happen.”

  Doukas stared fixedly, trying not to let an ounce of emotion leak into his face. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “The tomb of the gods,” Drake said quickly. “It was destroyed, but not before several archaeologists like yourself removed some smaller, more collectable items. Well, somebody found out. And that somebody wants them. All of them. They’ll happily kill you and a hundred others to get just one of them.”

  Doukas looked scared, but still didn’t cooperate. “If that were in any way true I would go to jail.”

  “Look, pal, we’re not here to arrest you. Just tell us where the chain is, and then disappear. As I said, people are coming to kill you.”

  Alicia unzipped her jacket then, sweeping the folds aside to show Doukas her weaponry. Mai followed suit. The archaeologist swallowed heavily.

  “I heard . . . I heard this from another man, third-hand really . . .” He paused.

  “I can accept that,” Drake said magnanimously. “Please hurry.”

  “I heard that the manacles they display inside the old weapons cabinet are not manacles at all. It’s a chain. A few have questioned it but nothing stuck. And they are there whenever an old man wants to view or clean them.” He smiled. “I don’t know how it got there.”

  Drake gave the man a sidelong glance. It was a defense, he guessed, but hardly one that would hold up against the evidence. Still, that wasn’t for him to decide.

  “Where is the cabinet please?” Mai asked, ever polite.

  “The very next room, my dear. Just to the left.”

  They didn’t need him anymore, but Drake delayed. “You should come with us,” he said. “Or run and hide.”

  “This is an old museum,” the man said. “I know a place.”

  “Fantastic. Go there now.”

  Drake followed Mai and Alicia into the room next door, immediately spotting the large glass cabinet mounted on the far wall. In addition to brass surrounds and fittings it had two wide, ornate, golden straps across the center and was supported by a dark-oak bookcase, full of hardbacks with obscure titles.

  Drake stared at the glass case. “Do you see it?”

  “Are you blind as well as American?” The old man’s voice came from his shoulder. “It’s right in front of you.”

  Drake made a face. “So, you decided to stay, did you?”

  “I helped start all this,” the old man said. “I want to help finish it too. I have a key to that strapping.”

  Whilst he worked, Drake decided to make use of him. “Maybe you can help, mate. What can you tell us about this weapon?”

  Doukas inserted the key and twisted. “Weapon? That Aphrodite, she was all about the love, the beauty and the pleasure of procreation. Facts which are tainted somewhat by the knowledge that we know she was created from sea foam produced by Uranus’s genitals. There’s a fact that, had I been Aphrodite, I might have ordered redacted. Oddly, despite her beauty, her grace, her thirst for sex, and intelligence, most of the other gods feared her. Do you know why?”

  Drake watched as the man spoke and pulled the heavy gold straps to the side. Alicia held up a hand as if answering a teacher’s question.

  “Did she have a dungeon?”

  “Not that I am aware of, and I’ve been studying Aphrodite since my early twenties. They feared her because her beauty could lead to conflict and war, since many came forward as rivals for her favors. Gods and men, it seems. Aphrodite had many lovers.”

  Mai tapped Alicia on the shoulder. “She remind you of anyone?”

  Alicia looked thoughtful. “Kenzie? No, your sister?”

  Drake found more and more that he was the acting intermediary. “Let’s listen to the nice man,” he said. “We may learn something.”

  “Born near Paphos, Cyprus, she was sometimes said to be warlike, often married, adulterous, and vain. She is a major figure in the Trojan War legend.”

  “And where does this chain fit in?” Alicia enquired.

  Doukas gave her a wise smile. “After everything I just said do you really have to ask?”

  Alicia blinked in surprise under his gaze. “You’re kidding? You believe this is Aphrodite’s sex chain, or something?”

  “Sex is the oldest form of pleasure.” Doukas opened the cabinet wide, clipping the doors back before reaching in between a short sword and a shield. “Here, feel it. The links are very light but surprisingly hard to break out of.”

  Drake stepped back as Alicia eyed the object Doukas removed from the cabinet with suspicion. “That sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

  “Ah, now that would be telling.”

  Alicia stared across at Mai who stared back, careful not to reveal any emotion. Neither of them reached for the chain. Drake eyeballed the dozens of links of hard black obsidian, enough to span a man’s body at least four times, but nothing out of the ordinary as chains went. In fact, the only special thing about it was that it had been found inside the tomb of a god.

  “Easy to see how they escaped notice,” Drake said, taking the chain. “Now, let’s vamoose before those trigger-happy baboons get here.”

  “It’s not a weapon,” Alicia murmured. “It’s just a chain.”

  “Hey, the GPR confirms it. They contain the rare element. This is what we’re looking for.”

  Exiting the room, they glanced out of a window, hoping to see either Kenzie or Luther. Drake was amazed to see Luther, standing on top of a car, firing left and right with a gun in each hand, blasting his enemies away.

  “That guy is so old school he’s Butch bloody Cassidy.”

  Mai headed for the door. “He needs help.”

  Drake looped the chain around his neck since there was nowhere to put them and drew a handgun. Together, they pushed out of the museum and into its grounds—two dirt paths twisting around a central fountain and statue. The car park at the far end was where Luther was doing his work, and out here they could hear it too.

  Drake saw the scene unfolding as he ran closer. Luther had blocked the entrance to the museum with a car of his own and was pinning the few remaining mercs down with constant gunfire. Not the best plan by any means, but then this was Luther.

  “We’re here!” Drake cried out to save being shot. “Where are they?”

  “And get your stupid ass down from there!” Alicia yelled.

  Luther slithered down the side of the car, still firing. “I got two to the right, two to the left,” he shouted out car makes and models, but Drake could see clearly the vehicles that had been sprayed with bullets.

  “Kenzie?”

  “Pinned behind the fountain. Didn’t you see her?”

  “No, no, where—”

  It was then that Kenzie scaled a wall and jumped down into the car park behind two mercs. She was upon them in seconds, holding one by the throat and trying to fend the other off. Alicia and Mai knelt down and sighted their weapons but couldn’t fire for fear of hitting the Israeli.

  Kenzie choked the first man unconscious but couldn’t stop the second from attacking her. Bruising her ribs with a boot, he then launched a knee right at the side of her head. With nowhere to go she took the blow on her ear, smashing her face against the side of the car.

  She fell backward, flat out, groaning.

  The merc sighted down on her. Kenzie kicked out with her legs, struck his shins. Still neither Alicia nor Mai co
uld get a proper shot; the vehicle was an SUV, and the figures were largely hidden. Kenzie struggled, but the blow to the head had dazed her, making the constant kicks to the merc’s shins too weak to bother him.

  Looking down at her, he pulled the trigger.

  An instant before the gun boomed the merc jerked backward, head blown backward by the bullet Alicia fired into his skull. Risking everything, she had dashed toward the car, in the line of fire, and rolled around the side, coming up with the gun in her hands.

  The merc fell. Kenzie nodded in relief.

  That left Drake and Luther to cover Alicia’s run and try to take out the other two mercs. Several shots were fired, but then Luther got bored and climbed into the car he’d been standing on.

  “Don’t have time for this,” he growled.

  Drake set the chain straight around his neck and leapt out of the way as Luther gunned the vehicle’s engine, making it scream, then set off with tires squealing and created a head-on collision with the other car. The mercs staggered back, away from cover. Drake picked them off with two bullets.

  “About time.” Luther slammed the car door, then surveyed the car park. “We ready?”

  “Yeah, we have the chain.”

  “Well, I didn’t think that was a lei around your neck, dude.”

  Quickly, they escaped the area, conscious that Hayden’s team were under fire and several more weapons were still out there. This was only the beginning.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Speed is our ally,” Hayden said. “The terrorists won’t pull the trigger until they find the Dagger of Nemesis. Maybe even until Dallas, where there’ll be more people, more cover. Oh, and give these fuckers the same mercy they’re offering all the people on that train.”

  She leapt out of the helicopter, boots coming down on the roof of the moving train. She wobbled at first, then gained purchase, suddenly aware of the rushing air and fast-moving countryside to left and right.

  “Are you okay?” she yelled, approaching the single captive who’d been left behind. The man was shivering, sat with his back to her, the weight of the trauma he’d experienced already haunting his eyes. Hayden passed him back to Dahl, Smyth and Molokai, down the line, past Yorgi, and back to the chopper. It was the safest place for him right now. In the end, he didn’t dare climb onto the moving chopper so Kinimaka simply reached down and hauled him up.

  Hayden was moving across the top of the train. The steel was slippery, but her boots held. A stanchion of lights whipped by to the left, a row of houses to the right. Her eyes had already dried out from the rushing wind. She approached the edge of the carriage, seeing adjacent rusted railway tracks flashing past to the side like an endless, undulating snake and hearing nothing but the roar of the train.

  Reaching down, crouching, she balanced herself on the tips of her fingers and peered over the edge. A face loomed. The terrorist she’d seen running away had been lying in wait. In addition to the bomb-vest, he held a knife which he thrust up at her face. Hayden felt the metal slice her jacket at the shoulder and instinctively rolled, catching herself at the last moment before falling off the train.

  She grabbed the forward edge of the top of the carriage, fingertips exposed to the knifeman but with no other option of hanging on.

  Dahl shouted, standing over her and peering down. He engaged the man’s attention, allowing Hayden precious extra moments. The knife flashed up once, twice, Dahl dodging both attacks. On the third lunge the Swede reached down past the wrist, grabbed it, and simply hauled the attacker up. He came screaming and kicking. Dahl flung him back along the train, right to Molokai’s feet.

  Hayden felt one hand come loose, and screamed.

  Dahl lunged across her, his weight pinning her to the top of the train.

  Molokai followed Hayden’s earlier advice and kicked the terrorist hard until he rolled, screaming, off the top of the train, falling, tumbling with limbs akimbo before hitting the side of a passing meter box. Cambridge would already be sending his final resting place covertly along to his contacts.

  Hayden couldn’t breathe, crushed by Dahl. She didn’t care, since that was all that was keeping her from taking a nose dive off the top of the train. The wind whistled by as she wondered just how long Dahl could balance his body on top of her as the train took its snaking high-speed path toward Dallas central.

  Someone grabbed her ankles, and then Dahl’s weight was removed. She looked back to see Molokai pulling her to safety.

  There was no time for appreciations.

  “Six left,” Hayden said. “Let’s get down there.”

  “Six that we know of,” Kinimaka reminded everyone. “The people going for the dagger may be dressed in civilian clothing.”

  Hayden was first back to the edge of the train, never one to be daunted by anything. She remembered being shot in the back during the Blood King’s night of vengeance, an act which only forged one more layer of iron over her already resilient will.

  They climbed down into the space between carriages, feeling grateful for a sudden end to the terrible buffeting. They knew the last carriage would be clear and that there was a terrorist halfway along the coach in front of them with a Smith and Wesson, a military blade, a bomb-vest and a hand grenade, according to Cambridge’s extensive Intel.

  “Fast and true,” Hayden said. “Who’s got the best shot?”

  Dahl slid past her. “I’m surprised you have to—”

  “I do,” Molokai said. “Sniper.”

  Dahl blinked, not having factored Molokai into his opinion.

  Hayden pushed the Swede. “No time, just do it!”

  Molokai crouched, put his hand on the handle and nodded at Dahl. One second later the Swede was ready and nodded back. Molokai swung the door open, Dahl stepped through and lined the terrorist up with a hair-trigger.

  Forehead square-on, shocked features frozen for just an instant in time, the true knowledge of his terrible fate suddenly very much registered upon his face.

  Dahl fired. The terrorist’s head whipped back, blood spraying those nearby and the side windows. The man fell dead in the aisle, no longer moving. Heads turned toward the newcomers as the screams started.

  Dahl shouted above them all. “Be quiet! Go to the back of the train. All the way and then hang on to something. Close the doors. Go! Now!”

  They moved aside as passengers surged by, many nodding gratefully. Hayden knew even if she pleaded and begged or ordered them to stay off social media that there was no chance of compliance. Some people just couldn’t help themselves, even if it put their lives at risk.

  The carriage was now empty. Hayden moved quickly along its length, knowing that even if the terrorists could communicate they couldn’t be sure of the insurgents’ exact position. Of course, that depended on the smarts of the guy in the next carriage.

  He was peering through the glass, looking straight at them.

  Dahl didn’t hesitate, just charged like a wild animal, shoulder first, at the connecting door. It didn’t stand a chance, its hinges shattered; and neither did the terrorist on the other side. Both flew backward, and into the air arced a gun and a hand grenade.

  Dahl collapsed face first onto the door with the terrorist pinned underneath. Hayden was barged aside by Molokai as he ignored the gun and lunged headlong to catch the grenade on its way down. She recovered quickly, seeing the gun land unluckily close to the terrorist’s grasping hand.

  Molokai caught the grenade. Hayden picked up the gun.

  Dahl rose up with the heavy door in hand, and slammed it down twice onto the terrorist until all movement stopped.

  Hayden stared up the length of the carriage.

  “Wait,” she told everyone. “Don’t move until we say, then run to the back of the train.”

  No point repeating the same mistake twice.

  She counted carriages off in her head as they approached the next. Number four was next, and the dagger had been identified in number two. Maybe five minutes had passed si
nce they put boots onto the train’s roof. The next terrorist fired at them, causing an outbreak of shrieks and the breaking of glass. Molokai stood firmly even as the second bullet tugged at the scarf that covered his lower face, sighting on the attacker, then calmly pulled his trigger and killed the man.

  They made another rush forward. More passengers were sent scrambling, running to the back of the train. Hayden heard Cambridge in her ears, saying the city of Dallas could already be seen on the horizon.

  She needed to hear nothing else.

  The minutes ticked by. Hayden went for the third carriage from the front and saw a terrible struggle underway. Some passengers had risen up against their tormentor, trying to disarm the man. They were bunched all around him, struggling to lash out, struggling to defend themselves, hopefully hampering his own ability to wound and maim. Two were lying bleeding on the floor and another slumped across the back of a seat with a woman shielding his body. She too, was wounded.

  “That motherfu—”

  The rest of Hayden’s sentence was lost in growling hatred as she stalked down the aisle, reached among the fighters, took hold of the terrorist’s head by the hair and raised it up until she could look into the whites of his eyes. Then, she introduced her Glock to the spot at the bridge of his nose.

  “Enjoy Hell.”

  She ended the brawl with a bullet. People slumped everywhere. She cleared them back. Kinimaka, Yorgi and Smyth handled them, directing them to the rear of the carriage and then kneeling to tend the injured ones. Hayden knew they now faced the coach where their target, Joseph Berry the Dallas oil man, should be situated. The broken window to her left caught her eye and she remembered how, not long ago, the terrorists had been throwing people off the speeding train.

  It was true that terrorists wore a mantle of pure evil, but what of the men that created them? What of the men that recruited and trained them? She would always put the everyday civilian’s welfare at the top of her list and aim to hurt the people that threatened them—whether that be a vile terrorist or a powerful and malicious figurehead.