Weapons of the Gods

by David Leadbeater

  The natives were getting restless. Some were shouting, others gesturing. It was all aggressive. Boots were starting to step forward, guns waved. The charge was coming. Drake had no doubt they would last a while in here; they could protect the entrance and the cave’s offshoots, but sooner or later the militants would start to think bigger—explosives and RPGs.

  Think or die.

  He found himself looking at Dahl and the Swede merely flicked his eyes upward.

  Of course.

  There was a chance. Drake freed up all his weapons and laid them on the ground. “Two minutes,” he said. “Tool up. This is gonna be one of the hairiest things we’ve ever done.”

  Dahl handed him the radio. “You want the honors?”

  “No, you do it, mate. It was your idea.”

  Everyone else just stared at them, expressions saying: What just happened?

  *

  Dahl made the call and then said: “Eight minutes.”

  Drake pursed his lips. “That long?”

  “It is what it is, my friend.”

  The gunfire began. Bullets ricocheted from the cave entrance and the roof, shearing off rock fragments. The floor became a good place to live. Drake and Luther couldn’t risk looking out, just simply rested their guns on a rocky ledge and fired blindly into the mountains. Behind, Alicia and Kenzie found a safe hide behind a jutting rock, enabling them to keep a better eye on the entrance. Already, Alicia was picking off those that the others missed as they stepped up to partially block out the light.

  Already, they were close to being overrun.

  “More firepower!” she cried.

  They were already on it. Hayden and Kinimaka joining Drake and Luther on the floor, but further back, giving them a better angle. Smyth and Mai covered the cave’s rear, where the adjoining tunnels branched off. Between them, they had good coverage. Dahl stayed low to cover Molokai and pick off any stragglers that the others missed.

  The noise inside the cave was tremendous, non-stop gunfire. The noise outside was nightmarish, the screams of those dying and the cries of the wounded. Drake saw hard, grizzled face after face looking over him, and had to trust that the others would take them down. Luther and he took turns reloading and then heard Dahl’s yell.

  “Four minutes.”

  The enemy came, shouting obscenities that the team didn’t understand. They came ready to maim and kill themselves. They came determined to rid this stain from their lands, their homes. There was no respite.

  “Shoot!” Luther bellowed. “Fucking shoot!”

  Bodies were piling up outside. Mai and Smyth blocked the passageways with the dead. When a grenade came toward her she kicked it straight back, shredding those that she’d already killed. Alicia somehow managed to grab a grenade in the air and throw it backward, further into the cave system before it exploded. Still, shrapnel and cave dust billowed through their space near the exit, rolling out among the attackers and disorienting them.

  Drake heard it first: the incredible, timely, beautiful sound of an approaching Apache AH-64 attack helicopter. It housed a two-man crew and a nose-mounted sensor suite for target acquisition. Not that it would need that today. It carried a 30mm chain gun, Hellfire missiles and Hydra rockets. The amount of inbuilt survivable redundancies was mind-boggling, from shielding between cockpits so that at least one pilot might live, to airframe and rotor blades designed to withstand a hit from 23mm rounds and a self-healing fueling system.

  Right now, it represented survival.

  It came with an identical twin, and a cargo chopper that hung high in the skies.

  “How?” Alicia wondered.

  Dahl shrugged. “Swedish ingenuity.”

  Drake choked. “Did you flat-pack them in?”

  “I called Secretary of Defense Crowe, through Cambridge,” he said. “And asked for an airstrike.”

  “Damn, then she still has juice!”

  “Enough to save our lives.”

  Already, the militants were turning away from the cave, re-evaluating their attack. Drake was able to glance carefully over the ledge. Huge gray choppers filled the air above, making a beeline for the top of the mountain.

  “Down!”

  The chain gun let loose; its nightmarish, thunderous release striking down anyone in its path and terrifying the rest. Its deadly course was marked by rock, earth and bodies shooting upward. The SPEAR team didn’t lose a second; rising instantly to evaluate their escape. At that moment the other helicopter used its own chain gun lower down the mountain, taking the attention of those gathered below. The scene was one of devastation.

  “Cargo bus is hanging back,” Drake said. “We’re gonna have to hotfoot it.”

  “There.” Luther pointed to a patch of the plain below which was empty.

  “Looks good. We ready?”

  They gathered and then waited as both Apaches came around again. More 30mm rounds laced the air, destroying everything they touched. Most of the militants were routed, seeking shelter and safety. Only the hardiest, or most foolish, kept coming.

  Drake saw two scrambling among the rocks and picked one off immediately. The other ducked behind a boulder. Luther kept him covered with constant fire.

  “Go, go.” Hayden hurried them out.

  The mountainside was a battleground, littered with bodies. The Apaches came around again and again. Hellfire missiles eliminated groups of militants and took enormous chunks from the mountain and the foothills. Earth and rock drifted in the air, in places a visible screen of fine debris.

  The SPEAR team hustled from shelter to shelter, finding plenty of rocks to hide behind up on the mountain. The choppers followed their paths above, raining down hell and death onto their enemies. Molokai ran valiantly with the heavy artifact, watched closely by Alicia who helped guide his way. Drake, Luther and Dahl darted with guns up, constantly firing, picking their enemies off or forcing them to duck down behind rocks. Mai and Smyth used grenades from the back, helping to flush out the stragglers and obscure the view from behind. As a complete team, their firepower was stunning.

  Drake’s boots touched the foothills, the ground becoming less rocky. Finding cover was harder down here, so they moved slower and with precision as yet more missiles flew at the mountain and the plains below.

  The cargo chopper drifted toward the empty field.

  Constant fire from the Apaches dampened their enemies’ resistance, making every person fear for their own safety. By the time Drake reached the base of the foothills and saw the desert plains opening out before him, there was no more gunfire. Still, they all moved cautiously with their weapons. The big chopper touched down gently, its rear door lowering.

  “RPG!” Mai yelled.

  It came from nowhere, fortunately flying wide of the target. Mai and Smyth spotted a glint in the foothills and concentrated their fire as they ran. There were no more RPGs.

  Drake’s boots hit the lowered door first. He knelt and turned, gun to shoulder, seeking enemies at their rear. Luther and Dahl were beside him, ranged across the ramp.

  “Clear.”

  The last person ran aboard, jumping at full stretch since the helicopter was already rising. Drake and two companions laid down a hail of covering gunfire.

  “Are we alive?” Alicia asked from her place on the floor, staring out of the rear door.

  “I certainly hope so,” Mai said. “Because you’re surely no angel.”

  “And proud of it.”

  Drake watched intently until they were out of missile range and the door had finally lumbered shut. Only then did he relax, dropping his gun and taking several deep breaths.

  “That was bloody close.”

  Molokai wriggled out of the heavy backpack, dust mushrooming from his clothes and filling the cabin. “And the artifact is intact.”

  “Good,” Drake said. “Because that’s the last one. Where do we go from here?”

  Hayden unhooked her satphone. “Let’s find out shall we?”

  CHAPTER
THIRTY EIGHT

  All hell had broken loose.

  It quickly became apparent that a member of their team ran in the worst of harm’s way, fighting for her life. Suddenly everything began to escalate.

  Lauren’s voice was strained and full of terror, humming desperately down the line thousands of miles away on the other side of the world.

  “I’m out . . . I’m free . . . shit, wait.”

  The whispered fear made Drake bunch his fists, desperately wishing he could help. Smyth was beside himself. Hayden had been trying to find out what was happening for six minutes now, but Lauren was fighting a lethal cat-and-mouse game.

  Absolute silence descended in the back of the cargo chopper. It was at rest, sitting on a dark runway in a dark corner of Egypt, just waiting for a call to action.

  What next?

  They hadn’t expected this.

  Lauren’s breath caught in her throat. There were no words among the team; even Alicia and Kenzie sat in silence and with utmost concern on their faces. Lauren’s next comments were barely audible.

  “My God . . . they’re here.”

  Hayden gripped the satphone hard. “Stay absolutely still. Do nothing.”

  There was a shout and a large amount of rustling. A gunshot was heard. Lauren yelled out in shock. More rustling. One more gunshot.

  Smyth stood just a meter from the phone, eyes closed tightly, fists to his temples. He said just one word: “Lauren?”

  Voices came over the phone, deep and guttural: “Is she dead?”

  “Looks like it.”

  Smyth sank to his knees. Hayden held on to the phone and the open line in desperate hope, but didn’t hear Lauren’s voice at all. Just some shuffling.

  “Better drag the bitch over here, Urban.”

  Yeah, dispose of it where it belongs, hey Carmine? In the gutter.”

  The entire team logged both names. Drake knew it was one of those moments when two identities would be forever remembered.

  More rustling, and then a dragging sound. Both men were grunting. Drake saw Kinimaka and Kenzie turn away, not needing or wanting to hear what happened next. Alicia’s face was set in the hardest mask he’d ever seen.

  “Get this fucker warmed up,” Smyth growled. “I know where I’m going next.”

  Both men screamed then as two shots rang out. Drake thought he heard two bodies fall and then two more shots. It was a blessing to hear Lauren’s ragged voice.

  “I’m okay,” she breathed. “They shot me. In the arm. But I’m okay. Faked it, ha ha. That’s the one thing I am good at.”

  Smyth was suddenly on his knees, unable to hide the emotion. Hayden’s knuckles were pure white on the phone. “What’s happening over there?”

  “Wait . . . I have to get clear.”

  Three minutes later and after a good deal of panting and crunching she was back on the line.

  “Goddamn, this hurts. I’m bleeding, but managed to wrap it.”

  Drake spoke first. “Did you grab one of their guns?”

  “Shit, no. I’m friggin’ useless.”

  “No, you’re not,” Smyth said.

  “Look, we’re hanging on by our fingertips here. We’re not soldiers. They’re gonna kill us.”

  Hayden forced her voice to project calmness. “Are you safe for now? If so, tell us what happened.”

  “Yeah, I’m bang in the middle of a huge parking lot, in between cars.” The New Yorker took a deep breath. “First, they took Kimberly.”

  Drake tried hard to keep his mouth from falling open. “You mean Tempest? Shit.”

  “Yeah, they snatched the Secretary and have her somewhere. I don’t know what’s happened. It was only . . . hours ago. We were planning to grab the President after his speech. I mean, not literally grab him, but Kimberly had organized anonymous press passes for us and it was clear to approach. She used her last favors with those passes, and somebody must have talked.”

  “They have eyes and ears everywhere,” Kinimaka said.

  “Anyway, they dragged poor Kimberly right out of the car in the parking lot. Just threw her into a black van in broad daylight. It was . . . horrible.”

  Lauren’s voice was rising. Hayden told her to calm down. They couldn’t risk her being heard now. She may have found a good hiding place, but good hiding places were often the hardest to escape from.

  “I ran. Luckily, I was close to the press conference so managed to find a place where they wouldn’t dare touch me. Hang on . . .”

  Drake assumed she was checking the area. The team waited with bated breath.

  “We’re clear, but I need to get this arm checked. It’s on fire.” Lauren fought down the panic again, resetting her core. “Look, despite all that, I did manage to talk to President Coburn.”

  Drake was amazed. “Whoa, you did?”

  “Yeah, I got up close and he recognized me. He was familiar with the code words too, which got me a private chat.”

  Drake knew there was no code word. It was Lauren’s way of saving time. In truth, he had no doubt that she would have reminded him of the Blood King’s attack on DC and what had happened then. Coburn would have seen it as a warning sign, a cry for help from SPEAR.

  “I laid it all out, plain and cold. A few advisors were there too; I couldn’t keep them out of it. I spoke of Tempest, the Spec Ops teams they left out in the cold, the weapons of the gods . . . everything.”

  “Was he responsive?” Mai asked the question on all their minds.

  “Yeah. Asked questions. Asked for dates. Lots of stuff.”

  “Lauren,” Hayden said. “How the hell did you end up on the run?”

  “When I finished talking to Coburn I stepped away a little and Rick Troy was standing right behind me. You know him—the presidential aide that’s part of Tempest. The asshole that’s been blocking us this whole time. Well, I grinned. I said: ‘Got you, bastard,’ and then I told Coburn to act fast as his life was in danger.”

  “Great,” Hayden said. “Just wait. We have a lot to think about.”

  “Or nothing,” Smyth said. “We’re going to DC.”

  All this time, on another line, Cambridge of the British SAS had been listening. Now Hayden gave the floor to him.

  “Where are we with the weapons?”

  “Tempest are in control, I’m afraid. They have almost twenty god-weapons. They have Secretary Crowe. Lauren is clearly being hunted. And, by now, I’d imagine they have a plan to take the President out if Troy overheard all that. This just got huge.”

  “Understood,” Hayden said, and turned back to the satphone. “You two managed to locate Tempest’s hideout, right?”

  “We identified where they meet, yeah, from Gleeson’s laptop.”

  Hayden acknowledged every pair of eyes in the big cabin. “We have to destroy Tempest. Immediately.”

  Smyth pumped the air with a fist. “Exactly!”

  “I’m sorry,” Cambridge intervened. “It’s not quite that easy. Tempest are not alone, as you know. The terrorist camp is now fully operational. It won’t be long before they’re shipping them out in droves just to cover up what they’re planning next.”

  A deep, difficult silence fell across the cabin. There was no easy answer.

  “How many terrorists?” Luther asked.

  “Hundreds,” Cambridge replied. “At least.”

  Strike Tempest, or strike their network, Drake thought. Save Lauren and Crowe and possibly the President or cripple a terrorist army?

  Hayden came up with the plan. “I’m afraid there’s no choice. We will have to split up, again, and both teams will be heading into severe danger.”

  She rose with all the weight of the world on her shoulders. “Say your goodbyes while you can. We split in five. I’ll take Smyth, Mano and Molokai with me. The rest of you will deal with the terrorists.”

  There were no protests, no diverting suggestions. Hayden was right and had decided their course of action. The team rose and crowded around, making sure Smyth knew he
had their support and passing everything they had on to Lauren. Hayden told the New Yorker about a doctor she knew, that might be able to admit her to hospital under an assumed name.

  “Get over there right away,” she said. “I’ll tell him you’re coming and work out a code word.”

  “I will,” Lauren croaked. “And guys . . . thank you.”

  “We’ll see you soon,” Hayden ended the call, addressing Cambridge.

  “So, any thoughts on how five soldiers are gonna take on hundreds of terrorists?”

  “That had crossed my mind too,” Drake added for good measure.

  “Five?” Cambridge laughed. “No, no. How about one hundred Special Forces soldiers. Everything from Navy SEAL teams to Marine Recon, Green Berets to Delta Force. And that’s not including the undercover CIA teams and half a dozen more that don’t even have names. They’re all ready to help you.”

  “Fuck me,” Drake murmured. “Talk about a dream team.”

  “Never again will there be such a team assembled to defeat a terrorist army,” Cambridge said. “I’m bloody jealous of you.”

  “Stuff of fantasy.” Dahl rubbed his hands. “Can’t wait.”

  Hayden gestured at the chopper. “But who goes first? We only have one transport.”

  “You,” Cambridge said immediately. “Because, Hayden, our insiders are already hearing chatter. A Tempest attack on President Coburn is imminent.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  Through code words agreed at face-to-face meetings that Whitehall and Cambridge had arranged through old-school contacts, the widespread, cut-off Special Forces teams began to gather in Syria. The agreed meet point was a lofty, abandoned village about a mile from a dusty main road—easy enough to get back onto the main route, far enough away to meet en masse and attract no attention, simple to defend if need be. At first the teams trickled in one by one, but then began to arrive in groups after finding it relatively simple with their skills to slip into the war-torn country.