by Rob Jones
Scarlet sniffed. “Never heard of her.”
“It was big here at the time, believe me. It was just after the whole McCarthyism thing was getting started. She worked for a defense contractor in San Diego and was busted passing blueprints to a Soviet agent. They were both members of a yacht club and used to meet off the coast of Catalina where no one knew what they were doing.”
“Catalina?”
“It’s an island off the coast of LA.”
“Gotcha.”
“Big, big scandal at the time.”
Ryan snapped the ring-pull on a can of Pepsi Max and took a swig. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Anyway, she was charged with conspiracy to commit espionage and passing classified communications to the Soviets. She got the chair in fifty-five.”
“I’m guessing by that last remark you don’t mean she was awarded a professorship at UCLA?” asked Ryan.
Alex rolled her eyes. “I do not mean that, no. I mean she went to the electric chair.”
“I know what you mean, Alex,” Ryan said, smiling.
“So anyway, this guy Kiefel claims he is her son and that the time for America to pay for killing his mother has arrived.”
“Ah that old spiel…”
“Right, but he’s very serious, and claims he has… and I quote… ‘some kind of ancient doomsday weapon that will shock the world to its foundations’… so this Medusa thing, in a word.”
Scarlet spoke next. “What’s Joe doing right now?”
“Following a lead in Ivy City.”
Ryan cracked his knuckles and sat down beside Alex, firing up his laptop. “In that case, we better get to work.”
“You can start by analysing the latest video.”
Ryan and Scarlet shared a glance. “What video?”
“You mean you never saw it?”
“Saw what?”
Alex frowned and played them the film of Partridge’s death. Like everyone else in the Pentagon, Alex was still struggling to make sense of the depraved horror show she had witnessed on the internet.
As the short film ended, Ryan ran a hand over his tangled hair and took a step back from the screen. “Holy crap.”
“Seconded,” added Scarlet, wincing.
Ryan immediately hit the keys and started looking into what might have happened, not believing for a second what his eyes had told him.
“Whatever the hell did happen,” Alex said coolly, “that guy didn’t just turn to stone because that’s plain old-fashioned impossible, right?”
“Agreed, I think…” Ryan said. “And I say that even after the last few weeks have really made me question what ‘impossible’ means.”
Scarlet drew up a chair. “You can say that again.”
Alex looked at Ryan. “So where do we go from here?”
“We start with Medusa. That’s the obvious starting point,” Ryan said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Medusa?” said a passing staffer. “What the hell are you talking about? That video was CGI… Medusa is a myth!” He leaned in closer to Ryan. “Ever heard of Greek myth-o-logy, son?”
“You could say that,” Ryan muttered, and shared a smile with Alex and Scarlet.
The staffer narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Listen, Trent,” Alex said, peering at his name badge. “Ryan has forgotten more about Greek myth-o-logy, as you put it, than you will ever know, so just back off.”
“That’s pretty inappropriate behavior for an office like this,” Trent said.
“Hardly,” Scarlet said coolly. “I’d have told you to fuck off, so why don’t you just do that instead?”
Trent looked at Scarlet for a moment, horrified. It looked like he was considering a range of responses, but in the end he went with the one based on the fact he was talking to his boss’s daughter, his boss being the Defense Secretary of the United States. “Listen, whatever the hell that thing was, it sure as hell wasn’t the mummified head of someone who never existed.”
Scarlet grabbed his tie and pulled him toward her. “We know better, so go and fetch us some coffee, darling, yeah?”
Trent snatched his tie back and tried not to look embarrassed. They watched him walk away and shared a glance before erupting into laughter. “And pour some whisky in mine!” Scarlet shouted after him.
“I’m glad you came,” Alex said. “Dad’s under a lot of pressure and he needs all the help he can get. I know you’re both very good at what you do.”
“No problemo,” Ryan said, beaming at the compliment. “There’s only so many banana daiquiris you can drink on a tropical beach, although watching Scarlet fall off a windsurf board never gets old.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“If you think that’s fun, you should have seen the time Ryan couldn’t find the brake on his jet ski. I laughed for an hour.”
Ryan turned to Alex, suddenly serious. “So why not come down when all this is over? Eden invited you both to join us, after all.”
“I don’t know… Like I said, Hawke was pretty pissed about not being included from the start.”
Scarlet smiled. “That’s just Joe. He’ll get over it, believe me… anyway, since when did he make your decisions?”
“Since never, but it’s not that simple. I only just started talking to my Dad again. We didn’t talk for a long time – years, really…” she looked away, her eyes settling on some half-forgotten memory of childhood in the middle-distance. She wiped an incipient tear from her eye. “I can’t just walk away now.”
“I understand, but the offer’s always there…” Ryan’s voice returned to flippant mode. “It’s not just pissing about on jet skis, you know. We’re always busy down at ECHO HQ. As we speak, Eden has people in Mexico monitoring unusual activity at an archaeological site in the jungle. We might be needed to spring into action at a second’s notice.”
She laughed.
“What?”
“Just thinking about you springing into action, that’s all.”
“What’s funny about that?”
“Ryan… Hawke springs into action, you kind of slide into it.”
Ryan feigned offense, putting his hand on his heart and pretending to cry. “I can’t say that didn’t hurt me, Alex.”
“She shouldn’t have said you slide into action,” Scarlet said, placing a comforting hand on Ryan’s shoulder.
“Thanks, Scarlet.”
“You have to be dragged into action kicking and screaming.”
Ryan gave a fake laugh, and Alex let a few seconds pass before changing the subject. “So how’s things with Agent Snowcat? Last time I saw her she was using you as a sun bed.”
“That is so funny, Alex,” Ryan replied, trying to look nonchalant but clearly pleased she had brought the subject up.
“Well?”
“She’s fine, thanks.”
“Back in Mother Russia?”
“Hardly… after James Matheson made his little phone call when she and Hawke were on the run in Cairo that’s the last place she’d be. As far as the Government of the Russian Federation is concerned Maria Kurikova is persona non grata.”
“So she’s with you on Elysium?”
“Sure is,” Scarlet said, raising her eyebrows. “Now we get borscht on Tuesdays. Yummy.” She pretended to vomit.
Ryan nodded, ignoring the former SAS woman. “She sure is, and we’re getting along just fine. She has excellent offensive techniques in the Sambo and Systema schools of Russian martial arts.”
“And you would know that how?”
He looked at her and winked.
“Oh… that’s gross, Ryan,” she said, but half-returning his smile. “Keep your disgusting little bedroom habits to yourself in future.”
“Sorry… it’s just a joke.”
“Which is exactly what Maria said when she saw inside Ryan’s underpants for the first time.”
“Hey!”
Alex suppressed a laugh. “S
o why isn’t she here keeping an eye on you?”
“Eden only wanted to send a couple of us up here, so…” Ryan glanced at Scarlet who had now grown tired of the conversation and crossed the room to harass Trent. “So you got the short straw…”
She smiled, and was happy that he had found someone to help him get over the terrible loss of Sophie Durand. She wondered if she would ever find someone who would make her happy. She knew who that man was, but she knew he was in love with someone else. She kept the thought to herself and decided to change the subject. “Okay, Mr Bale… let’s get to work. That crazy son-of-a-bitch is somehow using the severed head of an ancient monster to turn people to stone, and we’re going to find out just how the hell to stop it!”
“I bet you never thought you’d say that sentence in your whole life.”
“Never!” She held out her hand to shake. “Deal?”
Ryan smiled and shook her hand firmly. “Deal!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Hawke floored the accelerator down hard and they shot off in pursuit of the English arms dealer currently racing a Dodge Viper down New York Avenue and toward the center of Washington DC. He hadn’t even had time to tell Vincent and the others what he was doing.
“Where the hell is he going?” Kim said.
“Search me, but we’re going there too.”
She pulled her cell-phone from her jacket and made a call to her boss at the CIA requesting back-up. Then she called Vincent and told him what had happened over on their side of the warehouse complex.
Now, in the distance they saw a puff of smoke as Collins hit the brakes to take a corner. They heard the tires squeal from a block behind his speeding Viper.
“We can’t lose him now!” Kim said. “We only have New Orleans as a destination – it’s just not enough.”
“Yeah, I worked that out all by myself… hold on!”
Hawke braked for the same corner but it was still too fast. Kim gripped hold of the door handle and screamed as the Suburban tipped over onto two wheels. Hawke struggled to control the heavy car at such a speed, but swung the wheel around and brought it crashing back to the ground. With all four wheels on the asphalt, he slammed the throttle down and the Chevy leaped forward once more in pursuit of the fleeing Englishman.
Hawke checked his mirror instinctively for cops, but the curfew had thinned their numbers and the coast was clear.
“Where the hell is the little bastard going?” he asked.
Kim frowned. “Looks like he’s heading to Georgetown for some reason.”
“Can you think why? There must be something… why would a man on the run go there? I’m betting it isn’t the coffee shops.”
“Well, he sure ain’t going to the university either… wait a minute!”
Hawke shot her a glance. “What is it, Kim?”
“It’s a long shot but there is something. There’s a helipad at the Georgetown University Hospital.”
“That’s got to be it!” Hawke said. “Remember what Novak said about how Collins had tested the drones because he was a helicopter pilot?”
They took another corner, then Hawke slammed the throttle down to power out of the bend and close the gap with Collins’s Viper.
“Well this is Georgetown all right,” Kim said. “And sure enough – he’s going to the hospital.”
“Look!” Hawke said, pointing out the windshield. “There’s a chopper on the roof, rotors already whirring.”
“Let’s shut this little bastard’s escape route down!” Kim said, pulling out her gun as Hawke skidded to a halt behind the Dodge.
They ran up an external fire escape and hit the roof just in time to see Collins climbing into the chopper beside the pilot. Hawke wasted no time and fired, shattering the side window glass and striking the pilot in the neck. He slumped forward, but Collins took to the controls.
Hawke sprinted to the chopper and swung open the door before Collins had raised enough power to get airborne.
Collins cursed as he raised the collective, but the lack of sufficient power meant there was no response.
As Kim stood back covering Hawke with her pistol, the English SBS man opened the door of the chopper, punched Nick Collins in the face and unclipped his seatbelt.
“I’m afraid your flight is over,” he said, and dragged him from the helicopter into the warm Washington night. “Make a move for it and you die.”
Collins looked up at him from his place leaning up against the chopper’s starboard skid. “You’re English?”
“Never mind about me, mate. We’re the ones asking the questions, not you.”
Collins accepted the rebuke and realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere with the man currently holding a chunky black pistol twelve inches from his forehead. “What do want with me?” he said, nervously.
Kim strode forward. “So you like Cajun food, is that right?”
Collins looked up confused. “I’m sorry?”
She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Don’t screw around with me, asshole. What’s your interest in Louisiana?”
Collins looked up and smirked. “I love Dixieland music.”
Hawke punched him in the face, and by the sound of it fractured his cheekbone. Collins screamed out in pain, and Kim Taylor looked on with horror. Hawke took hold of Collins’s hand and put him in a thumb lock.
Collins screamed out in pain again, blood pouring down his face.
Hawke was unmoved. “Answer our questions or I’ll break your thumb, got it?”
“Get off me!”
“After that I’ll break your wrist and then your shoulder before moving to your other side, understand? By the time I’ve finished with you you’ll look you’ve been on a hot wash cycle in a high speed washing machine.”
Kim stepped forward and lowered her voice. “Can I see you a second, Hawke?”
Hawke wiped the blood from his hand and glanced from Collins to Kim. “What, now?”
“Yes, now!”
“Sure.” He turned back to Collins. “I’m a just few yards away. If you move I’ll shoot you dead before you take three steps – got it?”
Collins nodded glumly and rubbed his thumb.
Hawke followed Kim a few yards away from the chopper.
“What the hell was that?” Kim said.
“What?”
“You broke his cheekbone and you nearly broke his thumb, damn it!”
“You mean you want me to stop going easy on him?”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“Only ever so slightly.”
“Well, you’re not making me laugh, got it?”
“Come on, Kim. He’s our only chance.”
“He’s in federal custody, Hawke. You can’t beat information out of prisoners.”
Hawke shook his head in disbelief. “And this from the people who brought us water-boarding!”
“I’m sorry?”
“Forget it… listen – I hate to burst your bubble but that guy isn’t going to dump on the sort of man who kidnaps the American President without a certain amount of incentive, if you catch my drift.”
“You’re not hitting him again, Hawke – if you do I’ll have you arrested.”
Hawke was silent for a few moments. “Fine – but let me handle it, all right?”
“No more broken bones, okay?”
“Spoilsport.”
Hawke padded back over to Collins.
“We know you’re involved in the plot to kidnap the President,” he said. “Right now you’re in so much shit you’d probably be better off if I just shot you.”
Nick Collins tried to laugh, but Hawke brought a rapid end to his amusement with a hefty kick in the ribs.
Kim Taylor sighed and rubbed her forehead. “What did I just say?”
Hawke ignored her. “You’re going to tell us all we need to know about the plot – not only where the President is, but what Kiefel’s interest in ancient Greek archaeology is.” He waved his gun in Collins’s fa
ce. “I want to know what was stored at the warehouse as well, where it is now and what the hell Dixieland has got to do with anything.”
Collins was now beginning to look nervous. Hawke didn’t think he looked like the kind of guy to be involved with an operation like this and thought maybe he was beginning to have serious regrets. He was probably thinking he’d got away with it, but now this.
Collins breathed out a long sigh of relief. Maybe he was glad it was over. “I don’t know much, but I’ll tell you everything I know, I swear.”
“Start talking.”
“I was approached a few weeks ago about hiring out some space in the warehouse. We’re not exactly over-run with business and maybe I didn’t ask as many questions as I should have.”
“We need more than that,” Kim said, holstering her gun and moving closer to the man.
“What’s going down is big. Bigger than anything you could imagine.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hawke said. “Heard it all before, mate.”
“It’s true, I swear it!”
“Save you’re swearing for the courthouse,” Kim said.
“What was in the warehouse?”
“We stored drones at the warehouse. Helicopter drones.”
“The ones in the attack?” Kim asked.
Collins nodded.
“How many drones?” Hawke asked.
“Four.”
“But we only destroyed two over DC,” Kim said.
Hawke pushed his gun into Collins’s neck. “Where are the other two?”
“Kiefel’s heavies took them down to New Orleans ages ago. They have a location there they’re using as some kind of laboratory.”
“And where is this mysterious location?”
“All I know is the guy who delivered the flatbed to the warehouse mentioned something about driving down to an abandoned processing plant in an industrial part of the city somewhere… St. Tammany Parish, I think.”
Kim spun around and started to speak into her earpiece.
“You’ve been most helpful,” Hawke said.
