Merrick wished he could extract more detail from the Hierophants but a change in Karapetian’s tone caused him to focus back on the colossal luminary.
“Shamon relies on the element of surprise and the British Museum’s notorious lack of robust security. We, on the other hand, can take advantage of his theiving and pluck the prize from his presumptuous hands. Now, you all have preparations to make. We will meet again tomorrow evening. Our surveillance teams will alert us if there is any change in the enemy’s schedule. For now, hone your skills and prime your minds.”
The assembly broke apart, buzzing with anticipation. Merrick looked to exit.
“Use the staircase on the left,” Celestia said. “Your room’s on the second floor.”
She looked at him knowingly.
“Thanks,” he said, noticing an inexplicable rise in his pulse.
He entered the room and found Lotus sitting on the bed. Her chin rested on her hand, almost Rodin-like. She wore her suede jacket.
“You look like you’re going somewhere.”
She looked up at him. “This isn’t working Merrick. It’s too much. This place is too much—at least for me.”
He sat down next to her. “What are you saying? Look, we can work through this. I know we can. I ...”
He wanted to tell her about the sweet calm he felt in her presence, of the absolution he experienced when they made love. But then he thought of Lapin and Albany. She was in danger every minute she remained with him, and it wasn’t fair for him to demand the relinquishment of her freedom. She was a delicate butterfly; she deserved to flourish, not be bound to him with his esoteric ambitions.
She seemed to read his thoughts. “This world you’re choosing, I don’t feel part of it. I wish I did, but I don’t think there’s room for the likes of me.”
He looked at his feet. “I wish I could take us away from here, forget this whole conflict ever happened. But I can’t deny what I am—my place in what’s happening. It feels like my whole life has led up to this point. I can’t deny you deserve better. After all, I don’t own you.”
“It would make things easier if you did. As it is, I’m a complication—and I’m not going to ask you to choose. I’m making the decision for us. That’s why I have to leave.”
“You can’t just go, Lotus. The Ukurum killers are still abroad.”
“Safety is a luxury neither of us can enjoy. I can’t bear being locked up here, wondering if you’ll ever return from the fate you’ve chosen for yourself. I’d rather take my chances out there.”
He felt his eyes filming over. “Where will you go?”
“I’ve got friends,” she said, a resigned smile on her face. “The advantage of living a bohemian lifestyle—I’ve learned to become invisible.”
“Necessity of a street-pirate?”
“You could say that.”
He longed to articulate something, anything, which would persuade her from this course of action. But everything told him it was useless. He retreated inward, a protection against the pain.
“Karapetian won’t like it,” he said.
“Karapetian can kiss my arse!”
~~~
Karapetian had taken it surprisingly well, all things considered. But he insisted on appointing one of his most experienced personnel to accompany and watch over Lotus.
“He won’t be able to trace me once I go to ground,” she said.
“If that is the case, then you will be safe from the Ukurum indeed.”
Merrick walked with her to the waiting SUV. He nodded with approval at her guardian.
“It’s like having a praetorian guard,” she said, that crooked smile on her face.
Merrick ached inside. “So this is goodbye,” he said, looking into the distance.
“Adieu or au revoir?”
“That’s up to you,” he replied.
“It’s up to both of us,” she said firmly.
“I guess the time just wasn’t right.”
She kissed him silently and climbed into the vehicle.
As it drove away, Merrick wondered if he had gained the world to lose his soul.
~~~
Chapter 16
Bible black
Red team, are you on position?” Jason’s voice crackled over the walkie talkie.
Celestia pressed her send button. “Yes,” she replied.
“Walkie talkies? Don’t you guys communicate with telepathy?” Merrick looked at her with a smirk on his face.
“Parfois, vous êtes un trou du cul,” she said, looking at the monitor in front of her. Its blue glow was the only light in the cramped space.
“I’ve heard that, yes,” he said. Celestia’s curse was uncharacteristic. He decided not to push things further.
“Not everyone is telepathic, as you describe it,” she said. “Besides, advanced far-seers will pick it up. They were hunched over in the back of a nondescript, unmarked Bedford van. As well as Celestia, Merrick was introduced in turn to the rest of red team back at Paraganet house. Boris, a greasy-haired stick of a man purported to be an explosives expert. Trishla, sitting opposite had been described as a markswoman but obviously concealed her weapons well. Scarab was a muscled assassin with a face like a welder’s bench. He watched the CCTV feed with Celestia. There were three others, whom Merrick had mentally nicknamed Huey, Dewie and Louis— he found the monikers more apt than their real names, which he couldn’t pronounce. Each was armed with a Russian AR-15 rifle with suppressors fitted to the barrels. Huey had described with great relish, the capabilities and specification of the firearm. Merrick’s third eye confirmed what his eyes told him—the trio were precise dispensers of death.
He listened to the ensuing chatter over the radio waves. Jason confirmed the presence and readiness of five teams, each given a colour for purposes of the operation, and each with a defined set of parameters. Merrick’s stomach tied itself in a knot. This wasn’t helped by the obvious tension amongst red team as they waited for some sign of the Ukurum.
Christ, what have I got myself into? Karapetian had told him in no uncertain terms what he wasn’t getting into: “I don’t want you to be part of the firefight that might ensue. You’re most valuable to us operating at a distance. The heightened powers you have gained after consuming the grayanootoxin can tell us a lot about the motivations and strategies of hostile combatants.”
This was hardly how he imagined Karapetian should deploy a big gun, but he saw sense in the edict. He would only get in the way of the other operatives.
He’d spent most of the previous day with Celestia, practicing the melding of her farseeing abilities with his psychonautics. He took no little satisfaction from the outcomes they had achieved. It required a certain opening of their minds to each other. Once over the initial awkwardness, he had successfully gauged the mental state of several subjects over a range of about a mile. Celestia acted as a conduit through which he could penetrate their mental defences. In fact, so fine was their joint control, that the volunteers weren’t even aware of the monitoring. Subsequent debriefing had confirmed the intentions and the subconscious mix of emotions present in each volunteer.
The walkie talkie squawked again. “You picking up anything yet Celestia?”
“Ne rien.”
In the charged atmosphere, Merrick sought escape in his thoughts. Lotus had not attempted to communicate with him. He respected this, but it didn’t prevent a throbbing wound opening up every time he dwelt on the matter. At least Karapetian’s minder reported she had made it safely to her friend’s house. Merrick was also comforted that he and another Hierophant were watching over the house twenty four hours a day.
“Right, let’s go through this one more time,” said Celestia. All eyes turned to her.
She demands respect, Merrick thought.
“As soon as the far-seers detect a break-in or a disturbance in the ether, then blue team, led by Jason, will close in. Green team will follow
at a distance and reds, you will gain entry to the Assyrian exhibition room through the staff entrance here.” She enlarged a blueprint on the tablet she was holding and pointed to a secure, alarmed door. “Under no circumstances are we to engage the enemy at this stage. We want them to steal the scroll first. There’s no point in us doing their work for them.”
“There is, of course, the greater risk of them killing the security guards,” Merrick said
“We covered this yesterday. The primary objective is to retrieve the scroll. Second, we neutralise as many of the Ukurum as is expedient. Third, we protect the lives of the jaded ones to the best of our ability.”
“Poor sods,” said Merrick. They don’t stand a chance.
“We don’t have time to moralise now. Let’s go with the plan. As soon as we’ve pinpointed their numbers and location then Jason will give the command for attack. We know they have far-seers and illusionists in their ranks. Our confounders can jam their detection skills up to a point, but their mirage creators are advanced practitioners—expect the unexpected.”
“Is their any update on the weaponry they’re using?” Trishla asked.
“Yes. We confirmed earlier that the arms deal with the Irish Republicans went ahead and they’ve acquired a small number of Uzis, AK-47’s and grenades. We have our body armour, but stealth and agility will be the best defence.”
Merrick had watched the assault teams in action that morning. He almost rubbed his eyes when he saw the impossible manoeuvres some of them accomplished. He was glad they were on Karapetian’s side and their presence tonight gave him considerable grounds for optimism.
“So we wait for Jason’s command to withdraw?” asked Louis.
“C’est exact. Once we have the scroll, yellow and black teams will do the mopping up, taking whatever enemy wounded we can. The less we leave to the gendarmes as evidence, the better. Merrick, you and I—”
“... remain in the van—yes, I know.”
“Under no circumstances are you to leave. Any more questions?”
“What could possibly go wrong?” Merrick said, to lighten the atmosphere. Scarab cracked a smile but the rest scowled their disapproval.
“So, for now, we wait,” Celestia said.
An adrenaline-drenched hour passed, interrupted only by Jason’s brief check-ins on the two-way radios. Merrick checked his watch. It was a couple of minutes past one in the morning.
Another hour crawled past. Huey, Dewey, and Louie checked their weaponry in minute detail, while Trishla cleaned two small crossbows. No one except Merrick seemed agitated.
“Waiting—this is the worst part,” Boris said, breaking the silence.
“You seem to be taking it in your stride,” Merrick said.
“My experience of previous conflicts helps lower anxiety. But it never disappears.”
“Maybe someone gave us duff gen,” Merrick said. “It strikes me they may have twigged us if they cross-examined Albany before they ... you know.”
“That’s possible,” Celestia said. “But this is Shamon’s last chance to strike before they transfer the Assyrian collection to the United States—and their security is much more robust. En outre, Shamon is arrogant. He will assume he can resist any interference on our part.” Celestia’s assessment closed the conversation down.
Merrick tried to meditate. It usually helped with work stress, but this was something else altogether. After a while, despite himself, he dozed off. He only knew he’d been in the land of nod because Trishla nudged him.
“Something’s happening,” Celestia said.
~~~
Jason was in the zone. But not in the spaced out, drug-induced kind of way. The Chinese called it chi, the Greeks, pneuma. They were useful analogies giving two different perspectives of the same phenomenon. Neither were adequate because years of training and meditation had taught him that words often got in the way of true spiritual learning, and he was an adept.
So here he was, waiting in an armoured SUV, conscious that he did not so much exist in his brain, but in every molecule of his body—and beyond.
Metaphysical energy charged every one of his cells. He would need every last calorie.
When the walkie talkie cut in he reached for it straight away.
“Jason, they’re here.” Celestia sounded matter of fact.
“You have a location?”
“One party of ten have gained entry via the roof. Chalcott detected them climbing the south side of the building. There’s a back up team of nine in a vehicle on Museum Street. The group on the roof have broken in through a skylight.”
“Less than twenty of them? Shamon must be confident if he’s sent such a small party. Any sign of him?”
“No,” she said. “He could be hanging back at a more distant location.”
“Do you think he’s picked us up yet?”
“It’s hard to say.”
“We haven’t time to speculate,” said Jason. “We’ll execute the plan.” Turning to those in the van he gave the command and followed them out of the SUV. He looked at the horse-box attached to the back of the vehicle, relieved when he heard no sound coming from it.
Montague Street was devoid of traffic and the plane trees afforded them cover. Nonetheless, they split up into threes and sprinted across separately, weapons in hand. Summer heat still re-radiated from the tarmac, and Jason was sweating already. Blue team were small in number but contained the most experienced combatants. Jason trusted them with his life—a trust that might well be put to the test tonight.
Spotlights shone narrow beams on the front of the building. It’s colonnades rose like monoliths creating deep shadows at the entranceway. Galbraith, a locksmith, approached the main door.
“Are you sure the main entrance is the best way in?” Jason asked.
“The lock’s a doddle and Storner has already disabled the alarm system. Sometimes the highest security is on the back entrances.”
“Okay, once we’re in, we hide out in the staff restroom.”
Galbraith inserted a mechanism into the lock of the glass door. There was a click and a whirr after which he turned the handle and watched the door open inward. Their feet hardly made a sound as they traversed across the main entrance hallway to the Great Court. They moved as a formation, scoping all directions. Reaching a large statue, they stopped to view the way ahead and saw a security detail of two at the main desk. One watched a closed circuit TV feed, while the other had his feet up, reading a book.
Jason signalled to a couple of his team who immediately laid down a topographic illusion to conceal their progress across the court.
A guard looked up, shook his head, then carried on reading. Once they were inside the restroom, Jason checked his watch and spoke through his head-mounted microphone.
“Celestia, we’re in. No sign of the enemy yet. What are you picking up?”
“The roof party are in the Assyrian exhibition room. There’s no movement as such. I assume they’re trying to remove the scroll from its alarmed case.
“Good. We’ll hold our position. Green and red teams, are you in?”
The Green leader affirmed they had entered at the front, while Reds replied they were outside the room where the scroll was held. Karapetian had recruited well for Red and Black teams. As well as demonstrating mastery of their respective weapons, they were highly skilled parkour jumpers. They liked to think of themselves as urban jungle survivalists. There wasn’t a building in all of London that could hold them or resist their entry. The Ukurum wouldn’t know what hit them.
The restroom smelled of urinal tablets and disinfectant puddled the floor. Minimum-wage cleaners, Jason thought. You’d think the British Museum could afford better.
“Jason,” he heard through his in-ear monitor. “This is Scarab.”
“I’m listening.”
“We’re eyeballing the Ukurum now. They’ve breached the case and removed the scroll, but now they’re just
standing around. They seem in no hurry to leave.”
Jason didn’t like the sound of this development. It just didn’t make sense. They should be well on their way by now.
“There’s something else,” Scarab spoke again. We can hear a weird noise.”
Jason picked it up through his headphones too. It was low level but increasing in volume.
“Jason, it’s Celestia. I detect an enemy presence approaching fast.”
“The reinforcements from Museum Street?”
“No—they’re still in place.”
“Then what the f—?” A loud crash cut him off, followed by engine noise. The floor vibrated, setting off his knees in sympathy with the harmonic frequency.
“Scarab, what just happened?” he barked.
“Holy Shit,” the red team captain replied. “Jason, get yourself in here now. We’re going to need every man we can get.”
~~~
“Get ready,” said Celestia.
Merrick leaned forward to look at the monitor. “What’s going on in there?”
The background noise coming over the walkie talkies was reminiscent of Armageddon, but nothing showed up on the internal closed circuit feed. In fact three of the cameras fed back nothing but static.
“We’ll have to rely on our abilities,” she said. “Remember what we practiced?”
“A holding of hands increasing to an arm-lock of concentration’ was the terminology, I believe.”
“Exactement. But don’t visualise it—feel it.”
“I’m all tentacles.”
“Trou du cul.”
“Asshole sounds so much better in French.”
The meld was instantaneous. If anything, it was easier than last time. Merrick imagined his view would be how a bat perceives the world. Celestia transmitted an ultrasound-like picture of the surroundings. Although there was no colour, the definition of individual outlines and contours was sharp. She projected them into the exhibition room. A large crater scarred the middle of the floor and out of it had burrowed a now stationary excavation machine. Merrick could see heads and torsos of individual Ukurum warriors strategically positioned behind lumps of rubble or plinths of stone. Celestia had coloured them black to distinguish them from the Hierophants. He estimated at least forty.
The Psychonaut_Book 1 Page 12
