Ancient Origins: Books 4 - 6 (Ancient Origins Boxset Book 2)

by Robert Storey

  ‘You were not kidnapped, Sarah.’ Avery called after her. ‘You are not a prisoner here!’

  Sarah headed for the corner of an ornate building. She’d had enough of the old man, of this place, of everything. She just wanted to be left in peace, to go her own way – wherever that might lead her.

  She turned the corner and stopped dead in her tracks, not quite believing what she was seeing. She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘it can’t be. I can’t be here. Not here.’

  The sound of footsteps announced Avery Cantrell’s return to her side.

  ‘You are free to go whenever you choose,’ he said, moving past to stand before her. ‘We just want to understand what you’ve seen, where you’ve been. The secrets you hold are more precious than you know.’

  Sarah wasn’t listening. How could she, when the man before her was framed by one of the most famous and imposing landmarks in the world? She took a step back and shook her head again, her eyes fixed on the immense dome that soared into the skies above her, the dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica, the Holy See’s greatest church, the majesty of Rome. Sarah wasn’t just in the lion’s den; as far as she was concerned, she was at the gates of hell itself.

  The spire atop the Vatican’s most treasured temple glittered in the sunlight, for many, a beacon of hope and light, but for Sarah it meant everything she’d been told was a lie, for whatever they said, she knew she was now at the mercy of the fearsome might that was known throughout the world as the Roman Catholic Church.

  Chapter One Hundred Eight

  Sherwood Content, Trelawny Parish, Jamaica.

  The heat from the day settled over the small adjoining villages of Sherwood and Content. Palm trees swayed in the breeze atop a hill, while two kilometres to the north the glistening sea shone in the distance. As dusk settled in for the night, lights blinked on as the local residents adjusted to the darkness, the red sky hinting at another glorious day on the morrow.

  Dusty, dirt tracks wound their way between houses, which sat quietly, in peace, the sounds of nature and insects buzzing and chirping in the fading radiance of the sun, the slow meander of country life a joy for the heart for those that lived it.

  A stone’s throw from a cluster of wood-clad houses, a forest of trees loomed tall against the darkening horizon. And unseen within this green glade, under cover of its canopy, three silent figures wound their way through dense foliage, homing in on their prey.

  The leader of the trio reached the treeline and raised a fist, halting their advance.

  ‘Foxtrot two in position,’ the man said into his radio.

  ‘Copy that, captain,’ a voice replied.

  ‘Let’s make this quick,’ the leader said to the two men by his side. ‘We’ve got two other priority targets tonight, both in Kingston; one’s a multi-grab. If and when the alarm is sounded we need to be in international waters, preferably under the radar. We have GMRC clearance, but local authorities won’t be so understanding.’

  ‘Roger that,’ one of the soldier’s said, and the other nodded.

  The leader slid down the visor on his helmet and activated its visual enhancer. Selecting the appropriate spectrum for the conditions, the man turned to his fellow Darklight mercenaries and signalled for them to take up flanking positions.

  As one, the three operatives shouldered their weapons and advanced on the house before them.

  The leader, Captain Radcliffe, reached the back door and pushed it silently open.

  According to intelligence, there was only one person home: the target.

  Moving into a darkened hallway, Radcliffe passed by a number of trophy cabinets, the sheen of gold and silver gleaming in the gloom. A bright light in the room beyond highlighted the outline of a door. A floorboard creaked beneath his heavy boot and the Darklight soldier paused to listen. The sound of a movie could be heard beyond the door, the muffled audio track a mixture of voices and music.

  Nothing else stirred; Radcliffe took a breath and kicked open the door with a bang. Surging inside, he scanned the area with his rifle scope. The film continued to play on the wallscreen, but there was no occupant there to watch it.

  Cursing his luck, Radcliffe moved into the next room, its interior cast in shadow. A whisper of movement to his left made him turn. Too late! Someone slammed into him, sending him tumbling.

  ‘Target on the move,’ he said into his radio, as he scrambled to his feet. ‘In pursuit!’

  Rushing back the way he’d come, Radcliffe burst out of the back of the house, the figure of the man easy to spot on his night vision visor.

  ‘Fuck, he’s quick.’ He raised his gun and fired.

  A dart whistled through the air and slammed into a tree trunk, missing the man’s arm by a whisker.

  He fired again, and again, the darts just missing their marks as the fugitive continued his headlong sprint into the night.

  Muttering a curse, Radcliffe set off at a run, but by the time he’d reached the road the target was out of sight.

  His two men came jogging up to him.

  ‘What happened?’ one of them said.

  ‘He got the jump on me.’

  ‘I told you to be careful, he’s getting old, but he’s no slouch.’

  ‘No shit, Sherlock.’

  ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘Nothing, I’ve already signalled ahead. Patrol will pick him up; he’s headed right for them.’

  ♦

  The Jamaican man jogged down the road and glanced back over his shoulder. He could see no sign of pursuit, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

  ‘What the hell is going on,’ he muttered to himself.

  He ran his hand over his head and chuckled. Despite his initial terror, he hadn’t felt that alive in years.

  It felt good, really good.

  He took a left turn and jogged down a pitch-black lane, before a set of lights blazed on, blinding him.

  He blinked against the glare and focused on the forms of two more soldiers as they emerged from their vehicle.

  He raised his hands in the air in defeat. ‘Guys,’ he said in his strong Jamaican accent. ‘Come on, what’s this about?’

  ‘Don’t make this harder for us than it should be, sir.’

  ‘Fellas, look, is this a tax thing? If it is, you’ve got the wrong guy, I’m all paid up.’

  ‘It’s not a tax thing, sir.’

  One of the soldiers approached with a pair of handcuffs, before pausing and giving him an odd look. ‘Would you mind?’ The soldier stood next to him and motioned to his associate.

  The man looked down at him and realised he wanted a memento of their meeting. ‘Did you want me to do the pose?’

  The soldier grinned. ‘Hell, yes.’

  He smiled back, struck his trademark pose and then just as the other soldier took their picture, bolted into the night.

  On the run again, he laughed as their curses came from behind. Suckers, he thought, before something hit him in the side of the neck. His sprint slowed to a run, then to a jog, then to a stumbling walk. He teetered on his feet, put his hand to his neck and plucked out a dart.

  He looked at it in shock and said, ‘Damn, I must be getting slow,’ before crumpling to the ground in a heap.

  The two soldiers jogged up to the comatose body of the man they’d just shot. At the same time, the three other Darklight soldiers rejoined them, all five now looking down at their prize.

  ‘There must be an easier way of doing this,’ one of them said.

  Captain Radcliffe sighed. ‘You tried to get a photo, didn’t you?’

  One of the soldiers gave him a guilty look. ‘It was too good an opportunity to miss. Something to tell the grandkids, you know.’

  ‘What about his family?’ said another soldier.

  ‘They’ve already been picked up.’ Radcliffe stared down at the famous sprint champion and wondered if he’d sign an autograph for him when he woke up. Considering they’d just tranquilised him, it was doubtful. Although, he thou
ght, if you don’t ask ...

  The Darklight soldiers picked up their prize and manhandled him into the back of their vehicle. The Tenth Protocol was picking up pace, as those selected were being relocated underground, whether they liked it or not.

  ‘Captain,’ one of the soldiers said. ‘I’ve got an incoming message on an emergency frequency.’

  ‘Put it through.’ Radcliffe accessed the message and frowned. He pressed a button and raised his visor. ‘How do you all feel about going off book after this assignment?’

  His team looked at him.

  ‘What’s in it for us?’ said his second in command.

  ‘We’ll be on our own,’ Radcliffe said, ‘without backup in hostile territory, risking life and limb against overwhelming odds.’

  ‘So, basically, if it doesn’t get us all court-martialled, it will probably get us all killed?’

  Radcliffe nodded.

  ‘Sounds like a no-brainer,’ said the radio operator, his grin just visible behind his visor.

  The rest of the Darklight team gave their approval and Radcliffe said, ‘Right, it’s decided, then; let’s move out.’ He gave a hand signal. ‘We’ve got somewhere else to be.’

  As the soldiers settled into their seats and the vehicle moved off into the night, Captain Radcliffe looked down at his list and put a tick in the box next to the initial and surname of the man they’d just abducted: Mr U. Bolt.

  ‘One down,’ he said, looking in the rear-view mirror at the unconscious figure of the legendary athlete, ‘thousands more to go.’

  Chapter One Hundred Nine

  UCSF Medical Center.

  San Francisco, USA.

  John Harrison Henry, President of the United States of America, opened the door to his newly appointed limousine and waited for his protection detail to secure the area.

  The lead agent signalled the okay, and the twenty strong, heavily armed contingent escorted their leader across an empty car park and into a service elevator.

  As he was transported upwards, John’s thoughts inevitably lingered on his recent brush with death. Half a day had passed since his miraculous escape from those that had abducted him, but if he’d hoped the events of the previous twenty-four hours hadn’t left their mark, he was sorely mistaken. Visions of dying agents still haunted his thoughts, the sight and sound of death compounding the mystery of his present good health. Because, in reality, he hadn’t escaped at all, far from it; the terrorists that had held him prisoner had let him go without harming a hair on his head. They’d even seen fit to alert the Secret Service to his location. Their only demand: that he help them stop an asteroid – which was supposedly due to arrive in less than four weeks’ time – from destroying the United States. Except, he knew, the demand was a diversion, a smokescreen. There was no second asteroid. But the question remained, a diversion from what? What was their end game?

  So far, he’d drawn a blank, and the presence of GMRC officials had ensured he remained tight-lipped as to the entirety of the events that had unfolded during his brief incarceration. He’d provided his security forces with as much detail as he could, while ever so carefully excluding the most pertinent details, including the preposterous asteroid claim and the terrorists’ identities. If anyone was to bring these people in, it wouldn’t be the GMRC, not if John had anything to do about it. The only problem was, he wasn’t sure how he could freeze them out; they had their noses everywhere. With many federal agents operating both for the U.S. government and for the GMRC in parallel, it was virtually impossible to know who to trust. Which is one of the reasons I need the GMRC gone, he thought, they’re a virus in need of eradication, and I’m the cure.

  At least, that was his hope.

  There was one name, however, that he’d been able to disseminate; a name that had ensured his lack of other information didn’t seem out of place. According to the NSA and other intelligence divisions, the cyberterrorist known as Because I Can, or B.I.C. – or just ‘Bic’ for short – was in everyone’s crosshairs, including the mighty GMRC. Apparently the self-proclaimed ‘greatest ever computer hacker’ was being blamed for the hijacking of the GMRC’s drones, which had killed so many Secret Service agents as they sought to protect their Commander in Chief. John owed them a debt he couldn’t repay, not directly, but he’d promised himself he would bring this computer hacker to justice, along with the so-called Professor, and Jessica Klein, the rogue BBC broadcaster whose inexplicable descent into criminality seemingly knew no bounds. If John didn’t know any better, he’d suspect the GMRC for messing with her mind, but considering Ms Klein hated the GMRC nearly as much as he did, she might have been compromised by more nefarious groups or individuals, of which Bic was the primary suspect. John also knew he could go some way to easing the suffering of the families of the agents who’d died protecting him, by returning America to the nation it once was and bringing much needed water and food to the masses, who still suffered at the hands of the GMRC’s crippling sanctions.

  John was under no illusions. His tasks were many, and he was tired of trying, of trying to fix a broken country, but, as his wife Ashley always told him, there was only one thing he could do: try harder.

  The elevator ceased its motion and John stepped out and headed down a white hospital corridor.

  ‘John, thank God.’

  He turned to see Ashley running towards him. He opened his arms and took her in his embrace. Her lips pressed to his with a fearsome need and he held her close as they looked into one another’s eyes.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you.’ She wiped a tear from her eye.

  He kissed her forehead. ‘Never.’

  ‘Are you hurt?’ she said, giving him the once-over.

  ‘I’m fine. I’m just pleased you’re okay.’

  She smiled and took his hand. ‘Do you want to see him?’

  John nodded and she led him down another corridor and into a room with a bed overlooking the San Francisco skyline. A wallscreen to the right played various media channels on one half, while the other side displayed a host of real-time medical data used by the nurses and doctors to monitor their patient.

  Secret Service Special Agent Dante turned his head towards them and mustered a weary smile.

  ‘Still alive?’ John said, leaving Ashley’s side to shake his agent’s hand.

  Dante grimaced at the effort. ‘I’m glad you’re safe, sir. I feared the worst.’

  ‘So did I,’ John said, his manner grave as he eyed his friend’s shoulder wound, ‘but for you.’

  Dante waved away his concern. ‘Have they found those responsible?’

  John shook his head. ‘Not yet.’ He turned and shooed away his armed chaperones.

  When the door to the room closed, John left Dante’s bedside and moved to the door to listen.

  Satisfied no one could overhear, he gestured for Ashley to come closer, as he moved back to sit next to Dante. He then turned up the volume on a news channel on the room’s wallscreen to mask their voices.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Ashley said, looking confused.

  John glanced at Dante, whose expression was one of concern.

  ‘I have something to tell you both,’ John said, ‘but it has to stay between us, understand?’

  Ashley swapped a worried look with Dante and then said, ‘John, I’m not sure—’

  ‘Ash, I need you to trust me on this one, not any word to anyone,’ – he looked at Dante – ‘both of you, okay?’

  Dante’s expression grew stern at John’s urgency and he gave a nod.

  ‘Ashley?’ John said.

  She hesitated and then also nodded. ‘Sure, but what’s this about?’

  John glanced back at the door to make sure it remained closed and then turned back to them and said, ‘My abduction.’

  ‘What about it?’ Ashley said. ‘They said the hacker threatened you, and then you escaped. What else is there to tell?’

  ‘That’s not exactly the truth,’ John said.

  Dante frow
ned and sat up higher in his bed. ‘What part; the escape, or the threat?’

  ‘Both. First of all, they let me go. Second of all, they didn’t threaten me, not directly, anyway.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Ashley brushed her long dark hair behind one ear. ‘You lied? Why?’

  ‘Because I can’t trust the GMRC, the Council has eyes everywhere.’ He looked at Dante. ‘I take it this room has been swept for bugs?’

  The Secret Service agent nodded.

  ‘Good. Then this is what I know ...’

  ♦

  ‘Another asteroid?’ Ashley said, looking scared. ‘You’re sure that’s what they said?’

  John nodded and squeezed her hand. ‘That’s what they said, but don’t worry, it’s not true. This cyber terrorist, Bic, is notorious for his lies, and besides, I think someone might have noticed if another asteroid were headed our way.’

  Ashley relaxed a little. ‘Then why tell you something like that if it’s not true? And why let you go afterwards?’

  ‘They said they’d come for you again in two weeks,’ Dante said. ‘Perhaps they intend to finish what they started then. If it’s when you’re meeting the Chinese and EU leaders, then they could be planning to take you all hostage at the same time.’

  John shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. If it was that, why would they warn me? It doesn’t make any sense. The only thing I can think of, is that they might be trying to get me to call off the meeting, or to host it somewhere else.’

  ‘They could be trying to disrupt our security,’ Dante said. ‘Camp David is well protected, perhaps you’re right. Perhaps they want a last-minute change of venue so they can infiltrate us somehow.’

  ‘Who’s this Professor?’ Ashley said. ‘From the way you describe him, it almost sounds like you respect him.’

  ‘If you’d spoken to him, you’d understand. There was something about him ...’ John looked at their uncomprehending faces. ‘It’s hard to explain.’