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

by Robert Storey

  Director Cilic moved to the fore. ‘We gave express orders not to be disturbed. What is the meaning of this, soldier?’

  The armoured man adjusted his grip on his rifle. ‘I have an urgent message,’ he said, his voice distorted by his helmet.

  ‘Then deliver it and leave,’ Cilic said, furious. ‘And turn off those damn lights!’

  The flashlights switched off on command, revealing more armed men standing behind the first.

  ‘Well?’ Cilic said, as the messenger remained silent. ‘Out with it, man.’

  The soldier pressed a button on his helmet and said, ‘Is it done?’

  ‘Is what done?’ Cilic said, his tone supercilious. ‘Who are you talking to? I’ll have your badges for this – for this – intrusion!’

  The soldier released the button and looked up. ‘You want the message, Director Cilic?’

  ‘Yes, goddamn it, then get out!’

  The soldier nodded. ‘Malcolm Joiner,’ he said, and raised his rifle, ‘sends his regards.’

  Cilic’s eyes grew wide as the other soldiers also raised their weapons.

  The council members cried out in terror, but it was too late. Gunfire exploded like hail, the muzzle flashes flickering in the dark like lightning. Many of the Directorate tried to flee, but they were mown down like grass.

  Moments later the attack ceased, and the tinkling sound of falling bullet casings gave way to silence.

  Nothing stirred, until the leader of the armed men moved further into the room to inspect the fallen. Satisfied they were all dead, the soldier turned his attention to the holographic figure, which remained untouched by the carnage.

  Selene Dubois held up a device and pressed a button. ‘Your Director Joiner is now dead, soldier,’ she said. ‘And you will soon be following him.’

  ‘That’s Assistant Director Myers to you,’ Agent Myers said, raising his visor. ‘And I think you’ll find Director Joiner alive and well when you next see him, which will be very soon, I can guarantee it.’

  Selene’s expression didn’t alter, but Myers was sure he glimpsed a flicker of doubt as he delivered his bombshell.

  ‘Tell Malcolm,’ Selene said, her eyes narrowing, ‘he’s playing a game he cannot win.’

  ‘I’ll be sure to relay that message,’ Myers said, glancing up at the hologram’s projector. He raised his rifle and took aim at it. ‘He also had a message for you.’

  ‘And what’s that, Assistant Director?’ Selene said, a sneer of contempt twisting her lips.

  ‘The GMRC is yours no longer.’ Myers fired and Selene Dubois vanished from sight.

  The battle for the Global Meteor Response Council had begun.

  Chapter One Hundred Forty-Nine

  Agent Myers stood in the private hospital wing in Washington D.C.’s GMRC headquarters. His excursion to New York had gone off without a hitch. It had been as Joiner had envisaged: they hadn’t seen it coming, not even when Myers was standing right in front of them, holding a gun in his hands. Their faith in their superiority had blinded them to the threat from within. Although, none could have guessed Joiner would have taken the path he had, especially when the Committee had him on the tightest of leashes.

  The doctor who’d performed the procedure walked over to Myers, his expression anxious.

  ‘How is he?’ Myers said, looking into the darkened room which housed the convalescing director.

  The neurosurgeon wrung his hands together. ‘When he found out what I’d done, he threatened to have me tortured and killed.’

  ‘Then you should count yourself lucky,’ Myers said.

  The surgeon looked at him like he was mad. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re still breathing.’

  ♦

  Malcolm Joiner sat in his hospital bed in the dark, the only source of illumination the luminosity emanating from a holographic screen attached to the far wall. The faint glow of light glinted from Joiner’s single eye, the only feature of his face visible, as he stared at a video he’d been watching over and over again.

  An armed CIA operative entered his room. ‘You have a visitor, sir.’

  Joiner remained watching the holographic screen.

  ‘Shall I allow him in?’ the operative said, sounding uncertain. ‘It’s the Assistant Director.’

  Joiner gave a nod of his head and moments later Agent Myers entered the room, the outline of his armoured form mirroring that of the operative on screen.

  ‘The operation was a success,’ Myers said, glancing at the display, which showed footage from the GMRC Directorate’s recent massacre. He placed his combat helmet down on a table near the door.

  Joiner switched on the display’s sound and the screams of the directors as they died filled the room. The scene ended and the movie played again.

  ‘The doctor says the nano robots in your bloodstream will ensure you make a very quick recovery,’ Myers said. ‘Far quicker than you would have twenty, or even ten, years ago, had you had the same procedure then. You’ll be up and walking around in a matter of days.’

  Joiner turned up the volume.

  The screams of terror resounded around the room once more and Agent Myers watched the muzzle flashes from the recorded gunfire, which flickered off the walls, much as it had when he’d been there in the flesh.

  ‘Dagmar was not there,’ Joiner said, his voice slurring.

  ‘Sorensen remains in Sanctuary,’ Myers said. ‘It’s to be expected.’

  ‘You overrode my order.’ Joiner’s gimlet-like eye turned to look in Myers’ direction.

  ‘Order?’ Myers said, feigning ignorance.

  Joiner’s eye narrowed. ‘I expressly said I was not to be revived if there were complications.’

  ‘The doctor tells me the problems encountered were only physical and your faculties remain unchanged.’

  Joiner didn’t reply, but Myers had the distinct impression he was walking on the thinnest of ice.

  The video replayed once more and Myers said, ‘We need to get into Sanctuary, or one of the other bases. The rats are leaving the ship; if we’re not careful, we’ll be the last ones left.’

  ‘The house is cleaned,’ Joiner said. ‘How has the Council reacted?’

  ‘You and Dagmar are the only members of the Directorate left alive. The news has spread like wildfire; many nations are fighting to put their candidates forward to fill the positions, while the assistant directors have stepped in temporarily to plug the breach.’

  ‘And who do they suspect was responsible?’

  ‘We left a trail that leads straight to John Henry. Those working for the Response Council who aren’t Committee members believe he struck when he found out the meeting was happening inside his borders, although some are questioning why a secret unscheduled meeting between the Directorate was held in the one country in which the GMRC has been hamstrung. However, it seems the Committee’s reach is greater than we thought. Three of the ten assistant directors are pointing the finger firmly in our direction, so it’s fair to assume they’re either in the pay of, or are fully-fledged members of, the Committee.’

  ‘John Henry,’ Joiner said, his voice weakening.

  ‘He’s called you an enemy of the state.’

  Joiner grasped the edge of his bed. ‘He’s the enemy!’ he said, his breath coming in wheezing gasps. ‘He endangers the Subterranean Programme, he endangers everything!’

  The medical equipment next to Joiner’s bed, which had been silent, bleeped and then bleeped again. A few of its tiny green lights turned to red.

  ‘I should have let the idiot fall,’ Joiner said, still wheezing.

  ‘You thought he was worth keeping alive,’ Myers said. ‘You wanted him to maintain order.’

  ‘Order?!’ Joiner laughed and then coughed.

  A nurse appeared in the doorway and pushed Myers aside as she moved to attend to her patient.

  A light turned on next to Joiner’s bed, the nurse shielding the director from view. Myers took a step back as t
he doctor also entered and moved to the bed.

  ‘What about Dagmar?’ Joiner said. ‘I want him found.’

  ‘Calm down, Director,’ said the doctor. He turned to Myers. ‘You need to leave.’

  ‘No!’ Joiner said, struggling in the bed. ‘I need to know!’

  More alarms sounded and another two nurses rushed into the room.

  ‘Hold him!’ the doctor said, drawing a syringe and pulling the needle’s cover off with his teeth. ‘Hold him!!’

  ‘I want Dagmar dead. Do you hear me, Myers?! I want him dead!!’

  Joiner continued to struggle and the doctor waved Myers forward. ‘Help us!’

  Myers rushed forward and grasped the director’s legs as he thrashed on the bed.

  The doctor injected Joiner’s arm, but he continued to resist. He reared up in the bed and grasped Myers’ arm.

  ‘Do you hear me?’ Joiner said, staring into his agent’s eyes. ‘I want him dead!’

  Myers stared into the face of his director and grimaced in shock.

  Joiner laughed, the sound verging on insanity. ‘Don’t you like your handiwork, agent?’

  Myers released his hold and tried to pull away, but Joiner held onto his arm.

  Myers stared at Joiner’s sunken face. Half of it drooped down in paralysis, exposing his remaining eye, which bulged out like the madness that shone from within. Scars criss-crossed the other half of his disfigured visage, while one side of his head had caved in like a deflated football. His left arm hung limply by his side and his lip had curled into a permanent sneer.

  ‘I want them all dead,’ Joiner said, staring into Myers’ eyes. ‘Dagmar, Steiner, Selene, the president. All of them!’

  ‘Inject him again!’ said the doctor.

  ‘ALL OF THEM!!’

  A nurse withdrew another syringe as Joiner dragged Myers closer, his fearsome eye staring into the agents’ own. ‘Do you hear me?! I need them to suffer. They have to suffer!’

  The nurse injected him again and his movements calmed.

  Joiner sighed and sagged against Myers’ shoulder.

  Myers held the director as his breathing eased. ‘We’ll find a way,’ Myers said. ‘You’ll find a way, you always do.’

  ‘Yes,’ Joiner said. ‘Yes. And when I’m finished with them, when I’m finished ...’

  ‘When you’re finished, what?’ Myers said. ‘Tell me, I’ll make it happen. Whatever it is, I’ll make it happen.’

  ‘And when I’m finished with them …’ Joiner pulled Myers closer and whispered into his ear. ‘You’re next.’

  Chapter One Hundred Fifty

  President John Harrison Henry gazed out of the top floor window of his White House residence. A new day had dawned two hours before, ushering in overcast skies and outbreaks of rain.

  Another pair of jet fighters thundered past overhead, followed soon after by a quartet of Blackhawk helicopters, their resonating roar a reminder of the state of emergency he’d placed his nation under.

  It had been over a week since martial law had been declared and little had changed, except that instead of rioting and mayhem there were curfews, sporadic uprisings, and summary executions carried out in his name. Disobeying meant you were an enemy of the state, and to maintain peace, those enemies had to be dealt with. So far, this brutal clampdown had returned calm to the streets of the United States. But at what cost? John thought. At what cost?

  Media outlets had been censored, GMRC laws revoked and diplomatic ties severed. The country was an island in all but the physical sense of the word. The only good thing to come out of the activation of executive order PDD 51 was that he’d been able to seize precious food and water from GMRC warehouses, which his troops had been able to secure. As despite his recall of virtually every ounce of U.S. military strength the world over, the GMRC still had a foothold on the land, if not the air. GMRC Command Complexes still resisted his will, and the Response Council’s foreign troops remained defiant, despite their isolation. John had hoped that after six to seven days they would have seen sense, but it seemed their commitment to the cause – so far – matched his own. Many of the complexes also seemed to have a near endless supply of water to draw upon. He wasn’t sure how this was possible, considering the continuing shortage, and so far his advisors had been unable to tell him how these GMRC stalwarts continued to produce this most precious resource out of thin air. He’d lost patience in even bothering to try to make sense of it. If his advisors couldn’t, how could he?

  Paul Brown, his trusty Chief of Staff, knocked on the open door and peered inside to see if he was free to talk.

  John waved him in.

  ‘Latest news reports,’ Paul said, dropping a wad of paper onto the living room table.

  John wandered over and flicked through the documents. ‘Is there any good news?’

  ‘You’re still breathing,’ Paul said. ‘I call that a win.’

  John thought back to the attempt on his life that had come soon after he’d declared martial law. The GMRC had denied any hand in it, but the sophistication of the attack had prompted an internal review of all his staff, including the Secret Service itself. Military personnel and hardware now enclosed the White House in a ring of steel. If someone wanted to make another attempt, they’d need to try something other than a deep cover agent.

  He still had bad dreams about the moment his White House communications officer, Diane Lane, had thrown herself in front of the armed assassin, a Secret Service agent brought in by the acting, now sacked, Head of Security. Diane had died instantly, shot multiple times through the head and chest. She’d saved John’s life. He still didn’t know why she’d done it. She wasn’t paid to risk life and limb for her president, but that she’d done so had changed him.

  At first his shock and confusion had turned to anger, anger that she would throw away her life for his. He knew she had a family and now her three kids had no mother, and her husband was a widower long before his time. When he’d offered his condolences to her family at the funeral, her husband had even thanked John for taking the time to be there and said that he was proud his wife had acted as she had. If that wasn’t bad enough, when John had knelt down to offer a word of support to the grief-stricken children, one little girl had asked him to ‘not let daddy die, too’, as if the president had the power to control death itself. When he’d promised to keep her father safe, his voice had broken, and as he struggled to keep a hold on his emotions, Diane’s small son had hugged him. He was still amazed at how he’d kept it together, the touching moment breaking his heart and forcing him to wipe a tear from his eye. Their mother was dead because of him, but this small child still had it within him to offer comfort. It was still almost too much to bear, and whenever he tried to forget about it, the feeling of the child’s arms around him returned, the sensation dissolving his barriers like acid through paper. A part of him had died that day and when he’d returned home and finally found a moment alone, he’d cried like the child who’d forgiven him. Before that, he’d still been stuck in the past, believing, despite everything that was happening, that things would turn out for the best, that he’d solve everyone’s problems, that the crisis with the GMRC would be averted, and he would be allowed to retire and settle down with Ashley, maybe even start a family and move to the country.

  But he knew those things were just stories he’d made up in his head to suppress the reality of his situation. His marriage was hanging by a thread, as was his nation; his life was under threat like never before, and the world was on the brink of total economic collapse. And yet, despite all this, it was the innocence of a child that had cut the deepest. It was a curious thing in more ways than one, as although his guilt was released, at least in part, for he was still to forgive himself for Diane’s death, he now knew first-hand what many others were experiencing throughout the United States. To be that close to death himself and to witness the loss of others resulting from the decisions he made reinforced his sense of duty to those he’d sworn to
protect. He owed it to Diane’s family to fight on, he owed it to Diane, he owed it to the nation, but most of all he owed it to himself, for how could he live within himself if he failed those he served? The simple answer was, he couldn’t, and as long as he drew breath he’d make sure he wouldn’t.

  ‘Have we worked out how the GMRC are resupplying their Command Complexes yet?’ John said, returning to the present.

  Paul sighed and shook his head. ‘No, not yet, although we’re getting reports there may have been an incident in New York. It might have been a few days ago, or even as long as a week or more – details are hazy – but it seems it might have involved some members of the Directorate. If I find out more, I’ll let you know.’

  John returned to the window, his gaze settling on the GMRC skyscraper that dominated the horizon to the right of the Washington Monument. He could still see the black scar on the corner of the building where he’d almost met his end. It still surprised him to this day that Joiner had not let him fall. John wondered what the silver-tongued intelligence director was up to; the man was unusually quiet, or at least his division was, and Joiner himself was curiously absent from any communications, official or otherwise.

  Some people in his administration thought Joiner was distancing himself from the GMRC in light of their losing control of America. John found that hard to believe; the man was GMRC through and through. Even though he tried to woo both sides of the divide, his position on the GMRC Directorate was proof enough as to where his loyalties lay.

  It was surprising, though. Now that John had pushed the GMRC into a corner, he’d expected them to come out swinging and yet they seemed content, on the face of it anyway, to let things take their course without launching a counteroffensive. This lack of direct action was perhaps the thing that disturbed him the most. What they were up to he could only guess at, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. He wondered if the incident in New York that Paul had just mentioned had anything to do with it.