David Leadbeater - Weapons of the Gods

Again, she was called upon to implement a mini-crisis, but fortunately it was nothing that totally affronted her morals and she managed to live with it. Later that morning, after their ten o’clock chocolate break, Barracuda called for everyone to listen up.

“Time to move ahead with the prison break,” he said with an excited lilt to his voice. “Initiate step two!”

Some clapped, some hooted, but one — a kid called Pacu — shouted up: “In front of the bitch? You sure, man?”

New Karin wanted to shove the kid headfirst through his own computer screen, and she would have done it — but Old Karin put the op first.

“I’ve done everything you asked.”

Pacu grunted. “Too early, Piranha.”

“I’m right here,” Karin said. “Not going anywhere. Why not use me?”

“We’ll just keep her here until the mission succeeds,” another one spoke up. This one’s name was Goonch, Karin recalled. “No risk. Then, we know she’s one of us.”

Barracuda watched her. “You okay with that?”

Karin nodded but then raised her hand. “I’m cool, but we have to get one thing straight.”

Eight faces stared.

“The next one that calls me a bitch will get Error 404’d.”

The room broke out into laughter at the little nerd joke. Error 404 was usually followed by the words: Not Found. Even Pacu grinned.

“All right, then,” Barracuda said. “We’re going all in with this one. Opening every supermax facility in the United States simultaneously. Cells, inner doors, outer doors. And we’re gonna keep them open. It’ll be a total fucking blast!” He cheered.

Karin coerced another smile to appear. “Will you have eyes on that?”

“Shit, of course we will. That’s the whole point. Some of these supermaxes are way out in the sticks, sure, but the prisoners will get to the closest town at some point.”

“Cool. Where are you so far?”

Barracuda held up a hand. “Soon,” he said. “First, we have to initiate Stage Two. The grunt work’s already done. Coding, programming, all that cool stuff. But we still need to install it discreetly on their systems. You can help with that, Karin. Shit, what are we gonna call you?”

“Praying Mantis,” Goonch suggested.

“That’s not a vicious fish, dickhead.”

“I know, but it’s cool and kinda describes her, don’t you think?”

“Too much of a mouthful. How about Payara — the vampire fish?”

“It’ll do,” Karin said. “How can I help?”

“Like this,” Barracuda led her to a terminal. “First we need to embed the code and then implant a common trigger to start it all.”

“I can do that. What date did you have in mind?”

“There’s nothing in mind,” Barracuda said softly. “It’s happening in two days.”

“Egypt again?” Drake complained. “Shit.”

A subdued team flew under the radar in an unmarked chopper, entering Egyptian airspace with the help of Cambridge and an agreeable airfield controller by the light of the half-moon. What made him agreeable, Drake could only guess, but he assumed it came with a picture of Benjamin Franklin on the back.

Without Yorgi, and with Kenzie’s support at an all-time low, Drake felt as if he was nursing wounds that he didn’t even have. Not yet anyway. He consoled himself with the knowledge that they would see Yorgi again.

Soon.

Hayden regaled them with more than one tale. “The Flail of Anubis is next,” she said. “Our sixth weapon, hopefully. This one also comes with a thorny provenance. The government themselves seized it from the den of a relic crook, and then proceeded to store it away in a vault.”

Dahl shifted his bulk, squeaking across the hard seat in the big chopper. “If we catch any more of these dinosaurs,” he said. “I’m thinking of bringing my own pillow cushion.”

Drake groaned. “You choose now to reveal that nugget? Now, when I’m too depressed to fully capitalize on it?”

“Yeah.” Alicia nodded gloomily. “Yeah.”

“I thought it might cheer you up.”

“Nah.” Drake sighed. “Feels like I lost a friend.”

“Feels like I lost a cuddly toy,” Alicia admitted. “Poor ole Yogi.”

“He’s not dead,” Hayden growled. “Get a grip. We’ll be seeing him again soon. Now listen — they locked the Flail of Anubis away until the world at large figured out what these weapons could do. They waited. Nothing happened. The tombs were destroyed and the flail was largely forgotten about. It’s still there, inside the vault, but we have a couple of major problems.”

“Shocker,” Drake intoned. “Lay ’em out.”

Hayden rolled her eyes. “Egypt is still reeling from the attack that FrameHub instigated — the rockets hitting Cairo. The city and its people haven’t recovered, the government are slow to help. The press only fuel the fire, as per usual, to sell copy. The good news is that the vault isn’t in Cairo, it’s in Alexandria.”

She paused, attracting everyone’s attention.

“And the bad news?” Luther asked.

“It’s stored inside a bank vault—”

“Not bad,” Molokai cut in. “You just have to use the right amount of dynamite.”

Hayden tried to finish: “Which is positioned across the road from a terrifying situation currently unfolding in the heart of Alexandria,” she continued. “Terrorists are holding hostages captive right across the street.”

Drake sat up. “Terrorists?”

“Yeah, my thought too. What kind of terrorists, right? Well, they’re Tempest’s kind. I’m thinking the entire hostage crisis is a ruse. A deception.”

“The terrorists make noise over the road whilst Tempest’s mercs steal the flail?” Luther said. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Full military presence though,” Kinimaka added. “Snipers on roofs. MRAP vehicles on the streets. Seems like they’re prepared for a war.”

“They’re taking no chances after Cairo,” Smyth said. “And I don’t blame them.”

“How far into the crisis are we?” Mai asked.

“Good question. Only an hour. One hostage dead unfortunately, but they’re talking.”

“Stalling,” Alicia said.

“Agreed. The area has been evacuated and roped off, but there’s still plenty of ways to approach.”

“How long do we have?” Dahl asked.

Hayden indicated the creaking fuselage of the chopper. “We’re already there. We’re landing.”

The chopper put them down in Alexandria, three miles from the hot zone. They wore big coats over their gear and moved carefully, speeding up only when the roads and streets were clear. They split into three groups, opposite sides of the road and a minute apart. They checked the new comms set up. All was well. Drake moved briskly with Alicia and Mai, Dahl a step behind, all sweating profusely. It felt normal, it felt competent, but it also felt threatening.

As if a creeping shadow of foreboding lay over them. Drake was not one for premonitions, but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming. Why? Because, finally, after all this endless struggle, the closing stages were in sight. Yorgi was gone. Kenzie was leaving. Mai fancied a bit of Luther. The tables were tipping, times changing. Nothing would ever be the same again.

But not for now.

Together, they moved closer to the bank and the hotel across the street where the hostage situation was unfolding. Cambridge was relating information down the comms line but, strictly speaking, Whitehall’s influence in Egypt was unremarkable, forcing them to read between the lines.

Molokai and Luther broke into the back entrance of a ladies’ fashion store. Hayden led the way through the storage room into the retail space, ducking behind a big metal arm full of clothing so as not to be seen through the front windows.