David Leadbeater: Weapons of the Gods

“Feels an age distant,” Dahl said reflectively.

“Yeah.” Hayden hid her emotions and addressed Bennett. “Please go on.”

“The Key of Hades was discovered along with a whole host of other items inside your Icelandic tomb. Many of these items were removed before the tomb collapsed or exploded or whatever happened to it—”

“The Swords of Babylon,” Kinimaka rumbled. “That’s what happened to it.”

“Right, well, the Key of Hades is a small object about the size of a big man’s hand. Obviously, we don’t know its purpose for being or why it was inside Hades’ tomb, but we do know it’s on Tempest’s list. Now, after the key left the tomb under guard it was sent to a museum in Stockholm for study, and from there it was very quickly stolen.”

Drake glared at Dahl. “Typical.”

The Swede closed his eyes in a long-suffering way. “I remember an awful lot of archaeologists coming and going in those days. I guess not all of them were real.”

“It was a busy, frenzied few months. It’s always the same. Nobody knows who’s really in charge or who their actual superior is, and then the carrion swoops in to take a piece of it. Money talks, and in this case it talked the Key of Hades right out of that museum and into the hands of a thief known worldwide as Aladdin.”

Alicia gawped. “Fuck, don’t tell me he’s real too.”

“No, no, just a moniker given to him by some agency somewhere. Aladdin is known to steal without trace, a true ghost, but also never to properly tidy up the breadcrumbs that could lead to his benefactor. He leaves that to them. Some, of course, don’t realize or think they’re too important, and here we have one such individual.”

“You know who has the key?” Yorgi asked.

“We do, son. He’s a shipping magnate that owns the Gad Shipping Line and, specifically, the Enlargo yacht.”

“One of the biggest ever produced,” Cambridge added.

“Quite.” Bennett nodded. “This man — Gordon Demba — has lived aboard the Enlargo for a decade, sailing from port to port. He’s not especially troublesome, stays off all the main radars, and I’m guessing he has no idea that we know about the key.”

“Did you send the heavies in?” Smyth asked.

“Of course not. The key has to be taken covertly. We must leave Tempest guessing. And Demba will have his own security detail.”

Hayden had guessed they would be chasing the shipping magnate down. Smyth, of course, was hoping for a swift return to Washington. Lauren hadn’t been in touch for a while. She finished her coffee and threw the cup into a trash can.

“Where we headed, Bennett?”

“The Pacific Ocean,” the major said. “We’ll sort out the coordinates later. Are you ready to go?”

“Sure,” Hayden said. “But there is an issue. Is it wise to seek just one weapon? Won’t that let Tempest grab at least a few?”

“We don’t have the backup yet,” Bennett admitted and Cambridge nodded along. “We don’t know who to trust. Why do you think we’re meeting here instead of MI5 or 6, or somewhere closer? I want you people and a select team or two, soldiers I can rely on.”

“Honestly,” Hayden said. “We feel the same, and we can always split the team. But let’s stay together for now. This is what… a two-day op?”

“At the very most,” Bennett agreed. “And it’s relatively simple. In… out… Demba is no soldier and employs no mercenaries.”

“We need a thief,” Drake indicated Yorgi, “and a bodyguard. Take your pick. I guess it’s a go.”

“The Key of Hades is on that boat,” Bennett said. “And the jet is equipped with the retro-fitted GPR device you requested. It has been recalibrated and will seek out the one specific element we need. If it doesn’t beep, I’ve sent you on a wild goose chase.”

“It’ll beep,” Hayden said. “Have faith.”

“Oh, I have faith,” Bennett sighed. “But, right now, only in the people I see around me.”

Flying at full speed toward the middle of nowhere, Drake was reminded of the vast size of the Pacific Ocean. It was no surprise that there still existed officially uncharted waters and even islands out here. The scale was staggering.

They sat in the back of a big Chinook cargo chopper, forsaking the preferred military alternative because of the size of their group. Alicia was complaining about the bumpy ride and Mai was reminding her that she usually enjoyed that sort of thing. Kinimaka and Hayden were chatting; Smyth was looking distant and holding a phone to his ear; Kenzie and Dahl were sitting apart, trying desperately not to stare at each other; Yorgi was passing the time with Luther and Molokai, the latter wrapping his heavy robes tighter as cold penetrated the chopper’s fuselage — so it was business as usual really, with Drake watching over them all.

Still no word from Lauren, or even Kimberly Crowe, so they were flying blind with no fresh updates on Tempest. Drake wondered how Karin was getting on. He didn’t expect to hear from her or her team so soon — infiltrating FrameHub would be extremely perilous even for her. The odd bunch of supergeeks that had targeted Egypt with a missile a short while ago were clearly unhinged.

But now she has training, and so do her new friends. And what the hell did she mean by saying: I’ll interrupt my agenda for this?

What was her agenda?

The pilot communicated that two of them should go up to the cockpit. Drake and Hayden rose first, so they trudged steadily along the steel fuselage, listening to their own reverberating footsteps and the quiet murmurings of their team.

Drake glanced sidelong at Hayden. “You good?”

“Feels like we’ve been on this damn road a decade, Matt,” she said. “Always another crisis. I do believe the world would continue to turn without us.”

“I’m not so sure,” he joked, but then grew serious. “We do make a difference. Sure, there are other teams, other agencies, all good men and women, but work at it like we already won it, Hay. We do good.”

“And who works for us?” Hayden said as they reached the cockpit.

The pilot turned to them so Drake could say no more, but he knew what she meant. The situation with DC and lack of understanding from President Coburn’s allies and even the man himself was challenging. Of course, with all the missions they had been through during the last few weeks, the time period seemed far longer than it was.

They had been safe in Transylvania only a few short weeks ago. Peru and the Incas just before that, each op leading straight into the next.

A drifter with a gun, in the full-time employment of the government that wants to kill me, he thought. That’s what I am, what we all are. Helluva job description.

“Thanks, guys,” the pilot was saying in what Drake recognized as a Yorkshire accent. “We’re twenty minutes out so you might wanna prep. Gonna belay you whilst we hover. Shouldn’t take too long to reach deck; we have four lines.”

Drake grinned. “Ey up, mate, are you from God’s own country?”

“Ey up.” The pilot turned with a genuine smile. “Don’t be shoutin’ down me lug ’oils, pal. Where y’ from?”

“Ponte,” Drake said, pronouncing it “pontey.” “You?”

“Cas.”

“Hey, Dahl!” Drake called back into the hull. “We got a bona fide Yorkshireman right here!”

“Oh, fuck,” came the long-suffering reply. “If only we had a half-intelligent translator.”

The pilot looked over his shoulder, through the door of the cabin. “You wanna understand Yorkshire, mate, go watch The Full Monty .”

Hayden disrupted the mutual northern solidarity. “Are you staying close?”