Рыбаченко Олег Павлович : другие произведения.

Gulliver And The Third Reich

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  • Аннотация:
    Gulliver moves in a dream into a parallel universe. There he sees dragons and has to learn that there is a Third Reich and Hitler's Germany, which is helped by a fairy-tale gnome. A young hobbit boy has been sent to help the USSR. But he finds himself in a children's labor colony unable to help Soviet Russia. And the Germans captured the USSR!
  GULLIVER AND THE THIRD REICH
  ANNOTATION
  Gulliver moves in a dream into a parallel universe. There he sees dragons and has to learn that there is a Third Reich and Hitler's Germany, which is helped by a fairy-tale gnome. A young hobbit boy has been sent to help the USSR. But he finds himself in a children's labor colony unable to help Soviet Russia. And the Germans captured the USSR!
  . CHAPTER No. 1.
  Tired of slave labor, the brave traveler slept and had a dream that was much more interesting than reality.
  The boy Gulliver was flying on a dragon, and next to him was a girl of unprecedented beauty. Already quite an adult, but still young, and very muscular and curvy. And on her hair the color of gold leaf, there was a rich crown of diamonds and some stones so bright, like stars, that they outshone even the largest and most expensive diamonds.
  The boy traveler asked:
  - Who are you?
  The girl answered with a smile:
  - I'm Princess Leia! And at the moment I command an army of dragons!
  Gulliver looked back. And in fact, there was a whole flock of dragons in the sky, and all these creatures were beautiful. And there were gorgeous girls sitting on them.
  But the most beautiful and delightful was still the queen. And the dragon on which the three of them flew, together with another beauty, was truly fabulous. Here was the team. And at the same time, all the girls are barefoot, although their nakedness is covered with precious stones and beads.
  But they did not hide either the chocolate bars of the abs on the stomach, or the balls of muscle rolling under the bronze skin. At the same time, the soles had an elegant and unique bend of the heels.
  The warrior boy said:
  - How beautiful you are. You girls are truly a miracle!
  Leia shook her hair the color of gold leaf and sang:
  The girls are all beautiful, barefoot,
  They are strong and warriors from the manger...
  The beauties have a very stern look,
  The heart is clearly more cheerful with them!
  Gulliver agreed with this. He twirled the sword in his hands, made a figure eight with it and said:
  - Without any doubt, it"s more fun with you!
  A team of beauties flew on dragons. There is a whole army of them, magnificent and unique. And the dragons had wings painted in all the colors of the rainbow. And it seemed that they were decorated with precious stones.
  Gulliver noted:
  - Every lustful man is a dragon in his own way, but not a seven-headed one, but most often a headless one!
  Princess Leia laughed and replied:
  - Unlike a dragon, a man doesn"t need to cut off his heads; he already loses them when he looks at a woman!
  The warrior boy threw his bare toes - he looked about twelve years old and was wearing only shorts, which is why he threw the needle. So it flew through and pierced through a fairly large mosquito, killing it to death.
  Gulliver noted with a smile:
  - Those who are as angry as a wasp and with the intelligence of an insect make a molehill out of a molehill!
  Warrior Princess Leia confirmed:
  - For someone who has the intelligence of a fly, any insect is an elephant!
  And they laughed. It looked very funny. A flock of geese flew ahead of them. The birds were quite large and fat, with a large wingspan. On the leader of the pack sat a couple: a boy and a girl, and they held silver bells in their hands, which they jingled merrily.
  Gulliver noted:
  - Adults often lie, children make things up, and old people generally lie to the point of baby talk!
  The princess girl nodded and added:
  - Old age is not a joy, but falling into childhood is an even greater disaster!
  The children on the leader goose suddenly sang:
  How did evil originate in the universe?
  It"s true that the creator himself doesn"t remember...
  It is possible that it is eternal,
  It doesn"t go out like the flames of the underworld!
  
  You are not the first to know that Adam sinned,
  Eve was not the first to be corrupted by the flesh...
  The drunkard that draws from the city of "Agdam",
  The guy who smokes "plan" during recess...
  
  Everyone who knows what evil is
  Accustomed to breaking laws without fear...
  And for whom only good is a burden,
  Who just wants to bow for themselves!
  
  I still want to snatch it from the diapers,
  Even as a baby I have the urge to make such a mess...
  Why does an evil mother curse a child?
  Where do they go in the battle of a tough army?
  
  Only one cherry stole from the summer garden,
  Another one kills merchants with a steelyard...
  Whose head is cut off by a crooked ax,
  Whom the executioner throws on the wheel.
  
  The embezzler steals, spitting on his conscience,
  And who stole the beggar"s coins...
  I"m even glad for one half piece,
  Others enjoy women's curls.
  
  Yes, there are many faces, many facets of evil,
  His faces are wonderful in any shade.
  But the craving is still good in the soul,
  Although the world around us is, alas, terribly wild!
  
  The widow weeps, the orphan squeaks -
  Our world is heading for hell...
  Is it really possible that the heart of God is monolithic,
  Do people have no place in God's paradise?
  
  You will find the answer only in yourself,
  When you are able to cut out the anger in your thoughts...
  When you repay meanness with good,
  And stop filling your womb!
  The children sang very cheerfully and beautifully, after which they stuck out their tongues at Gulliver. The brave navigator stuck out his tongue at them in response.
  And laughter and sin...
  Gulliver noted with a smile:
  - The mind of a child is like a miracle. And here you will agree, you will have no objections!
  Princess Leia giggled and sang:
  Yesterday I was just a child,
  Nothing can be done here...
  Better a lion cub than a stupid elephant calf
  And the dragon will be kaput!
  And they bumped: a boy and a girl with bare feet. Yes, they have great adventures here. And many different nuances. So life is going just fine.
  Gulliver noticed that the girls on the dragons began to throw something at the midges with their bare toes. What a corporate style this is - to take flies and crush them. Well? If that's what they want, then so be it. The main thing is not to lose your head.
  But Gulliver is not a timid fighter. Although now he is just a boy.
  And Princess Leia asked the boy:
  - Do you like honey?
  The young warrior nodded:
  - Certainly!
  The girl replied wittily:
  - Bee honey brings health, honey speeches of politicians only cause diabetes disappointment!
  Gulliver wittily added:
  - The honey of bees makes their hands sticky, the honey of politicians causes the coins of gullible simpletons to stick to their paws!
  The girl fighter agreed with this:
  - No matter how sweet the politician"s speech is, apart from diabetes, it does not cause any disappointment for those who do not have intelligence!
  The warrior boy logically remarked:
  - A person can never have more than one father, but the country has a dime a dozen candidates for the role of father of the nation!
  After which both fighters: a boy and a girl, whistle, putting their bare toes in their mouths. What caused the shaking of the atmosphere and the discharge of natural electricity. And the stunned midges fell down, falling at once on the shaggy heads of the orcs, piercing and piercing them.
  Princess Leia sang fervently:
  - Mom, hold on, dad, hold on.
  If it were every evening, this would be life!
  The orcs found themselves under the dragons and the girls, their barefoot crew.
  And targeted and not so targeted bombing began, throwing homemade grenades made from coal dust, or something even cooler and more destructive.
  In particular, very sharp, poisonous needles were used, which literally pierced orcs and goblins to death. This is what the girls really took and turned on.
  Princess Leia also fired very accurately at the hairy orcs and sang:
  - Nostradamus, Nostradamus,
  The king of white magic...
  Nostradamus, Nostradamus,
  The pain in my heart does not subside!
  Nostradamus, Nostradamus,
  Girls of barefoot dreams,
  Nostradamus, Nostradamus -
  You are the only salvation!
  And the warrior showed her long and deadly tongue.
  After which he will take it and spit it out with fiery feathers of flame. This is truly a girl with colossal strength and extraordinary talent. Which is capable of a lot. And if it breaks up, then nothing can stand against it.
  The boy traveler Gulliver also fired hard and aggressive fire at the orcs from his dragon. He acted extremely actively and effectively. And the child warrior had a clear talent for victory and the will to master the military arts.
  No, he is against this, the orcs cannot resist. And the girls fired very effectively, not giving the enemy the slightest chance. This is truly an epic battle.
  The boy traveler Gulliver even sang:
  Rejoice, rejoice,
  To the power of the carrier day...
  Rejoice, rejoice,
  Why didn't I get on my horse?
  This is truly a fighting and perky song. And at the same time there is a total destruction of the orcs. And the girls from the dragons began firing at them with crossbows, spinning the drums with their bare toes.
  And it all looked so cool and grotesque, literally a new and unique story was being created. In which there was no place for the weak and infirm.
  Just try and get close to girls like these and they"ll smash anyone into a piece of cake.
  And as they say, mad cow disease is contagious. And the warriors were able to show this quite naturally. And they beat the enemies with great enthusiasm. And they spew out arrows and crossbow bolts. Moreover, everything is done with great intensity.
  So you won"t be able to do much against such an army. And the warriors got so into the orcs that they couldn"t escape. This is the truly destructive effect of arrows and crossbow bolts.
  Gulliver took it and sang:
  Shoot boldly and destroy
  There will be life from the heart!
  Princess Leia noted:
  - Children are better than adults because their age justifies their youthful stupidity!
  The warrior boy remarked:
  - Youth justifies stupidity, but not meanness; to distinguish black from white you don"t need a lot of years and knowledge!
  And the Terminator boy whistled, and clouds of crows fell like hailstones on the heads of shaggy orcs.
  Princess Leia tweeted:
  - No intelligence, consider a cripple, the mind does not depend on the century! Even if you have strength without intelligence, you are all weak!
  Gulliver logically noted:
  - Muscles made of steel will not compensate for an oak head!
  Another of the girls cheerfully noted:
  - It"s not a problem for a girl - if there is a bare foot, then it"s worse for a girl - under the heel of a boot!
  Princess Leia logically stated:
  - If you want to become an ace, have a joker in your head!
  Gulliver chirped with a chuckle:
  - A wolf is fed by fast legs, a woman by slender legs, when goats suck!
  Then a laugh ran through the rows. And Princess Leia said:
  - The best way to pull coins out of a man"s wallet is with the bare toes of a girl"s feet!
  The Countess girl noted:
  - A girl"s bare heel will get the most fashionable clothes if a man has a stupid boot and a full felt boot!
  Gulliver tweeted humorously:
  - Barefoot girls love not only boots and felt boots, but they push themselves under the bare heels of life!
  After which they took it and sang in chorus:
  And then from the greatest mountain,
  Eagles flew to Gulliver...
  Sit down Gulliver on horseback -
  We'll get you there quickly!
  
  And Gulliver sat on the eagle,
  Showed the greatest example...
  And it"s not easy to carry a boy,
  Limpopo will be on its way soon!
  And the warriors will take and expose the scarlet nipples of their breasts and strike the orcs with lightning. And this will completely burn a lot of orcs.
  This is truly their team.
  Princess Leia asked Gulliver:
  - Do you know that in the future the Second World War will happen and there will be such a cool guy like Hitler!
  Gulliver chuckled and replied:
  - I didn"t know this, but now I know!
  The girl bared her teeth and continued:
  And Hitler had a problem: one very cool tank designer, a gnome, appeared. And he made the Mouse tank, weighing only fifty-five tons and height one and a half meters with the same armament, armor and engine!
  Gulliver shrugged his shoulders again and answered honestly:
  - I don"t know what a tank is at all! And what do you eat it with?
  Princess Leia laughed and replied:
  - Well, it's a long story. In any case, in this universe people have encountered considerable problems. And first of all, the USSR, which fought with the main forces of the Third Reich and its allies. Except for Italy. What is a fifty-five ton Mouse? This is frontal armor of 240 millimeters, side armor of 210 millimeters, and on slopes, a 128-mm cannon, and a 75-mm cannon with an engine of one thousand two hundred and fifty horsepower. This gave a speed of about seventy kilometers per hour, making the car practically impenetrable from all angles. From the beginning of 1944, this machine went into mass production. As a result, by the summer of 1944, the Nazis had accumulated impressive armored fists.
  And on June 20 they delivered two powerful strikes, one from Moldova, the other from Western Ukraine, in converging directions. And as a result, the defense of the Soviet troops was hacked, and it was pierced as if by a battering ram. The Maus-2 tank turned out to be impenetrable to all types of Soviet guns. And besides, it is quite mobile and has good driving characteristics. This car was a real punishment.
  The allies also behaved passively. The offensive in Italy ended in defeat and the landing in Normandy was again postponed.
  In addition, the Germans put into production the formidable ME-262, which was very difficult to shoot down. It was a jet fighter, with four 30-mm caliber air cannons. And so he took out Soviet planes, shooting down hundreds of them. And the Western coalition too. Hitler also somewhat slowed down the V-2 program and, instead of expensive and less useful ballistic and cruise missiles, relied on Arado-type jet bombers.
  Churchill and Roosevelt had their tails between their legs, plus they were heavily pressed by the German submarine fleet. And the Allies offered both Germany and Japan a truce. Hitler agreed on the condition that the Allies leave Sicily and Sardinia. What was accomplished.
  During the truce with the Third Reich, trade relations were resumed. Both the USA and Britain began to supply oil there. And the Germans, conducting an offensive in Ukraine, took Kyiv and entered Odessa again.
  The Mouse-2 tank became invincible. A younger model of the Mouse also appeared - the Tiger-3, which was lighter and more mobile with one 88-mm cannon.
  So the Soviet troops poured in. And this was a critical move...
  Gulliver interrupted Princess Leia:
  - You say so many incomprehensible words. Don't forget I'm just a child of the early eighteenth century. And our level of technology development is not very good!
  Princess Leia nodded with a smile.
  - I know it! But I'm talking about the mid-twentieth century. And this is what only one dwarf did. And you must agree that this is serious!
  Gulliver sang with delight:
  - By the construction of two worlds, the old world was created... In the context of war, there is me and them, and this is serious!
  Princess Leia noted:
  - At the beginning of the twenty-first century, a demonic Vladimir appeared, with baldness, who was a spy who seized power in Russia, and he also caused a lot of trouble. But his war is a separate matter. And here the gnome created a situation where the Germans recaptured right-bank Ukraine, and in the fall they began an offensive in the center. And their tanks seemed invulnerable and invincible. And against the gnome you would need your own alternative genius. But who should be sent as either a symmetrical or asymmetrical response? There was an idea - an elf or a troll? But they will be weaker in technology than the gnome.
  And the Germans advanced, so Smolensk fell, and after it Kalinin and Vyazma. The Germans were already approaching Moscow. Stalin, of course, left. He didn't want to die. And Hitler said that the USSR should become a German colony. And only capitulation will suit him.
  Well, they ended up sending the hobbit gnome as a response. And this is also a boy, to be honest, one might say he"s a genius. But they didn"t take the barefoot boy, who looked about ten years old, seriously. And they were poisoned to the Gulag for the little ones.
  Meanwhile, the Germans took Moscow. That's how it happened!
  Moscow fell and Leningrad too... Winter came and the Germans spent the night in the cities. There they settled.
  And the Komsomol girls decided to desperately fight the fascists and sing songs, despite the cold and lack of clothing.
  We are beautiful Soviet girls,
  We love to fight and tickle boys...
  A bright, ringing little voice is heard,
  And we have a calling to kill Krauts!
  
  We are very dashing Komsomol girls,
  We bravely rush through the frost barefoot...
  We are not used to standing modestly on the sidelines,
  And we reward the fascists with our fist!
  
  Believe me, girls have a big secret,
  How to effectively defeat the Nazis...
  And believe me, the girls" success is not accidental,
  Because the army of Rus' is very brave!
  
  And for our girls with bare heels,
  New Year's snow is very sweet...
  Well, the Fuhrer is simply a scumbag,
  Let's not let the fascists celebrate success!
  
  We girls play tricks very wildly,
  We bare our breasts in front of the soldiers...
  And we really piss off the Nazis,
  We mighty Komsomol members cannot be crushed!
  
  We girls can do a lot,
  Even shoot Hitler from a tank...
  The adversary will not have time to have lunch,
  The girls will come like a thief!
  
  We really respect Russia,
  Stalin is as powerful as a dashing father, believe me...
  And I believe victory will come in warm May,
  Anyone who believes in this is just great!
  
  For girls there is no doubt and no barrier,
  Everyone is willing to just argue in their hands...
  May wonderful rewards come to the beauties,
  Komsomol strength is in strong fists!
  
  We warriors are very quick to mature,
  And in the hands of the nimble guns the barrel burns...
  And any task the girls can handle,
  Our friendship is an undoubted monolith!
  
  We are such sparkling girls
  We don"t care about snowdrifts or frosts...
  Barefoot will not keep our paws cool in winter,
  And the hearts of beauties are generous and pure!
  
  What we can do, we exalt,
  Let's gallop like virtuoso kangaroos...
  And we successfully blow off the heads of the fascists,
  And love for exercise in the morning too!
  
  All the girls are cool warriors,
  They can simply pound the Krauts into dough...
  Well, what about the fascists simply being bad?
  The Komsomol members did not know superpower!
  
  Hitler can't do anything either.
  We beat him very hard with a stick,
  And they broke their teeth, knocking out the skin from their faces,
  And then I ran through the fire barefoot!
  
  Only Stalin will order us to do what,
  His stern and sincere gaze is visible...
  And believe me, the girl won"t miss,
  Loading a large machine gun!
  
  If necessary, we will reach Mars,
  And we"ll conquer Venus very quickly...
  Soldiers need polish for their boots,
  We girls are running barefoot!
  
  Everything is beautiful with us girls,
  Chest and hips, waist are visible...
  He is also a pioneer, like a wolf cub,
  The pioneer is completely Satan!
  
  Well, we are girls - you know we are cool,
  We will sweep away all the fascists like a broom...
  And there are blue stars in the sky,
  We'll smash the Tigers to pieces with steel!
  
  What not to do, believe it is not possible,
  Admit it, a communist is a demiurge...
  And sometimes we misunderstand
  And they take beauties to frighten them!
  
  But you know, we dashingly destroy the Germans,
  And they are capable of tearing the Krauts to pieces...
  Even though we have titanium souls,
  We will go through the steppe and clear away the swamps!
  
  We will build communism without all the nails,
  And we will decisively defeat the fascists...
  Komsomol members love to run in formation,
  And a cherub flies over them!
  
  The enemy will not be able to cope with the girl,
  Because the girl is an eagle...
  And there"s no need for the Krauts to spoil too much,
  And your Fuhrer is yelling in vain!
  
  Komsomol member with bare feet,
  Gave Hitler an egg...
  Don't deal with Satan
  Or it just won't matter!
  
  Communism's sparkling idol,
  The red flag will shine above the planet...
  And Herod was cast into the hell of hell,
  And the girls got five!
  
  Lenin, Stalin - the sun above the planet,
  Circling in the sky like two eagles...
  The exploits of communism are sung,
  The Fatherland has the strength of a steel wing!
  
  We managed to live to see victory,
  And we walked all the way through Berlin...
  Babies were born in the cradle,
  And now the country is in greatness!
  . CHAPTER No. 2.
  Gulliver flew on dragons and heard a lot. In this case, we were talking about a war that was incomprehensible to a person of almost medieval times. Although it seems like a new time has already arrived. But Princess Leia continued to babble about the Second World War;
  After Moscow and Leningrad fell, Japan and Turkey entered the war against the USSR. Things have become completely hopeless for Soviet Russia. And even the brilliant hobbit who found himself in a children's labor colony could not help them.
  And there were boys who were not yet sixteen years old, barefoot and in overalls, with number plates, working hard in Siberia. The children in the juvenile colony had their heads shaved. They took away my shoes and forced me to cut down the forest barefoot. In the summer it"s still nothing, but in the winter with bare heels the frost bites the guys with their hair cut bald. The hobbit boy was arrested. They photographed him in profile, full face, took fingerprints, and shaved his head. After the boy"s arrest, he was thoroughly searched; the guards" gloved hands got into all the holes, and they did it very rudely. After which the boy was thoroughly washed and sent to a cell overcrowded with children.
  Since the hobbit boy looked about ten years old, the local farmers wanted to place him near the bucket. But the fairy-tale hero turned out to be much stronger and faster than ordinary children. And he beat the godfathers, after which he himself became an observer of the cell and positioned himself at the window. It"s easier for youngsters - they have strength, they know how to fight, and you"re a king.
  The hobbit boy, however, did not abuse his position. He worked harder than anyone else in the camp, and even when other child prisoners were given felt boots in the cold, he remained barefoot. That's why he's a hobbit. Although the boy's bare feet are as red as a goose's feet. But on the other hand, you are more agile without felt boots.
  So the barefoot child worked in the snow in Siberia. And the Germans reached Kazan in winter, but stopped there. We were waiting for spring. And there is mud. And only in May of 1945 they moved further to the Urals.
  At the same time, the Caucasus and Central Asia were captured during the cold season.
  The Soviet troops did not resist too stubbornly. I didn"t want to die for Stalin. Nevertheless, a new IS-3 tank appeared in the USSR, which arrived at the front in small quantities. This vehicle had good frontal protection and withstood the blows of many guns. Although I couldn"t resist the Maus-2 gun.
  Pali cities: Chelyabinsk and Sverdlovsk. And so it was very good and there was a rapid offensive.
  It's already summer. Boy prisoners work barefoot in shorts and bare necks. And if it"s hot, then with their torsos completely naked. And boys are skinny. But the hobbit boy looks very ripped and pumped up. Although he looks like a small child, about ten years old. And of course it doesn"t grow or mature.
  Boys are bitten less by mosquitoes than adults, but hobbits are not bitten at all.
  And the German troops are getting closer and closer to them; the Nazis are almost no longer encountering resistance. Yes, and Stalin disappeared somewhere. Clearly, the cunning Georgian is not going to die. Most likely he fled to America. The Germans have not occupied it yet.
  The Hobbit Boy and the other prisoners began to sing, proud and patriotic. Although on the other hand, patriotism doesn"t give a damn when they beat you with a whip and force you to work like a donkey in a children"s labor colony. Although there is something good in this. For example, you make friends - other boys. The hobbit boy is actually over a hundred years old, but he looks like a child, which is why there is an ambivalent attitude towards him.
  And the child prisoners sing with great enthusiasm;
  I am an eternally young pioneer boy,
  I came to fight a rabid fascist...
  To set an example of greatness,
  I carry a diary with excellent in my backpack!
  
  The war came, I ran to the front,
  And he wandered barefoot along the roads...
  And he fired a machine gun at the Fritzes,
  At least a pure boy in his heart before God!
  
  I shot a Fritz from an ambush,
  I took a machine gun with a grenade from the bastard...
  After all, the boy has a lot of strength,
  We must fight bravely for our Motherland!
  
  The boy is a fighter from the devil, believe me,
  He shoots deafeningly at the Fritz...
  In battle he is like a saber-toothed beast,
  Which doesn't get any cooler!
  
  What can be done with Hitler?
  The boys will bury him with a wild roar...
  So that the murderer does not hit with an ax,
  There will be no place for him in pure heaven!
  
  Whatever you can get right away
  The predatory Fuhrer wanted a countryman with a maiden...
  But this hunter turned into game,
  Yes, it"s true, I feel sorry for the bullets on Adolf!
  
  It's already frosty, and I'm completely barefoot,
  An agile and furious whirlwind boy...
  And the girl shouts to me - wait,
  But you can see it"s too fast!
  
  Hit the policeman with his fist,
  Knocked the bastard down, hitting him in the back of the head...
  I will not send this shot with milk,
  And I won"t sell my Fatherland for a bottle!
  
  I'm a pioneer and I'm so proud of it,
  Since the tie is also very red...
  I will fight for Holy Rus',
  Although Adolf is such a terrible bandit!
  
  But I believe that we will bravely defeat the Wehrmacht,
  The little boy knows this very well...
  We are the golden-winged cherub,
  And the precious leader, Comrade Stalin!
  
  We will bravely defeat the Wehrmacht,
  Although the Nazis are fighting near Moscow...
  But I will pass the exam with a solid A,
  And I will entrust my pistol to the hero!
  
  Can I make a pioneer boy,
  Something the Nazis never dreamed of...
  There is ours for good deeds,
  And the Fuhrer will not even receive mercy!
  
  Whatever I can do, I can always do,
  Let the clouds hover over the Fatherland again...
  But the pioneer will not give in to the enemy,
  The Russian soldier is brave and powerful!
  
  Yes, I used to get captured,
  And they led him barefoot through a snowdrift...
  Police horseradish was applied to the wounds,
  And they beat the boy with wire!
  
  And my heels also burned with red hot fire,
  And they burned their feet with a poker...
  But the Krauts received only zeros,
  Although fire on the boy's foot!
  
  They broke their fingers, burned their foreheads,
  And they tore the joints off the boy"s shoulders...
  God forgot about the pioneer, apparently
  When the executioner sprinkled pepper on the wounds!
  
  But he didn"t say anything to the fascists,
  And needles, hot under the nails...
  After all, for me Stalin himself is an ideal,
  And the vile Fuhrer better die in agony!
  
  So they led me to execution in the snow,
  A boy brutally beaten, barefoot...
  But I don"t believe that I"m already broke
  You cannot avoid defeat by the Nazis!
  
  The Fritz put a star on my chest,
  Well, this makes me proud...
  I will not give in to the fierce enemy,
  And I will not resort to fear and evil meanness!
  
  I can take a step to the grave,
  And with such a ringing pioneer song...
  After all, the Fuhrer is just a mad donkey,
  And I"ll meet a girl in Eden, you know!
  
  But at the last moment it rang out,
  The clockwork trill of our machine guns...
  The firing squad has settled down,
  The Nazis have become crow droppings!
  
  And now to my hero boy,
  He came after going through torture and suffering...
  Fought with a large horde,
  After going through such evil trials!
  
  The boy is killing the Krauts again,
  A barefoot boy rushes through the snowdrifts...
  And he makes a very brave move,
  Feel free to braid your friend's hair!
  
  Berlin is apparently waiting for the boy soon,
  Germany will mow its head down for the Russians...
  A powerful cherub waves a sword,
  And he bravely asks everyone to come out to the square!
  
  I believe we will soon resurrect the dead,
  Whoever is buried will become like an angel...
  Our Lord is quite strong, One,
  At least Satan is sometimes too arrogant!
  
  May the universe be forever
  Under the banner of holy communism...
  Comrade Lenin is a bright star,
  And Stalin is the winner: evil, fascism!
  The truth here is rather the opposite: the Nazis took it and won. But in the song, the boys hope for the best. Although on the other hand thoughts flash, maybe under the new government there will be a place for them?
  The hobbit boy turned out to be unnecessary for the Stalinist regime. And this clearly affected his mood.
  But the children, in order to cheer themselves up, began to sing again, with great enthusiasm, and stamping their bare feet;
  A boy has come from the space era,
  When everything was quiet - peaceful...
  In his dreams the boy is a cool eagle,
  This doesn"t hurt him at all!
  
  Wartime, anxious time,
  The boy was overwhelmed like a tsunami...
  A mighty horde marched into Rus',
  And Fritz stuck the steel barrel of the tank!
  
  I'm a boy barefoot in the cold,
  The vile fascists drove me away...
  They were caught like gyrfalcons by force,
  I wanted to see communism in the distance!
  
  They drove me through the snow for a long time,
  I almost froze everything off...
  They burned my bare foot with an iron,
  They wanted to hang him naked between the pines!
  
  But a beautiful girl came
  And she automatically removed all the fascists...
  After all, her eye is like a sharp needle,
  We cut down and police a lot at once!
  
  The boy was almost dead
  The boy's blood froze in his veins...
  But it won't end now
  It's as if the girl came to life!
  
  I recovered from the terrible burns,
  After all, after the snow they burned me then...
  Know what an executioner without a heart is a donkey,
  But he will pay a penalty too!
  
  The girl is very smart, believe me,
  And the pioneer quickly became friends with her...
  Now you will be a real beast boy,
  And the faces of cherubs will support us!
  
  They began to fight with her very well,
  We destroyed the fascists endlessly...
  We pass the exams, we got A's,
  Galloping into communism for miles!
  
  The girl and I are barefoot in the snow,
  A couple of fears, without knowing, we rush...
  I'll hit the enemy with my fist,
  And the Sun always shines over the Fatherland!
  
  The Krauts will not be able to defeat me,
  And together with the girl we are invincible...
  I'm strong like an angry bear
  When we are united with the Komsomol!
  
  And here the girl runs barefoot,
  And he shoots so deftly at the fascists...
  We will forge a mighty shield for the Motherland,
  Let the evil Cain be destroyed!
  
  Russia is a very strong country,
  And she has a gun barrel...
  Satan cannot defeat us,
  Bloody retribution will come to him!
  
  So the beautiful girl sings,
  When barefoot rushes through a snowdrift...
  And together with the pioneer he beats the reptiles,
  We will achieve it, but we will end each of us!
  
  I"m also not a weak boy at all,
  I crush the fascists with severe fury...
  The Fuhrer will receive a nickel from me,
  And we will build a huge new world!
  
  We fight in this cool fury,
  The Wehrmacht will not bring us to our knees...
  Hooray for the Nazi in his daring,
  Anyone who becomes Lenin will join us!
  
  You will be a very cool beauty,
  The boy is madly in love with you...
  I will shoot for you, the country
  And for the sake of a very radiant city!
  
  I believe that I will arrive in time for Berlin,
  The brutal war will then subside...
  We will conquer the vastness of the universe,
  Let the flames rage brightly!
  
  And if we are destined to die,
  I prefer it alone...
  Let the girl do what I want,
  My son will give me a gift, even a daughter!
  
  You'll be a good girl
  You will build this world in which there will be paradise...
  We have beautiful flowers growing here,
  And believe me, the light is not a barn at all!
  
  I shot down a Tiger with a girl,
  And after him he finished off the Panther.
  The warrior turns the field into a shooting gallery,
  Although sometimes we don"t even know the extent!
  
  We will complete the main thing in the country,
  Let's build communism and the dollar will disappear...
  And we will defeat Satan there,
  May our lot be radiant!
  
  The girl plowed all winter,
  Walked barefoot through the cold...
  Well, why are we in battle - why,
  We will grow a more magnificent rose!
  
  Such a very cool path,
  A barefoot girl and I are waiting...
  And it is impossible to defeat the USSR,
  We will be marching in promising May!
  
  And even if May doesn"t come,
  We will still walk with victory...
  So boy, be bold and dare -
  The Sun will sparkle above us in paradise!
  
  Then don"t be afraid, we will raise the dead,
  Science has very strong advice...
  Our Lord is One, not One,
  And we will call the Fuhrer to account!
  This is how the barefoot boys in shorts with shaved hair sang. And many of them also had tattoos on their bodies. Even the hobbit boy carved a portrait of Stalin into his chest.
  But then German tanks appeared, and the same boy prisoners greeted them with great enthusiasm and stamped their bare, childish feet.
  By the end of 1945, German and Japanese troops occupied almost all major populated areas of the USSR. And only in some villages and hamlets were battles and partisan attacks still going on. Stalin actually fled, and did not show up, in Brazil, where he was hiding. But Molotov remained instead. However, in May one thousand nine hundred and forty-six, Molotov was captured by the SS assault special forces. After which Beria, who replaced Molotov, offered surrender on honorable terms.
  Hitler agreed, and Beria's life was spared and given limited freedom. And in the USSR, partisan warfare almost stopped. There was a lull.
  The Third Reich was digesting what it had conquered. But a clash with the USA and Britain was inevitable. In particular, Hitler demanded the return of colonial possessions to Italy and France, Belgium, and Holland. Primarily in Africa. And give them legally to the Germans. Now the Third Reich had a free hand. And if anything...
  But the USA did have an atomic bomb. True, the Third Reich not only has tanks, but also developed jet aircraft. And it will not allow bombs to be dropped on European territory.
  So there was a pause in the world. The Germans were building aircraft carriers, battleships, and large surface ships at an accelerated pace. But their submarine fleet was already strong, and their submarines ran on hydrogen peroxide. So...
  The hobbit boy found a place for himself in the Third Reich. She began improving flying saucers - the Belonce disk. In real history, this disk was able to take off and reached a speed of two sound barriers. However, he did not take part in the battles. It was too vulnerable, and big and expensive. In real history: neither the USSR nor the USA adopted flying saucers. Because the game wasn't worth the candle. Damage one motor and immediately the Belonce disk loses control and falls upside down.
  But the hobbit boy made it so that the laminar flow flows around the flying saucers and they become invulnerable to small arms. And now anti-aircraft guns, air cannons and machine guns cannot really shoot them down. But the eternal and barefoot boy made it so that, lo and behold, lasers were installed on them. And these lasers literally burned everything with fire and heat rays. And try to fight against this.
  So the Germans actually had strong military trump cards. At the same time, more advanced active armor was installed on the tanks, and they even began to make vehicles from plastic.
  Yes, it looked extremely funny and, in its own way, extremely aggressive.
  In the USA, of course, they wanted to respond to the Germans, but against flying saucers, they only have atomic charges that could theoretically destroy them. But the Nazis already had thousands of disc planes. The Fuhrer decided to go to war on April 20, 1949, on his sixtieth birthday. What might be said is not the stupidest idea.
  Moreover, the Nazis could get an unpleasant surprise if missile technology were developed in the United States.
  Before the invasion, Hitler decided to have fun with gladiator fights. And this is also not a crazy idea.
  But that's another story...
  
  SPY GAMES - DESTROYING RUSSIA
  ANNOTATION
  Various types of operations are carried out by intelligence services, primarily the CIA, NSA, MI, MOSAD, and others, creating a special situation throughout the world, which often becomes unpredictable. There is a struggle against terrorism and for spheres of influence. There are very interesting novels dedicated to this, as well as to the betrayal of Mikhail Gorbachev.
  
  CHAPTER FIRST
  
  
  The hatred in his heart burned brighter than molten steel.
  
  Matt Drake stood up, climbed over the wall, and landed in silence. He crouched among the swaying bushes, listening, but felt no change in the silence around him. He paused for a moment and checked the Glock subcompact again.
  
  Everything was ready. The Bloody King's minions will have a hard time tonight.
  
  The house in front of him was in twilight. The kitchen and living room on the first floor were engulfed in flames. The rest of the place was plunged into darkness. He paused for another second, carefully reviewing the diagram he had received from the previous, now dead henchman, before silently moving forward.
  
  His old training had served him well and was once again churning through his veins, now he had a purely personal reason and demand for it. Three of the Blood King's minions died horribly within three weeks.
  
  No matter what he told him, Rodriguez would have been number four.
  
  Drake reached the back entrance and checked the lock. After a few minutes he turned the handle and slipped inside. He heard an explosion from the television and muffled cheers. Rodriguez, God bless the old mass murderer, was watching the game.
  
  He walked around the kitchen, not needing the light of his compact flashlight due to the glow coming from the main room ahead. He stopped in the corridor to listen carefully.
  
  Was there more than one guy there? It's hard to make out because of the noise from the damn TV. Doesn't matter. He would kill them all.
  
  The despair he felt during the last three weeks after Kennedy's death came close to overwhelming him. He left his friends behind with only two concessions. He first called Torsten Dahl to warn the Swede about the Blood King's vendetta and advise him to get his family to safety. And secondly, he enlisted the help of his old SAS buddies. He trusted them to look after Ben Blake's family because he couldn't do it himself.
  
  Now Drake fought alone.
  
  He rarely spoke. He was drinking. Violence and darkness were his only friends. There was no hope or mercy left in his heart
  
  He moved silently down the aisle. The place stank of damp, sweat and fried food. The beer fumes were almost visible. Drake made a hard face.
  
  It's easier for me.
  
  His intelligence said there was a man living here, a man who had helped kidnap at least three of the Blood King's infamous 'captives.' Following the crash of his ship and the man's apparently well-planned escape, at least a dozen high-ranking figures cautiously and secretly stepped forward to explain that a member of their family was being held by underworld figures. The Bloody King manipulated the decisions and actions of the United States, profiting from the love and compassion of their figurehead.
  
  His plan was truly excellent. Not a single person knew that other people's loved ones were in danger, and the Blood King influenced them all with a rod of iron and blood. Everything that was needed. Whatever works.
  
  Drake believed they hadn't even touched the one who had been kidnapped yet. They could not understand how far the Blood King's vicious control actually went.
  
  To his left, a door opened and an unshaven, fat man came out. Drake acted instantly and with deadly force. He rushed at the man, pulled out a knife and plunged it deep into his stomach, then, by inertia, pushed him through the open door into the living room.
  
  The fat man's eyes bulged in disbelief and shock. Drake held it tightly, a wide, screaming shield, pressing hard into the blade before letting go and drawing the Glock.
  
  Rodriguez acted quickly, despite the shock of Drake's appearance. He had already rolled off the squashed sofa onto the floor and was fumbling with his belt. But Drake's attention was drawn to the third man in the room.
  
  A stocky, long-haired man was fiddling around in the corner with large black headphones pressed to his ears. But even as he tensed, even as he tapped out the bars of the anthem with his mud-caked fingers, he reached for the sawed-off shotgun.
  
  Drake made himself small. The fatal shot tore the fat man apart. Drake pushed the convulsing body aside and stood up, firing. Three shots took off most of the musician's head and threw his body against the wall. The headphones flew off to the side on their own, describing an arc in the air, and stopped on a huge TV, hanging beautifully from the edge.
  
  Blood ran down the flat screen.
  
  Rodriguez was still crawling on the floor. Discarded chips and beer bounced and splashed around him. Drake was at his side in an instant and jabbed the Glock hard into the roof of his mouth.
  
  "Tasty?"
  
  Rodriguez choked, but still reached into his belt for a small knife. Drake watched with disdain, and as the Blood King's minion dealt them a brutal blow, the former SAS soldier caught it and drove it hard into the attacker's bicep.
  
  "Do not be an idiot".
  
  Rodriguez sounded like a pig being slaughtered. Drake turned him around and leaned him back against the sofa. He met the man's eyes, clouded with pain.
  
  "Tell me everything you know," Drake whispered, "about the Bloody King." He pulled out a Glock but kept it in plain sight.
  
  "In what?" Rodriguez's accent was thick and difficult to decipher due to his race and pain.
  
  Drake slammed the Glock into Rodriguez's mouth. At least one tooth is knocked out.
  
  "Don't make fun of me." The venom in his voice betrayed more than just hatred and despair. This made the Blood King's man realize that a brutal death was indeed inevitable.
  
  "Good good. I know about Boudreau. Do you want me to tell you about Boudreau? This I can do."
  
  Drake lightly tapped the muzzle of the Glock on the man's forehead. "We can start there if you want."
  
  "Fine. Stay calm ". Rodriguez continued through the obvious pain. Blood flowed down his chin from broken teeth. "Boudreaux is a fucking asshole, man. Do you know the only reason why the Blood King left him alive?"
  
  Drake pointed the gun at the man's eye. "Do I look like the kind of person who answers questions?" His voice grated like steel on steel. "Should I?"
  
  "Yeah. Good good. There are still many deaths ahead. That's what the Bloody King said, man. There is a lot of death ahead, and Boudreau will be happy to be in the thick of it. "
  
  "So he's using Boudreau to clean up. Not surprising. He's probably destroying the whole ranch."
  
  Rodriguez blinked. "Do you know about the ranch?"
  
  "Where is he?" Drake felt hatred overcome him. "Where?" - I asked. The next second he was going to break loose and start beating Rodriguez to a pulp.
  
  There are no losses. The piece of shit doesn't know anything anyway. Just like everyone else. If there was one thing that could be said about the Blood King, it was how well he hid his tracks.
  
  At that moment, a spark flashed in Rodriguez's eyes. Drake rolled as something heavy passed where his head had been.
  
  A fourth man, likely passed out in the next room and awakened by the noise, attacked.
  
  Drake spun around, throwing out his leg and nearly taking his new opponent's head off. As the man collapsed to the ground, Drake quickly assessed him - hard gaze, tram rails on both hands, dirty T-shirt - and shot him twice in the head.
  
  Rodriguez's eyes bulged. "No!"
  
  Drake shot him in the arm. "You were no use to me."
  
  Another shot. His knee exploded.
  
  "You know nothing".
  
  Third bullet. Rodriguez was doubled over, holding his stomach.
  
  "Like all the rest of them."
  
  The last shoot. Right between the eyes.
  
  Drake surveyed the death around him, drinking it in, allowing his soul to drink the nectar of vengeance for just a moment.
  
  He left the house behind, escaping through the garden, allowing the deep darkness to consume him.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWO
  
  
  Drake woke up late at night, covered in sweat. The eyes were closed from partially shed tears. The dream was always the same.
  
  He was the person who always saved them. The person who is always the first to say the words "trust me." But then nothing worked out for him.
  
  Let them both down.
  
  Twice already. Alison first. Now Kennedy.
  
  He slid out of bed, reaching for the bottle he kept next to the gun on the nightstand. He took a sip from the bottle with the lid open. The cheap whiskey burned its way down his throat and into his intestines. Medicine for the weak and the damned.
  
  When guilt threatened to bring him to his knees again, he made three quick calls. The first in Iceland. He spoke briefly with Thorsten Dahl and heard the sympathy in the big Swede's voice, even when he told him to stop calling every night, that his wife and children were safe and that no harm would come to them.
  
  The second was for Joe Shepard, a man he had fought alongside in many battles during his time with the old regiment. Shepard politely outlined the same scenario as Dahl, but made no comment on Drake's slurred words or the rough croak in his voice. He assured Drake that Ben Blake's family was well guarded and that he and a few of his friends were sitting in the shadows, expertly guarding the place.
  
  Drake closed his eyes as he made the final call. His head was spinning and his insides were burning like the lowest level of hell. All this was welcome. Anything to take his attention away from Kennedy Moore.
  
  You even missed her damn funeral...
  
  "Hello?" Alicia's voice was calm and confident. She, too, had recently lost someone close to her, although she showed no outward signs.
  
  "It's me. How are they?"
  
  "Everything is fine. Hayden is recovering well. Just a few more weeks and she will return to her saintly CIA image. Blake is fine, but he misses you. His sister just showed up. A real family meeting. May is AWOL, thank God. I'm watching them, Drake. Where the hell are you?"
  
  Drake coughed and wiped his eyes. "Thank you," he managed to say before cutting off the connection. Funny that she mentioned hell.
  
  He felt that he had set up camp outside these very gates.
  
  
  CHAPTER THREE
  
  
  Hayden Jay watched the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean. It was her favorite part of the day, the one she liked to spend alone. She carefully slipped out of bed, wincing at the pain in her hip, and carefully walked to the window.
  
  Relative peace descended on her. The creeping fire touched the waves, and for a few minutes all her pain and worries melted away. Time stood still and she was immortal, and then the door behind her opened.
  
  Ben's voice. "Beautiful view".
  
  She nodded towards the sunrise and then turned to see him looking at her. "You don't have to get fresh, Ben Blake. Just coffee and a buttered bagel."
  
  Her boyfriend brandished a drink carton and a paper bag like weapons. "Meet me on the bed."
  
  Hayden took one last look at New Dawn and then slowly walked towards the bed. Ben placed the coffee and bagels within easy reach and gave her puppy dog eyes.
  
  "How-"
  
  "Same as last night," Hayden said quickly. "Eight hours won"t make the lameness go away." Then she softened a little. "Anything from Drake?"
  
  Ben leaned back on the bed and shook his head. "No. I talked to my dad and they are all doing well. No sign-" He paused. "From..."
  
  "Our families are safe." Hayden put his hand on his knee. "The Bloody King failed there. Now all we have to do is find him and call off the vendetta."
  
  "Failed?" Ben echoed. "How can you say that?"
  
  Hayden took a deep breath. "You know what I meant."
  
  "Kennedy died. And Drake... he didn't even go to her funeral.
  
  "I know".
  
  "He's gone, you know." Ben stared at his bagel as if it were a hissing snake. "He will not return".
  
  "Give him time."
  
  "He had three weeks."
  
  "Then give him three more."
  
  "What do you think he"s doing?"
  
  Hayden smiled slightly. "From what I know about Drake... Cover our backs first. Then he will try to find Dmitry Kovalenko."
  
  "The Bloody King may never appear again." Ben's mood was so depressing that even the bright promise of a new morning disappeared.
  
  "He will." Hayden glanced at the young man. "He has a plan, remember? He won't lie down on the ground like before. Time travel devices were just the beginning. Kovalenko has a much bigger game planned."
  
  "Hell Gate?" Ben thought about it. "Do you believe this shit?"
  
  "Doesn't matter. He believes it. All the CIA has to do is find out."
  
  Ben took a long sip of his coffee. "That's all, right?"
  
  "Well..." Hayden smiled slyly at him. "Now our geek powers are doubled."
  
  "Karin is the brains," Ben admitted. "But Drake would have broken Boudreaux in a minute."
  
  "Don't be too sure. Kinimaka did not do this. And he"s not exactly a poodle."
  
  Ben stopped when there was a knock on the door. His eyes betrayed horror.
  
  Hayden took a moment to calm him down. "We're inside a CIA secure hospital, Ben. The levels of security surrounding the site would put a presidential inauguration parade to shame. Cool down."
  
  The doctor stuck his head through the door. "Everything is fine?" He entered the room and began checking Hayden's charts and vital signs.
  
  As he closed the door on his way out, Ben spoke again. "Do you think the Blood King will try to take over the devices again?"
  
  Hayden shrugged. "You're suggesting that he didn't get the first thing I lost. That's probably what happened. As for the second one we found from his boat?" She smiled. "Nailed."
  
  "Don't be complacent."
  
  "The CIA is not resting on its laurels, Ben," Hayden said immediately. "No more. We are ready to meet him."
  
  "What about kidnap victims?"
  
  "What about them?"
  
  "They are definitely high profile. Harrison's sister. Others you mentioned. He will use them."
  
  "Of course he will do it. And we are ready to meet him."
  
  Ben finished his bagel and licked his fingers. "I still can't believe the whole band had to go underground," he said wistfully. "Right when we started to become famous."
  
  Hayden chuckled diplomatically. "Yes. Tragic."
  
  "Well, maybe it will make us more notorious."
  
  There was another soft knock and Karin and Kinimaka entered the room. The Hawaiian looked depressed.
  
  "This bastard is not going to squeal. No matter what we do, he won"t even whistle for us."
  
  Ben rested his chin on his knees and made a grim face. "Damn, I wish Matt was here."
  
  
  CHAPTER FOUR
  
  
  The Hereford man watched closely. From his vantage point at the top of a grassy hill to the right of a thick stand of trees, he could use the telescopic sight mounted on his rifle to pinpoint members of Ben Blake's family. The military-grade scope included an illuminated reticle, an option that allowed for extensive use in adverse lighting conditions and included BDC (Bullet Drop Compensation).
  
  In truth, the rifle was equipped to the hilt with every high-tech sniper gadget imaginable, but the man behind the scope, of course, did not need them. He was trained to the highest level. Now he watched as Ben Blake's father walked over to the television and turned it on. After a little adjustment, he saw Ben Blake's mother gesturing to his father with a small remote control. The crosshairs of his sight did not move even a millimeter.
  
  With a practiced movement, he swept his sight around the area surrounding the house. It was set back from the road, hidden by trees and a high wall, and the Hereford man continued silently counting the guards hiding among the bushes.
  
  One two Three. Everything is taken into account. He knew there were four more in the house, and two more were completely hidden. Despite all their sins, the CIA did an excellent job protecting the Blakes.
  
  The man frowned. He noticed movement. Darkness, blacker than night, spread along the base of the high wall. Too big to be an animal. Too secretive to be innocent.
  
  Have the people found the Bloody King of Blake? And if so, how good were they?
  
  A light breeze blew from the left, straight from the English Channel, bringing with it the salty taste of the sea. The Hereford man mentally compensated for the bullet's altered trajectory and zoomed in a little closer.
  
  The man was dressed all in black, but the equipment was clearly homemade. This guy was not a professional, just a mercenary.
  
  Bullet food.
  
  The man's finger tightened for a moment and then released. Of course, the real question was how many did he bring with him?
  
  Keeping his target in the crosshairs, he quickly assessed the house and its surroundings. A second later he was sure. The surroundings were clean. This man in black acted alone, the Hereford man was confident in himself.
  
  A mercenary who kills for pay.
  
  Hardly worth a bullet.
  
  He pulled the trigger gently and absorbed the recoil. The sound of a bullet leaving the barrel is barely perceptible. He saw the mercenary fall without any fuss, collapsing among the overgrown bushes.
  
  The Blake family's guards didn't notice anything. In a few minutes, he would secretly call the CIA, informing them that their new safe house had been broken into.
  
  The Hereford man, an old SAS buddy of Matt Drake's, continued to guard the guards.
  
  
  CHAPTER FIVE
  
  
  Matt Drake unscrewed the cap from a fresh bottle of Morgan's Spiced and dialed the number on speed dial on his cell phone.
  
  May's voice sounded excited as she answered. "Drake? What do you want?"
  
  Drake frowned and took a sip from the bottle. For May, showing emotion was about as uncharacteristic as it would be for a politician to honor his election vows. "Are you okay?"
  
  "Of course I'm fine. Why shouldn't I be? What is this?"
  
  He took another long sip and continued. "The device I gave you. It is safe?"
  
  There was a moment's hesitation. "I do not have it. But it's safe, my friend." Mai's soothing intonations returned. "This is as safe as it can be." Drake took another sip. Mai asked, "Is that all?"
  
  "No. I believe I've almost exhausted my leads on this end. But I have another idea. One is closer to ... home."
  
  The silence clicked and crackled as she waited. This was no ordinary May. Maybe she was with someone.
  
  "I need you to use your Japanese contacts. And the Chinese. And especially the Russians. I want to know if Kovalenko has a family."
  
  A sharp breath was heard. "Are you serious?"
  
  "Of course I"m damn serious." He said it more harshly than he intended, but did not apologize. "And I also want to know about Boudreau. And his family."
  
  It took Mai a full minute to respond. "Okay, Drake. I'll do the best I can."
  
  Drake took a deep breath as the connection went dead. A minute later he stared at the bottle of spiced rum. For some reason it was half empty. He looked up at the window and tried to see the city of Miami, but the glass was so dirty that he could barely see the glass.
  
  His heart ached.
  
  He knocked back the bottle again. Without further thought, he took action and pressed another speed dial number. In action, he found a way to put grief aside. In action, he found a way to move forward.
  
  The cell phone rang and rang. Finally the voice answered. "Fuck, Drake! What?"
  
  "You speak smoothly, bitch," he drawled, then paused. "How... how is the team?"
  
  "Team? Christ. Okay, want a damn football analogy? The only person you can reasonably use as a striker at this point is Kinimaka. Hayden, Blake and his sister wouldn't even make the bench." She paused. "No concentration. Your fault."
  
  He made a pause. "I? Are you saying that if an attempt had been made on them, it would have been successful?" His head, slightly foggy, began to throb. "Because an attempt will be made."
  
  "The hospital is well guarded. The guards are quite competent. But it's good that you asked me to stay. And it's good that I said yes.
  
  "And Boudreau? What about this bastard?"
  
  "About as fun as a fried egg. It won't break. But remember, Drake, the entire US government is working on this now. Not just us."
  
  "Don't remind me." Drake winced. "A government that is deeply compromised. Information travels up and down government communications lines, Alicia. It only takes one major lockdown to fill it all."
  
  Alicia remained silent.
  
  Drake sat and thought about it. Until the Blood King was physically discovered, any information they had had to be considered unreliable. This included information about the Gates of Hell, the connection to Hawaii, and any tidbits he gleaned from the four dead henchmen.
  
  Maybe one more thing would help.
  
  "I have one more lead. And May checks the family connections of Kovalenko and Boudreau. Maybe you could ask Hayden to do the same?"
  
  "I'm here as a favor, Drake. I"m not your damn sheepdog."
  
  This time Drake remained silent.
  
  Alicia sighed. "Look, I'll mention it. And as for May, don't trust that crazy fairy as far as you can throw her."
  
  Drake smiled at the video game reference. "I'll agree with this when you tell me which one of you crazy bitches killed Wells. And why."
  
  He expected a long silence and got it. He took the opportunity to take a few more sips of the amber medicine.
  
  "I'll talk to Hayden," Alicia finally whispered. "If Boudreaux or Kovalenko have a family, we will find them."
  
  The connection was interrupted. In the sudden silence, Drake's head throbbed like a jackhammer. One day they will tell him the truth. But for now it was enough that he had lost Kennedy.
  
  It was enough that he had once believed in something that was now as distant as the moon, a bright future that had turned to ash. The hopelessness inside him twisted his heart. The bottle fell from weakened fingers, not breaking, but spilling its fiery contents on the dirty floor.
  
  For a moment Drake considered pouring it into a glass. The spilled liquid reminded him of the promises, vows and assurances he had made that had evaporated in a split second, leaving lives wasted and ruined like so much water spilled on the floor.
  
  How could he do this again? Promise to keep his friends safe. All he could do now was kill as many enemies as he could.
  
  Defeat the world of evil, and let good continue to live.
  
  He sat down on the edge of the bed. Broken. Nothing left. Everything but death died inside him, and the broken shell that remained wanted nothing more from this world.
  
  
  CHAPTER SIX
  
  
  Hayden waited until Ben and Karin had retired to one of the service rooms. The brother and sister team researched Hawaii, Diamond Head, the Gates of Hell and other legends associated with the Bloody King, hoping to piece together a theory.
  
  With the situation cleared up, Hayden put on fresh clothes and walked into the small office where Mano Kinimaka had set up a small workstation. The big Hawaiian was tapping away at the keys, looking a little upset.
  
  "Still catching two keys at once with your sausage fingers?" Hayden asked nonchalantly and Kinimaka turned around with a smile.
  
  "Aloha nani wahine," he said, and then almost blushed when she showed knowledge of the meaning of the words.
  
  "Do you think I'm beautiful? Is it because I was stabbed by a crazy person?"
  
  "Because I'm glad. I"m so glad you"re still with us."
  
  Hayden put his hand on Kinimaki's shoulder. "Thank you, Mano." She waited a few moments, then said, "But now with Boudreau we have both an opportunity and a dilemma. We must know what he knows. But how can we break him?"
  
  "Do you think this crazy bastard knows where the Bloody King is hiding?" Would a cautious person like Kovalenko really tell him?"
  
  "Boudreau is the worst type of crazy. Clever man. I guess he knows something."
  
  A sardonic voice came from behind Hayden. "Drakey thinks we should torture his family." Hayden turned around. Alicia gave her a cynical smile. "Are you okay with this, CIA?"
  
  "Did you talk to Matt again?" Hayden said. "How is he?"
  
  "Looks like his old self," Alicia said with an irony she clearly didn"t mean. "The way I once liked him."
  
  "Hopeless? Drunk? One?" Hayden couldn't hide the contempt in her voice.
  
  Alicia shrugged. "Nervous. Hard. Deadly." She met the CIA agent's gaze. "Believe me, honey, this is how he should be. It's the only way he'll get out of this case alive. And..." She paused, as if wondering whether to continue. "And... this may just be the only way you will all come out of this alive and with your families intact."
  
  "I"ll see if Boudreaux has a family." Hayden turned back to Kinimaka. "But the CIA sure as hell won"t torture anyone."
  
  "Is your pass valid for entry into the facility?" Kinimaka looked at the former British Army soldier.
  
  "Give or take, big boy." Alicia flashed a mischievous smile and deliberately pushed past Hayden into the small room occupied mostly by Kinimaki's body. "What are you doing?"
  
  "Job". Kinimaka turned off the screen and hid in a corner, as far away from Alicia as possible.
  
  Hayden came to his aid. "You were a soldier when you were human, Alicia. Do you have any suggestions that could help us break Boudreaux?"
  
  Alicia turned to Hayden with a challenge in her eyes. "Why don"t we go and talk to him?"
  
  Hayden smiled. "I was just getting ready."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Hayden led us down to the holding area. The five-minute walk and the elevator ride did not cause her any pain, although she took it calmly and her mood improved. She came to realize that being stabbed was relatively similar to any other illness that caused you to take time off from work. Sooner or later you just got bored as hell and wanted to drag hell into a fight again.
  
  The pre-trial detention area consisted of two rows of cells. They walked along the carefully polished floor until they reached the only cell that held a prisoner, the last cell on the left. The front of the cell was wide open, and its occupant was surrounded by rows of bars that stretched from floor to ceiling.
  
  The air was filled with the smell of bleach. Hayden nodded to the armed guards stationed outside Boudreau's cell as she arrived to confront the man who had tried to kill her multiple times three weeks earlier.
  
  Ed Boudreaux lounged on his bunk. He grinned when he saw her. "How"s your thigh, blonde?"
  
  "What?" Hayden knew she shouldn't provoke him, but she couldn't help herself. "Your voice sounds a little hoarse. Have you been strangled recently?" Three weeks of limping and the trauma of a stab wound had left her reckless.
  
  Kinimaka walked up behind her, grinning. Boudreau met his gaze with fierce hunger. "Sometimes," he whispered. "Let's turn the table."
  
  Kinimaka straightened his large shoulders without answering. Alicia then walked around the big man's body and walked straight to the bars. "Did that skinny bastard mess up your tiny panties?" She directed the sneer at Hayden, but didn't take her eyes off Boudreau. "It wouldn't take more than a minute."
  
  Boudreau rose from the bed and walked over to the bars. "Beautiful eyes," he said. "Dirty mouth. Aren't you the one who fucked that fat guy with the beard? The one my people killed?"
  
  "It's me".
  
  Boudreaux grabbed the bars. "How do you feel about this?"
  
  Hayden sensed that the guards were starting to get nervous. This kind of confrontational weigh-in got them nowhere.
  
  Kinimaka had already tried to get the mercenary to talk in a dozen different ways, so Hayden asked something simple. "What do you want, Boudreau? What will convince you to tell us what you know about Kovalenko?"
  
  "Who?" Boudreau didn't take his eyes off Alicia. They were separated by the width of the lattice between them.
  
  "You know who I mean. Bloody King."
  
  "Oh, him. He's just a myth. Thought the CIA must know this."
  
  "Name your price."
  
  Boudreau finally broke eye contact with Alicia. "Despair is the English way." In the words of Pink Floyd."
  
  "We're getting nowhere," it reminded Hayden uncomfortably of Drake and Ben's Dinoroc banter competition, and he hoped Boudreaux was just making pointless remarks. "We-"
  
  "I"ll take her," Boudreau suddenly hissed. Hayden turned to see him standing face to face with Alicia again. "One on one. If she beats me, I will talk."
  
  "Made". Alicia practically squeezed through the bars. The guards rushed forward. Hayden felt her blood boil.
  
  "Stop!" She reached out and pulled Alicia back. "Are you crazy? This asshole will never speak. It's not worth the risk."
  
  "No risk," Alicia whispered. "No risk at all."
  
  "We're leaving," Hayden said. "But-" She thought about what Drake asked. "We'll be back soon".
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Ben Blake sat back and watched as his sister operated the modified CIA computer with ease. It didn't take her long to get used to the special operating system required by the government agency, but then she was the brains of the family.
  
  Karin was a sassy, black belt, strip bar slacker who life knocked at the age of six in her late teens, she packed her brains and her degrees and planned to do absolutely nothing. Her goal was to hurt and hate life for what it did to her. Wasting her gifts was one way of showing that she didn't care anymore.
  
  She turned to look at him now. "Behold and worship the power of the Blake woman. Everything you ever wanted to know about Diamond Head in one quick read."
  
  Ben looked at the information. They had been doing this for several days - exploring Hawaii and Diamond Head - the famous volcano of Oahu - and reading about the travels of Captain Cook, the legendary discoverer of the Hawaiian Islands back in 1778. It was important that they both scanned and saved as much information as possible because when the breakthrough occurred, the authorities expected events to move very quickly indeed.
  
  However, the Blood King's reference to the Gates of Hell remained a mystery, especially in relation to Hawaii. It seemed like most Hawaiians didn't even believe in the traditional version of hell.
  
  Diamond Head itself was part of a complex series of cones and vents known as the Honolulu Volcano Series, a chain of events that formed most of Oahu's infamous landmarks. Diamond Head itself, probably the most famous landmark, erupted only once about 150,000 years ago, but with such one-time explosive force that it managed to maintain its incredibly symmetrical cone.
  
  Ben smirked slightly at the next comment. It is believed that Diamond Head will never erupt again. Hm...
  
  "Did you remember the part about Diamond Head being a series of cones and holes?" Karin's accent was Yorkshire to a fault. She's already had a lot of fun with the local CIA people in Miami over this and has no doubt upset more than one.
  
  Not that Karin cared. "Are you deaf, buddy?"
  
  "Don't call me buddy," he whined. "It's what men call other men. Girls shouldn't talk like that. Especially my sister."
  
  "Okay, broth. Truce, for now. But do you know what vents mean? At least in your world?"
  
  Ben felt like he was back in school. "Lava tubes?"
  
  "Understood. Hey, you're not dumb as a doorknob like dad used to say."
  
  "Dad never said-"
  
  "Chill, bitch. Simply put, lava tubes mean tunnels. All over Oahu."
  
  Ben shook his head, looking at her. "I know it. Are you saying that the Blood King is hiding behind one of them?"
  
  "Who knows? But we"re here to do research, right?" She tapped the keys on CIA Ben's own computer. "Get to it."
  
  Ben sighed and turned away from her. Like the rest of his family, he had missed them while they were apart, but after an hour of catching up, the old nagging returned. However, she went a long way to help.
  
  He opened a search on The Legends of Captain Cook and sat back in his chair to see what came up, his thoughts very similar to those of Matt Drake and his best friend. State of mind.
  
  
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  
  The Blood King overlooked his territory through a floor-length mirrored window, created for the sole purpose of creating a panoramic view overlooking a lush, rolling valley, a paradise where no man had ever set foot except his own.
  
  His mind, usually steady and focused, was racing through numerous topics today. The loss of his ship-his home for decades-though expected, made it worse. Perhaps it was the sudden nature of the ship's demise. He didn't have time to say goodbye. But then goodbyes had never been important or sentimental to him before.
  
  He was a tough, unfeeling man who grew up during some of Russia's toughest times and in many of the toughest areas of the country. Despite this, he prospered with relative ease, built an empire of blood, death and vodka, and made billions.
  
  He knew very well why the loss of Stormcloak had infuriated him. He considered himself untouchable, a king among men. To be insulted and disappointed in this way by the puny US government was nothing more than a blip in his eye. But it still hurt.
  
  The former soldier, Drake, proved to be a particular thorn in his side. Kovalenko felt that the Englishman had personally attempted to thwart his well-laid plans, which had been in motion for a number of years, and took the man's participation as a personal insult.
  
  Hence the Bloody Vendetta. His personal approach was to deal with Drake's girlfriend first; He will leave the rest of the larvae to his global mercenary connections. He was already anticipating the first phone call. Another one will die soon.
  
  Over the edge of the valley, nestled behind a distant green hill, stood one of his three ranches. He could only make out camouflaged rooftops, visible to him only because he knew exactly where to look. The ranch on this island was the largest. The other two were on separate islands, smaller and heavily defended, designed solely to split an enemy attack into three directions if it ever came.
  
  The value of placing hostages in different locations was that the enemy would have to split his forces to rescue each of them alive.
  
  There were a dozen different ways for the Bloody King to leave this island undetected, but if everything had gone according to plan, he wouldn't have gone anywhere. He will find what Cook found beyond the Gates of Hell, and the revelations will surely turn the king into a god.
  
  The gate alone was enough to do this, he reasoned.
  
  But any thoughts about the gate inevitably led to memories that burned deeply - the loss of both transportation devices, the insolence that would be avenged. His network quickly discovered the location of one device-one that was in CIA custody. He already knew the location of the other.
  
  It's time to bring them both back.
  
  He reveled in the view at the last minute. Thick foliage swayed in rhythm with the tropical breeze. A deep calm of serenity caught his attention for a moment, but did not move him. What he never had, he will never miss.
  
  Right on cue, there was a cautious knock on the door of his office. The Blood King turned and said, "Let"s go." His voice echoed like the sound of a tank driving over a gravel pit.
  
  Door opened. Two guards entered, dragging with them a frightened but well-mannered girl of Japanese descent. "Chica Kitano," the Bloody King rasped. "I hope you are taken care of?"
  
  The girl stubbornly looked at the ground, not daring to raise her eyes. The Bloody King approved. "Are you waiting for my permission?" He didn't agree. "I was told that your sister is the most dangerous opponent, Chica," he continued. "And now she is just another resource for me, like Mother Earth. Tell me... does she love you, Chika, your sister, Mai?"
  
  The girl didn't even breathe. One of the guards looked questioningly at the Blood King, but he ignored the man. "There is no need to talk. I understand this more than you can ever imagine. It's just business for me to trade you. And I know very well the value of careful silence during a business transaction."
  
  He was waving a satellite phone. "Your sister - Mai - she contacted me. Very clever, and in the sense of an unspoken threat. She's dangerous, your sister." He said it a second time, almost enjoying the prospect of meeting face to face.
  
  But this simply could not happen. Not now, when he was so close to his life's goal.
  
  "She offered to trade for your life. You see, she has my treasure. A very special device that it will replace for you. This is good. It shows your worth in a world that rewards ruthless people like me."
  
  The Japanese girl timidly raised her eyes. The Bloody King curled his mouth into something like a smile. "Now we see what she is willing to sacrifice for you."
  
  He dialed the number. The phone rang once and was answered by a calm female voice.
  
  "Yes?"
  
  "Mai Kitano. Do you know who is it. You know there is no chance of tracing this call, right?"
  
  "I have no intention of trying."
  
  "Very good". He sighed. "Oh, if only we had more time, you and me. But no matter. Your beautiful sister, Chica, is here." The Blood King motioned for the guards to bring her forward. "Say hello to your sister, Chica."
  
  May's voice echoed through the phone. "Chica? How are you?" Reserved. Without betraying the fear and rage that the Bloody King knew must be simmering beneath the surface.
  
  It took a moment, but Chika finally said, "Konnichiwa, shimai."
  
  The Bloody King laughed. "It is amazing to me that the Japanese ever created such a brutal fighting machine as you, Mai Kitano. Your race knows no adversity like my own. You're all so damn reserved. "
  
  "Our rage and passion come from what makes us feel," Mai said quietly. "And from what is being done to us."
  
  "Don"t think about preaching to me. Or are you threatening me?
  
  "I don't need to do either of those things. It will be as it will be."
  
  "Then let me tell you how it will be. You will meet my people tomorrow evening in Coconut Grove, at the CocoWalk. At eight o'clock in the evening they will be inside the restaurant, in the crowd. You hand over the device and leave."
  
  "How will they recognize me?"
  
  "They will know you, Mai Kitano, just like I do. That's all you need to know. Eight in the evening, it would be wise of you not to be late."
  
  There was a sudden cheerfulness in May's voice, which made the Blood King smile. "My sister. What about her?
  
  "When they have the device, my people will give you instructions." The Blood King finished the challenge and enjoyed his victory for a moment. All his plans fit together.
  
  "Prepare the girl for the journey," he told his men in an emotionless voice. "And make the stakes high for Kitano. I want entertainment. I want to see how good this legendary fighter really is."
  
  
  CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  
  Mai Kitano stared at the dead phone in her hands and realized that her goal was far from being achieved. Dmitry Kovalenko was not one of those who easily part with the things he owned.
  
  Her sister, Chika, was kidnapped from a Tokyo apartment weeks before Matt Drake first contacted her with his wild theories about the Bermuda Triangle and a mythical underworld figure called the Blood King. By then, Mai had learned enough to know that this man was very real and very, very deadly.
  
  But she had to hide her true intentions and keep her secrets to herself. In truth, this is not a difficult task for a Japanese woman, but it is made more difficult by Matt Drake's obvious loyalty and his unyielding conviction to protect his friends.
  
  Many times she almost told him.
  
  But Chica was her priority. Even her own government didn't know where May was.
  
  She walked out of the Miami alley where she had taken a call and headed across the busy road to her favorite Starbucks. A cozy little place where they took the time to write your name on the cups and always remembered your favorite drink. She sat for a while. She knew CocoWalk well, but still intended to catch a taxi there soon.
  
  Why walk in half?
  
  A huge number of people, both local and tourists, will work both for her and against her. But the more she thought about it, the more she believed that the Blood King had made a very wise decision. In the end, it all depended on who would win.
  
  Kovalenko did because he was holding sister May.
  
  So, among the crowd, it wouldn't seem out of place for her to pass the bag to some guys. But if she then challenged those guys and forced them to talk about their sister, it would get attention.
  
  And one more thing - she felt that she now knew Kovalenko a little better. Knew in which direction his mind was working.
  
  He would have watched.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Later that day, Hayden Jay made a private phone call to her boss, Jonathan Gates. She immediately realized that he was on the verge.
  
  "Yes. What happened, Hayden?"
  
  "Sir?" Their professional relationship was so good that sometimes she could turn it into a personal one. "Everything is fine?"
  
  There was hesitation on the other end of the line, something else uncharacteristic of Gates. "This is as good as could be expected," the Secretary of Defense finally muttered. "How is your leg?"
  
  "Yes sir. The healing is going well." Hayden stopped herself from asking the question she wanted to ask. Suddenly nervous, she avoided the topic. "What about Harrison, sir? What is his status?"
  
  "Harrison will go to prison, like all Kovalenko"s informants. Manipulated or not. Is that all, Miss Jay?"
  
  Stung by the cold tones, Hayden collapsed into a chair and closed her eyes tightly. "No, sir. I have to ask you something. It may have already been covered up by the CIA or another agency, but I really need to know..." She paused.
  
  "Please Hayden, just ask."
  
  "Does Boudreaux have any family, sir?"
  
  "What the hell does that mean?"
  
  Hayden sighed. "It means exactly what you think it means, Mr. Secretary. We're getting nowhere here, and time is running out. Boudreaux knows something."
  
  "Damn it, Jay, we are the American government, and you are the CIA, not the Mossad. You should have known better than to speak so openly."
  
  Hayden knew better. But despair broke her. "Matt Drake could do it," she said quietly.
  
  "Agent. This will not work." The secretary was silent for a while and then spoke. "Agent Jay, you have been given a verbal reprimand. My advice is to keep your head down for a while."
  
  The connection was interrupted.
  
  Hayden stared at the wall, but it was like looking to a blank canvas for inspiration. After a while, she turned and watched the sunset fall over Miami.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The long delay was eating away at May's soul. A determined and active woman, any period of inaction irritated her, but when her sister's life was in the balance, it practically tore her spirit apart.
  
  But now the wait is over. Mai Kitano approached the coconut path in Coconut Grove and quickly moved to the observation post she had designated the day before. With the exchange still hours away, Mai settled into the dimly lit Cheesecake Factory bar and placed her backpack filled with devices on the counter in front of her.
  
  A row of television screens blared directly above her head, broadcasting various sports channels. The bar was loud and hectic, but nothing compared to the crowd that filled the restaurant entrance and reception area. She had never seen a restaurant so wildly popular.
  
  The bartender came over and placed a napkin on the bar. "Hello again," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "Another round?"
  
  Same guy as last night. Mai didn't need any distractions. "Save it. I'll take bottled water and tea. You couldn"t last three minutes with me, friend."
  
  Ignoring the bartender's gaze, she continued to study the entrance. Scrutinizing dozens of people at once had never been difficult for her. People are creatures of habit. They tend to stay within their circle. These were new arrivals that she had to constantly review.
  
  Mai sipped her tea and watched. There was a happy atmosphere and a delicious smell of delicious food. Every time a waiter walked by with a huge oval tray filled to the brim with huge plates and drinks, she had a hard time keeping her attention on the doors. Laughter filled the room.
  
  An hour has passed. At the end of the bar an old man sat alone, head down, sipping a pint of beer. Loneliness surrounded him like a layer of stubble, warning everyone of danger. He was the only pest in this whole place. Just behind him, as if to emphasize his specialness, a British couple asked a passing waiter to take a photo of them sitting together, arms around each other. Mai heard a man's excited voice, "We just found out that we are pregnant."
  
  Her eyes never stopped wandering. The bartender approached her several times, but did not bring anything else. Some kind of football match was being played out on the TV screens.
  
  Mai held the backpack tightly. When the indicator on her phone showed eight o'clock, she saw three men in dark suits enter the restaurant. They stood out like Marines in church. Big, broad-shouldered. Neck tattoos. Shaved heads. Hard, unsmiling faces.
  
  Kovalenko's people were here.
  
  Mai watched them move, appreciating their skill. Everyone was competent, but several leagues behind her. She took one last sip of her tea, etched Chika's face firmly in her mind, and slid off the bar stool. With consummate ease, she crept up behind them, clutching the backpack to her feet.
  
  She waited.
  
  A second later, one of them noticed her. The shock on his face was gratifying. They knew her reputation.
  
  "Where is my sister?"
  
  It took them a moment to regain their tough demeanor. One asked: "Do you have a device?"
  
  They had to speak loudly to hear each other over the noise of people arriving and leaving, being called to take their tables.
  
  "Yes, I have it. Show me my sister."
  
  Now one of the convicts forced a smile. "Now this," he grinned, "I can do."
  
  Trying to stay in the crowd, one of Kovalenko's thugs fished out a brand new iPhone and dialed a number. Mai felt the other two staring at her as she watched, most likely gauging what form her reaction might take.
  
  If they hurt Chika, she wouldn't care about the crowd.
  
  The tense moments are over. Mai saw a pretty young girl happily rushing towards a large display of cheesecakes, followed quickly and just as happily by her parents. How close they were to death and chaos, they simply could not know, and Mai had no desire to show them.
  
  The iPhone came to life with a bang. She strained to see the small screen. It was out of focus. After a few seconds, the blurry image came together to show a close-up of her sister's face. Chica was alive and breathing, but she looked scared out of her mind.
  
  "If any of you bastards hurt her..."
  
  "Just keep watching."
  
  The picture continued to disappear. Chica's entire body came into view, tied so tightly to the massive oak chair that she could barely move. Mai gnashed her teeth. The camera continued to move away. The user walked away from Chica through a large, well-lit warehouse. At some point they stopped at the window and showed her the view outside. She immediately recognized one of Miami's most iconic buildings, the Miami Tower, a three-story skyscraper known for its ever-changing color display. After a few more seconds, the phone returned to her sister, and the owner began to retreat again until he eventually stopped.
  
  "He"s at the door," Kovalenko, the more talkative of the people, told her. "When you give us the device, it will come out. Then you can see exactly where it is."
  
  Mai was studying her iPhone. The call should have been current. She didn't think it was a recording. Besides, she saw him dial the number. And her sister was definitely in Miami.
  
  Of course, they could have killed her and escaped even before Mai managed to escape from Kokoshnik.
  
  "Device, Miss Kitano." The bandit's voice, although harsh, contained a lot of respect.
  
  As it should be.
  
  Mai Kitano was a shrewd operative, one of the best Japanese intelligence had to offer. She had to wonder how badly Kovalenko wanted the device. Was it as bad as she wanted her sister back?
  
  You don't play roulette with your family. You'll get them back and you'll get them even later.
  
  Mai picked up her backpack. "I"ll give it to you when he walks out the door."
  
  If it had been anyone else, they might have tried to take it away. They could have bullied her a little more. But they valued their lives, these thugs, and they all nodded as one.
  
  The one with the iPhone spoke into the microphone. "Do it. Go outside."
  
  Mai watched intently as the picture jumped around in a circle, drawing attention away from her sister until a broken metal door frame came into view. Then, the outside of a shabby looking warehouse somewhere in dire need of paint and a sheet metal worker.
  
  The camera moved back even further. Street parking spaces and a large white sign that read "Garage" came into view. A red blur of a car flashed past. Mai felt her impatience begin to boil, and then the camera suddenly focused back on the building and specifically to the right of the door to reveal a tattered old sign.
  
  The building number and then the words: Southeast 1st Street. She had her address.
  
  Mai threw off her backpack and ran away like a hungry cheetah. The crowd melted before her. Once outside, she ran to the nearest escalator, jumped over the railing, and landed with a confident foot about halfway down. She screamed and people jumped aside. She sprinted to ground level and made her way to the car she parked neatly on Grand Avenue.
  
  Turned the ignition key. I shifted the manual gear into gear and pressed the accelerator to the floor. Burnt some rubber in the traffic on Tigertail Avenue and didn't hesitate to take the risk. Turning the wheel, she turned three-quarters of her attention to the sat-nav, typing in the address, heart pounding.
  
  The navigator brought her to the 27th south. In front of her was a straight road pointing north, and she literally pressed the pedal to the carpet. She was so focused that she didn't even think about what she would do when she got to the warehouse. The car in front didn't like her antics. He pulled out in front of her, his taillights flashing. Mai hit the rear fender, causing the driver to lose control and send his car into a row of parked motorcycles. Bicycles, helmets and shards of metal flew in all directions.
  
  Mai narrowed her focus. Storefronts and cars flashed by like blurry walls of tunnel vision. Passersby shouted at her. The biker was so shocked by her high-speed maneuvers that he staggered and fell at a traffic light.
  
  The navigator took her east, toward Flagler. The indicator told her she would be there in five minutes. The fish market was in a haze of color to the left. A quick tug and she saw a sign that said "SW1st Street".
  
  Fifty seconds later, the Irish accent of the navigator announced: you have reached your destination.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Even now, Mai had not taken any serious precautions. She remembered to lock the car and leave the keys behind the front wheel on the passenger side. She ran across the road and found the sign she had seen a while ago on the shaky camera.
  
  Now she took a breath to steel herself for what she might discover. She closed her eyes, regained her balance, and calmed her fear and rage.
  
  The handle turned freely. She walked through the threshold and quickly slid to the left. Nothing changed. The space was about fifty feet from the door to the back wall and about thirty feet wide. There was no furniture there. No pictures on the walls. There are no curtains on the windows. Above her were several bright, hot rows of lights.
  
  Chica was still tied to a chair in the back of the room, her eyes wide and trying to move. And he struggled, it was clear, to say something to Mai.
  
  But the Japanese intelligence agent knew what to look for. She noticed half a dozen security cameras located throughout the place and immediately knew who was watching.
  
  Kovalenko.
  
  What she didn't know was why? Was he expecting some kind of show? Whatever it was, she knew the Blood King's reputation. It wouldn't be fast or easy, which didn't take into account a hidden bomb or gas cylinder.
  
  The dog leg at the end of the room, right in front of her sister's chair, no doubt hid a surprise or two.
  
  Mai slowly moved forward, relieved that Chika was still alive, but under no illusions about how long Kovalenko intended this to last.
  
  As if in response, a voice boomed from hidden speakers. "Mai Kitano! Your reputation is unparalleled." It was Kovalenko. "Let's see if it's deserved."
  
  Four figures slipped out from behind the blind dog's leg. Mai stared for a second, barely able to believe her eyes, but then was forced into a stance as the first of the assassins rushed towards her.
  
  He quickly ran, preparing for a flying kick, until Mai easily slipped to the side and performed a perfect spinning kick. The first fighter collapsed to the ground, shocked. The Bloody King's laughter came from the speakers.
  
  Now the second fighter attacked her, not giving her a chance to finish off the first. The man twirled the chakram-a steel ring with a razor-sharp outer edge-on his fingertip and smiled as he approached.
  
  Mai paused. This man was an adept. Deadly. The ability to wield such a dangerous weapon with confident ease spoke of years of hard practice. He could throw the chakram with a simple flick of his wrist. She quickly evened the odds.
  
  She ran towards him, closing his range. When she saw his wrist twitch, she dove into a slide, sliding under the arc of the weapon, throwing her head as far back as possible as the evil blades sliced through the air above her.
  
  A lock of her hair fell to the floor.
  
  Mai slammed feet first into the adept, kicking his knees with all her might. Now was not the time to take prisoners. With a crunch that she both heard and felt, the man's knees buckled. His scream preceded his fall to the ground.
  
  So many years of training lost in an instant.
  
  This man's eyes revealed much more than personal pain. Mai wondered for a moment what Kovalenko might have over him, but then a third fighter entered the fight and she felt the first one already rise to his feet.
  
  The third was a large man. He stomped across the floor toward her like a big bear stalking its prey, bare feet slapping against the concrete. The Blood King encouraged him with a series of grunts and then burst into laughter, a maniac in his element.
  
  Mai looked him straight in the eye. "You don't have to do this. We are close to capturing Kovalenko. And the release of the hostages."
  
  The man hesitated for a moment. Kovalenko snorted high above his head. "You make me tremble, Mai Kitano, tremble with fear. For twenty years I was just a myth, and now I am breaking my silence on my own terms. How could you..." He paused. "Has anyone like you ever equaled me?"
  
  Mai continued to look into the eyes of the big fighter. She felt that the one behind her also stopped, as if awaiting the outcome of the mental struggle.
  
  "Fight!" The Bloody King suddenly shouted. "Fight, or I will have your loved ones skinned alive and fed to the sharks!"
  
  The threat was real. Even Mai could see it. The large man sprang into action, rushing towards her with his arms outstretched. May reconsidered her strategy. Hit and run, hit fast and crushingly hard, and then get out of the way. If possible, use his size against him. Mai allowed him to approach, knowing that he would expect some evasive move from her. When he reached her and grabbed her body, she was within his reach and wrapped around his legs.
  
  The sound of him hitting the floor drowned out even the Bloody King's insane giggling.
  
  The first fighter now struck her hard, aiming for the small of her back, delivering a painful blow before Mai twisted and rolled, coming up behind the downed man and giving herself some space.
  
  Now the Blood King let out a cry. "Cut off her sister"s fucking head!"
  
  Now a fourth man appeared, armed with a samurai sword. He walked straight towards Chika, six steps away from ending her life.
  
  And Mai Kitano knew that now was the time to perform the best play of her life. All her training, all her experience came together in a last desperate attempt to save her sister - a matter of life and death.
  
  Ten seconds of deadly grace and beauty or a lifetime of burning regret.
  
  Mai jumped onto the big man's heaving back, using him as a springboard to deliver a flying kick to the first fighter. He barely felt the shock as May's dominant leg broke several bones in his face, but he collapsed like a dead weight. Mai immediately retracted her head and rolled, landing hard on her spine, but the momentum of her jump carried her far across the concrete floor in minimal time.
  
  She landed further away from her sister and the man with the sword.
  
  But right next to the chakran.
  
  In a millisecond pause, she focused her being, calmed her soul, and turned, releasing the deadly weapon. He streaked through the air, his deadly blade glinting, already streaked with red from May's own blood.
  
  The chakran slammed into the swordsman's neck, trembling. The man collapsed without a sound, without feeling anything at all. He still didn't understand what hit him. The sword clattered to the floor.
  
  The big man was the only fighter who could hold his own against her now, but his leg kept buckling as he tried to stand. She probably injured one or two tendons. Tears of agony and helplessness flowed down his face, not for himself, but for his loved ones. Mai glared at Chika and forced herself to run to her sister.
  
  She used the sword to cut the ropes, gritting her teeth at the sight of the purple wrists and bloody abrasions caused by the constant struggle. Finally, she pulled the gag out of her sister's mouth.
  
  "Go limp. I will carry you."
  
  The Bloody King stopped laughing. "Stop her!" He yelled at the big fighter. "Do it. Or I will kill your wife with my own hands!"
  
  The big man screamed, trying to crawl towards her with his arms outstretched. Mai stopped next to him. "Come with us," she said. "Join us. Help us destroy this monster."
  
  For a moment, the man's face lit up with hope. He blinked and looked as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.
  
  "You go with them, and she will die," the Bloody King rasped.
  
  Mai shook her head. "She's still dead, man. The only revenge you will get is by following me."
  
  The man's eyes were pleading. For a moment, Mai thought he would actually pull himself out with her, but then the clouds of doubt returned and his gaze dropped.
  
  "I can't. While she's still alive. I just can not ".
  
  Mai turned away, leaving him lying there. She had her own wars to fight.
  
  The Bloody King sent her a parting shot. "Run away, Mai Kitano. My war is about to be declared. And the gates are waiting for me."
  
  
  CHAPTER NINE
  
  
  The Blood King's hands darted towards his knife. The weapon was stuck point first into the table in front of him. He brought it close to his eyes, examining the blood-soaked blade. How many lives did he end with this knife?
  
  One at a time, every other day, for twenty-five years. At least.
  
  If only to keep the legend, respect and fear fresh.
  
  "Such a worthy opponent," he said to himself. "It"s a shame I don"t have time to try it again." He rose to his feet, slowly twirling the knife, its blade reflecting the light as he walked.
  
  "But my time to act has almost come."
  
  He stopped at the opposite end of the table, where a woman with dark hair was tied to a chair. She had already lost her composure. He was disgusted to look at her red eyes, heaving body and trembling lips.
  
  The Bloody King shrugged. "Don't worry. Now I have my first device, although I missed Kitano. Your husband should deliver the second device about now. If it passes, you will go free."
  
  "How-how can we trust you?"
  
  "I am a man of honor. This is how I survived my youth. And if honor were to be questioned..." He showed her the stained blade. "There was always more blood."
  
  A muffled ping came from his computer screen. He walked over and pressed a few buttons. The face of his commander from Washington, DC appeared.
  
  "We're in position, sir. The target will be ready in ten minutes."
  
  "The device is a priority. Above everything else. Remember this".
  
  "Sir". The face moved back to reveal an elevated view. They looked down at the parking lot, littered with trash and almost abandoned. The grainy image showed a tramp moving around at the top of the screen and a blue Nissan driving through a pair of automatic gates.
  
  "Get rid of that bore. He could be the Police."
  
  "We checked him, sir. He's just a tramp."
  
  The Bloody King felt rage slowly building within him. "Get rid of him. Ask me again and I will bury your family alive."
  
  This man simply worked for him. But this man knew what Dmitry Kovalenko was capable of. Without another word, he took aim and shot the homeless man in the head. The Blood King smiled as he saw a dark spot begin to spread across the roughly concreted area.
  
  "Five minutes left until the mark."
  
  The Bloody King glanced at the woman. She had been his guest for several months. The wife of the Secretary of Defense was no small prize. Jonathan Gates was going to pay dearly for her safety.
  
  "Sir, Gates has exceeded his deadline."
  
  In any other situation, the Bloody King would have used his knife now. No pause. But the second device was important to his plans, although not essential. He picked up the satellite phone that was lying next to the computer and dialed a number.
  
  I listened to it ring and ring. "Your husband doesn"t seem to care about your safety, Mrs. Gates." The Bloody King curled his lips into something like a smile. "Or perhaps he has already replaced you, hmm? These American politicians..."
  
  There was a click, and the frightened voice finally answered. "Yes?"
  
  "I hope you are close and that you have the device, my friend. Otherwise..."
  
  The Minister of Defense's voice was strained to the limit. "The United States does not bow to tyrants," he said, and those words clearly cost him much of his heart and soul. "Your demands will not be met."
  
  The Bloody King thought about the Gates of Hell and what lay beyond them. "Then listen to your wife die in agony, Gates. I don't need a second device for where I'm going."
  
  Making sure that the channel remained open, the Bloody King raised his knife and began to fulfill his every murderous fantasy.
  
  
  CHAPTER TEN
  
  
  Hayden Jay walked away from her computer when her cell phone rang. Ben and Karin were busy resurrecting Captain Cook's sea voyages, and especially those that concerned the Hawaiian Islands. Cook, although widely known as a famous explorer, was a man of many talents, it seemed. He was also a renowned navigator and accomplished cartographer. The man who mapped everything, he recorded lands from New Zealand to Hawaii and was more widely known to have made his first landing in Hawaii, a place he named the Sandwich Islands. The statue still stands in the town of Waimea, Kauai, as a testament to the place he first encountered in 1778.
  
  Hayden backed away when she saw that the caller was her boss, Jonathan Gates.
  
  "Yes, sir?"
  
  Only intermittent breathing could be heard from the other end. She went to the window. "Can you hear me? Sir?"
  
  They haven't spoken since he verbally reprimanded her. Hayden felt a little unsure.
  
  Gates' voice was finally heard. "They killed her. Those bastards killed her."
  
  Hayden stared out the window, seeing nothing. "What did they do?"
  
  Behind her, Ben and Karin turned around, alarmed by her tone.
  
  "They took my wife, Hayden. Months ago. And last night they killed her. Because I wouldn"t take their orders."
  
  "No. It couldn't-"
  
  "Yes". Gates' voice cracked as his whiskey-fueled adrenaline rush clearly began to dissipate. "That's none of your concern, Jay, my wife. I-I've always been a patriot, so the President found out within hours of her abduction. I"m staying..." He paused. "Patriot".
  
  Hayden barely knew what to say. "Why tell me now?"
  
  "To explain my next steps."
  
  "No!" Hayden screamed, banging on the window in sudden terror. "You can't do this! Please!"
  
  "Relax. I have no intentions of killing myself. First I will help avenge Sarah. Ironic, isn't it?
  
  "What?"
  
  "Now I know how Matt Drake feels."
  
  Hayden closed her eyes, but tears still rolled down her face. The memory of Kennedy was already disappearing from the world, the heart, once so full of fire, now turned into eternal night.
  
  "Why tell me now?" Hayden finally repeated.
  
  "To explain it." Gates paused, then said, "Ed Boudreau has a little sister. I'm sending you the details. Do It-"
  
  Hayden was so shocked that she interrupted the secretary before he could continue. "You are sure?"
  
  "Do everything in your power to finish this bastard."
  
  The line went dead. Hayden heard an email ring on her phone. Without stopping, she turned sharply and left the room, ignoring the worried looks of Ben Blake and his sister. She walked over to Kinimaki's small cupboard and found him preparing chicken with chorizo sauce.
  
  "Where is Alicia?"
  
  "Yesterday her pass was revoked." The big Hawaiian's words were distorted.
  
  Hayden leaned closer. "Don't be a fucking idiot. We both know she doesn't need a pass. So, where is Alicia?"
  
  Kinimaki's eyes widened, staring at the plates. "Hmm, one minute. I'll find her. No, she's too perceptive for that. I will-"
  
  "Just call her." Hayden's stomach clenched as soon as she said those words, and blackness enveloped her soul. "Tell her to contact Drake. He got what he asked for. We are going to hurt an innocent person to get information."
  
  "Sister Boudreau?" Kinimaka seemed sharper than usual. "Does he really have one? And Gates signed it?"
  
  "You would too," Hayden wiped her eyes dry, "if someone just tortured and killed your wife."
  
  Kinimaka silently digested this. "And this allows the CIA to do the same to an American citizen?"
  
  "That's it for now," Hayden said. "We are at war."
  
  
  CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
  
  Matt Drake started with expensive things. The bottle of Johnnie Walker Black was inviting and didn't look too shabby.
  
  Maybe something better would quickly displace the memory of her face? This time, in his dream, will he really save her as he always promised?
  
  The search continued.
  
  The whiskey burned. He immediately drained the glass. He filled it again. He struggled to concentrate. He was a man who helped others, who earned their trust, who stood to be reckoned with and never let anyone down.
  
  But he failed Kennedy Moore. And before that, he failed Alison. And he failed their unborn child, a baby who died before he even had a chance to live.
  
  Johnnie Walker, like every other bottle he had tried before, made his despair deepen. He knew this would happen. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted it to cut a piece of agony from his soul.
  
  Pain was his repentance.
  
  He stared out the window. It stared back, empty, unseeing and emotionless - stained black, just like him. Updates from May and Alicia became increasingly rare. Calls from his SAS friends continued to arrive on time.
  
  The Bloody King assassinated Ben's parents a few days ago. They were safe. They never knew of the danger, and Ben will never know how close they came to becoming victims of the Blood King's vendetta.
  
  And the CIA agents who were guarding the Blakes didn't know either. The SAS didn't need recognition or pats on the back. They simply completed the task and moved on to the next one.
  
  A haunting melody began to play. The song was as moving as it was beautiful - 'My Immortal' by Evanescence - and it reminded him of everything he had ever lost.
  
  This was his ringtone. He fumbled around the sheets a little confusedly, but eventually got through on the phone.
  
  "Yes?"
  
  "This is Hayden, Matt."
  
  He sat up a little straighter. Hayden was aware of his recent exploits but chose to ignore them. Alicia was their go-between. "What's happened? Ben-?" He couldn't even bring himself to say those words.
  
  "He is OK. We are fine. But something happened."
  
  "Have you found Kovalenko?" Impatience cut through the alcoholic haze like a bright spotlight.
  
  "No, not yet. But Ed Boudreaux does have a sister. And we got permission to bring her here."
  
  Drake sat down, forgetting about the whiskey. Hatred and hellfire burned two marks into his heart. "I know exactly what to do."
  
  
  CHAPTER TWELVE
  
  
  Hayden braced herself for what was to come. Her entire CIA career had not prepared her for this situation. The wife of the Minister of Defense was killed. An international terrorist holding an unknown number of relatives of powerful people hostage.
  
  Did the government know the identities of everyone involved? Never. But you could be damn sure they knew a lot more than they ever let on.
  
  It seemed much easier when she first enrolled. Maybe things were simpler back then, before September 11. Perhaps in the days of her father, James Jay, the legendary agent she aspired to emulate, things were black and white.
  
  And ruthless.
  
  It was a sharp edge. The war against the Blood King has been fought on many levels, but hers may yet prove to be the most terrible and successful yet.
  
  The diverse personalities of the people who were on her side gave her an advantage. Gates noticed this first. That's why he allowed them to conduct their own investigation into the mystery surrounding the Bermuda Triangle. Gates was smarter than she ever thought he was. He immediately saw the advantage that contrasting personalities like Matt Drake, Ben Blake, May Kitano and Alicia Miles provided. He saw the potential of her team. And he brought them all together.
  
  Brilliant.
  
  Team of the future?
  
  Now the man who had lost everything wanted justice to be done for the man who had so brutally murdered his wife.
  
  Hayden approached Boudreaux's cell. The laconic mercenary lazily looked at her over his folded hands.
  
  "Can I help you, Agent Jay?"
  
  Hayden would never have forgiven herself if she hadn't tried again. "Tell us Kovalenko"s location, Boudreau. Just give it away and it will all be over." She spread her arms. "I mean, it"s not like he gives a shit about you."
  
  "Maybe he knows." Boudreau turned his body and slid off the cot. "Maybe he doesn"t know. Maybe it"s too early to tell, huh?"
  
  "What are his plans? What is this Gate of Hell?
  
  "If I had known..." Boudreau"s face showed the smile of a feasting shark.
  
  "You really do." Hayden remained very matter-of-fact. "I'm giving you this last chance."
  
  "Last chance? Are you going to shoot me? Has the CIA finally realized what dark sins they must commit to stay in the game?"
  
  Hayden shrugged. "There is a time and a place for this."
  
  "Certainly. I could name several places." Boudreau mocked her, madness shining through the spray of saliva. "There is nothing you can do to me, Agent Jay, that would make me betray someone as powerful as the Blood King."
  
  "Well..." Hayden forced himself to smile. "That's what got us thinking, Ed." She added cheerfulness to her voice. "You have nothing here, man. Nothing. And yet you won't spill. You sit there, wasting away, happily accepting the conclusion. Like a complete bastard. Like a loser. Like a piece of Southern crap." Hayden gave it his all.
  
  Boudreaux's mouth formed a tense white line.
  
  "You are a man who has given up. Quirk. Sacrifice. Impotent."
  
  Boudreau moved towards her.
  
  Hayden pressed her face against the bars, teasing him. "Fucking flaccid dick."
  
  Boudreau threw a punch, but Hayden retreated faster, still forcing herself to smile. The sound of his fist hitting the steel was like a wet slap in the face.
  
  "So we wondered. What makes a man like you, a soldier, become a weak-willed member?"
  
  Now Boudreau looked at her with slowly understanding eyes.
  
  "That's all". Hayden mimicked him. "You got there, didn't you? Her name is Maria, right?"
  
  Boudreau slammed the bars shut in unspeakable rage.
  
  It was Hayden's turn to grin. "As I already said. Impotent."
  
  She turned away. The seeds were sown. It was about speed and brutality. Ed Boudreau would never have cracked under normal conditions. But now...
  
  Kinimaka rolled up the TV, which they tied to a chair so that the mercenary could see it. The worry in the man's voice was obvious, although he tried to hide it.
  
  "What the hell are you people trying to pull off?"
  
  "Keep watching, bastard." Hayden made her voice sound like she just didn't care anymore. Kinimaka turned on the TV.
  
  Boudreaux's eyes widened. "No," he said quietly with only his lips. "Oh no".
  
  Hayden met his gaze with a completely believable grin. "We're at war, Boudreaux. You still don't want to talk? Pick a fucking appendage."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Matt Drake made sure the camera was securely in position before he entered the frame. The black balaclava was pulled down over his face more for effect than camouflage, but the bulletproof vest he was wearing and the weapon he was carrying made the seriousness of the girl's situation absolutely clear.
  
  The girl's eyes were lakes of despair and fear. She had no idea what she had done. I have no idea why they needed it. She didn't know what her brother did for a living.
  
  Maria Fedak was innocent, Drake thought, if anyone was innocent these days. Caught by chance, caught by misfortune in a net spread all over the world that hissed and crackled with death, heartlessness and hatred.
  
  Drake stopped next to her, brandishing a knife in his right hand, the other leaning lightly on the gun. It no longer mattered to him that she was innocent. It was retribution, no less. A life for a life.
  
  He waited patiently.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  "Maria Fedak," Hayden said. "She is your sister, married, Mr. Boudreau. Your sister, forgetful, Mr. Mercenary. Your sister is terrified, Mr. Killer. She doesn't know who her brother is or what he does on a regular basis. But she really knows you. She knows a loving brother who visits her once or twice a year with fake stories and thoughtful gifts for her children. Tell me, Ed, do you want them to grow up without a mother?"
  
  Boudreaux's eyes were bulging. His naked fear was so strong that Hayden actually felt sorry for him. But now was not the time. His sister's life was truly in the balance. That's why they chose Matt Drake, one, to host.
  
  "Maria". The word came out of him, pathetic and desperate.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake could barely see the frightened girl. He saw Kennedy dead in his arms. He saw Ben's bloody hands. He saw Harrison's guilty face.
  
  But most of all he saw Kovalenko. The Blood King, the mastermind, is a man so empty and devoid of feeling that he could be nothing more than a reanimated corpse. Zombie. He saw the man's face and wanted to strangle the life in everything that surrounded him.
  
  His hands reached out to the girl and closed around her throat.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Hayden blinked at the monitor. Drake was rushing things. Boudreau hardly had time to relent. Kinimaka stepped towards her, always the kind mediator, but Alicia Miles pulled him back.
  
  "No way, big guy. Let these bastards sweat. They have nothing on their hands but death."
  
  Hayden forced herself to taunt Boudreaux the way she remembered him taunting him when he ordered her men killed.
  
  "Are you going to squeal, Ed, or do you want to know how they make sushi in the UK?"
  
  Boudreaux looked at her with a murderous gaze. A thin amount of saliva flowed from the corner of his mouth. His emotions were getting the better of him, just like they did when he sensed a murder close at hand. Hayden didn't want him to close himself off from her.
  
  Alicia was already close to the bars. "You ordered the execution of my boyfriend. You should be glad it's Drake doing the dicing and not me. I would have made that bitch suffer twice as long."
  
  Boudreau looked from one to the other. "You both better make sure I never get out of here. I swear I will cut you both into pieces."
  
  "Save it." Hayden watched as Drake squeezed Maria Fedak's neck. "She doesn't have much time."
  
  Boudreau was a tough man and his face was closed. "The CIA will not harm my sister. She is a citizen of the United States."
  
  Now Hayden truly believed that the madman really didn't get it. "Listen to me, you crazy bastard," she hissed. "We are at war. The Bloody King killed Americans on American soil. He kidnapped dozens. Dozens. He wants to hold this country to ransom. He doesn"t give a damn about you or your stinking sister!"
  
  Alicia muttered something into her earpiece. Hayden heard the instructions. Kinimaka did the same.
  
  So does Drake.
  
  He released the woman's neck and pulled the gun out of its holster.
  
  Hayden clenched her teeth so hard that the nerves around her skull screamed. Her gut instinct almost made her scream and tell him to stop. Her focus blurred for a second, but then her training kicked in, telling her this was the best chance they had to track down Kovalenko.
  
  One life to save hundreds or more.
  
  Boudreau noticed the play of emotions on her face and suddenly found himself at the bars, convinced, extending his hand and growling.
  
  "Do not do that. Don"t you fucking dare do this to my little sister!"
  
  Hayden's face was a mask of stone. "Last chance, killer."
  
  "The Bloody King is a ghost. For all I know, it could be a red herring. He loves this kind of thing."
  
  "Understood. Test us."
  
  But Boudreau has been a mercenary for too long, a killer for too long. And his hatred of authority figures blinded his judgment. "Go to hell, bitch."
  
  Hayden's heart sank, but she tapped the microphone monitor on her wrist. "Shoot her."
  
  Drake raised the gun and pressed it to her head. His finger pressed the trigger.
  
  Boudreaux roared in horror. "No! Bloody King in-"
  
  Drake let the terrible sound of gunfire drown out all other sounds. He watched as blood sprayed from the side of Maria Fedak's head.
  
  "North Oahu!" Boudreaux finished. "His biggest ranch is there..." His words trailed off as he sank to the floor, watching his dead sister slump in the chair and looking at the blood-splattered wall behind her. He watched in shock as the balaclava-clad figure approached the screen until it filled it entirely. Then he took off his mask.
  
  Matt Drake's face was cold, distant, the face of an executioner who loved his job.
  
  Hayden shuddered.
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
  
  Matt Drake stepped out of the taxi and closed his eyes to study the tall building that loomed before him. Gray and nondescript, it was the perfect cover for a CIA covert operation. Local agents had to infiltrate the underground garage, passing through multiple layers of security. Everyone else, whether agents or civilians, entered through the front door, deliberately presenting themselves as easy targets.
  
  He took a deep breath, nearly sober for the first time in as long as he could remember, and pushed open the one-person revolving door. At least this installation seemed to take its safety seriously. In front of him was a simple table, at which sat half a dozen stern-looking men. No doubt many more were watching.
  
  He walked across the polished tile floor. "Hayden Jay is waiting to meet me."
  
  "What is your name?"
  
  "Drake."
  
  "Matt Drake?" The guard's stoic appearance wavered slightly.
  
  "Certainly".
  
  The man gave him a look that a person might use when seeing a celebrity or a prisoner. Then he made a call. A second later, he escorted Drake to a discreet elevator. He inserted the key and pressed the button.
  
  Drake felt the elevator fly upward, as if on a cushion of air. He decided not to think too much about what was going to happen, he let events take care of themselves. When the door opened, he faced the corridor.
  
  At the end of the corridor stood the committee to greet him.
  
  Ben Blake and his sister Karin. Hayden. Kinimaka. Alicia Miles stood somewhere behind. He didn't see May, but then he didn't really expect it either.
  
  The scene was wrong though. This had to include Kennedy. It all looked strange without her. He stepped out of the elevator and tried to remember that they probably felt the same way. But did they lie in bed every night, looking through her eyes, wondering why Drake wasn't there to save her?
  
  Ben then stood in front of him and Drake, without saying anything, pulled the young guy into his arms. Karin smiled sheepishly over her brother's shoulder and Hayden walked over to place a hand on his shoulder.
  
  "We missed you".
  
  He held on desperately. "Thank you".
  
  "You don't have to be alone," Ben said.
  
  Drake took a step back. "Look," he said, "it's important to get one thing straight. I'm a changed person. You can't rely on me anymore, especially you, Ben. If you understand this, all of you, then there is a chance that we can work together."
  
  "It wasn't your-" Ben went straight to the problem, just as Drake knew he would. Karin, surprisingly, was the hand of reason. She grabbed him and pulled him aside, leaving Drake a clear path to the office behind them.
  
  He walked through them, nodding to Kinimaka along the way. Alicia Miles looked at him with serious eyes. She also suffered the loss of someone dear to her.
  
  Drake stopped. "It's not over yet, Alicia, by no means. This bastard must be eliminated. If not, he might burn the world to the ground."
  
  "Kovalenko will die screaming."
  
  "Hallelujah".
  
  Drake walked past her into the room. Two large computers sat to his right, hard drives whirring and clicking as they searched and loaded data. In front of it were a pair of floor-high bulletproof windows overlooking Miami Beach. Suddenly he was struck by the image of Wells pretending to be a pervert and asking for a sniper scope so he could see the tanned bodies down there.
  
  This thought made him think. It was the first time he had thought coherently about Welles since Kennedy had been assassinated. Wells died a horrific death at the hands of Alicia or May. He didn't know which ones, and he didn't know why.
  
  He heard the others follow him in. "So..." He focused on the view. "When are we going to Hawaii?"
  
  "In the morning," Hayden said. "Many of our assets are now concentrated on Oahu. We are also checking other islands because it is known that Kovalenko has more than one ranch. Of course, it is now also known that he is a master of deception, so we continue to track other leads in different regions of the world."
  
  "Fine. I remember references to Captain Cook, Diamond Head and Hell's Gate. Is this what you were aiming for?"
  
  Ben took it. "Pretty much, yes. But Cook landed on Kauai, not Oahu. His-" The monologue ended abruptly. "Hmm, in a nutshell. We didn't find anything unusual. Bye."
  
  "There are no direct connections between Cook and Diamond Head?"
  
  "We are working on it". Karin spoke a little defensively.
  
  "But he was born in Yorkshire," Ben added, testing Drake"s new barrier. "You know, God"s Earth."
  
  It seemed like Drake didn't even hear what his friend was saying. "How long did he spend in Hawaii?"
  
  "Months," Karin said. "He went back there at least twice."
  
  "Perhaps he visited every island then. What you should do is check his logs, not his history or achievements. We need to know about those things he's not famous for."
  
  "This is..." Karin paused. "It really makes sense."
  
  Ben didn't say anything. Karin wasn't finished. "What we do know is this: the Hawaiian god of fire, lightning and volcanoes is a woman named Pele. She is a popular figure in many ancient tales of Hawaii. Her home is said to be on top of one of the most active volcanoes in the world, but it's on the Big Island, not Oahu."
  
  "This is all?" Drake asked briefly.
  
  "No. While most stories are about her sisters, some legends tell of the Gate of Pele. The gate leads to fire and the heart of a volcano-does that sound like Hell to you?"
  
  "Perhaps this is a metaphor," Kinimaka said without thinking, then blushed. "Well, it could be. You know..."
  
  Alicia was the first to laugh. "Thank God at least someone else has a sense of humor." She snorted, then added, "No offense," in a voice that showed she didn't really care how people treated her.
  
  "Pele's Gate could be useful," Drake said. "Keep up the good work. See you in the morning".
  
  "Aren"t you staying?" Ben blurted out, obviously hoping he would have a chance to talk to his friend.
  
  "No". Drake stared out the window as the sun began to set over the ocean. "I have somewhere to be tonight."
  
  
  CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
  
  Drake left the room without looking back. As expected, Hayden caught up with him just as he was about to enter the elevator.
  
  "Drake, slow down. She is all right?"
  
  "You know she's fine. You saw her on the video stream."
  
  Hayden grabbed his hand. "You know what I mean."
  
  "She'll be fine. It had to look good, you know that. Boudreaux must have thought it was for real."
  
  "Yes".
  
  "I wish I could have seen him break."
  
  "Well, I was the one he stabbed, so I got that pleasure, thanks to you."
  
  Drake pressed the button for the first floor. "His sister should already be with your agents. They'll take her to the hospital and get her cleaned up. Fake blood is a devil minding his own business, you know."
  
  "Boudreau just got crazier, if that's possible. When his sister stood up, alive-" Hayden shook her head. "Final collapse."
  
  "The plan worked. It was a sound idea," Drake told her. "We received information. It was worth it ".
  
  Hayden nodded. "I know. I"m just glad the maniac is behind bars."
  
  Drake entered the elevator and waited for the doors to close. "If it were up to me," he said as Hayden disappeared from sight. "I would shoot the bastard in his cell."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake took a taxi to Biscayne Boulevard and headed to the Bayside shopping plaza. The man who called him, sounding hushed, unsure and completely out of character, wanted to meet outside Bubba Gump's. Drake had a moment of humor and suggested Hooters, a place that was probably more suitable for them, but May acted like she hadn't even heard him.
  
  Drake joined the crowd, listened to the noisy fun around him and felt completely out of place. How could these people be so happy when he lost something so dear? How could they not care?
  
  His throat was dry and his lips were chapped. The bar at Bubba Gump beckoned. Maybe he could sink a few before she arrived. However, he had no illusions; this had to stop. If he was going to Hawaii to hunt down the killer of the woman he loved, if he was going to seek revenge rather than become a victim, this had to be the last time.
  
  It had to be.
  
  He was about to push the door when Mai screamed at him. She was right there, leaning against a pillar less than six feet away from me. If she were the enemy, he would be dead right now.
  
  His determination for cruelty and retribution was worthless without focus and experience.
  
  Mai headed to the restaurant, Drake followed her. They took a seat at the bar and ordered Lava Flows in honor of their upcoming trip to Hawaii.
  
  Drake remained silent. He had never seen Mai Kitano nervous before. He had never seen her scared before. He couldn't imagine a scenario that would set her off.
  
  And then his world collapsed again.
  
  "Kovalenko kidnapped my sister, Chika, from Tokyo. Many months have passed. He has kept her captive ever since." Mai took a deep breath.
  
  "I understand. I understand what you did," Drake said in a whisper. It was obvious. Family always came first.
  
  "He has a device."
  
  "Yes".
  
  "I came to the US to find her. To find Kovalenko. But I failed until you and your friends contacted me. I owe you".
  
  "We didn't save her. You did."
  
  "You gave me hope, you made me part of the team."
  
  "You're still part of the team. And don't forget that the government has another remedy. They are not going to give up."
  
  "Unless one of them had a loved one in captivity."
  
  Drake knew what happened to Gates' wife, but said nothing. "We'll need you in Hawaii, Mai. If we want to beat this man, we'll need the best. The government knows this. That's why you, Alicia and the others were allowed to leave."
  
  "And you?"
  
  "And I".
  
  "What about your loved ones, Drake? Was the Bloody King trying to carry out his vendetta?"
  
  Drake shrugged. "He failed."
  
  "And yet he will keep trying."
  
  "Is your sister safe?" Does she need extra protection? I know some people-"
  
  "That's taken care of, thank you."
  
  Drake studied the untouched drink. "Then this will all end in Hawaii," he said. "And now that we almost found it, it will be soon."
  
  Mai took a long sip of her drink. "He will be prepared, Drake. He's been planning this for a decade."
  
  "This is the land of fire," he said. "Add Kovalenko and the rest of us to that equation, and this whole place could just explode."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  He watched May walk away towards the parking lot and headed towards where he thought the taxi might be. Miami nightlife was in full swing. Alcohol was not the only means of intoxication available, and the combination of endless, pleasant nights, beautiful men and women, and dynamic melodies worked hard to lift even his flagging morale.
  
  He turned the corner and the marina opened up before him - yachts bristling to take pride of place, crowds filling the walkways, an open-air restaurant filled with beautiful people who didn't give a damn about anything in the world.
  
  Thanks in large part to people like Matt Drake.
  
  He turned back. His cell phone rang with that haunting, melodious melody.
  
  Quickly press the button. "Yes?"
  
  "Matt? Good afternoon. Hello." The fine tones of an Oxford education surprised him.
  
  "Dal?" - he said. "Torsten Dahl?"
  
  "Certainly. Who else sounds as good?"
  
  Drake panicked. "Everything is fine?"
  
  "Don't worry, buddy. All is well on this side of the world. Iceland is great. The kids are fantastic. A wife is... a wife. How are things going with Kovalenko?"
  
  "We found it," Drake said with a smile. "Almost. We know where to look. There is some mobilization going on right now and we should be in Hawaii tomorrow."
  
  "Perfect. Well, the reason I'm calling may or may not be of some use to you. You can decide for yourself. As you know, exploration of the Tomb of the Gods continues cautiously. Do you remember how in Frey's castle I stood on the edge of Odin's tomb with my tongue hanging out? Do you remember what we found?"
  
  Drake recalled his immediate awe. "Certainly".
  
  "Believe me when I say that we find treasures that equal or even surpass this almost every day. But something more mundane caught my attention this morning, mainly because it reminded me of you."
  
  Drake stepped into the narrow alley to better hear the Swede. "Reminds you of me? Have you found Hercules?
  
  "No. But we found signs on the walls of every niche in the tomb. They were hidden behind treasures, so they weren"t noticeable at first."
  
  Drake coughed. "Marks?"
  
  "They matched the photo you sent me."
  
  Drake took a moment, and then lightning struck his heart. "Wait. You mean just like the picture I sent? The swirl image we found on the time travel devices?"
  
  "I thought this would make you bite, my friend. Yes, these markings - or curls, as you say."
  
  Drake was speechless for a moment. If the markings in the Tomb of the Gods matched the markings they found on the ancient transportation devices, then that meant they were from the same era.
  
  Drake spoke through a dry mouth. "It means-"
  
  But Thorsten Dahl has already thought of everything. "That the gods created devices for the purpose of time travel. If you think about it, it makes sense. From what we found in Odin's tomb, we know they existed. Now we know how they manipulated the passage of time."
  
  
  CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
  
  The Bloody King stood at the edge of his small reserve, watching as several of his Bengal tigers chased a small deer that had been released for them. His emotions were torn apart. On the one hand, it was a pleasure to own and watch at leisure one of the greatest killing machines ever created on the planet. On the other hand, it was a crying shame that they were held captive. They deserved better.
  
  Not like his human captives. They deserved what they were going to get.
  
  Boudreau.
  
  The Blood King turned around when he heard several people walking across the grass. "Mr. Boudreau," he rasped. "How did the CIA detention go?"
  
  The man stopped a few yards away, giving him the respect he required, but looking at him without fear. "More difficult than I imagined," he admitted. "Thanks for the quiet extraction."
  
  The Bloody King paused. He felt the tigers behind him, chasing the frightened deer. The deer squealed and ran away, overcome with terror, unable to face its own death. Boudreau was not like that. The Bloody King showed him a certain degree of respect.
  
  "Has Matt Drake surpassed you?"
  
  "The CIA turned out to be more resourceful than I expected. That's all".
  
  "You know that if I had the gun, your sister"s death would not have been faked."
  
  Boudreaux's silence showed that he understood.
  
  "The time has come to act," said the Bloody King. "I need someone to destroy the other ranches. The ones on Kauai and the Big Island. Can you do this for me?"
  
  The man he ordered saved from life imprisonment suddenly found hope. "I can do this."
  
  "You must kill every hostage. Every man, woman and child. You can do it?"
  
  "Yes, sir".
  
  The Bloody King leaned forward. "You are sure?"
  
  "I will do whatever you ask me to do."
  
  The Blood King showed no outward emotion, but was pleased. Boudreau was his most competent fighter and commander. It's good that he remained so loyal.
  
  "Then go get ready. I await your instructions."
  
  His men led the American away, and the Blood King motioned for one man to wait behind. It was Claude, the manager of his ranch in Oahu.
  
  "As I said, Claude, the time has come. Are you ready, right?"
  
  "Everything is prepared. How long should we hold out?"
  
  "You will hold on until you die," the Bloody King croaked. "Then your debt to me will be paid. You are part of the distraction. Of course, this is only a small part, but your sacrifice is worth it."
  
  His Oahu supervisor remained silent.
  
  "Does it bother you?"
  
  "No. No sir."
  
  "This is good. And once we focus their attention on the ranch, you will open up local island cells. It is I who will pass through the Gates of Hell, but Hawaii will burn."
  
  
  CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  
  
  The CIA private jet was flying at an altitude of thirty-nine thousand feet. Matt Drake swirled the ice in his empty glass and cracked the lid for another miniature whiskey. He sat alone in the back of the plane, hoping that they would respect his solitude. But the constant sideways glances and furious whispers told him that the 'welcome back' van would soon pull up next to him.
  
  And the whiskey hadn't even started to get on my nerves yet.
  
  Hayden sat across the aisle from him, Kinimaka next to her. Despite the nature of his mission, the Hawaiian seemed quite cheerful about returning to his homeland. His family was carefully guarded, but the ever-optimistic giant seemed quite confident that he would still have a chance to see them.
  
  Hayden spoke to Jonathan Gates on a satellite phone. "Three more? That's a total of twenty-one prisoners, sir. Well, yes, I'm sure there are more than that. And there is no location yet. Thank you".
  
  Hayden broke the connection and lowered her head. "I can't talk to him anymore. How do you talk to a man whose wife has just been murdered? What are you going to say?"
  
  Drake watched her. It took a moment, but then she turned her haunted gaze to him. "I'm sorry, Matt. I do not think. There's so much going on."
  
  Drake nodded and drained his glass. "Shouldn"t Gates take a vacation?"
  
  "The situation is too unstable." Hayden pressed the phone to her knee. "In war, no one can fade into the background."
  
  Drake smiled at the irony. "I didn"t think Hawaii was that big."
  
  "You mean, why haven't they found at least one of his ranches yet? Well, it's not a big deal. But there is an awful lot of impenetrable forest, hills and valleys. The ranches are probably camouflaged too. And the Bloody King is prepared for us. Washington seems to think that the locals will help us more than the regular workforce."
  
  Drake raised an eyebrow. "Surprisingly, they are probably right. This is where our friendly giant comes in."
  
  Mano gave him a wide, relaxed smile. "I really know most of the people of Honolulu."
  
  A blur appeared, and Ben Blake suddenly appeared next to him. Drake stared at the young man. It was the first time they had really seen each other since Kennedy died. A wave of emotion rose within him, which he quickly suppressed and hid by taking another sip.
  
  "It all happened so fast, mate. I couldn't help it. She saved me, but... but I couldn"t save her."
  
  "I do not blame you. It wasn't your fault."
  
  "But you left."
  
  Drake looked at Karin, Ben's sister, who was looking at her brother with angry eyes. They were apparently discussing Ben's reckless move, and he went against the grain. Drake opened another whiskey and leaned back in his chair, his gaze unmoving. "About a thousand years ago, I joined the SAS. The world's best fighting force. There's a reason they're the best, Ben. Among other things, this is because they are cruel people. Ruthless. The killers. They don't look like the Matt Drake you know. Or even like Matt Drake, who was looking for the bones of Odin. This Matt Drake was not in the SAS. He was a civilian."
  
  "And now?"
  
  "As long as the Blood King is alive and Vendetta still exists, I cannot be a civilian. It doesn't matter how bad I want to be."
  
  Ben looked away. "I understand it".
  
  Drake was surprised. He half turned around as Ben stood up and walked back to his seat. Perhaps the young guy was starting to grow up.
  
  If the last three months hadn't sped up this process, nothing ever would have.
  
  Hayden watched him. "He was with her, you know. When she died. It was hard for him too."
  
  Drake swallowed and said nothing. His throat tightened and it was all he could do not to burst into tears. Some guy from SAS. The whiskey left a hot trace in the pit of my stomach. After a moment he asked, "How"s your leg?"
  
  "Hurts. I can walk and even run. Wouldn't want to fight Boudreau for a few more weeks though."
  
  "As long as he's in prison, you won't have to."
  
  The commotion caught his attention. Mai and Alicia sat several rows ahead and across the aisle from each other. The relationship between the two women had never been more than frosty, but something was irritating them both.
  
  "You compromised us!" Alicia started screaming. "To save my own damn sister. How else could they find a hotel?"
  
  Drake slid out of his seat and headed down the aisle. The last thing he needed on the flight was a fight between two of the deadliest women he had ever known.
  
  "Hudson died in that hotel," Alicia growled. "They shot him while... while-" She shook her head. "Was this your information, Kitano? I challenge you to tell the truth."
  
  Alicia stepped into the aisle. Mai stood up to look her in the face. The two women were almost nose to nose. Mai stepped back to make room for herself. An inexperienced observer might have thought that this was a sign of weakness on the part of the Japanese girl.
  
  Drake knew this was a deadly sign.
  
  He rushed forward. "Stop!"
  
  "My sister is worth ten Hudsons."
  
  Alicia growled. "Now I"ll get some May-time!"
  
  Drake knew May wouldn't back down. It would have been easier to tell Alicia what she already knew-that Hudson had given himself away-but Mai Kitano's pride would not allow her to give in. Alicia struck. Mai retorted. Alicia moved to the side to give herself more space. Mai attacked her.
  
  Drake rushed towards them.
  
  Alicia mimed a kick, stepped forward and threw her elbow at May's face. The Japanese warrior did not move, but turned her head slightly, allowing the blow to whistle a millimeter away from her.
  
  Mai hit Alicia hard in the ribs. There was a high hiss of escaping breath, and Alicia staggered back against the bulkhead. May moved forward.
  
  Hayden jumped to her feet, screaming. Ben and Karin were also on their feet, both curious who would win the fight. Drake rushed in with force, pushing May into the seat next to her and cutting his hand across Alicia's throat.
  
  "Stop." His voice was as quiet as the grave, but full of menace. "Your dead fucking boyfriend has nothing to do with this. And your sister too." He glared at May. "Kovalenko is an enemy. Once that bastard becomes FUBAR, you can fight all you want, but save it until then."
  
  Alicia twisted her arm. "That bitch should die for what she did."
  
  Mai didn't blink an eye. "You've done much worse, Alicia."
  
  Drake saw the fire flare up again in Alicia's eyes. He blurted out the only thing that came to his mind. "Instead of arguing, maybe you could explain to me which of you actually killed Wells. And why."
  
  The fight has gone beyond them.
  
  Hayden was right behind him. "Hudson was tracked using a high-tech tracking device, Miles. You know it. Nobody here is happy with the way Mai gave away the device." There was steel in her voice. "Not to mention how she got it. But even I understand why she did it. Some senior government officials are currently going through the same thing. Kovalenko is already playing his final game, and we have barely made it to second base. And if the leaks are not sealed-"
  
  Alicia growled and returned to her seat. Drake found another stack of miniatures and headed back down the aisle to his own. He looked straight ahead, not wanting to start any conversation with his best friend just yet.
  
  But on the way, Ben leaned towards him. "FUBAR?"
  
  "Fucked up beyond recognition."
  
  
  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  
  
  Before they landed, Hayden received a call that Ed Boudreau had escaped from a CIA prison. The Blood King used an insider and, against his own wishes, extracted Boudreau in a discreet, fuss-free operation.
  
  "You people never learn anything," Drake told her, and he wasn"t surprised when she had nothing to say in response.
  
  The Honolulu airport flashed by in a blur, as did the quick car ride into the city. The last time they were in Hawaii, they attacked Davor Babic's mansion and were put on the list of suspects by his son Blanca. It seemed serious at the time.
  
  Then Dmitry Kovalenko appeared.
  
  Honolulu was a bustling city, not unlike most American or European cities. But somehow, the simple thought that Waikiki Beach was no more than twenty minutes away softened even Drake's gloomy thoughts.
  
  It was early evening and they were all tired. But Ben and Karin insisted that they go straight to the CIA building and connect to the local network. They were both eager to start digging into the whereabouts of Captain Cook's journals. Drake almost smiled when he heard this. Ben has always loved riddles.
  
  Hayden sped up the paperwork and they soon found themselves in another tiny office, similar to the one they had left in Miami. The only difference was that from the window they could see Waikiki's high-rise hotels, the famous Top of Waikiki revolving restaurant and, in the distance, Oahu's biggest attraction, the long-dormant volcano known as Diamond Head.
  
  "God, I want to live here," Karin said with a sigh.
  
  "I believe," Kinimaka muttered. "Although I'm sure most vacationers spend more time here than I do."
  
  "Hey, you were in the Everglades not too long ago," Hayden quipped as she connected Ben and Karin's computers to the privileged system. "And met one of the locals."
  
  Kinimaka looked puzzled for a moment, then chuckled. "You mean alligator? It was a lot of fun, yeah."
  
  Hayden finished what she was doing and looked around. "How about a quick dinner and an early bed? We start work at dawn."
  
  There were nods and murmurs of agreement. When May agreed, Alicia left. Drake looked after her before turning to his colleagues. "You all should know something that I learned today. I have a feeling this could be one of the most important pieces of information we'll ever reveal." He made a pause. "Dahl contacted me yesterday."
  
  "Torsten?" Ben blurted out. "How is the crazy Swede doing? The last time I saw him, he was staring at Odin's bones."
  
  Drake pretended no one interrupted him. "While exploring the Tomb of the Gods, they found markings that matched the swirls we found on the transfer devices."
  
  "Consistently?" - Hayden echoed. "How consistent?"
  
  "They are exactly the same."
  
  Ben's brain started working at full capacity. "This means that the same people who built the Tomb also created the devices. This is madness. The theory is that the gods built their own tombs and literally lay down to die, while prolonging life through mass extinction. Now you"re saying they also created time travel devices?" Ben paused. "Actually, it makes sense-"
  
  Karin shook her head, looking at him. "Fool. Of course, this makes sense. So they traveled through time, manipulated events and created the destinies of people."
  
  Matt Drake turned away silently. "I'll see you in the morning."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The night air was balmy, tropically warm, and faintly flavored with the Pacific Ocean. Drake wandered the streets until he found an open bar. The clientele must be different from other bars in other countries, right? he thought. After all, it was paradise. Then why were the lifers still playing pool, looking like they owned the place? Why was there a drunk sitting at the end of the bar with his head thrown back? Why did the eternal couple sit apart, lost in their own little worlds, together but alone?
  
  Well, some things were different. Alicia Miles was at the bar, finishing a double drink. Drake was thinking about leaving. There were other bars in which he could hide from his sorrows, and if most of them looked like this, he would feel at home.
  
  But perhaps the call to action changed his perspective a little. He walked over to her and sat down. She didn't even look up.
  
  "Fuck, Drake." She pushed her empty glass towards him. "Buy me a drink."
  
  "Leave the bottle," Drake instructed the bartender and poured himself half a glass of Bacardi Oakheart. He raised his glass in a toast. "Alicia Miles. A ten-year relationship that went nowhere, huh? And now we find ourselves in heaven, getting drunk in a bar."
  
  "Life has a way of screwing you up."
  
  "No. SRT did it."
  
  "It definitely didn"t help."
  
  Drake glanced sideways at her. "Is this an honesty proposition? From you? How many of them did you drown?"
  
  "Enough to relieve the tension. Not as much as I need."
  
  "And yet you did nothing to help those people. In that village. Do you even remember? You allowed our own soldiers to interrogate them."
  
  "I was a soldier, just like them. I had orders."
  
  "And then you gave in to the one who paid more."
  
  "I have done my duty, Drake." Alicia refilled her rum and slammed the bottle hard on the table. "It's time to reap the benefits."
  
  "And look where it got you."
  
  "You mean, look where this got us, don"t you?"
  
  Drake remained silent. We can say that he took the high road. You could also say that she took the low road. It didn't matter. They ended up in the same place with the same losses and the same future.
  
  "We'll deal with the Bloody Vendetta first. And Kovalenko. Then we will see where we are." Alicia sat looking into the distance. Drake wondered if Tim Hudson was on her mind.
  
  "We still need to talk about Wells. He was my friend."
  
  Alicia laughed, sounding just like before. "That old pervert? He was in no way your friend, Drake, and you fucking know it. We will talk about wells. But in the end. That's when it happens."
  
  "Why?"
  
  A soft voice floated over his shoulder. "Because that's when it needs to happen, Matt." It was May's soft tones. She sidled towards them with silent ease. "Because we need each other to get through this first."
  
  Drake tried to hide his surprise at seeing her. "Is the truth about Wells really that terrible?"
  
  Their silence said what it was.
  
  Mai stepped between them. "I'm here because I have a lead."
  
  "Hook? From whom? I thought the Japanese replaced you."
  
  "It's official, they did it." There was a cheerful note in Mai's voice. "Unofficially, they are negotiating with the Americans. They know how important it is to capture Kovalenko. Don"t think that my government doesn"t have eyes to see."
  
  "I didn"t even dream about it." Alicia snorted. "I just want to know how you found us." She shook her jacket as if she wanted to throw off the beacon.
  
  "I"m better than you," Mai said and was laughing now. "And it"s the only bar for three blocks."
  
  "This is true?" Drake blinked. "How ironic."
  
  "I have a lead," Mai repeated. "Do you want to come with me now and check it out or are you both too drunk to care?"
  
  Drake jumped out of his chair a second later and Alicia spun around. "Show the way, little elf."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  A short taxi ride later, they were huddled on a busy street corner, listening to Mai update them.
  
  "This comes directly from someone I trust in the Intelligence Agency. Kovalenko's ranch is run by several people he trusts. It's always been that way, although it helps him now more than ever when he needs time to...well, do what he plans to do. Anyway, his ranch in Oahu is run by a man named Claude."
  
  Mai drew their attention to the line of young people passing through the arched and brightly lit entrance to the upscale club. "Claude owns this club," she said. Flashing lights advertised 'Live DJs, Friday Special Bottles and Special Guests'. Drake looked around the crowd with a breathless feeling. It featured about a thousand of Hawaii's most beautiful young men in various states of undress.
  
  "We could stand out a little," he said.
  
  "Now I know you are all cleaned up." Alicia grinned at him. "The Drake of a year ago would have stood next to the two hot women he is with now, cupped their cheeks with both hands, and pushed us there."
  
  Drake rubbed his eyes, knowing she was amazingly right. "The mid-thirties change a person," he squeezed out, suddenly feeling the weight of the loss of Alison, the Kennedy assassination, and constant drunkenness. He managed to fix a steely gaze on both of them.
  
  "The search for Claude begins here."
  
  They walked past the doormen, smiling, and found themselves in a narrow tunnel filled with flickering lights and fake smoke. Drake was momentarily disoriented and chalked it up to weeks of inebriation. His thought processes were fuzzy, his reactions even more so. He needed to catch up quickly.
  
  Beyond the tunnel was a wide balcony that offered a bird's eye view of the dance floor. Bodies moved in unison with deep bass rhythms. The wall to their right held thousands of liquor bottles and reflected the light in glittering prisms. A dozen bar staff worked on the players, reading lips, giving away change and serving the wrong drinks to indifferent clubgoers.
  
  The same as in any other bar. Drake laughed with some irony. "Behind". He pointed, not needing to hide in the crowd. "A roped off area. And behind them are curtains."
  
  "Private parties," Alicia said. "I know what"s going on back there."
  
  "Of course you know." Mai was busy exploring as much of the place as she could. "Is there a back room here that you've never been in, Miles?"
  
  "Don't even go there, bitch. I know about your exploits in Thailand. Even I wouldn't try any of this."
  
  "What you heard was greatly understated." Mai began to walk down the wide stairs without looking back. "Trust me".
  
  Drake frowned at Alicia and nodded toward the dance floor. Alicia looked surprised, but then realized that he intended to take a shortcut and head into a private area. The Englishwoman shrugged. "You lead the way, Drake. I will follow you."
  
  Drake felt a sudden, irrational rush of blood. This was a chance to get closer to a person who might know the whereabouts of Dmitry Kovalenko. The blood he had shed so far was just a drop in the ocean compared to what he was willing to shed.
  
  As they made their way through the laughing, sweaty bodies on the dance floor, one of the guys managed to spin Alicia around. "Hey," he shouted to his friend, his voice barely audible over the pulsating rhythm. "I was just lucky".
  
  Alicia hit his solar plexus with her numb fingers. "You've never had any luck, son. Just look at your face."
  
  They quickly moved on, ignoring the blaring music, the swaying bodies, the bar staff scurrying back and forth in the crowd with trays balanced precariously over their heads. The couple was arguing loudly, the man was pressed against a column, and the woman was screaming in his ear. A group of middle-aged women were sweating and puffing as they sat in a circle with vodka jelly and little blue spoons in their hands. There were low tables scattered throughout the floor, most of them filled with tasteless drinks under umbrellas. Nobody was alone. Many of the men did a double take when Mai and Alicia passed away, much to the annoyance of their girlfriends. Mai wisely ignored the attention. Alicia instigated it.
  
  They came to a rope-fenced area, which consisted of thick gold braid stretched between two strong brass rope posts. The establishment seemed to assume that no one would actually challenge the two thugs on either side.
  
  Now one of them stepped forward with his palm out and politely asked Mai to step back.
  
  The Japanese girl quickly smiled. "Claude sent us to see..." She paused, as if thinking.
  
  "Pilipo?" The other thug spoke quickly. "I can understand why, but who is this guy?"
  
  "Bodyguard".
  
  The two big guys looked at Drake like cats cornering a mouse. Drake smiled widely at them. He didn't say anything in case his English accent aroused suspicion. Alicia had no such concerns.
  
  "So, this Pilipo. What is he like? Are we going to have a good time or what?"
  
  "Oh, he's the best," said the first bouncer with a wry smile. "The Perfect Gentleman"
  
  The second bouncer was looking at their clothes. "You're not quite-dressed-for the occasion. Are you sure Claude sent you?"
  
  There was no trace of mockery in Mai's voice when she said, "I'm quite sure."
  
  Drake used the exchange to evaluate hidden niches. A short flight of stairs led to a raised platform on which sat a large table. There were about a dozen people sitting around the table, most of whom looked enthusiastic enough to suggest they had recently snorted some serious powder. The others just looked scared and sad, young women and a couple of guys, clearly not part of the party group.
  
  "Hey Pilipo!" - shouted the second bouncer. "Fresh meat for you!"
  
  Drake followed the girls up a short staircase. It was much quieter up here. So far he had counted twelve unmistakable bad guys, all of whom were likely carrying guns. But when he compared the twelve local enforcers to May, Alicia, and himself, he wasn't worried.
  
  He stayed behind them, trying not to attract attention to himself as much as possible. The target was Pilipo, and they were now a few feet away. This nightclub was about to really start rocking.
  
  Pilipo stared at the girls. The sound of his dry click in his throat indicated his interest. Drake dimly saw his hand reach for the drink and knock it back.
  
  "Did Claude send you?"
  
  Pilipo was a short, thin man. His wide, expressive eyes immediately told Drake that this man was not Claude's friend. We didn't even know each other. He was more of a puppet, the figurehead of the club. Consumables.
  
  "Not really". Mai realized this too and in the blink of an eye she transformed from a passive woman into a stunning killer. Numb fingers dug into the throats of the two closest men, and a deep blow from the front sent the third into oblivion, falling from his chair. Alicia jumped onto the table next to her, landed on her butt, legs high in the air, and kicked the man with the flowing neck tattoos hard in the face with her heel. He crashed into the brute next to him, knocking them both off their feet. Alicia jumped to third.
  
  Drake was slow in comparison, but much more destructive. The Asian man with long hair countered him first and moved forward using a combination of jab and frontal punch. Drake stepped to the side, caught the leg and spun with great, sudden force until the man screamed and fell, turning into a sobbing ball.
  
  The next man pulled out a knife. Drake grinned. The blade darted forward. Drake caught the wrist, broke it, and plunged the weapon deep into its owner's stomach.
  
  Drake moved on.
  
  The unfortunate hangers-on ran away from the table. It didn't matter. They wouldn't know anything about Claude. The only person who could, as expected, hid as deep as possible in his luxurious leather chair, his eyes widened with fear, his lips moving silently.
  
  "Pilipo." Mai sidled up to him and placed her hand on his thigh. "First you want our company. Now you don't do that. That's rough. What does it take to be my friend?
  
  "I... I have men." Pilipo gesticulated wildly, his fingers trembling like someone on the verge of alcohol addiction. "Everywhere".
  
  Drake encountered two bouncers who had almost reached the top of the stairs. Alicia was sweeping up the stragglers to his right. Heavy dance music was blaring from below. Bodies in various stages of intoxication were scattered all over the dance floor. The DJ mixed and grunted for the captive audience.
  
  "Claude didn"t send you," the second bouncer gasped, clearly shocked. Drake used the rungs of the ladder to swing forward and plant both feet on the man's chest, sending him tumbling backwards into the noisy pit.
  
  Another man jumped over the last step and rushed at Drake, arms flailing. The Englishman received a blow to the ribs that would have knocked down a weaker man. It hurt. His opponent paused, waiting for the effect.
  
  But Drake just sighed and delivered a close uppercut, swinging from the very soles of his feet. The bouncer was lifted off the ground and instantly lost consciousness. The noise with which it hit the ground caused Pilipo to jump visibly.
  
  "Did you say something?" Mai ran her perfectly manicured fingernail across the Hawaiian's stubble-covered cheek. "About your men?"
  
  "Are you crazy? Do you even know who owns this club?"
  
  Mai smiled. Alicia approached them both, unperturbed after dispatching four bodyguards. "Funny you should say that." She placed her foot on Pilipo's heart and pressed hard. "This guy, Claude. Where is he?"
  
  Pilipo's eyes darted around like caught fireflies. "I... I don't know. He never comes here. I run this place, but I... I don"t know Claude."
  
  "Unfortunate." Alicia kicked Pilipo in the heart. "For you".
  
  Drake took a moment to scan their perimeter. Everything seemed safe. He leaned in until he was nose to nose with the club owner.
  
  "We get it. You are a worthless minion. I even agree that you don't know Claude. But you're damn sure you know someone who knows him. A person who visits from time to time. A man who makes sure you keep yourself in check. Now-" Drake grabbed Pilipo by the throat, his rage barely hidden. "You tell me the name of this person. Or I"ll twist your fucking head off."
  
  Pilipo's whispers went unheard even up here, where the thundering beats were muffled by the heavy acoustic walls. Drake shook his head the way a tiger shakes the head of a dead gazelle.
  
  "What?"
  
  "Buchanan. This man's name is Buchanan."
  
  Drake squeezed harder as his rage began to take over. "Tell me how you contact him." Images of Kennedy filled his vision. He barely felt Mai and Alicia pulling him away from the dying club owner.
  
  
  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
  
  The Hawaiian night was still in full swing. It was just past midnight when Drake, May and Alicia snuck out of the club and hailed a parked taxi. Alicia covered their escape route by happily walking up to the DJ, grabbing his microphone and doing her best rock star impression. "Hello Honolulu! How the fuck are you doing? So glad to be here tonight. You guys are so damn beautiful!" Then she smoothly left, leaving behind a thousand assumptions on a thousand lips.
  
  Now they were talking freely with the taxi driver. "How long do you think it will take before Pilipo warns Buchanan?" Alicia asked.
  
  "With luck, they might not find him for a while. He is well connected. But if they do-"
  
  "He won't talk," Drake said. "He's a coward. He won't draw attention to the fact that he turned in Claude's man. I would put my mortgage on it."
  
  "Bouncers might spill the beans." Mai said quietly.
  
  "Most of them are unconscious." Alicia laughed, then said more seriously. "But the sprite is right. When they can walk and talk again, they will squeal like pigs."
  
  Drake clicked his tongue. "Damn it, you're both right. Then we have to do it quickly. This night. There is no other choice."
  
  "North Kukui Street," Mai told the taxi driver. "You can drop us off near the morgue."
  
  The taxi driver glanced at her quickly. "For real?"
  
  Alicia caught his attention with a cheeky smile. "Keep it down, five-o." Just drive."
  
  The taxi driver muttered something like "Fucking haole," but turned his gaze to the road and fell silent. Drake thought about where they were going. "If this is indeed Buchanan's office, he is unlikely to be there at this time."
  
  Alicia snorted. "Drakey, Drakey, you're just not listening carefully enough. When we finally realized that the stupid man, Pilipo, had his throat so tightly in your hands that it turned purple, we set about saving his ridiculous life, and he told us that Buchanan had a house."
  
  "House?" Drake made a grimace.
  
  "About business. You know these dealers. They live and eat there, play there, organize their local jobs from there. Maintains order. He will even keep his people nearby. It's a non-stop hard party, man."
  
  "Which will help keep the events at the nightclub secret, for now." Mai said as the taxi stopped at the morgue. "Remember when we broke into the office of that delivery magnet in Hong Kong? We enter quickly, we exit quickly. This is how it should be."
  
  "Just like when we got to that place in Zurich." Alicia said loudly to Drake. "It's not all about you, Kitano. Not that far."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Hayden walked into the apartment she had been given in the CIA building in Honolulu and stopped dead in her tracks. Ben was waiting for her, sitting on the bed and dangling his legs.
  
  The young man looked tired. His eyes were bloodshot from staring at a computer screen for days, and his forehead looked a little wrinkled from such intense concentration. Hayden was glad to see him.
  
  She pointedly looked around the room. "Have you and Karin finally cut the umbilical cord?"
  
  "Har, har. She's family." He said it as if their closeness was the most obvious thing. "And she definitely knows her way around a computer."
  
  "A genius-level IQ will help you with this." Hayden took off her shoes. The thick carpet felt like a foamy pillow under her aching feet. "I am absolutely sure that tomorrow you will find what we need in Cook's journals."
  
  "If we can detect them at all."
  
  "Everything is on the Internet. You just need to know where to look."
  
  Ben frowned at her. "Does... does it feel like we're being manipulated here? First I find the Tomb of the Gods, and then the transfer devices. We are now discovering that the two are related. And-" He paused.
  
  "And what?" Hayden settled down next to him on the bed.
  
  "The devices could be somehow connected to the Gates of Hell," he reasoned. "If Kovalenko wants them, they should be there."
  
  "It is not true". Hayden leaned closer. "Kovalenko is crazy. We cannot pretend to understand his thinking."
  
  Ben's eyes showed that he was quickly losing track of his thoughts and flirting with others. He kissed Hayden as she leaned her head towards his. She pulled away as he began to fumble with something in his pocket.
  
  "I feel better when it comes out through the zipper, Ben."
  
  "Eh? No. I wanted this." He took out his cell phone, switched the screen to the MP3 player and selected an album.
  
  Fleetwood Mac started singing "Second Hand News" from the classic rumors.
  
  Hayden blinked in surprise. "Dinorok? Really?"
  
  Ben threw her onto her back. "Some of this is better than you think."
  
  Hayden didn't miss the piercing sadness in her boyfriend's tone. She didn't miss the song's theme, obvious in the title. For the same reasons as Ben, it made her think about Kennedy Moore and Drake and all they had lost. Not only did they both lose a great friend in Kennedy, but her violent death reduced all of Drake's friends to mere background noise.
  
  But when Lindsey Buckingham started singing about the tall grass and doing his thing, the mood soon changed.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Mai asked the taxi driver to wait, but the man did not listen. As soon as they got out of the car, he started the engine and drove off, splashing gravel.
  
  Alicia looked after him. "Jerk".
  
  Mai pointed to the intersection in front of them. "The Buchanan House is on the left."
  
  They walked in pleasant silence. Months ago, Drake knew this would never happen. Today they had a common enemy. They were all touched by the Bloody King's madness. And if he is allowed to remain free, he could still cause them severe harm.
  
  Together they were one of the best teams in the world.
  
  They crossed the intersection and slowed when Buchanan's property came into view. The place was flooded with light. The curtains are down. The doors were open so the music could flow throughout the area. The thud of rap music could be heard even across the street.
  
  "A model neighbor," Alicia commented. "Someone like that - I"d just have to get close and smash their damn stereo system to smithereens."
  
  "But most people are not like you," Drake said. "This is what these people thrive on. They are bullies at heart. In real life, they carry shotguns and have no compassion or conscience."
  
  Alicia grinned at him. "Then they won"t expect a full-scale attack."
  
  Mai agreed. "We get in quickly, we get out quickly."
  
  Drake thought about how the Blood King ordered the killing of so many innocents. "Let"s go fuck them."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Hayden was naked and sweaty when her cell phone rang. If it hadn't been the signature ringtone of her boss, Jonathan Gates, she would have blocked it.
  
  Instead, she groaned, pushed Ben away, and hit the answer button. "Yes?"
  
  Gates didn't even notice that she was out of breath. "Hayden, I apologize for the late hour. You can speak?"
  
  Hayden immediately snapped back to reality. The gate deserved her attention. The horror he endured for his country was far beyond his sense of duty.
  
  "Of course, sir."
  
  "Dmitry Kovalenko is holding captive the family members of eight United States Senators, fourteen Representatives, and one Mayor. This monster will be brought to justice, Jay, by any means necessary. You have all the resources."
  
  The connection was interrupted.
  
  Hayden sat staring into the darkness, her ardor completely extinguished. Her thoughts were with the prisoners. The innocent were suffering again. She wondered how many more people would suffer before the Blood King was brought to justice.
  
  Ben crawled across the bed to her and simply hugged her like she wanted.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake walked inside first and found himself in a long hallway with two doors opening to the left and an open kitchen at the end. The man walked down the stairs, his eyes suddenly filled with shock as he saw Drake enter the house.
  
  "What the-?"
  
  Mai's hand moved faster than the eye could see. One second the man was drawing in air to shout a warning, and the next he was sliding down the stairs with a tiny dagger in his throat. When he reached the bottom, Mai finished her work and took back her dagger. Drake moved down the corridor. They turned left into the first room. Four pairs of eyes looked up from the simple boxes in which they had packed the explosives.
  
  Explosives?
  
  Drake instantly recognized the C4, but he had no time to think as the men grabbed the carelessly thrown weapons. Mai and Alicia danced around Drake.
  
  "There!" Drake pointed to the fastest ones. Alicia knocked him down with an unkind kick to the groin. He fell down, muttering something. The man in front of Drake quickly walked towards him, jumping over the table to increase the height and power of his attack. Drake spun his body under the man's flight, and when he landed, he knocked out both of his knees from behind. The man screamed with rage and saliva flew from his mouth. Drake delivered a crushing ax blow to the top of his head with all his brute strength and power.
  
  The man collapsed without a sound.
  
  To his left, Mai launched two strikes in quick succession. Both were doubled over with wounds in their stomachs, surprise written all over their faces. Drake quickly used a death grip to incapacitate one while Mai knocked out the other.
  
  "Leave". - Drake hissed. They might not know it, but these were still the Blood King's people. They were lucky that Drake was in a hurry.
  
  They returned to the corridor and went down to another room. As they slipped inside, Drake saw the kitchen. It was full of men, all staring at something on a low table. The rap sounds coming from inside were so loud that Drake almost expected them to come out to meet him. Mai rushed forward. By the time Drake entered the room, she had already laid down one man and moved on to the next. A guy with a thick beard ran into Drake, already with a revolver in his hand.
  
  "What did you do-?"
  
  Training was everything in the art of combat, and Drake was back faster than a politician could dodge a key question. Instantly, he raised his leg, knocked the revolver out of the man's hands, then stepped forward and caught it in the air.
  
  He turned the weapon over.
  
  "Live by the sword." He fired. Buchanan's man fell backwards in an artistic outburst. Mai and Alicia immediately picked up another discarded firearm when someone shouted from the kitchen. "Hey, fools! What the fuck are you doing?"
  
  Drake grinned. Apparently gunfire was not unheard of in this house. Fine. He walked to the door.
  
  "Two," He whispered, indicating that the space at the door only gave the two of them room to maneuver. Mai sat behind her.
  
  "Let's tame these dogs." Drake and Alicia came out, shooting, aiming at the forest of legs that surrounded the table.
  
  Blood sprayed and bodies fell to the floor. Drake and Alicia moved forward, knowing that shock and awe would confuse and intimidate their opponents. One of Buchanan's guards jumped over a low table and slammed into Alicia, throwing her to the side. Mai stepped into the gap, defending herself, as the guard jabbed his finger at her twice. Mai caught each blow on her forearm before hitting him hard on the bridge of her nose with her pistol.
  
  Alicia got into a fight again. "I had it."
  
  "Oh, I'm sure you did, honey."
  
  "Blow me." Alicia pointed the gun at the moaning, crying men. "Anyone else want to try? Hm?"
  
  Drake stared at the low table and its contents. Piles of C4 littered the surface in various stages of preparation.
  
  What the hell was the Bloody King planning?
  
  "Which one of you is Buchanan?"
  
  No one answered.
  
  "I have a deal for Buchanan." Drake shrugged. "But if he's not here, then I guess we'll have to shoot you all." He shot the nearest man in the stomach.
  
  Noise filled the room. Even Mai stared at him in amazement. "Matt-"
  
  He growled at her. "No names."
  
  "I'm Buchanan." The man, leaning back against the large refrigerator, gasped as he applied hard pressure to the bullet wound. "Come on, man. We didn't harm you."
  
  Drake's finger tightened on the trigger. It took a huge amount of self-control not to shoot. "You didn"t hurt me?" He jumped forward and deliberately placed his knee on the bleeding wound. "You didn"t hurt me?"
  
  Bloodlust filled his vision. Inconsolable grief pierced his brain and heart. "Tell me," he said hoarsely. "Tell me where Claude is or, God help me, I"ll blow your brains all over this fucking refrigerator."
  
  Buchanan's eyes didn't lie. The fear of death made his ignorance transparent. "I know Claude"s friends," he whined. "But I don't know Claude. I could tell you his friends. Yes, I can give them to you."
  
  Drake listened as he said two names and their locations. Scarberry and Peterson. Only when this information was completely extracted did he point to the table full of C4.
  
  "What are you doing here? Are you getting ready to start a war?"
  
  The answer stunned him. "Well, yes. The Battle of Hawaii is about to begin, man."
  
  
  CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
  
  Ben Blake walked into the tiny office he shared with his sister to find Karin standing by the window. "Hi sister".
  
  "Hello. Just look at this, Ben. Sunrise in Hawaii."
  
  "We should be on the beach. Everyone goes there for sunrise and sunset."
  
  "Oh, really? Karin looked at her brother with a little sarcasm. "You looked it up on the Internet, didn"t you?"
  
  "Well, now that we're here, I'd like to get out of this stuffy place and meet some locals."
  
  "For what?"
  
  "I've never met a Hawaiian."
  
  "Mano is a damn Hawaiian, dumbo. God, sometimes I wonder if I got both of our supply of brain cells."
  
  Ben knew there was no point in starting a battle of wits with his sister. He admired the magnificent sight for a few minutes before heading towards the door to pour them both coffee. When he returned, Karin was already booting up their computers.
  
  Ben placed the mugs next to their keyboards. "You know I'm looking forward to it." He rubbed his hands. "I mean, looking for Captain Cook's logs. This is real detective work because we are looking for what is hidden, not what is obvious."
  
  "We know for sure that there are no links on the Internet that would connect Cook with Diamond Head or Leahy with the Hawaiians. We know that Diamond Head is just one of a series of cones, vents, tunnels and lava tubes that run beneath Oahu."
  
  Ben took a sip of his hot coffee. "We also know that Cook landed on Kauai, in the city of Waimea. Check out Waimea for a canyon stunning enough to rival the Grand Canyon. Kauai locals coined the phrase original place to visit Hawaii as a cheeky jab at Oahu. There is a statue of Cook in Waimea next to a very small museum."
  
  "Another thing we know," Karin replied. "The point is that Captain Cook's logs are right here." She tapped on her computer. "Online".
  
  Ben sighed and began flipping through the first of the extensive magazines. "Let the fun begin." He plugged in his headphones and leaned back in his chair.
  
  Karin stared at him. "Turn it off. Is this the Wall of Sleep? And another cover? Someday, little brother, you'll have to record these new tracks and stop wasting your five minutes of fame."
  
  "Don't tell me you're wasting your time, sis. We all know you are a master at this."
  
  "Are you going to bring this up again? Now?"
  
  "Five years have passed." Ben turned up the music and focused on his computer. "Five years of ruin. Don"t let what happened then ruin the next ten."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Working without sleep and with minimal rest, Drake, May and Alicia decided to take a short break. Drake received a call from Hayden and Kinimaka about an hour after sunrise. The mute button soon solved this problem.
  
  They rented a room in Waikiki. It was a large hotel on wheels, packed with tourists, giving them a high level of anonymity. They quickly ate at the local Denny's, then headed to their hotel, where they took the elevator to their room on the eighth floor.
  
  Once inside, Drake relaxed. He knew the benefits of fueling himself with food and rest. He curled up in an easy chair by the window, enjoying the way the clear Hawaiian sun washed over him through the French windows.
  
  "You two could fight over the bed," he muttered without turning around. "Someone set the alarm for two o"clock."
  
  With that, he let his thoughts drift away, reassured by the knowledge that they had the address of two men who were as close to Claude as they could be. The peace of knowing that Claude was led straight to the Bloody King.
  
  Peace of mind from the knowledge that there were only a few hours left before bloody revenge.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Hayden and Kinimaka spent the morning at the local Honolulu Police Department. The news was that some of Claude's 'associates' had been eliminated during the night, but there was no real news. The club owner, named Pilipo, said very little. Several of his bouncers ended up in the hospital. It also appeared that his video feed miraculously went dark when a man and two women attacked him just before midnight.
  
  Add to this a bloody shootout somewhere in the city center, which involved more of Claude's known accomplices. When armed officers arrived on the scene, all they found was an empty house. No men. No phone number. Only blood on the floor and the kitchen table, on which traces of C4 were found when dusting.
  
  Hayden tried Drake. She tried to call Alicia. She pulled Mano aside and whispered furiously in his ear. "Damn them! They don't know that we have the support to act as we see fit. They should know."
  
  Kinimaka shrugged, his large shoulders rising and falling. "Maybe Drake doesn't want to know. He will do it his way, with or without government support."
  
  "Now he"s a burden."
  
  "Or a poisonous arrow flying straight into the heart." Kinimaka smiled as his boss looked at him.
  
  Hayden was confused for a moment. "What? Are these lyrics from a song or something?"
  
  Kinimaka looked offended. "I don't think so, boss. So," he glanced toward the assembled cops, "what do the police know about Claude?"
  
  Hayden took a deep breath. "It"s not surprising that there are very few. Claude is the shady owner of several clubs that may or may not be involved in illegal activities. They are not high on the police watch list. Consequently, their silent owner remains anonymous."
  
  "With everything that, without a doubt, was designed by Kovalenko."
  
  "Without a doubt. It is always beneficial for a criminal to be removed from the real world several times."
  
  "Perhaps Drake is making progress. If that weren't the case, I think he would be with us."
  
  Hayden nodded. "Let's hope that's the case. In the meantime, we need to shock a few locals. And you should contact everyone you know who could help us. Kovalenko has already created a bloodbath. I hate to think how this all might end."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Ben tried his best to keep his focus high. His emotions were in turmoil. It had been months since his life had been normal. Before the Odin affair, his idea of adventurousness was to keep his modern rock band The Wall of Sleep a secret from his mom and dad. He was a family man, a kind-hearted nerd with a talent for all things technical.
  
  Now he saw the battle. He saw people being killed. He was fighting for his life. His best friend's girlfriend died in his arms.
  
  The transition between worlds tore him apart.
  
  Add to that the pressure of being with his new girlfriend, an American CIA agent, and he was not at all surprised to find himself floundering.
  
  Not that he ever told his friends. His family, yes, he could tell them. But Karin was not ready for this yet. And she had her problems. He had just told her that after five years she should have moved on, but he knew that if the same thing ever happened to him, it would ruin the rest of his life.
  
  And the rest of the Wall of Sleep members constantly texted him. Where the hell are you, Blakey? Shall we get together tonight? At least write me back, you idiot! They had new tracks ready to be recorded. It was his damn dream!
  
  Now the very thing that gave him his big break is under threat.
  
  He thought about Hayden. When the world was falling apart, he could always turn his thoughts to her, and everything would become a little easier. His mind wandered. He continued to scroll through the pages of an online book that someone had transcribed from Cook's own scribbles.
  
  He almost missed it.
  
  For suddenly, right there, among the weather reports, longitude and latitude designations, and brief details of who was punished for not eating their daily ration of beef and who was found dead in the rigging, there appeared a short reference to Pele's Gate.
  
  "Sister". - Ben exhaled. "I think I found something." He read a short paragraph. "Wow, this is a man's account of their journey. Are you ready for this?"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake went from light sleep to wakefulness in the time it took to open his eyes. Mai paced back and forth behind him. It sounded like Alicia was in the shower.
  
  "How long were we outside?"
  
  "Give or take ninety minutes. Here, check this out." Mai tossed him one of the pistols they had taken from Buchanan and his men.
  
  "What is the score?"
  
  "Five revolvers. Everything is fine. Two 38 and three 45 caliber. All with magazines three-quarters full."
  
  "More than enough". Drake stood up and stretched. They decided that they were likely to face a more serious opponent - people close to Claude - so carrying weapons was mandatory.
  
  Alicia came out of the bathroom with wet hair, pulling on her jacket. "Ready to move out?"
  
  The information they received from Buchanan was that both Scarberry and Peterson owned an exotic car dealership on the outskirts of Waikiki. Called Exoticars, it was both a retail outlet and a repair shop. He also rented most types of high-end cars.
  
  A very lucrative cover, Drake thought. No doubt designed to help hide all types of criminal activity. Scarberry and Peterson were undoubtedly close to the top of the food chain. Claude would be next.
  
  They got into a taxi and gave the driver the address of the dealership. It was about twenty minutes away.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Ben and Karin are surprised to read Captain Cook's journal.
  
  Seeing through the eyes of another person the events that happened to the famous sea captain more than two hundred years ago was quite remarkable. But reading the account of Cook's recorded but still highly secret journey beneath Hawaii's most famous volcano was almost overwhelming.
  
  "It's amazing". Karin flipped through her copy on the computer screen. "The one thing you don't realize is Cook's brilliant foresight. He took with him people from all areas to record his discoveries. Scientists. Botanists. Artists. Look-" She tapped the screen.
  
  Ben leaned over to see the delicately executed drawing of the plant. "Cool".
  
  Karin's eyes sparkled. "This is great. These plants were not discovered or documented until Cook and his team recorded them and returned to England with these fantastic drawings and descriptions. They mapped our world, these people. They painted landscapes and coastlines the way we would simply take photographs today. Think about it".
  
  Ben's voice betrayed his excitement. "I know. I know. But listen to this-"
  
  "Wow". Karin was absorbed in her own story. "Did you know that one of Cook's crew was William Bligh? The man who became captain of the Bounty? And that the American President at the time, Benjamin Franklin, sent a message to all his sea captains to leave Cook alone, despite the fact that the Americans were at war with the British at the time. Franklin called him "the common friend of mankind."
  
  "Sister". - Ben hissed. "I found something. Listen-landfall was made at Owhihi, Hawaii, near the highest point of the island. 21 degrees 15 minutes north latitude, 147 degrees north longitude, 48 minutes west. Height 762 feet. We were forced to drop anchor near Lihi and go ashore. The natives we hired looked like they would rip the rags off our backs for a bottle of rum, but were actually both tolerable and knowledgeable."
  
  "Give me the shortened version," Karin snapped. "In English".
  
  Ben growled at her. "God, girl, where is your Indiana Jones?" Your Luke Skywalker? You just have no sense of adventure. So our narrator, a man named Hawksworth, set out with Cook, six other sailors and a handful of natives to explore what the natives called Pele's Gate ". This was done without the knowledge of the local king and at great risk. If they had found out about it, the king would have killed them all. The Hawaiians revered the Gate of Pele. The native guides demanded large rewards."
  
  "Pelé's Gate must have caused some serious anxiety for Cook to take such a risk," Karin noted.
  
  "Well, Pele was the god of fire, lightning, wind and volcanoes. Possibly the most popular Hawaiian deity. She was big news. Much of her legend centered around her ruling the oceans. The way the Hawaiians must have talked about her probably piqued Cook's interest. And presumably he was an arrogant man on a great voyage of discovery. He wouldn"t be afraid to bother the local king."
  
  "A man like Cook wouldn"t be afraid of much."
  
  "Exactly. According to Hawksworth, the locals led them through a dark passage beneath the deep heart of the volcano. Once the lights came on and, as Gollum would say, a few tricky turns had been taken, they all stopped and stared in amazement at the Gate of Pele."
  
  "Weirdo. Is there a drawing?
  
  "No. The artist was left behind because of this trip. But Hawksworth describes what they saw. A huge arch that flew so high that it peaked above the very top circle of our flames. Handmade frame inlaid with tiny symbols. Notches on each side, two smaller items missing. The wonder took our breath away and we really looked until the dark center began to attract our gaze."
  
  "So, in the spirit of all people, what he means is that they found what they were looking for, but then realized they wanted more." Karin shook her head.
  
  Ben rolled his eyes at her. "I think what you mean is, in the spirit of all adventurers, they wanted more. But you're right. Pele's Gate was just that. Gate. It had to lead somewhere."
  
  Karin pulled up her chair. "Now I'm wondering. Where did this lead?
  
  At that moment, Ben's cell phone rang. He looked at the screen and rolled his eyes. "Mom and Dad".
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY
  
  
  Mano Kinimaka loved the heart of Waikiki. Born and raised in Hawaii, he spent his early childhood on Kuhio Beach before his family raised funds and moved to the quieter northern coast. The surfing there was world class, the food was authentic even when you were dining out, the life was as free as you could imagine.
  
  But his indelible early memories were of Kuhio: the gorgeous beach and free luaus, Sunday beach barbecues, easy surfing, good-natured locals and the nocturnal splendor of the setting sun.
  
  Now, as he drove along Kuhio Avenue and then Kalakaua, he noticed old, touching things. Not fresh-faced tourists. Not the locals carrying their morning fix of Jamba juice. There isn't even an ice cream vendor near the Royal Hawaiian. It was the long black torches they lit every night, the now nearly empty shopping complex where he had once cried, laughing at the simple A-shaped warning sign blocking one of the aisles that read: If you're not Spider-Man, the bridge is closed. It's that simple. So Hawaiian.
  
  He walked past Lassen's old store, where he had once gazed at their magnificent paintings and fantastic cars. Now it's gone. His early childhood was over. He passed the King's Village shopping center, which his mother once told him was once the residence of King Kalakaua. He passed the nicest police station in the world, the one right on Waikiki Beach in the shadow of hundreds of surfboards. And he walked past the indestructible statue of Duke Kahanamoku, covered as always with fresh leis, the same one he had looked at when he was a little boy with a million dreams swirling in his head.
  
  His family was now guarded around the clock. They were looked after by top-notch U.S. Marshals and crack Marines. The family home was empty, used as bait for assassins. He himself was a marked man.
  
  Hayden Jay, his best friend and boss, sat next to him in the passenger seat, perhaps seeing something from the look on his face since she didn't say anything. She was wounded by a knife, but has now almost recovered. The people around him were killed. Colleagues. New friends.
  
  And here he is, returned to his home, the place of his childhood. Memories filled him like long-lost friends yearning to reconnect with him. Memories bombarded him from every street corner.
  
  The beauty of Hawaii was that it lived in you forever. It didn't matter if you spent a week there or twenty years. His character was timeless.
  
  Hayden finally ruined the mood. "This guy, this Capua. Is he really selling crushed ice out of a van?"
  
  "There is good business here. Everyone loves crushed ice."
  
  "Fair enough".
  
  Mano smiled. "You'll see".
  
  As they drove through the beauty of Kuhio and Waikiki, beaches appeared periodically on the right. The sea sparkled and the white breakwaters swayed invitingly. Mano saw several outriggers being prepared on the beach. Once upon a time, he was part of an outrigger team that won trophies.
  
  "We are here". He pulled into a curved parking lot with a railing at one end that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. Capua's van was located at the very end, in a great location. Mano immediately noticed his old friend, but stopped for a moment.
  
  Hayden smiled at him. "Old memories?"
  
  "Wonderful memories. Something that you don"t want to mess up by reimagining something new, you know?"
  
  "I know".
  
  There was no confidence in her voice. Mano took a long look at his boss. She was a good person - straightforward, fair, tough. Did you know whose side Hayden Jay was on, and which employee could demand more from his boss? Since they first met, he had gotten to know her well. Her father, James Jay, was a powerhouse, a true legend, and it was worth it. Hayden's goal has always been to live up to his promise, his legacy. This was her driving force.
  
  So much so that Mano was taken aback when she announced how serious she was about young nerd Ben Blake. He thought it would be a long, long time before Hayden stopped pushing herself to step up to live up to the legacy Mano felt she had already surpassed. At first he thought that distance would extinguish the flame, but then the couple found themselves together again. And now they seemed stronger than ever. Will the geek give her a new purpose, a new direction in life? Only the next few months will tell.
  
  "Go". Hayden nodded towards the van. Mano opened the door and took a deep breath of the clean local air. To his left rose the Diamond Head, a striking figure standing out against the horizon, always present.
  
  For Mano, it was always there. It didn't take him by surprise that this might be on top of some great miracle.
  
  Together they walked to the ice cutting van. Capua leaned out, staring at them. His face wrinkled in surprise, and then in genuine delight.
  
  "Mano? Man! Hey!"
  
  Capua disappeared. A second later he ran out from behind the van. He was a broad-shouldered, fit man with dark hair and a dark complexion. Even at first glance, Hayden could tell that he spent at least two hours every day on the surfboard.
  
  "Kapua." Mano hugged his old friend. "There were a few, bro."
  
  Capua stepped back. "What did you do? Tell me, how is the Hard Rock shot glass collection going?"
  
  Mano shook his head and shrugged. "Ah, a little blah blah, and even more. You know. You?"
  
  "Right. Who is Howli?"
  
  "Haole..." Mano switched back to understandable American, much to Hayden's relief. "... this is my boss. Meet Hayden Jay."
  
  The local resident straightened up. "Nice to meet you," he said. "Are you Boss Mano? Wow. Lucky Mano, I say."
  
  "Don"t you have a woman, Capua?" Mano did his best to hide the slight insult.
  
  "I bought myself a poi-dog. She, one hot Hawaiian-Chinese Filipina haole, had me pitching a tent all night long, man." Most Hawaiians were of mixed race.
  
  Mano took a breath. Poy Dog was a mixed race man. Haole was a visitor, and it wasn't necessarily a derogatory term.
  
  Before he could say anything, Hayden turned to him and sweetly asked, "Putting up a tent?"
  
  Mano cringed. Hayden knew exactly what Capua was, and it had nothing to do with camping. "This is cool. She sounds nice. Listen, Capua, I need to ask you some questions."
  
  "Shooters".
  
  "Have you ever heard of a major underworld figure known as Kovalenko? Or the Bloody King?
  
  "All I hear is what's on the news, brother. Is he on Oahu?"
  
  "May be. What about Claude?
  
  "No. If you had called Howley that name, I would have remembered it." Capua hesitated.
  
  Hayden saw this. "But you do know something."
  
  "Maybe boss. Maybe I know. But your friends there," he jerked his head towards the Waikiki Beach police station, "they don"t want to know." I already told them. They didn't do anything."
  
  "Test me." Hayden met the man's gaze.
  
  "I hear something, boss. That's why Mano came to me, right? Well, the new money's been giving out some fat wads lately, man. New players all over the scene, throwing parties they'll never see next week."
  
  "New money?" - Mano echoed. "Where?" - I asked.
  
  "Nowhere," Capua said seriously. "I mean, right here, man. Right here. They have always been marginalized, but now they are rich people."
  
  Hayden ran a hand through her hair. "What does this tell you?"
  
  "I'm not involved in this scene, but I know it. Something is happening or about to happen. A lot of people got paid a lot of money. When that happens, you learn to keep your head down until the bad stuff passes."
  
  Mano stared at the sparkling ocean. "Are you sure you don"t know anything, Capua?"
  
  "I swear on my poit dog."
  
  Capua took his poi seriously. Hayden pointed to the van. "Why don"t you make us some, Capua."
  
  "Certainly".
  
  Hayden made a face at Mano as Capua walked away. "I think it's worth a try. Do you have any idea what he"s talking about?"
  
  "I don't like the sound of what's about to happen in my hometown," Mano said and reached for some shave ice. "Kapua. Tell me your name, brother. Who could know anything?
  
  "There's a local guy, Danny, who lives up there on the hill." His gaze darted to Diamond Head. "Rich. His parents, they're raising him as a howley." He smiled at Hayden. "Say it like an American. I don't think there's anything wrong with that. But he's more serious with scumbags. He gets a kick out of knowing shit, do you understand me?"
  
  Mano used a spoon and dug out a large piece of rainbow-colored ice. "Does the guy like to pretend he"s a big shot?"
  
  Capua nodded. "But that's not true. He's just a boy playing a man's game."
  
  Hayden touched Mano's hand. "We'll pay this Danny a visit. If there is some new threat, we should know that too."
  
  Capua nodded towards the ice cones. "They are at the expense of the establishment. But you do not know me. You never came to see me."
  
  Mano nodded to his old friend. "It goes without saying, brother."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Capua gave them the address, which they programmed into the car's GPS. Fifteen minutes later they arrived at a black wrought iron gate. The lot sloped back down to the ocean, so they could only see the windows of the top floor of the large house.
  
  They got out of the car, springs squealed from Mano's side. Mano put his hand on the big gate and pushed. The front garden made Hayden stop and look.
  
  Surfboard stand. Brand new open bed truck. A hammock stretched between two palm trees.
  
  "Oh my God, Mano. Are all Hawaiian gardens like this?"
  
  Mano winced. "Not really, no."
  
  As they were about to ring the bell, they heard a noise coming from the back. They walked around the house, keeping their hands close to their weapons. As they turned the last corner, they saw a young man frolicking in the pool with an elderly woman.
  
  "Excuse me!" Hayden screamed. "We're from the Honolulu Police Department. A few words?" She whispered, barely audible: "I hope it"s not his mother."
  
  Mano choked. He wasn't used to his boss making jokes. Then he saw her face. She was deadly serious. "Why do you-?"
  
  "What the hell do you want?" The young man walked towards them, gesticulating wildly. As he came closer, Mano saw his eyes.
  
  "We have a problem," Mano said. "He's on edge."
  
  Mano let the guy swing wildly. A few big hayrides and he was out of breath, his shorts starting to slide down. He showed no awareness of his predicament.
  
  Then the elderly woman ran towards them. Hayden blinked in disbelief. The woman jumped onto Kinimake's back and began to ride him like a stallion.
  
  What the hell have they gotten themselves into here?
  
  Hayden let Kinimaka take care of himself. She looked around the house and grounds. There was no sign that anyone else was home.
  
  Finally, Mano managed to shake off the monster. She landed with a wet slap on the gravel that surrounded the pool and began howling like a banshee.
  
  Danny, if it was Danny, stared at her with his mouth open, his shorts now falling below his knees.
  
  Hayden had had enough. "Danny!" - she shouted in his face. "We need to talk to you!"
  
  
  She pushed him back into the lounge chair. God, if only her father could see her now. She turned and drained the cocktail glasses, then filled them both with water from the pool.
  
  She splashed water on Danny's face and smacked him lightly. He immediately started grinning. "Hey baby, you know I like-"
  
  Hayden stepped back. If handled correctly, this can work out in their favor. "Are you alone, Danny?" She smiled slightly.
  
  "Tina is here. Somewhere." He spoke in short, breathy sentences, as if his heart was working hard to support a man five times his size. "My girl."
  
  Hayden sighed internally with relief. "Fine. Now, I hear you are the person who can find out if I need information."
  
  "It's me". Danny's ego showed through the haze for a second. "I am that person."
  
  "Tell me about Claude."
  
  The stupor took hold of him again, making his eyes seem heavy. "Claude? The black guy who works at Crazy Shirts?"
  
  "No". Hayden clenched her teeth. "Claude, the guy who owns clubs and ranches all over Oahu."
  
  "I don"t know this Claude." Honesty probably wasn't one of Danny's strong points, but Hayden doubted he was faking it now.
  
  "What about Kovalenko? Have you heard of him?
  
  Nothing flashed in Danny's eyes. No signs or indications of awareness.
  
  Behind her, Hayden could hear Mano trying to calm down Danny's girlfriend, Tina. She decided it couldn't hurt to try a different approach. "Okay, let's try something else. There's fresh money in Honolulu. There's a lot of that. Where is this coming from, Danny, and why?"
  
  The child's eyes opened wide, suddenly lighting up with such horror that Hayden almost reached for the gun.
  
  "This could happen at any moment!" - he exclaimed. "You see? Anytime! Just... just stay home. Stay at home, boy." His voice sounded anxious, as if he was repeating something that had been said to him.
  
  Hayden felt a deep chill run down her spine, even as heavenly warmth warmed her back. "What could happen soon, Danny. Come on, you can tell me."
  
  "Assault," Danny said stupidly. "It cannot be undone because it was bought and paid for." Danny grabbed her hand, suddenly looking frighteningly sober.
  
  "Terrorists are approaching, Miss Police. Just do your damn job and don't let those bastards come here."
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
  
  Ben Blake quoted the journal entries of Captain Cook and his mate Hawksworth as describing the most dangerous voyage ever undertaken by man.
  
  "They walked through Pele's Gate," Ben said in surprise, "into pitch darkness. At this time, Cook still refers to the arched entrance as Pele's Gate. Only after he experiences what lies beyond - it says here - does he later change the reference to the Gates of Hell."
  
  Karin turned to Ben with wide eyes. "What could cause a man like Captain Cook to express such naked fear?"
  
  "Almost nothing," Ben said. "Cook discovered cannibalism. Human sacrifices. He set out on a journey into completely unknown waters."
  
  Karin pointed at the screen. "Read the damn thing."
  
  "Beyond the black Gates lie the most damned paths known to man..."
  
  "Don"t tell me," Karin snapped. "Sum up."
  
  "I can't"
  
  "What? Why?"
  
  "Because it says here-the following text has been removed from this conversion due to doubts about its authenticity."
  
  "What?"
  
  Ben frowned thoughtfully as he looked at the computer. "I think if it was open to public viewing, someone would have already tried to investigate."
  
  "Or maybe they did and died. Perhaps the authorities decided that the knowledge was too dangerous to share with the public."
  
  "But how do we view a deleted document?" Ben randomly poked a few keys. There were no hidden links on the page. Nothing reprehensible. He Googled the author's name and found several pages that mentioned Cook's Chronicle, but no more mention of Hell's Gate, Pele, or even Diamond Head.
  
  Karin turned to look at the heart of Waikiki. "So Cook's journey through the gates of hell was written out of history. We could keep trying." She gestured toward the computers.
  
  "But it will be no use," Ben said in his best Yoda impression. "We shouldn't waste our time."
  
  "What Hayden sees in you, I will never know." Karin shook her head before slowly turning around. "The problem is that we have no way of knowing what we're going to find down there. We would be going to hell blindly."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Hayden and Kinimaka managed to squeeze a few more sentences out of Danny before they decided it was wise to leave them alone at their drug party. With any luck, they'll both think the CIA visit was a bad dream.
  
  Kinimaka climbed back into the car, placing his hand on the soft leather steering wheel. "Terrorist attack?" he repeated. "In Waikiki? I do not believe in this ".
  
  Hayden was already dialing her boss's number. The gate responded immediately. She recited in a few short sentences the information they had gleaned from Danny.
  
  Mano listened to Gates' response on speakerphone. "Hayden, I'm getting closer. A few more hours and I'll be there. The police rely heavily on all known criminals to find out the location of the ranch. We'll have it soon. I will alert the appropriate authorities about this alleged attack, but keep digging."
  
  The line went dead. Hayden gasped in quiet surprise. "Is he coming here? He's having a hard time coping as it is. What good will he do?
  
  "Maybe work will help him cope."
  
  "Let's hope. They think they will soon get the location of the ranch. We are tracking terrorists. What we need now are positive, straightforward people. Hey Mano, do you think this terrorist story is part of the Blood King"s plot?"
  
  Mano nodded. "It crossed my mind." His eyes drank in the breathtaking view, as if storing it away to help fight the encroaching darkness.
  
  "Speaking of straight people, Drake and his two buddies still haven't responded to my messages. And the police don"t know either."
  
  Her cell phone rang, startling her. It was the Gate. "Sir?"
  
  "This thing has just gone crazy," he shouted, clearly alarmed. "Honolulu Police just received three more legitimate terrorist threats. All in Waikiki. Everything will happen soon. Contacts have been established with Kovalenko."
  
  "Three!"
  
  The gate suddenly shut down for a second. Hayden swallowed, feeling her stomach churn. The fear in Mano's eyes made her sweat.
  
  Gates got in touch again. "Let there be four. More information has just been authenticated. Contact Drake. You're in for the fight of your life, Hayden. Be mobilized."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The Blood King stood on the raised deck, a cold smile on his face, several of his trusted lieutenants standing in front of and below him. "It"s time," he said simply. "This is what we were waiting for, what we worked for. This is the result of all my efforts and all your sacrifices. "That"s where," he paused effectively, "it all ends."
  
  He scanned the faces for any sign of fear. There weren't any. Indeed, Boudreau seemed almost delighted to be allowed back into the bloody fray.
  
  "Claude, destroy the ranch. Kill all prisoners. And..." He grinned. "Release the tigers. They must occupy power for a while. Boudreaux, just do what you do, but more brutally. I invite you to fulfill any of your wishes. I invite you to impress me. No, shock me. Do it, Boudreau. Go to Kauai and close down the ranch over there."
  
  The Bloody King took one last look at his few remaining men. "As for you... go unleash hell in Hawaii."
  
  He turned away, brushing them aside, and took one last critical look at his transport and the carefully selected men who would accompany him into the deadly depths beneath Diamond Head.
  
  "No man has done this since Cook and lived to tell the tale. No man had ever looked beyond the fifth level of hell. No one has ever discovered what the trap system was built to hide. We will do it."
  
  Death and devastation were both behind and before him. The onset of chaos was inevitable. The bloody king was happy.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Matt Drake walked through the Exoticars parking lot, hand in hand with his 'girlfriend', Alicia Miles. There was a single rental car parked there, a Basic Dodge rental that probably belonged to a couple of tourists who had rented one of the new Lamborghinis for an hour. By the time Drake and Alicia entered the fashion showroom, the stocky man with the crew cut was already under their noses.
  
  "Good afternoon. Can I help you?"
  
  "Which ones are the fastest?" Drake made an impatient face. "We have a Nissan at home and my girlfriend wants to experience real speed." Drake winked. "Might get me a few bonus points, if you know what I mean."
  
  Alicia smiled sweetly.
  
  Drake hoped that Mai was currently rounding the back of the large showroom, keeping out of sight of the rear garage and heading towards the fenced-in side complex. She will try to get in from the other side. Drake and Alicia had about six minutes.
  
  The man's smile was wide and, unsurprisingly, fake. "Well, most people choose a new Ferrari 458 or a Lamborghini Aventador, both of which are great cars." The smile actually widened as the salesman pointed out the vehicles in question, both of which were positioned in front of the showroom's full-length windows. "But in terms of legendary achievements, if that's what you're looking for, I could recommend the Ferrari Daytona or the McLaren F1." He waved his hand toward the back of the showroom.
  
  There were offices behind there and to the right. To the left was a row of private booths where credit card information could be collected and keys handed over. There were no windows in the office, but Drake could hear figures moving around.
  
  He counted down the seconds. Mai was due to arrive in four minutes.
  
  "Are you Mr. Scarberry or Mr. Petersen?" he asked with a smile. "I saw their names on the sign outside."
  
  "I'm James. Mr. Scarberry and Mr. Petersen are the owners. They're in the backyard."
  
  "ABOUT". Drake put on a show looking at Ferraris and Lamborghinis. The showroom air conditioner collapsed on his back. There was no sound coming from the distant office. Alicia kept to herself, playing the good-natured wife while creating space.
  
  One minute before Mai had to exit through the side doors.
  
  Drake got ready.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Time flew past them at an alarming rate, but Ben hoped that Karin's crazy idea would bear fruit. The first step was to find out where Captain Cook's original logs were kept. This turned out to be an easy task. The documents were kept at the National Archives, near London, in a government building, but not as secure as at the Bank of England.
  
  So far so good.
  
  The next step was to bring in Hayden. It took a long time to get their point across. At first, Hayden seemed extremely distracted without being rude, but when Karin, supported by Ben, presented their plan, the CIA agent went deathly silent.
  
  "What do you want?" she suddenly asked.
  
  "We want you to send a world-class thief to the National Archives at Kew to photograph, not steal, and then email me a copy of the relevant portion of Cook's journals. The part that is missing."
  
  "Were you drunk, Ben? Seriously -"
  
  "The hardest part," Ben insisted, "won't be the theft. I will be sure that the thief will find and send me the right part."
  
  "What if he gets caught?" Hayden blurted out the question without thinking.
  
  "That's why he must be a world-class thief that the CIA could own thanks to this deal. And why, ideally, he should already be in custody. Oh, and Hayden, this should all be done in the next few hours. It really can't wait."
  
  "I'm aware of that," Hayden snapped, but then her tone softened. "Look, Ben, I know you two have been shoved into this little office, but you might want to stick your head out the door and get the latest information. You must be prepared in case-"
  
  Ben looked at Karin worriedly. "In case of what? You speak as if the world is about to end."
  
  Hayden's silence told him all he needed to know.
  
  After a few moments, his girlfriend spoke again: "How badly do you need these notes, these journals? Is it worth pissing off the British?"
  
  "If the Blood King reaches the Gates of Hell and we have to go after him," Ben said, "they will likely be our only source of navigation. And we all know how good Cook was with his cards. They could have saved our lives."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Hayden placed her phone on the hood of her car and tried to calm her troubled thoughts. Her eyes met Mano Kinimaki's through the windshield, and she clearly sensed the terror bubbling through his mind. They just received the most terrible news, again from Jonathan Gates.
  
  It's not like terrorists were going to hit multiple locations on Oahu.
  
  Now they knew it was much worse than that.
  
  Mano climbed out, visibly shaking. "Who was that?"
  
  "Ben. He says we need to break into the National Archives in England to get him a copy of Captain Cook's logs."
  
  Mano frowned. "Do it. Just do it. That fucking Kovalenko is trying to destroy everything we love, Hayden. You do everything in your power to protect what you love."
  
  "British-"
  
  "Fuck them." Mano lost himself in his stress. Hayden didn't mind. "If the logs will help us kill this bastard, take them."
  
  Hayden sorted out her thoughts. She tried to clear her mind. It would take a few calls to the CIA offices in London and a loud shout from her boss Gates, but she thought she could probably get the job done. Especially in light of what Gates had just told her.
  
  And she knew full well that there was a particularly charming CIA agent in London who could do the job without breaking a sweat.
  
  Mano was still looking at her, still in shock. "Can you believe this call? Can you believe what Kovalenko is going to do just to distract people"s attention?"
  
  Hayden couldn't, but remained silent, still preparing her speech for Gates and the London office. In a few minutes she was ready.
  
  "Well, let's follow up one of the worst calls of our lives with one that will help us switch roles," she said and dialed the number on speed dial.
  
  Even as she talked to her boss and negotiated foreign help to hack the British National Archives, Jonathan Gates's previous words burned in her mind.
  
  It's not just Oahu. The Bloody King's terrorists are planning to strike several islands at the same time.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
  
  
  Drake caught his breath as Mai slipped through the side door in full view of the clerk.
  
  "What the-"
  
  Drake smiled. "It's May time," he whispered, and then broke the man's jaw with a haymaker. Without a sound, the seller turned around and hit the ground. Alicia walked past the Lamborghini, readying her weapon. Drake jumped over the motionless salesman. Mai walked quickly along the back wall, passing behind an untouched McLaren F1.
  
  They were at the office wall in a matter of seconds. The lack of windows worked both for them and against them. But there would be security cameras. It was just a question-
  
  Someone ran in from the back door, overalls stained with oil, long black hair tied back with a green bandana. Drake pressed his cheek directly against the thin plywood partition, listening to the sounds coming from inside the office while May practiced the mechanic's movements.
  
  They still didn't make a sound.
  
  But then several more people burst through the door, and someone inside the office let out a scream. Drake knew the game was over.
  
  "Let them have it."
  
  Alicia growled "Fuck yeah" and kicked the office door as soon as it opened, causing it to hit the man's head with a crash. Another man stepped out, his eyes wide in shock as they stared at a beautiful woman with a gun and the posture of a fighter waiting for him. He raised the shotgun. Alicia shot him in the stomach.
  
  He collapsed in the doorway. More screams came from the office. Shock began to turn into understanding. They will soon realize that it would be wise to call a few friends.
  
  Drake fired at one of the mechanics, hitting him in the middle of the thigh and knocking him down. The man slid down the McLaren, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Even Drake winced. Mai engaged the second man and Drake turned back to Alicia.
  
  "We need to get inside."
  
  Alicia moved closer until she had a good view of the interior. Drake crept along the floor until he reached the door. At his nod, Alicia fired several shots. Drake almost ducked into the doorway, but at that moment half a dozen people jumped out with weapons drawn and opened fire furiously.
  
  Alicia turned around, hiding behind the Lamborghini. Bullets whistled down his sides. The windshield shattered. Drake quickly slipped away. He could see the pain in the man's eyes as he shot at the supercars.
  
  The other one saw him too. Drake opened fire a split second before him and saw him fall heavily, taking one of his colleagues with him.
  
  Alicia jumped out from behind the Lamborghini and landed a couple of cover punches. Drake ran towards the Ferrari, ducking behind its huge tires. Now every bullet counts. He could see May, hidden from view by the corner of the office wall, peering into the back where the mechanics had come from.
  
  Three of them lay at her feet.
  
  Drake forced a small smile. She was still the perfect killing machine. For a moment he worried about the inevitable meeting between May and Alicia and the payback for Wells' death, but then he locked his worry in the same distant corner as the love he felt for Ben, Hayden and all his other friends.
  
  This was not the place where you could give free rein to your civic emotions.
  
  The bullet hit the Ferrari, went through the door and out the other side. With a deafening crash, the front window exploded, glass falling into a mini waterfall. Drake took advantage of the distraction to jump out and shoot another man who was crowded near the office door.
  
  Amateurs, of course.
  
  Then he saw two stern-looking men leaving the office with machine guns in their hands. Drake's heart skipped a beat. He flashed an image of two more men behind them - almost certainly Scarberry and Petersen, being protected by hired mercenaries - before he made his body as small as possible behind the massive tire.
  
  The sound of flying bullets exploded his eardrums. Then that would be their strategy. Keep Alicia and him under house arrest until the two owners escape out the back door.
  
  But they didn't plan for May.
  
  The Japanese agent picked up a pair of discarded pistols and came around the corner, shooting at the men with submachine guns. One flew backwards as if he had been hit by a car, firing his gun wildly and scattering confetti across the ceiling as he fell. The other drove his bosses behind his own carcass and switched his sights to Mai.
  
  Alicia lunged upward and fired one shot that went through the bodyguard's cheek, instantly knocking him down.
  
  Now Scarberry and Petersen took out their weapons themselves. Drake swore. He needed them alive. At this point, two more men entered through the back and side doors, forcing Mai to take cover behind the McLaren again.
  
  The bullet pierced the body of the precious car.
  
  Drake heard one of the owners squealing like a Hawaiian kalua pig. The few remaining men gathered around their bosses and, shooting at the cars and therefore the attackers, ran at breakneck speed towards the back garage.
  
  Drake was momentarily taken aback. Mai killed two of the bodyguards, but Scarberry and Petersen quickly disappeared out the back door under a hail of covering fire.
  
  Drake stood up and fired, striding forward. All the while moving forward, he bent down to pick up two more weapons. One of the guards at the back door fell, holding his shoulder. The other stepped back in a stream of blood.
  
  Drake ran to the door, Mai and Alicia by his side. May fired while Drake took a few quick glances, trying to assess the location of the utility rooms and garage.
  
  "Just a big open space," he said. "But there is one big problem."
  
  Alicia squatted down next to him. "What?"
  
  "They have a Shelby Cobra back there."
  
  Mai rolled her eyes at him. "Why is this a problem?"
  
  "Whatever you do, don"t shoot it."
  
  "Is it loaded with explosives?"
  
  "No".
  
  "Then why can"t I take it off?"
  
  "Because it"s Shelby Cobra!"
  
  "We just shot up a showroom full of stupid supercars." Alicia elbowed him aside. "If you don"t have the guts to do it, fuck off."
  
  "Crap". Drake jumped up to her. The bullet whizzed past his forehead and pierced the plaster wall, showering his eyes with plaster shavings. As he expected, the bad guys shot while running. If they hit anything, it would be blind luck.
  
  Drake took aim, took a deep breath, and took out the men on either side of the two bosses. As their last remaining bodyguards fell, both Scarberry and Petersen seemed to realize they were fighting a losing battle. They stopped, weapons hanging at their sides. Drake ran towards them, his finger already on the trigger.
  
  "Claude," he said. "We need Claude, not you. Where is he?"
  
  Up close, the two bosses looked oddly similar. They both had tired faces, furrowed with hard lines born from years of ruthless decision-making. Their eyes were cold, the eyes of feasting piranhas. Their hands, still clutching their pistols, bent carefully.
  
  Mai pointed to the weapon. "Throw them away."
  
  Alicia swung her fan wide, making it more difficult to target. Drake could almost see the defeat in the bosses' eyes. The pistols crashed to the floor almost simultaneously.
  
  "Bloody hell," Alicia muttered. "They look the same and act the same. Does the bad guys in heaven turn you into clones? And while I'm on the subject, why would anyone here turn into the bad guy? This place is better than a holiday in seventh heaven."
  
  "Which one of you is Scarberry?" Mai asked, easily getting to the point.
  
  "I am," said the one with blond hair. "Have you guys been looking all over town for Claude?"
  
  "This is us," Drake whispered. "And this is our last stop."
  
  A faint click echoed in the silence. Drake turned around, knowing that Alicia would hit the target, as always. The garage looked empty, the silence suddenly heavy as a mountain.
  
  Scarberry gave them a yellowish smile. "We're in the workshop. Sometimes everything falls apart."
  
  Drake didn't look at Alicia, but signaled to her to be constantly on guard. Something was wrong. He stepped inside and took hold of Scarberry. With a quick judo move, Drake picked him up and threw him over his shoulder, slamming the man hard into the concrete. By the time the pain in Scarberry's eyes had passed, Drake had a gun pointed at his chin.
  
  "Where's Claude?" - I asked.
  
  "Never heard-"
  
  Drake broke a man's nose. "You have one more chance."
  
  Scarberry's breathing was rapid. His face was as rigid as granite, but his neck muscles were working hard, betraying nervousness and fear.
  
  "Let"s start shooting off the pieces." Mai's light voice reached them. "I'm bored".
  
  "Fair enough". Drake pushed off, stepped to the side and pulled the trigger.
  
  "NOOO!"
  
  Scarberry's scream stopped him at the last possible moment. "Claude lives on a ranch! inland from the northern coast. I can give you the coordinates."
  
  Drake smiled. "Then go ahead."
  
  Another click. Drake saw the slightest movement and his heart sank.
  
  Oh no.
  
  Alicia fired. Her bullet killed the last bad guy instantly. He was hiding in the trunk of a Shelby.
  
  Drake glared at her. She smiled back with a bit of old mischief. Drake saw that she would at least find herself again. She had a strong character that could cope with loss.
  
  He wasn't so sure of himself. He nudged Scarberry to hurry up. "Hurry up. Your friend, Claude, is in for a big surprise."
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  
  
  Hayden and Kinimaka didn't even have time to start the car when Drake called. She saw his number on her screen and breathed a sigh of relief.
  
  "Drake. Where are you-"
  
  "No time. I have Claude's location."
  
  "Yes, we think so too, smart guy. It's amazing what some criminals give up for a quieter life."
  
  "How long have you known? Where are you?" Drake fired questions like a drill sergeant giving orders.
  
  "Slow down, tiger. We received the news just a minute ago. Listen, we're preparing for immediate impact. And I mean right now. Are you playing?"
  
  "I'm damn right. We are all like that. This bastard is one step behind Kovalenko."
  
  Hayden told him about the terrorist warnings as she signaled Kinimaka to drive. When she finished, Drake fell silent.
  
  After a moment he said, "We will meet you at headquarters."
  
  Hayden quickly dialed Ben Blake's number. "Your operation was a success. We hope that our agent in London will get you what you need within the next few hours, after which he will send copies directly to you. I hope this is what you need, Ben."
  
  "I hope it's really there." Ben's voice sounded more nervous than she'd ever heard him speak. "It's a healthy guess, but it's still a guess."
  
  "I hope so too".
  
  Hayden threw her phone on the dashboard and stared blankly at the streets of Waikiki as Kinimaka drove back to headquarters. "Gates thinks that if we can deal with Claude quickly, we can stop the attacks. They hope that Kovalenko might even be there."
  
  Mano clenched his teeth. "Everybody's doing it, boss. Local police, special forces. Everything shrinks until it bursts. The problem is that the bad guys are already there. They should be. It must be virtually impossible to stop any imminent attack, let alone half a dozen attacks on three different islands."
  
  Everyone in power was convinced that Kovalenko had actually ordered numerous attacks to keep everyone busy while he went in search of his dream - a journey to which he devoted the last part of his life.
  
  Follow in the footsteps of Captain Cook. It's better to go one by one. Explore beyond the gates of hell.
  
  Hayden spun around as the headquarters loomed outside. It's time to act.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake brought May and Alicia to the CIA building and they were immediately escorted upstairs. They were led into a room bustling with activity. At the far end, Hayden and Kinimaka stood among a crowd of police and military personnel. Drake could see SWAT and the HPD Burglar Team. He could see uniforms that undoubtedly belonged to CIA Special Operations teams. Maybe even some Delta nearby.
  
  The Devil is undoubtedly on the Blood King's tail and out for blood.
  
  "Do you remember when the Blood King sent his men to attack that Destroyer to steal the device?" He said. "And they tried to kidnap Kinimaka at the same time? I bet it was an accidental takeover. They just wanted to know the Kinimaki Hawaiian language."
  
  Drake then remembered that neither May nor Alicia were around when Kovalenko's men attached the destroyer. He shook his head. "Doesn't matter".
  
  Drake noticed Ben and Karin parked near the window. Each of them had a glass in their hand, and they looked like rolling papers at a school disco.
  
  Drake thought about getting lost in the crowd. It would be easy. The loss of Kennedy was still boiling in his blood, making it impossible for him to discuss. Ben was there. Ben held her as she died.
  
  It had to be Drake. Not only this. Drake had to prevent her death. That was what he did. Time blurred and for a moment he found himself at home in York with Kennedy, cooking something in the kitchen. Kennedy splashed dark rum into the frying pan and looked up when it sizzled. Drake marinated the steak in garlic butter. It was ordinary. It was fun. The world became normal again.
  
  Stars flashed before his eyes like failed fireworks. Peace suddenly returned and voices began to sound around him. Someone elbowed him. Another man spilled hot coffee on one of his bosses and ran to the toilet like a bat out of hell.
  
  Alicia looked at him intently. "What's going on, Drakes?"
  
  He pushed through the crowd until he came face to face with Ben Blake. This was the perfect moment for a quick comment from Dinorock. Drake knew this. Ben probably knew this. But they were both silent. Light streamed through the window behind Ben; Honolulu stood framed by sunshine, bright blue skies and a few ridged clouds outside.
  
  Drake finally found his voice. "Were these CIA computers useful?"
  
  "We hope". Ben summarized the story of Captain Cook's voyage to the Diamond Head and ended with the revelation that the CIA had used a British agent to rob the National Archives.
  
  Alicia slowly moved forward after hearing the news from the young guy. "British super thief? What's his name?"
  
  Ben blinked at the sudden attention. "Hayden never told me."
  
  Alicia glanced briefly at the CIA operative, then broke into a cheeky smile. "Oh, I bet she didn't do that."
  
  "What does it mean?" Karin spoke.
  
  Alicia's smile turned a little vicious. "I'm not particularly known for my diplomacy. Don't press it."
  
  Drake coughed. "Just another international criminal that Alicia fucked. The trick has always been to find what she doesn't have."
  
  "It's true," Alicia said with a grin. "I've always been popular."
  
  "Well, if this is the agent I think about," Mai intervened in their conversation, "he is known to Japanese intelligence. He is... a player. And a very, very good operative."
  
  "So he"ll probably take care of his end." Drake studied the bliss of the Pacific city spread out before him and longed for a little peace himself.
  
  "It was never a problem for him," Alicia said. "And yes, he will deliver your magazines."
  
  Ben was still looking between Alicia and Hayden, but he held his tongue. Discretion was the best part of disclosure at this stage. "It's still an educated guess," he said. "But if we do end up at the Gates of Hell, I'm sure these recordings could save our lives."
  
  "I hope" - Drake turned and looked around the chaos - "It won"t come to that. The Bloody King will still be at the ranch. But if these idiots don"t hurry up, Kovalenko will escape."
  
  "Kovalenko." Alicia licked her lips as she said this, savoring her revenge. "I will die for what happened to Hudson. And Boudreau? He"s another one that"s really marked." She, too, looked around the noisy crowd. "Anyway, who"s in charge here?"
  
  As if in response, a voice came from the crowd of officers surrounding Hayden Jay. When the noise died down and the man could be seen, Drake was glad to see Jonathan Gates. He liked the senator. And he mourned with him.
  
  "As you know, we have a Kovalenko Ranch location in Oahu," Gates said. "Therefore, our mission must consist of four parts. First, secure all hostages. Second, gather information about suspected terrorist attacks. Third, find this man, Claude and Kovalenko. And fourth, find the location of the other two ranches."
  
  Gates paused to let this sink in, and then somehow managed to make every man and woman in the room think he was looking at them with one eye movement. "This must be done by any means necessary. Kovalenko willingly put many lives in danger during his frantic search. It ends today."
  
  The gates opened. Suddenly the chaos in the room stopped and everyone began to quickly return to their places. The details have been carefully thought out.
  
  Drake caught Hayden's eye. She waved her hand at him, inviting him to come over.
  
  "Get equipped and saddle your horses, guys. We'll reach Claude's ranch in thirty minutes."
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  
  
  Drake sat with his friends in one of the Hawaii Police Department's light helicopters and tried to clear his head as they quickly flew toward Claude's ranch. The sky was dotted with similar helicopters and heavier military ones. Hundreds of people were in the air. Others were on their way overland, moving as fast as they could. Most police and military personnel were forced to remain in Honolulu and the Waikiki area in case terrorist attacks actually materialized.
  
  The Bloody King divided their forces.
  
  The satellite image showed a lot of activity at the ranch, but much of it was camouflaged, making it impossible to tell what was really happening.
  
  Drake was determined to put his feelings for Kovalenko on hold. Gates was right. The hostages and their safety were the deciding factors here. Some of the most amazing sights he had ever seen unfolded below and around him as they flew towards the North Coast, but Drake used every ounce of his will to focus. He was the soldier he once was.
  
  He couldn't be anyone else.
  
  To his left, Mai spoke briefly with her sister, Chika, double checking her safety and exchanging a few quiet words while they could. It was no secret that they could start a full-scale war or head into a prepared combat zone.
  
  To Drake's right, Alicia spent time checking and rechecking her weapons and equipment. She didn't need to explain anything. Drake had no doubt that she would carry out her revenge.
  
  Hayden and Kinimaka sat opposite, constantly pressing their microphones and blurting out or receiving updates and orders. The good news was that nothing happened on Oahu or any other island. The bad news was that the Blood King had years to prepare for this. They had no idea what they were walking into.
  
  Ben and Karin were left at headquarters. They were ordered to wait for the agent's email and then prepare for the somewhat frightening possibility that they might have to go under Diamond Head and possibly break through the Gates of Hell.
  
  A metallic voice came from the Choppers sound system. "Five minutes to the goal."
  
  Whether you like it or not, Drake thought. We're in it now.
  
  The helicopter swooped low over the deep valley, an incredible sight as it flew surrounded by dozens of other helicopters. This was the first wave consisting of special forces soldiers. Every second US military privateer was ready to help. Air Force. Navy. Army.
  
  The voice came again. "Target".
  
  They rose up as one.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake's boots touched the soft grass and he was instantly under fire. He was the second to last person to walk out the door. The unfortunate Marine, still fighting back, took a full blast to the chest and died before he hit the ground.
  
  Drake sprawled on the ground. Bullets whistled over his head. Muffled blows hit the logs next to him. He fired a volley. The men on either side of him crawled through the grass, using the natural rolling hills for cover.
  
  Ahead he saw a house, a two-story brick structure, nothing special, but no doubt suitable for Kovalenko's local needs. To the left he noticed the ranch area. What the...?
  
  Frightened, unarmed figures ran towards him. They scattered left and right, in all directions. He heard hissing in his earphone
  
  "Friendly matches".
  
  He slid forward. May and Alicia were moving to his right. Finally the Marines pulled themselves together and began calling out a coordinated fire pattern. Drake began to move faster. The people in front of them began to retreat, emerging from their hiding place and rushing towards the house.
  
  Easy targets
  
  Drake now rose with the attack force and killed people as he ran, raising his pistol. He saw the prisoner jumping on the grass, heading towards the house. They didn't know that the good guys had arrived.
  
  The prisoner suddenly twisted and fell. The Bloody King's men shot grass at them. Drake growled, took aim at the gunslinger, and blew the bastard's head off. He fired periodically, either pinning people to the ground or guiding people so that others could finish them off.
  
  He was looking for Claude. Before they left the helicopter, they were all shown a photo of the Blood King's deputy. Drake knew that he would direct events from behind the scenes, developing an escape plan. Probably from home.
  
  Drake ran, still scanning the area, shooting occasionally. One of the bad guys rose from behind the hill and came at him with a machete. Drake simply lowered his shoulder, allowing the momentum of his opponent to carry him straight towards him, and he collapsed to the ground. The man chuckled. Drake's boot crushed his jaw. Drake's other boot stepped on the hand holding the machete.
  
  The former SAS man aimed his gun and fired. And then we moved on.
  
  He didn't look back. The house was ahead, it seemed huge, the door was slightly open, as if inviting entry. Obviously this is not the way to go. Drake kicked out the windows as he ran, aiming high. Glass exploded in the house.
  
  Now more and more prisoners were pouring in from the ranch. Some stood in the long grass, simply screaming or looking shell-shocked. When Drake looked at them, he noticed that most of them were running at a pace, flying forward as if they were escaping from something.
  
  And then he saw it, and his blood turned to ice.
  
  The head, the impossibly huge head of a Bengal tiger, streaked across the grass in light pursuit. Drake couldn't let the tigers catch their prey. He ran towards them.
  
  I pressed the earphone. "Tigers in the grass."
  
  There was a flurry of chatter in response. Others also noticed the animals. Drake watched as one of the animals jumped onto the back of the running man. The creature was huge, ferocious, and in flight the perfect image of chaos and carnage. Drake forced his legs to go faster.
  
  Another giant head broke through the grass a few yards ahead. The tiger jumped at him, his muzzle turned into a huge growl, his teeth bared and already stained with blood. Drake fell to the deck and rolled, every nerve in his body alive and screaming. Never before had he skated so perfectly. Never before had he risen so quickly and accurately. It was as if a fiercer opponent had brought out the better warrior in him.
  
  He pulled out a pistol, turned around and fired a bullet point-blank into the tiger's head. The beast fell instantly, shot through the brain.
  
  Drake didn't catch his breath. He quickly jumped across the grass to help the man he had seen downed seconds earlier. The tiger loomed over him, growling, its huge muscles flexing and rippling as it lowered its head to bite.
  
  Drake shot him in the rear, waited until he turned around, and then shot him between the eyes. It landed, all five hundred pounds, on the man it was about to eat.
  
  not good, Drake thought. But it's better than being torn to pieces and eaten alive.
  
  Screams could be heard in his earpiece. "Fuck me, these bastards are huge!" "Another one, Jacko! One more for your six!"
  
  He studied his surroundings. No sign of tigers, just terrified captives and terrified troops. Drake rushed back across the grass, ready to take cover if he saw any enemy, but in a matter of seconds he was back in the house.
  
  The front windows were broken. The Marines were inside. Drake followed, his wireless Bluetooth signal marking him as friendly. Stepping over the broken window sill, he wondered where Claude himself might be. Where would he be right now?
  
  A voice whispered in his ear. "Thought you left the party early, Drakey." Alicia's silky tones. "For both of you."
  
  He saw her. Partially hidden by the closet she was rummaging through. Jesus, was she looking through his DVD collection?
  
  Mai was behind her with a gun in her hand. Drake watched as the Japanese woman raised her weapon and pointed it at Alicia's head.
  
  "Mai!" His desperate voice screamed in their ears.
  
  Alicia jumped. May's face curved into a slight smile. "It was a gesture, Drake. I was pointing at the alarm interface, not at Alicia. Not yet ".
  
  "Anxiety?" Drake chuckled. "We're already inside."
  
  "The infantry seem to think it is also connected to the large warehouse in the backyard."
  
  Alicia stepped back and aimed her pistol. "Damned if I know." She fired a volley into the closet. Sparks flew.
  
  Alicia shrugged. "That should be enough."
  
  Hayden, with Kinimaka hot on his heels, returned to the room. "The barn is tightly closed. Signs of booby traps. The tech guys are working on it now."
  
  Drake sensed the wrongness of it all. "And yet we get in here so easily? This-"
  
  At that moment, a commotion and the sound of someone descending were heard at the top of the stairs. Fast. Drake picked up the gun and looked up.
  
  And she froze in shock.
  
  One of Claude's men slowly descended the stairs, one hand squeezing the captive's throat. In her other hand she had the Desert Eagle, aimed at her head.
  
  But that wasn't the full extent of Drake's shock. A sickening feeling arose when he recognized the woman. It was Kate Harrison, the daughter of Gates' former assistant. The man who was partly to blame for Kennedy's death.
  
  It was his daughter. Still alive.
  
  Claude's man pressed the gun hard against her temple, causing her to close her eyes in pain. But she didn't scream. Drake, along with a dozen others in the room, pointed their guns at the man.
  
  And yet it didn't feel right to Drake. Why the hell was this guy upstairs with one prisoner? It seemed as if-
  
  "Come back!" - the man shouted, wildly darting his eyes in all directions. Sweat dripped from him in large drops. The way he half carried and half pushed the woman meant that all his weight was on his back leg. The woman, to her credit, did not make it easy for him.
  
  Drake calculated that the pressure on the trigger was already halfway to the target. "Move away! Let us out!" The man lowered her down another step. The special forces soldiers retreated normally, but only to slightly more advantageous positions.
  
  "I'm warning you, assholes." The sweaty man was breathing heavily. "Get out of the fucking way."
  
  And this time, Drake could see that he meant it. There was desperation in his eyes, something Drake recognized. This man has lost everything. Whatever he did, whatever he did, it was done under terrible duress.
  
  "Back!" the man screamed again and roughly pushed the woman down another step. The hand hugging her neck was like an iron rod. He kept every part of his body behind her so as not to present himself as a target. He was once a soldier, most likely a good one.
  
  Drake and his colleagues saw the wisdom of retreat. They gave the man a little more space. He went down a few more steps. Drake caught May's eye. She shook her head slightly. She knew too. This was wrong. It was...
  
  A red herring. The most terrible kind. Claude, no doubt on Kovalenko's orders, used this man to distract them. Archetypal behavior of the King of Blood. There might be a bomb in the house. The real reward, Claude, was probably a successful escape from the barn.
  
  Drake waited, perfectly poised. Every nerve in his body froze. He leveled the blow. His breathing stopped. His mind went blank. There was nothing now, not the tense room full of soldiers, not the terrified hostage, not even the house and servants that surrounded him.
  
  Just a millimeter. Sight crosshair. Less than an inch to the target. One move. That's all he needed. And silence was all he knew. The man then pushed Kate Harrison down another step, and in that split second of movement, his left eye peeked out from behind the woman's skull.
  
  Drake blew it apart with one shot.
  
  The man jumped back, collided with the wall and slipped past the screaming woman. He landed with a crash, head first, weapons clanking behind him, and then they saw his vest, his stomach.
  
  Kate Harrison screamed: "He's got a bomb on him!"
  
  Drake jumped forward, but Mai and the big Marine were already jumping over the edge of the stairs. The Marine grabbed Kate Harrison. Mai jumped over the dead mercenary. Her head turned to the vest, to the indicator.
  
  "Eight seconds!"
  
  Everyone rushed to the window. Everyone except Drake. The Englishman rushed further into the house, rushing along the narrow corridor to the kitchen, praying that someone would leave the back door open. That way he would be closer to Claude when the bomb went off. So he had a chance.
  
  Through the corridor. Three seconds passed. To the kitchen. A quick look around. Two more seconds. The back door is closed.
  
  Time is over.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  
  
  Drake opened fire as soon as he heard the initial explosion. It would take a second or two to get there. The kitchen door shattered from numerous blows. Drake ran straight at him, shooting all the time. He didn't slow down, just hit him with his shoulder and fell through the air.
  
  The explosion swept behind him like an attacking snake. A tongue of flame burst out of the door and windows, shooting up into the sky. Drake was rolling. The breath of fire touched him for a moment and then retreated.
  
  Without slowing down, he jumped up again and ran. Bruised and battered, but terribly determined, he rushed towards the large barn. The first thing he saw were dead bodies. There are four of them. The technicians Hayden left behind to gain access. He stopped next to them and checked each one for signs of life.
  
  There is no pulse and no bullet wounds. Were these damn walls electrified?
  
  At another moment it didn't matter anymore. The front of the barn exploded, splintering wood and flames shooting out in a spectacular detonation. Drake fell to the deck. He heard the roar of an engine and looked up just in time to see a yellow blur burst through the broken doors and fly powerfully down the makeshift driveway.
  
  Drake jumped up. He was probably heading towards a hidden helicopter, plane, or some other damn booby trap. He couldn't wait for reinforcements. He ran into a dilapidated barn and looked around. He shook his head in disbelief. The deep shine of the polished supercar shone in every direction.
  
  Selecting the nearest one, Drake spent precious seconds searching for the key and then saw a set of them hanging outside the inner office. The Aston Martin Vanquish started with a key and power combination that, although unfamiliar to Drake, got his adrenaline pumping as the engine roared madly.
  
  The Aston Martin flew out of the barn with its tires squealing. Drake pointed him in the direction of what he hoped was Claude's speeding car. If this was just another round of disorientation, Drake is screwed. Like, perhaps, all of Hawaii. They desperately needed to capture the Blood King's deputy.
  
  Out of the corner of his eye, Drake saw Alicia stop abruptly. He didn't wait. In the rearview mirror, he saw her purposefully running into the barn. God, this could get into trouble.
  
  The yellow blur ahead began to look like a high-end supercar, somewhat reminiscent of the old Porsche Le Mans coupes that won the race. Close to the ground, he hugged the curves of the road, bouncing as if he were running on springs. Unsuitable for rough terrain, but then the makeshift road became completely paved several miles higher.
  
  Drake fired at the Vanquish, placing the weapon carefully on the seat behind him and listening to the Bluetooth sounds bouncing around in his brain. The ranch operation was still in full swing. The hostages were freed. Some were dead. Several groups of Claude's men were still holed up in strategic positions, pinning the authorities to the ground. And there were still half a dozen tigers prowling around, causing havoc.
  
  The gap between Aston Martin and Porsche has been reduced to zero. The English car was much better on rough roads. Drake positioned himself directly behind him, intending to sit next to him, when he saw in the rearview mirror that another supercar was approaching him.
  
  Alicia is driving an old Dodge Viper. Trust her to do something with the muscles.
  
  The three cars raced across rough terrain, taking turns and turning on long straights. Gravel and dirt flew around and behind them. Drake saw the paved road approaching and made a decision. They wanted to get Claude alive, but they had to catch him first. He was very careful to continue listening to the chatter in his headphones in case anyone reported that they had caught Claude, but the longer this chase went on, the more certain Drake became that the man in front was the Blood King's second.
  
  Drake raised his gun and smashed the Aston's windshield. After a moment of dangerous skidding, he regained control and fired a second round at the fleeing Porsche. Bullets tore through his backside.
  
  The car barely slowed down. He took off onto a new road. Drake opened fire as the Le Mans driver accelerated, bullet casings scattered on the leather seat next to him. It's time to take aim at the tires.
  
  But right at that moment, one of the helicopters zoomed past them all, two figures leaning out of the open doors. The helicopter turned around in front of the Porsche and hovered sideways. Warning shots tore chunks out of the road in front of him. Drake shook his head in disbelief as a hand stuck out of the driver's window and began shooting at the helicopter.
  
  Instantly, simultaneously, he took his foot off the accelerator and his hands off the steering wheel, took aim and released a charge of ambition, skill and recklessness. Alicia's Viper crashed into his own car. Drake regained control, but saw the gun fly through the windshield.
  
  But his crazy shot worked. He shot the fleeing driver in the elbow, and now the car was slowing down. Stop. Drake stopped the Aston abruptly, jumped out and quickly ran to the passenger door of the Porsche, stopping to raise his gun and keeping his sights on the figure's head the entire time.
  
  "Drop your weapon! Do it!"
  
  "I can"t," came the answer. "You shot me in the arm to fuck me, you stupid boar."
  
  The helicopter hovered ahead, its rotors roaring as its thunderous engine shook the very ground.
  
  Alicia approached and shot at the Porsche's side mirror. As a team, they turned left and right, both covering the man behind the wheel.
  
  Despite the grimace of agony on the man's face, Drake recognized him from the photograph. It was Claude.
  
  It's time to pay up.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Ben Blake jumped in shock when his cell phone rang. Emulating Drake, he also switched to Evanescence. Amy Lee's chilling vocals on "Lost in Paradise" perfectly matched everyone's mood at that moment.
  
  The inscription International appeared on the screen. The call would not have been from a member of his family. But, in light of the work of the National Archives, it could be from any number of government agencies.
  
  "Yes?"
  
  "Ben Blake?"
  
  Fear scratched his spine with sharp fingers. "Who is this?"
  
  "Tell me". The voice was cultured, English and completely confident. "Right now. Should I talk to Ben Blake?"
  
  Karin approached him, reading the horror on his face. "Yes".
  
  "Fine. Well done. Was it that difficult? My name is Daniel Belmonte."
  
  Ben almost dropped his phone. "What? How the hell are you-"
  
  A stream of exquisite laughter stopped him. "Relax. Just relax my friend. I"m surprised, to say the least, that Alicia Miles and your girlfriend didn"t mention my... skills."
  
  Ben's mouth gaped, unable to say a word. Karin mouthed the words, thief? From London? It is he?
  
  Ben's face said it all.
  
  "Did the cat bite your tongue, Mr. Blake? Maybe you should dress up your beautiful sister. How is Karin?"
  
  The mention of his sister's name cheered him up a little. "Where did you get my number?"
  
  "Don't be condescending to me. Do you really think it will take two hours to perform the simple operation you asked me to do? Or have I spent the last forty minutes learning a little about my... benefactors? Hm? Take your time with this, Blakey."
  
  "I don"t know anything about you," Ben said defensively. "I advised you-" He paused. "Through-"
  
  "Your girlfriend? I'm sure it was. She knows me quite well."
  
  "What about Alicia?" Karin screamed, trying to throw the man off balance. They were both so surprised and so inexperienced that it didn't even occur to them to warn the CIA.
  
  There was silence for a moment. "This girl actually scares me, to tell you the truth."
  
  Ben's brain seemed to be starting to function. "Mr. Belmonte, the item you were asked to copy is very valuable. So valuable-"
  
  "I understand it. It was written by Captain Cook and one of his men. During his three voyages, Cook made more discoveries than any other person in history."
  
  "I don't mean historical value," Ben snapped. "I mean, it could save lives. Now. Today."
  
  "Really?" Belmonte seemed genuinely interested. "Please tell me".
  
  "I can't". Ben began to feel a little desperate. "Please. Help us".
  
  "It's already on your email," Belmonte said. "But I wouldn't be who I am if I didn't show you what I'm worth, would I? Enjoy."
  
  Belmonte ended the call. Ben threw his cell phone on the table and clicked on his computer for a few seconds.
  
  The missing pages from the chef's journals appeared in full, glorious color.
  
  "Levels of Hell," Ben read aloud. "Cook only made it to level five and then turned back. Oh my God, can you hear that, Karin? Even Captain Cook didn't make it past level five. This... this..."
  
  "A huge system of traps." Karin read quickly over his shoulder, her photographic memory working overtime. "The biggest, craziest trap system ever imagined."
  
  "And if it's so big and dangerous and elaborate..." Ben turned to her. "Imagine the enormity and significance of the miracle that this leads to."
  
  "Incredible," said Karin and read on.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake pulled Claude out of the shot-down car and roughly threw him onto the road. His screams of pain rent the air, drowning out even the roar of the helicopter.
  
  "Fools! You'll never stop it. He always wins. Damn it, my arm hurts, you bastard!"
  
  Drake brought his machine gun to arm's length and knelt on Claude's chest. "Just a few questions, buddy. Then the doctors will pump you full of some really tasty shit. Where is Kovalenko? He is here?"
  
  Claude gave him a stony face, almost annoyed.
  
  "Okay, let's try something simpler. Ed Boudreau. Where is he?"
  
  "He took the wiki-wiki shuttle back to Waikiki."
  
  Drake nodded. "Where are the other two ranches?"
  
  "Disappeared." Claude's face broke into a grin. "Everything is lost".
  
  "It's enough". Alicia listened over Drake's shoulder. She walked around, pointing the gun at Claude's face, and carefully placed her boot on Claude's shattered elbow. An instant scream split the air.
  
  "We can take this as far as you want," Drake whispered. "Nobody's on your side here, buddy. We are aware of terrorist attacks. Either talk or shout. It doesn't matter to me."
  
  "Stop!" Claude's words were almost unintelligible. "Puh...please."
  
  "That's better". Alicia eased the pressure a little.
  
  "I... have been with the Blood King for many, many years." Claude spat. "But now he's leaving me behind. He leaves me to die. Rot in pig country. To cover your ass. Maybe not." Claude tried to sit up. "Crap".
  
  Everyone became wary, Drake pulled out a pistol and aimed at Claude's skull. "Calmly".
  
  "He'll regret this." Claude was practically seething with anger. "I no longer care about his terrible retribution." Sarcasm oozed from his tone. "I don't care. Now there is no more life for me."
  
  "We understand." Alicia sighed. "You hate your fucking boyfriend. Just answer the sexy soldier's questions."
  
  There was a beeping sound in Drake's earpiece. A metallic voice said: "The first portal device has been found. It seems Kovalenko has left that behind."
  
  Drake blinked and glanced briefly at Alicia. Why would the Blood King leave the portal device at a time like this?
  
  Simple answer. He didn't need it.
  
  "Kovalenko heads Diamond Head, right? To the Gates of Pele, or Hell, or something else. That"s his ultimate goal, right?"
  
  Claude made a face. "This legend he found became an obsession. A man rich beyond all dreams. A man who can get whatever he wants. What is he doing?
  
  "Obsessed with something he"ll never have?" Alicia suggested.
  
  "A man so smart, so resourceful, turned into a neurotic idiot overnight. He knows there's something underneath that damn volcano. He always muttered that he was the best cook. This Cook actually turned back in fear. But not Dmitry Kovalenko, not the Bloody King; he would have moved on."
  
  Even Drake felt a surge of foreboding. "Did Cook turn back? What the hell is down there?"
  
  Claude shrugged, then groaned in pain. "No one knows. But I guess Kovalenko will be the first to know. He's on his way there now."
  
  Drake's heart jumped at this information. He's on his way there now. There was a time.
  
  By this time, Mai and half a dozen soldiers had approached them. Everyone listened with eager attention.
  
  Drake remembered the upcoming task. "We need ranch locations. And we want Ed Boudreau."
  
  Claude relayed the information. Two more ranches, one on Kauai, the other on the Big Island. Boudreau was on his way to Kauai.
  
  "What about terrorist attacks?" Mai asked quietly. "Is this just another ploy?"
  
  And now Claude's face really stretched out with such despair and suffering that Drake's stomach fell through the floor.
  
  "No". Claude groaned. "They are real. They can open at any moment."
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  
  
  Ben and Karin walked to the window, each holding a copy of Captain Cook's secret journals. As they read and reread the madness it contained, Ben questioned his sister about the Blood King's strange behavior.
  
  "Kovalenko must have been planning to go on this trip when the portable devices were found. He is too well prepared to have organized everything in the last few weeks."
  
  "Years," Karin muttered. "Years of planning, practice and greasing the right wheels. But why did he risk this huge operation to go on a little jaunt to Bermuda?"
  
  Ben shook his head at one of the passages he was reading. "Crazy things. Just crazy. There was only one thing that could make him do this, sis."
  
  Karin looked at the distant ocean. "He saw something about devices that were related to Diamond Head."
  
  "Yes, but what?"
  
  "Well, in the end, obviously nothing very important." They watched the shaking heads as the camera images were broadcast from the Blood King's ranch. They knew the megalomaniac had left the portal device behind. "He doesn't need it."
  
  "Or he believes he can just take it back at will."
  
  Behind them, on the operational uplink, they heard Drake shout out the information he had been extracting from Claude for so long.
  
  Ben blinked at Karin. "He says the Bloody King is already in Diamond Head. It means-"
  
  But Karin's unexpected scream froze the next words in his throat. He followed her gaze, narrowed his eyes and felt his world crumble.
  
  Black smoke from multiple explosions billowed from hotel windows along Waikiki Beach.
  
  Ignoring the noise coming from the offices around him, Ben ran to the wall and turned on the TV.
  
  His mobile phone rang. This time it was his father. They must be watching TV too.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake and the soldiers, who were not busy taking hostages or defeating the few remaining pockets of resistance, saw the broadcast on their iPhones. Their unit commander, a man named Johnson, hacked into military Android devices and contacted the mobile command post in Honolulu directly as the events unfolded.
  
  "Bombs exploded in three hotels in Waikiki," the commander repeated. "I repeat. Three. We sail west from the coast. Kalakuau Waikiki. Wave to Ohana." The commander listened for a minute. "They seem to have exploded in empty rooms, causing panic... evacuations... pretty much... chaos. Honolulu emergency services are stretched to the limit."
  
  "This is all?" Drake actually felt some relief. It could have been much worse.
  
  "Wait-" The commander"s face fell. "Oh no".
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Ben and Karin watched in horror as scenes switched on the TV screen. The hotels were quickly evacuated. Men and women ran, pushed and fell. They screamed, defended their loved ones and cried while hugging their children tightly. The hotel staff came after, looking stern and scared, but maintaining control. Police and firefighters entered and exited lobbies and hotel rooms, and their presence was felt in front of every hotel. The television picture faded as the helicopter flew in, revealing a magnificent view of Waikiki and the rolling hills beyond, the majesty of the Diamond Head Volcano and the world-famous Kuhio Beach, now marred by the stunning sight of high-rise hotels spewing smoke and flames from their ruined walls and windows.
  
  The TV screen clicked again. Ben gasped and Karin's heart jumped. They couldn't even talk to each other.
  
  The fourth hotel, in full view of the whole world, was seized by masked terrorists. Anyone who stood in their way was shot on the sidewalk. The last man turned around and shook his fist at the hovering helicopter. Before entering the hotel and locking the door behind him, he shot and killed a civilian who was squatting next to a parked taxi.
  
  "Oh my God". Karin's voice was quiet. "What about the poor people inside?"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  "Queen Ala Moana has been invaded by armed men," the commander told them. "Decisively. Wearing a mask. I'm not afraid to kill." He turned his murderous gaze towards Claude. "How many more attacks will there be, you evil bastard?"
  
  Claude looked scared. "None," he said. "On Oahu."
  
  Drake turned away. He had to think. He had to reorient himself. This was what Kovalenko wanted, to keep them all distracted. The fact was that Kovalenko knew that there was something stunning hidden deep under the Diamond Head, and he was on his way to laying claim to it.
  
  Something that might even outshine the horror of these attacks.
  
  His concentration returned. Nothing has changed here. The attacks were timed perfectly. They simultaneously disabled soldiers, the army and emergency services. But nothing has changed. They didn't find the Blood King, so-
  
  Plan B was put into action.
  
  Drake motioned to May and Alicia. Hayden and Kinimaka were already close. The big Hawaiian looked shell-shocked. Drake said pointedly to him: "Are you ready for this, Mano?"
  
  Kinimaka almost growled. "I'm damn right."
  
  "Plan B," Drake said. "Kovalenko is not here, so we stick to it. The rest of the soldiers will understand this in a minute. Hayden and May, you are joining the attack on Kauai. Mano and Alicia, you are joining the assault on the Big Island. Go to those ranches. Save as many as you can. And Alicia..." His face turned into carved ice. "I'm counting on you to commit murder. Let that bastard Boudreaux die a brutal death."
  
  Alicia nodded. It was Drake's idea to keep Mai and Alicia apart when they realized they would have to split up their team. He didn't want Wells' death and other secrets to come between saving lives and stopping the enemy.
  
  Claude's high-pitched voice caught Drake's attention. "Kovalenko financed attacks on Oahu, Kauai and the Big Island just to get your attention. Divide and conquer you. You can't beat this man. He's been preparing for years."
  
  Matt Drake raised his weapon. "That's why I'm going to follow him through the Gates of Hell and feed him to the fucking devil." He headed towards the cargo helicopter. "Come on, people. Load up."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Ben quickly turned around when his cell phone rang. It was Drake
  
  "Ready?"
  
  "Hi Matt. You are sure? Are we really leaving?"
  
  "We're really leaving. Right now. Did you get what you needed from Daniel Belmonte?"
  
  "Yes. But he"s a little weak-"
  
  "Fine. Have you pinpointed the closest entrance to the lava tube?"
  
  "Yes. There is a gated community about two miles from Diamond Head. The Hawaiian government similarly sealed off every known entrance. In most cases, this does not stop even a determined child from getting in."
  
  "Nothing helps. Listen, Ben. Grab Karin and get someone to take you to that lava tube. Send me the coordinates. Do it now ".
  
  "Are you serious? We have no idea what's down there. And this trap system? This is beyond cruelty."
  
  "Courage, Ben. Or, as Def Leppard put it - Let's rock. "
  
  Ben placed his phone on the table and took a deep breath. Karin put her hand on his shoulder. They both looked at the TV. The presenter's voice was tense.
  
  "...this is terrorism on a scale never seen before."
  
  "Drake is right," Ben said. "We are at war. We need to overthrow the commander in chief of our enemies."
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
  
  
  Drake gathered eight members of the Delta Team, who were assigned to him in case exploration of the deep caves was required. They were relative veterans of the department, the most experienced, and each person had once, in some godforsaken place, carried out his own operation.
  
  Before they boarded the helicopter, Drake stepped out with his friends for a moment. The Blood King had already divided the Hawaiian and government forces, and now he was going to separate them.
  
  "Be safe." Drake looked everyone in the eye in turn. Hayden. Mai. Alicia. Kinimaka. "We'll have to spend one more night in hell, but tomorrow we'll all be free."
  
  There were nods and grunts from Mano.
  
  "Believe it," Drake said and extended his hand. Four more hands came at him. "Just stay alive, guys."
  
  With that, he turned and ran towards the waiting helicopter. Delta Squad was finishing up their equipment and now took their places as he boarded. "Hi guys". He had a strong Yorkshire accent. "Ready to tear this vodka-soaking pig apart?"
  
  "Booya!"
  
  "Fuck." Drake waved to the pilot, who lifted them into the air. He looked back at the ranch one last time and saw that his friends were still standing in the same circle, watching him go.
  
  Will he ever see them all alive again?
  
  If he did this, there would be serious reckoning. He would have to make some apologies. Some terrible realities he will have to come to terms with. But with Kovalenko"s death, it would have been easier. Kennedy would have been avenged, if not saved. And now that he was firmly on the trail of the Bloody King, his spirits had already soared a little higher.
  
  But the final reckoning between May and Alicia may well turn all this on its head. There was something huge between them, something terrible. And whatever it is, Drake is involved. And wells.
  
  It didn't take long for the helicopter to arrive at Ben's coordinates. The pilot landed them on a flat piece of ground about a hundred yards from the tiny complex. Drake saw that Ben and Karin were already sitting with their backs against the high fence. Their faces were completely white with tension.
  
  He needed to be the old Drake for a while. This mission needed Ben Blake at his best, at his coolest, and while Ben was firing on all cylinders, Karin was feeding off of it. The success of the mission depended on them all being in the best shape of their lives.
  
  Drake signaled to the Delta soldiers, stepped out of the helicopter, surrounded by violent gusts of air, and ran towards Ben and Karin. "Everything is fine?" he shouted. "Did you bring the logs?"
  
  Ben nodded, still a little unsure how to feel about his old friend. Karin began tying her hair at the back of her head. "We're fully loaded, Drake. I hope you brought something damn good back."
  
  Delta soldiers crowded around them. Drake clapped for one man, a large bearded individual with tattoos on his neck and arms like a biker. "This is my new friend, call sign is Komodo, and this is his team. Team, meet my old friends, Ben and Karin Blake."
  
  There were nods and grunts everywhere. Two soldiers were busy picking the symbolic padlock that was preventing people from descending one of Hawaii's famous lava tubes. After a few minutes they retreated and the gate remained open.
  
  Drake entered the compound. The concrete platform led to a metal door that was securely locked. To the right stood a tall post, on top of which a rotating security camera surveyed the area. Komodo waved the same two soldiers forward to take care of the door.
  
  "Do you guys have any hints about what me and my men are about to get into?" Komodo's hoarse voice made Ben wince.
  
  "In the words of Robert Baden-Powell," Ben said. "Be ready".
  
  Karin added: "For anything."
  
  Ben said, "That"s the Boy Scout motto."
  
  Komodo shook his head and muttered "Geeks" under his breath.
  
  Ben positioned himself behind the rough-looking soldier. "Anyway, why do they call you Komodo? Is your bite poisonous?"
  
  Drake interrupted before the Delta captain could respond. "They may call it a lava tube, but it's still a simple old-fashioned tunnel. I won't insult you by laying out the usual protocols, but I will tell you this. Watch out for booby traps. Bloody King is all about big displays and separation techniques. If he can isolate us, we are dead men."
  
  Drake walked ahead, gesturing for Ben to go next and Karin to follow Komodo. The small guardhouse contained nothing but a couple of large lockers and a dusty telephone. It smelled musty and damp and resonated with the deep, primordial silence that hung in the air ahead. Drake went ahead and soon found out why.
  
  The entrance to the lava tube was at their feet, a huge hole leading down into the creeping darkness.
  
  "How far is it?" Komodo stepped forward and threw a glow stick. The device flashed and rolled for a few seconds before hitting the hard stone. "Near. Secure some ropes, guys. Hurry up."
  
  While the soldiers worked, Drake listened as best he could. Not a sound came from the inky darkness. He assumed that they were several hours behind Kovalenko, but he intended to quickly catch up.
  
  Once they had descended and planted their feet firmly on the smooth floor of the lava tube, Drake got his bearings and headed towards Diamond Head. The pipe narrowed, sank and bent. Even the Delta team sometimes lost their balance or scraped their heads due to the unpredictability of the volcanic shaft. Twice it turned sharply, causing Drake to panic until he realized that the gentle curve was always in the direction of Diamond Head.
  
  He kept his eyes on the rangefinder. Underground darkness closed over them from all sides. "Light ahead," Drake suddenly said and stopped.
  
  Something jumped out of the darkness. A gust of cold air from below. He stopped and studied the giant hole ahead. Komodo walked over and threw another glow stick.
  
  This time he fell about fifteen feet.
  
  "Fine. Komodo, you and your team get ready. Ben, Karin, let's take a look at these magazines."
  
  As the Delta team set up a sturdy tripod over the jagged hole, Drake quickly read the footnotes. His eyes widened before he even finished reading the first page and he took a deep breath.
  
  "Bloody hell. I think we need bigger weapons."
  
  Ben raised an eyebrow. "It's not bullets we need down there. These are the brains."
  
  "Well, luckily I have both." Drake raised his gun. "I think if we need to listen to some shitty music along the way, we"ll turn to you."
  
  "Eggs. I now have Fleetwood Mac on my iPod."
  
  "I'm shocked. Which version?
  
  "Is there more than one?"
  
  Drake shook his head. "I think all children should start their education somewhere." He winked at Karin. "How are we doing, Komodo?"
  
  "Done".
  
  Drake stepped forward, grabbed the rope attached to the tripod, and pushed down the strangely glowing pipe. As soon as his boots touched the bottom, he pulled and the others slid down one by one. Karin, a trained athlete, managed the descent with ease. Ben struggled a bit, but he was young and fit and eventually landed without breaking a sweat.
  
  "Forward". Drake walked quickly in the direction of Diamond Head. "Watch your back. We're getting closer."
  
  The passage began to descend. Drake briefly wondered how a lava tube could be diverted from its natural flow, but then realized that the magma itself would force its way through the path of least resistance with hellish force at its back. The lava could take any angle it wanted.
  
  A few more minutes passed and Drake stopped again. There was another hole in the floor ahead, this time smaller and perfectly rounded. When Komodo dropped the glow stick, they guessed that the shaft was about thirty feet deep.
  
  "Even more dangerous," Drake said. "Take care of yourselves, you two."
  
  He then noticed that the light from the glow stick was not reflected by any stone walls. Its orange light was absorbed by the surrounding darkness. Below them was a large chamber.
  
  He signaled for silence. As one, they listened carefully to any sounds coming from below. After a moment of complete silence, Drake took hold of the rappel rope and swung himself over the empty shaft. He quickly slid down its length until he was under the ceiling.
  
  Still no noise. He broke another half dozen glow sticks and threw them into the cell below. Gradually, an unnatural light began to bloom.
  
  And Matt Drake finally saw what few people had seen before. A large rectangular room about fifty meters long. Perfectly smooth floor. Three curved walls, on which some ancient signs are engraved, indistinguishable at such a distance.
  
  And dominating one wall is the curved archway that so fascinated Captain Cook. The door within him that had so captivated the Blood King. And the horrors and wonders that might lie beyond filled Matt Drake and his companions with such dread.
  
  They found the Gates of Hell.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  
  
  Hayden held on tightly as the helicopter banked in the sky, quickly changing course. Her last sight of Kinimaki was the ever-playful Alicia Miles pushing him into another helicopter. The sight made her wince, but her practical side knew that when it came to battle, Mano had the best support in the business in the form of a crazy Englishwoman.
  
  So does Hayden. Mai sat next to her, quiet and peaceful, as if they were heading to the Napali Coast to see the world-class sights. The rest of the seats were taken by crack soldiers. Kauai was about twenty minutes away. Gates had just contacted her to report a terrorist attack at the Kukui Grove open-air mall on Kauai. A man chained himself to a railing outside the joint Jamba Juice/Starbucks location on the north side of the complex. Someone with pieces of jamtex strapped to his body and his finger on the trigger of a primitive detonator.
  
  The man also had two automatic weapons and a Bluetooth headset and prevented any of the restaurant's patrons from leaving.
  
  In Gates' own words. "This idiot is clearly going to hang in there as long as he can, then when the authorities make their move, he'll explode. Most of the Kauai police force was deployed to the scene, away from you."
  
  "We'll keep the ranch safe, sir," Hayden assured him. "We expected this."
  
  "We did this, Miss Jay. I guess we"ll see what Kovalenko"s plans are for the Big Island next."
  
  Hayden closed her eyes. Kovelenko had been planning this attack for years, but questions remained. Why give up the portal device? Why leave with such a roar? Could this be his plan B? That, despite the fact that the authorities quickly exposed all his efforts and instigated a Bloody Vendetta against Drake, his friends and families, he chose this path to gain the greatest fame.
  
  Or, she thought, perhaps he was using the old, old strategy of creating enough of a stir here that your actions might go unnoticed there.
  
  Doesn't matter, she thought. Her thoughts were about Ben and the dangerous task he was on. She would never say this out of duty, but she was beginning to love him dearly. The duty she felt towards her father did not disappear, but it became less urgent after the terrible death of Kennedy Moore. Real life beats the old promises any day.
  
  As the helicopter streaked through the bright blue Hawaiian sky, Hayden said a prayer for Ben Blake.
  
  Then her cell phone rang. When she looked at the screen, her eyebrows shot up in surprise.
  
  "Hi," she replied immediately. "How are you doing?"
  
  "Excellent, thank you, but this tomb exploration business has one serious side effect. My tan is almost gone."
  
  Hayden smiled. "Well, Torsten, there are salons for this kind of thing."
  
  "Between the command post and the tomb? Not really."
  
  "Of course, I would love to chat, Torsten, but you Swedes choose your own moments."
  
  "Understood. I tried calling Drake first, but it went straight to voicemail. He is OK?"
  
  "Better than he was, yes." Hayden saw the skyline of Kauai looming to the right. "Listen-"
  
  "I'll be quick. The operation here was successful. Nothing reprehensible. Everything was as expected and on time. But..." Torsten paused, and Hayden heard him catch his breath. "Something happened today. I would say that something seems 'off'. You Americans might call it something else."
  
  "Yes?"
  
  "I received a call from my government. From my intermediary to the Minister of State. High level challenge. I-" Another hesitant pause, not at all like Dahl.
  
  The rugged coastline of Kauai rushed beneath them. The call came over the radio. "Eight minutes to go."
  
  "I was told that our operation - our Scandinavian operation - was about to be transferred to a new agency. A joint task force consisting of high-ranking but unnamed members of the American CIA, DIA and NSA. So Hayden, I am a soldier and I will carry out the orders of my highest superior, but does that sound right to you?"
  
  Hayden was shocked despite herself. "To me this sounds like complete nonsense. What is the name of the main person? The one to whom you give yourself into the hands."
  
  "Russell Cayman. Do you know him?"
  
  Hayden searched her memory. "I know the name, but I know very little about it. I'm sure he's from DIA, the Defense Intelligence Agency, but they're mostly in the business of acquiring weapons systems. What the hell does this Russell Cayman want with you and the Tomb?"
  
  "You are reading my mind".
  
  Out of the corner of her eye, Hayden saw May's head jerk as if she had been shot through the skull. But when Hayden turned to her questioningly, the Japanese agent looked away.
  
  Hayden thought for a few seconds and then asked in a quiet voice, "Do you trust all your people, Torsten?"
  
  Dahl's too long pause answered her question.
  
  "If the DIA was warned about something, then they have a very large coverage. Their priority may even exceed that of the CIA. Tread carefully, buddy. This guy, Cayman, he's nothing more than a ghost. Black ops troubleshooter, Gitmo, September 11th. If something serious and sensitive goes wrong, he is the person you turn to."
  
  "Fuck me. I wish I hadn"t asked."
  
  "I have to go now, Torsten. But I promise you I'll talk to Jonathan about this shit as soon as I can. Hang in there."
  
  Torsten signed the contract with the tired sigh of a professional soldier who had seen it all and was disgusted at being appointed some lackey to an American upstart. Hayden sympathized with him. She turned to Mai, about to ask what she knew.
  
  But the call "Target" came over the radio.
  
  The fields ahead and below were burning. As the helicopter descended, tiny figures could be seen running randomly in all directions. Ropes extended from the cabin and people jumped after them, quickly sliding towards the scorched landscape below. Hayden and May waited their turn, May's expression blank as they heard their own men open fire.
  
  Hayden checked the readiness of her Glock for the third time and said, "Budro down there."
  
  "Don"t worry," said the Japanese woman. "He's going to find out what Mai-time really means."
  
  The two women descended the rope together, landing at the same time, and walked away in a classic one-two-cover move. This practice required absolute trust in each other, since while one person was running, the other was watching their peripherals. One, two, like leapfrog. Construction. But it was a fast and destructive way to advance.
  
  Hayden scanned the area as she ran. Several gentle hills ended in a fenced compound on which stood a huge house and several large outbuildings. This would be Kovalenko's second ranch. Judging by the fire and chaos, Boudreau had arrived shortly before them.
  
  Or, more likely, he was sadistically taking his time with it all.
  
  Hayden ran, firing her borrowed Marine M16 assault rifle at muzzle flashes and the men she saw in cover. Two minutes later it was her turn, and she shouted: "Reload!" and took a few more seconds to insert a new magazine into her weapon. They were rarely returned fire, and when they were, it was so disorganized that they missed them by several feet.
  
  On both sides, crack Marine teams advanced at equal speed. Now a fence loomed ahead, the gate remained invitingly open, but the teams moved to the left. A well-placed grenade destroyed the fence supports, leaving the team with unhindered entry into the ranch.
  
  The bullets were now whistling dangerously close.
  
  Hayden took cover behind the generator annex. The impact sent sparks off the brickwork as Mai dove for cover. Clay and metal fragments scattered everywhere.
  
  Mai wiped a trickle of blood from her cheek. "Boudreau's soldiers were trained in your kindergartens."
  
  Hayden took a moment to catch his breath, then glanced quickly at the house. "Twelve feet. Are you ready?"
  
  "Yes".
  
  Hayden escaped. Mai stepped forward and erected a wall of lead, forcing their enemy to duck for cover. Hayden reached the corner of the house and pressed herself against the wall. She threw a flashbang at the window and then covered Mai.
  
  But at that moment, a staggering amount of chatter came through her earpiece. The team leader urged people to head to the distant warehouse. Something terrible was about to happen there. As Hayden listened, she realized that Boudreaux's men had half surrounded the building and were about to open fire on whatever might be inside.
  
  Captives, no doubt. Hostages.
  
  Hayden raced after May, running into the clearing and shooting together. Other soldiers joined them, fanning out on either side, forming a deadly, attacking wall of courage and death.
  
  The senseless massacre that was about to take place was Boudreau's calling card. He would be there.
  
  The fleeing soldiers did not stop shooting. Bullets sliced through the air, bounced off walls and machinery, and found at least half a dozen enemy targets. Boudreaux's men recoiled and recoiled in shock and fear. As the soldiers passed by their shelters, they tried to recklessly shoot from the side, but the Marines were ready and pelted them with grenades.
  
  Explosions shot high into the air on either side of the runners. The explosions sent shrapnel flying; tongues of fire spread hot death so quickly that the eye could barely follow. Screaming people lie in their path.
  
  Hayden saw a barn ahead. Her heart sank in absolute horror. It was true. At least fifteen of Boudreaux's men stood around the locked barn, aiming their weapons at the paper-thin walls, and when Hayden took aim at the first man, they all opened fire.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Alicia Miles ran and opened fire as Hawaiian forces and their allies launched an attack on the Kovalenko Ranch on the Big Island. The terrain was uneven. All deep canyons, high hills and wooded plains. Before they even got close to the ranch, a grenade launcher was fired at one of the attack helicopters, catching it but not destroying it, forcing them all to make an early landing.
  
  Now they hurried as a team, negotiating the dense forest and rugged hillsides. They've already lost one man to a booby trap. The attack was prepared by the Bloody King's men. RPGs flew aimlessly through the trees.
  
  The mercenaries are having fun.
  
  But the Marines pressed forward, now separated from the fence by only about thirty feet and one last steep valley. Alicia could make out the grinning faces of their enemies. Her blood began to boil. Next to her, a large CIA agent, Kinimaka, was galloping quite quickly for a giant. He turned out to be very useful.
  
  Communication devices in their ears relayed news of incoming atrocities. The Ala Moana Queen hotel on Oahu was sealed off. A tourist was thrown to his death from a tenth floor window. Grenades were thrown onto the street. The special forces team was preparing for an operation that would likely be given the green light soon due to the death and mayhem caused by the mercenaries. On Kauai, a lone suicide bomber fired several bullets at vans in which journalists were gathering, injuring a reporter. And now, on the Big Island, a bus full of tourists has been kidnapped and a bomb has been planted in its crew. They were locked inside while their captives sat outside on deckchairs, drinking beer and playing cards. It was not known which of them had the detonator, or how many there were.
  
  Alicia jumped down the side of the valley. An RPG exploded in front of her, sending dirt and rocks high into the air. She jumped over them, laughing, and turned around when she sensed Kinimaki's hesitation.
  
  "Come on, fatty," she said, curling her lips playfully. "Stay with me. This is where things get really messy."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Hayden fired again and again, trying to remain calm and thus maintain her accuracy. Three heads exploded into her vision. Mai was still running next to her, not saying anything. The other soldiers dropped to one knee, dodging the shots and knocking out the mercenaries before they could turn around.
  
  Hayden was among them then. One man turned and she hit him on the bridge of his nose with the rifle. He fell screaming, but kicked her legs, causing her to fly head over heels over him.
  
  She quickly climbed up, but his body fell on top of her, pinning her to the ground. When she looked up, she looked straight into his hate-filled, pain-soaked eyes. With a bearish growl, he punched her and wrapped his thick hands around her throat.
  
  Instantly she saw stars, but made no attempt to stop him. Instead, her two free hands found the weapon themselves. On the right is her Glock. In the left is her knife. She poked the barrel of the gun into his ribs, letting him feel it.
  
  His grip loosened and his eyes widened.
  
  Hayden fired three dull shots. The man rolled off her. As the view above her cleared, the face of another mercenary came into view. Hayden shot in the nose, saw the man fly back and disappear.
  
  She sat up and saw Mai. The last remaining mercenary confronts her. Hayden blinked. This man was a wreck. His face looked like it had been painted red. There weren't enough teeth. His jaw looked slack. One arm was dislocated, the other was broken at the elbow. He stood on shaky legs and then fell to his knees in the bloody mud.
  
  "You picked the wrong person to challenge," Mai said with a sweet smile as she took aim with her borrowed Glock and blew his head off.
  
  Hayden swallowed involuntarily. This was some serious woman.
  
  Marines opened the barn door, calling out their presence. Hayden's heart sank at the number of holes in the rigged walls. Let's hope the hostages got away.
  
  Among her rapidly clearing thoughts, something became obvious above all else. Boudreaux wasn't here. She looked back at the house. It was the last place she would have expected him to hide, but still-
  
  A sudden commotion caught her attention. The Marines stumbled out of the barn, one holding his shoulder as if he had been stabbed.
  
  Then Boudreaux and a horde of mercenaries poured out of the barn, firing guns and screaming like demons. Did this mean that other mercenaries gave their lives to be decoys? Did they fire blanks or from a specific position?
  
  Reality hit her like a nuclear blast. The Blood King's men were now among the Marines, fighting, and Boudreau rushed towards Hayden, knife raised defiantly.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Alicia spurred the team on with her creativity and spirit under fire. A few minutes later they reached the top of the final rise and rained down a halo of fire on the dug-in defenders. Alicia noticed a large house, a large barn and a two-car garage. The site overlooked a wide river, no doubt serving as a means of escape, and next to the barn was a helipad with one battered helicopter.
  
  She looked back. "Grenade launchers."
  
  The team leader frowned. "Already doing this."
  
  Alicia pointed to the enemy positions. "There's a low wall there. Back side of the house. Behind the Rolls-Royce. To the right of the fountain."
  
  The team leader licked his lips. "Kick the bastards out."
  
  Several explosions caused the earth to shake. The attackers fired three grenades and then rushed forward in one-two formation, still firing as a unit but fanning out in a deadly arc.
  
  With devastating brutality they stormed the Blood King's ranch.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  
  
  Drake's booted feet touched the floor of the cell. Before the others began to descend, he set up a flare to light their way. Immediately the walls came to life, their engravings now clearly visible to Drake's shocked eyes.
  
  Curls similar to those on the two portable devices. They have now been confirmed to be exactly the same as those Thorsten Dahl and his team discovered in the Tomb of the Gods in Iceland.
  
  What ancient civilization have they stumbled upon recently? And how would all this end?
  
  Ben, Karin, and the rest of Team Delta pushed off the lowering rope until everyone was crowded around the huge arch of Pele's Gate. Drake tried his best not to peer too deeply into the inky blackness beyond.
  
  Ben and Karin fell to their knees. The arch itself consisted of some kind of brushed metal, perfectly smooth and symmetrical. The metal surface was etched with the same tiny marks as the rest of the cave.
  
  "These marks," Karin touched them carefully, "are not accidental. Look. I see the same curl repeating over and over again. And the rest of the cave..." She looked around. "It is the same".
  
  Ben fumbled for his phone. "This is the photo Dahl sent us." He held it up to the light. Drake leaned forward, confident that Delta Team would be on alert for intruders.
  
  "So, the Tomb of the Gods has some connection with the Gates of Hell," Drake thought out loud. "But what do the curls mean?"
  
  "Repeating patterns," Karin said quietly. "Tell me. What kind of signs, ancient or
  
  Modern, made up of many repeating patterns?"
  
  "Easy." The Great Komodo squatted down next to them. "Language".
  
  "It's right. So, if this is the language-" She pointed to the walls of the cell. "Then they tell the whole story."
  
  "Like the ones Dahl found." Drake nodded. "But we don't have time to analyze it now. Kovalenko passed through these gates."
  
  "Wait". Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. "These signs..." He touched the arch. "Exactly the same as on devices. To me this suggests that this gate is a revised version of the same device. Time travel machine. We have already concluded that the gods may have used handheld devices to travel through time and influence fate. Maybe this thing is the main system."
  
  "Look," Drake said quietly, "this is great. You will understand this. But behind these gates-" He pointed his finger into the pitch darkness. "Bloody King. The man responsible for Kennedy's death, among hundreds of others. It's time to stop talking and start walking. Go".
  
  Ben nodded and stood up, looking a little guilty as he brushed himself off. Everyone in the room took a deep breath. There was something else behind the gate that neither of them wanted to mention:
  
  The reason why Captain Cook changed the name of the arch from "Pele's Gate" to "Hell's Gate".
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY
  
  
  The state of Hawaii convulsed under the power of a madman.
  
  If a helicopter could fly over, capable of providing a wide panoramic view of the dark, amoral events that were unfolding on the islands, it would first fly over Oahu to capture the besieged Ala Moana Queen Hotel, where experienced members of several SWAT teams were just beginning to take action against heavily armed , motivated mercenaries who held all the heights and countless hostages. He rushed past, avoiding the hellish clouds of black smoke that poured from at least a dozen broken windows, carefully pointing out openings where masked men with rifles and grenade launchers could be seen herding helpless men, women and children into groups that were easier to destroy.
  
  And then it would roll away, up and to the right in a great arc, first towards the sun, that fat yellow ball slowly making its way towards an uncertain and possibly catastrophic future, and then diving lower and to the left on its terrible journey of discovery towards Kauai. He will pass near Diamond Head, oblivious to the heroes and villains who search for secrets and haunt terrible dreams in the darkest and most dangerous underground caves of an extinct volcano.
  
  On Kauai, he would have made a beeline for the sweat-drenched man who had chained himself to the fence of a coffee shop, trapping patrons inside and clearly displaying a vest filled with dynamite and a trembling hand clutching a dead man's detonating device. If you zoomed in on the picture, you could see the despair in the man"s eyes. This would clearly show the fact that he might not be able to last long. And then it soared high, rising above the rooftops again to follow the graceful curve of the exotic coastline. To the burning ranch, where Hayden Jay had just fought Ed Boudreau, while Mai Kitano and the rest of the Marines fought in close hand-to-hand combat with dozens of Boudreaux's mercenaries. Amidst the terrifying noise of death and battle, the wounded hostages cried.
  
  And forward. The past and the future have already collided. The ancients and the avant-garde are locked in conflict.
  
  Today was the day when gods could die and new heroes could bloom and rise.
  
  The helicopter will make its final flyover, taking in the contrasting landscapes and dynamic ecosystems that make up the Big Island. Racing through another ranch, there were a few moments to focus on as Alicia Miles, Mano Kinimaka and their team of Marines stormed a heavily defended complex where hostages, mercenaries and men with dynamite necklaces clashed in one almighty clash. Along the edges of the battle, powerful machines began to work, ready to evacuate the Blood King's people by land, air and water. The camera began to zoom in as Alicia and Kinimaka looked up, aware of the fugitives and already laying out paths to intercept and destroy them.
  
  And finally the helicopter swerved away, just a machine, but still a machine, replete with images of human stupidity, the courage they can muster and discover, and the worst evil they can commit.
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  
  
  Drake entered under the arch, which Captain Cook dubbed the Gates of Hell, and found himself in a roughly hewn narrow passage. He turned on the rifle's light and attached it to the barrel. He also attached a lantern to his shoulder and adjusted it so that it illuminated the walls. For a while there was plenty of light and no obvious danger.
  
  As they crossed the winding passage, Drake said over his shoulder, "Tell me, Ben, about Cook's journals."
  
  Ben exhaled quickly. "This is nothing more than an overview of this huge trap system. Cook called it "The Gates of Hell" because of the nature of the traps. He didn"t even see what would happen in the end."
  
  "So who built the traps?" Drake asked. "And why?"
  
  "No one knows. The signs we found outside and those in the Tomb of the Gods are not on these interior walls." He cleared his throat and added, "Bye."
  
  Komodo's voice boomed behind them. "Why didn"t Cook see the end?"
  
  "He ran away," Karin said quietly. "In fear".
  
  "Oh, crap."
  
  Drake paused for a moment. "So, since I'm just a dumb soldier and you two are the brains of this operation, let me clear things up. Essentially, the logs are the key to the trap system. And you two have copies with you."
  
  "We have one," Ben said. "Karin has someone else in her head."
  
  "Then we have one," Komodo grumbled.
  
  "No..." Ben began, but Drake stopped him. "What he means is that if she dies, we'll have one copy, baby. Photographic memory isn't very useful when you're dead."
  
  "I don"t... Yes, okay, sorry, we don"t think like soldiers."
  
  Drake noticed that the tunnel began to widen. The lightest breeze blew across his face. He raised his hand to stop them and then poked his head around the corner.
  
  Behold a stunning spectacle.
  
  He was at the entrance to a huge chamber, oblong in shape, with a ceiling lost in darkness. The faint light came from the glow sticks that must have been left behind by the Blood King's men. Directly in front of him, guarding the tunnel that continued into the depths of the mountain, was a sight that made his heart skip a beat.
  
  A giant face was carved into the rock above the tunnel itself. With its slanted eyes, hooked nose, and what could only be described as horns protruding from its head, Drake immediately concluded that it was the face of a devil or demon.
  
  Ignoring the face for the moment, he scanned the area. The walls were curved, their bases shrouded in darkness. They needed to add a little extra light here.
  
  He slowly beckoned the others forward.
  
  And then, suddenly, a noise echoed through the cavern, like a hundred flamethrowers firing at once, or, as Ben put it, "sounds like the damn Batmobile."
  
  Fire erupted through the nostrils of the carving, creating a furnace around the stone floor. Two separate jets of flame erupted from each nostril, and then, a few seconds later, one from each eye.
  
  Drake studied it with concern. "Maybe we are setting some kind of mechanism in motion. Pressure sensitive switch or something." He turned to Ben. "Hope you're ready mate, because as one of my favorite Dinorock bands, Poison, used to say, it's nothing but a good time."
  
  Ben's lips curled into a fleeting smile as he consulted his notes. "This is the first level of hell. According to the scriptwriter, a man named Hawksworth, they called this level Wrath. I think the reason is obvious. Later they compared him to the devil, Amon, the demon of wrath."
  
  "Thanks for the lesson, kid." Komodo growled. "Does it by any chance mention a path to the past?"
  
  Ben placed the text on the floor and straightened it out. "Look. I've seen this before but didn't understand it. Maybe this is a clue."
  
  Drake squatted down next to his young friend. The copied magazines were carefully designed and illustrated, but Ben's finger drew his attention to a strange line of text.
  
  1 (||) - go to 2 (||||) - go to 3 (||) - go to 4 (|||||/)
  
  And the only inscription that followed this was, "With anger, have patience. A careful person will plan his route if there are navigation lines in front of him."
  
  "Cook was the greatest sailor of all time," Ben said. "This line tells us two things. This Cook has plotted a route past the demon and that the path through it requires careful planning."
  
  Karin watched the fire flash. "I counted four," she said thoughtfully. "Four eruptions of flame. The same amount as-"
  
  A shot rang out, shaking the silence. The bullet ricocheted off the wall next to Drake's head, causing sharp shards of rock to cut through the air. A millisecond later, Drake raised his pistol and fired, and a millisecond later he realized that if he ducked back into the passage, the sniper could keep them pinned to the wall indefinitely.
  
  With this thought, he ran, shooting, into the cell. Komodo, apparently coming to the same conclusion, followed him. The combined fire knocked sparks out of the surrounding wall. The hider ducked in shock, but still managed to fire another bullet, which whistled between Drake and Komodo.
  
  Drake dropped to one knee, taking aim.
  
  The man jumped out from his cover, raising his weapon high, but Komodo fired first - the blast wave threw the attacker back. There was a piercing scream and the man landed in a tangled mess, the rifle clattering to the floor. Komodo walked over and made sure the man was dead.
  
  Drake swore. "As I thought, Kovalenko left snipers to slow us down."
  
  "And to thin us out," Komodo added.
  
  Karin poked her head around the corner, her blonde hair falling into her eyes. "If I'm right, then the strange sentence is the keyhole, and the word 'patience' is the key. Those two tram lines that look like two selves? In music, poetry and old literature they can mean a pause. Therefore, patience means 'to pause'.
  
  Drake stared at the proposal as the Delta team fanned out across the cave, urged on by Komodo and determined not to make any more mistakes.
  
  Komodo shouted: "What about the people? Beware of booby traps. I wouldn"t let that Russian idiot rig something on the jury."
  
  Drake rubbed his sweaty palm against the rough wall, feeling the jagged stone under his hand, cold as the inside of a refrigerator. "So it's: 'Wait for the first blast, then pause for two and go to two. After the second explosion, pause the fourth and move on to the third. After the third explosion, pause for two and move on to four. And after the fourth explosion, pause for the sixth time, and then exit."
  
  "Easy." Ben winked. "But how long does the pause last?"
  
  Karin shrugged. "Short spell."
  
  "Oh, that"s helpful, sis."
  
  "And how do you count explosions?"
  
  "I guess the one that reaches the farthest place first is number one, and number four is the shortest."
  
  "Well, that makes some sense, I guess. But it"s still-"
  
  "That's all". Drake had had enough. "My patience has already been tested listening to this debate. I'll go first. Let's do this before my caffeine high wears off."
  
  He passed the Komodo crew, stopping a few yards from the longest flame. He felt each man turn to look. He sensed Ben's concern. He closed his eyes, feeling the temperature rise as another superheated discharge fried the air in front of him.
  
  Kennedy's face swam before his mind's eye. He saw her as she was before. A strict bob in her hair, expressionless trouser suits - one for each day of the week. A conscious effort to distract everything from the fact that she was a woman.
  
  And then Kennedy let her hair down, and he remembered the woman with whom he had spent two delightful months. The woman who began to help him move on after the devastating death of his wife Alison and the pain caused by that fateful car accident many years ago.
  
  Her eyes flashed straight into his heart.
  
  There was a fire burning in front of him.
  
  He waited for the heat of the flames to subside and stopped for two seconds. While he waited, he realized that a flash of fire from the second eye had already flashed down. But after two seconds he moved to this point, although every fiber of his being screamed that he should not.
  
  The fire destroyed him-
  
  But it froze the moment he finished his movement. The air around him was still hot, but bearable. Drake was breathing, sweat dripping off him in waves. Unable to relax for a second, he started counting again.
  
  Four seconds.
  
  A flame crackled next to him, trying to set fire to the very spot he was about to occupy.
  
  Drake made his move. The fire went out. His mouth felt like a salty cake. Both of his eyeballs burned as if they had been run over with sandpaper.
  
  Although, I think so. Think, always think. Two more seconds and we'll move. Let's move on to the last maneuver. Now he had confidence.
  
  Pause for six seconds and then-
  
  At six he moved, but the fire did not subside! His eyebrows burned. He fell to his knees and threw his body back. Ben shouted his name. The heat became so intense that he tried to scream. But at that moment it suddenly disappeared. He slowly became aware that his hands and knees were scraping along the rough stone floor. Raising his head, he quickly crawled along the tunnel at the back of the cell.
  
  After a moment, he turned and shouted to the others: "You better take that last seven second break, guys. 'The last thing you want to know is what Kentucky Fried is like.'
  
  Muffled laughter was heard. Komodo immediately walked over and asked Karin and Ben when they would like to take their turn. Ben preferred to have a few more soldiers go ahead of him, but Karin was willing to follow Drake. It took Komodo himself to take her aside and talk quietly about the prudence of making sure Drake wasn't just lucky with his timing before they risked losing one of the brains of their operation.
  
  Drake saw Karin soften and even smile slightly. It was nice to see someone having a calming effect on the wild child of the Blake family. He checked the tunnel around him and threw the glow stick into the shadows. Its expanding amber hue illuminated nothing but an even more hewn tunnel, fading into blackness.
  
  The first Delta soldier fell next to him, followed soon after by the second. Drake wasted no time in sending them into the tunnel to investigate. As he turned back towards the chamber of wrath, he saw Ben Blake making his move.
  
  Ben grabbed his bag almost like a schoolboy, made sure his long hair was tucked under the top of his T-shirt, and stepped forward. Drake watched his lips move as he counted down the seconds. Showing no outward signs of emotion, Drake's heart literally jumped out of his mouth and stayed there until his friend collapsed at his feet, puffing.
  
  Drake offered him his hand. Ben looked up, "What are you going to say, asshole? If you can't stand the heat?"
  
  "I'm not quoting Bucks Fizz," Drake said in an annoyed tone. "If you want-no, wait-"
  
  Drake noticed Karin approaching the first stream of fire. Ben's mouth instantly closed and his eyes followed his sisters' every move. As she staggered, Ben's teeth ground so hard that Drake thought it sounded like tectonic plates grinding against each other. And as she slipped between one safe haven and the next, Drake had to grab Ben tightly to stop him running out to grab her.
  
  "Wait! You can't save her"
  
  Karin paused. Her fall left her completely disorientated. She was looking in the wrong direction about two seconds before another eruption incinerated her.
  
  Ben struggled with Drake, who roughly grabbed the guy by the back of his head and used his body to shield his friend from witnessing the next terrible event.
  
  Karin closed her eyes.
  
  Then Komodo, the leader of the Delta team, picked her up with one large hand, deftly skipping between the pauses. He didn't break his rhythm, he simply threw Karin over his shoulder, head first, and gently lowered her to the ground next to her angry brother.
  
  Ben sank down next to her, muttering something as he held her close. Karin looked over Ben's shoulder straight at Komodo and mouthed two words. "Thank you".
  
  Komodo nodded sullenly. A few minutes later the rest of his men arrived safely, and the two whom Drake sent into the tunnel returned.
  
  One of them addressed both Drake and Komodo at the same time. "Another trap, sir, about a kilometer ahead. There were no obvious signs of snipers or booby traps, but we didn't stick around to double-check. Thought we should come back here."
  
  Karin dusted herself off and stood up. "What does a trap look like?"
  
  "Miss, that looks like one big bastard."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  
  
  They ran up the narrow passage, spurred on by the acts of violence that may have been occurring in the world above them and by the malevolent intentions of the man who had crept through the subterranean darkness before them.
  
  A rough archway led them into the next cave. Once again, the glowsticks illuminated part of the vast space, both fresh and slowly fading, but Drake quickly fired two amber flashes at the far wall.
  
  The space in front of them was stunning. The paths were shaped like a trident. The main shaft was a passage wide enough to accommodate three people abreast. It ended at the far wall in another exit arch. Branching off from the main shaft and forming the other two prongs of the trident, there were two more passages, only these were much narrower, slightly larger than ledges. These projections ended at a wide curve in the cave wall.
  
  The spaces between the trident's paths were filled with deep, insidious darkness. When Komodo threw the stone into the nearby absence of light, they never heard it hit the bottom.
  
  Carefully, they moved forward slowly. Their shoulders tensed from the tension and their nerves began to fray. Drake felt a thin trickle of sweat roll down the length of his spine, itching all the way down. Every pair of eyes in the group looked around and searched every shadow, every nook and cranny until Ben finally found his voice.
  
  "Wait," he said, barely audible, then cleared his throat and shouted, "Wait."
  
  "What is this?" Drake froze, his leg still in the air.
  
  "We should check Cook's logs first, just in case."
  
  "You choose your damn times."
  
  Karin spoke. "They called it Greed, the second deadly sin. The demon associated with greed is Mammon, one of the seven princes of hell. He was mentioned in Milton's Paradise Lost and was even called the ambassador of hell to England."
  
  Drake stared at her. "It's not funny".
  
  "It wasn't meant to be. This is what I once read and saved. The only clue Hawksworth gives here is this sentence: Opposite greed sits mercy. Let the next man have what you want."
  
  Drake looked at the cold, damp cave. "There's not a lot here that I would like, except maybe Krispy Kremes."
  
  "This is the direct route to the exit." Komodo stopped one of his men as he squeezed past. "Nothing is ever that simple. Hey! What the fuck, dude-"
  
  Drake turned around to see the Delta man pushing Komodo aside and walking right past his commander.
  
  "Wallis! Keep your ass in line, soldier."
  
  Drake noticed the man's eyes as he approached. Glazed. Fixed at a point on the right. Drake followed his gaze.
  
  And I immediately saw the niches. Funny how he didn't notice them before. At the end of the right battlement, where it abutted the cave wall, Drake now saw three deep niches carved into the black rock. Something sparkled inside every niche. Something precious, made of gold, sapphires and emeralds. The object caught the faint and diffuse light that flickered across the cave and returned it tenfold. It was like looking into the heart of a glittering disco ball made of ten carats of diamonds.
  
  Karin whispered, "There is an empty gate on the other side."
  
  Drake felt the pull of the promised wealth. The closer he looked, the clearer the objects became and the more he wanted them. It took a moment for Karin's comment to sink in, but when it did, he looked at the empty alcove with envy and awe. Perhaps some lucky soul ventured onto the ledge and walked away with the loot? Or did he clutch it as he plunged, screaming, into the incalculable depths below?
  
  One way to find out.
  
  Drake put one foot in front of the other and then stopped himself. Crap . The bait through the ledges was strong. But his pursuit of Kovalenko was more attractive. He snapped back to reality, wondering how a set of lights could be so mesmerizing. At that moment, Komodo ran past him, and Drake extended his hand to stop him.
  
  But the Delta Force commander had just fallen on top of his colleague and knocked him to the ground. Drake turned to see the rest of the team on their knees, rubbing their eyes or avoiding temptations altogether. Ben and Karin stood spellbound, but Karin's quick mind soon broke free.
  
  She quickly turned to her brother. "Are you okay? Ben?
  
  Drake looked carefully into the eyes of the young guy. "We may have problems. He gets the same glassy look when Taylor Momsen takes the stage."
  
  Karin shook her head. "Boys," she muttered and spanked her brother hard.
  
  Ben blinked and raised his hand to his cheek. "Oh!"
  
  "Are you okay?"
  
  "No, hell no! You just nearly broke my jaw."
  
  "Stop being a weakling. Tell mom and dad the next time they call."
  
  "Damn right, I will do it. Why the hell did you even hit me?"
  
  Drake shook his shoulder as Komodo lifted his man off the floor and threw him back into the line. "Newbie."
  
  Karin watched in admiration.
  
  Drake said, "Don't you remember? Pretty lights? They almost got you, buddy."
  
  "I remember..." Ben's gaze suddenly returned to the stone wall and its intricate niches. "Oh, wow, what a thrill. Gold, diamonds and riches. I remember this."
  
  Drake saw the glittering objects begin to regain their gravity. "Let's move," he said. "Twice. I can see what this cave is doing, and the sooner we get through it, the better."
  
  He walked away quickly, keeping his hand on Ben's shoulder and nodding to Karin. Komodo followed silently, watching his men carefully as they passed near the ledges that lined either side.
  
  As they walked closer to the niches, Drake risked a quick glance. In each niche stood a small bowl-shaped object, the surface of which was inlaid with precious stones. But this alone was not enough to create the spectacular light show that was so eye-catching. Behind each bowl, the rough walls of the niches themselves were lined with rows of rubies, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds and countless other precious stones.
  
  The bowls could cost a fortune, but the niches themselves were of inestimable value.
  
  Drake stopped as he approached the exit arch. A cold breeze blew on him from left and right. The whole place smelled of ancient mystery and hidden secrets. There was water trickling somewhere, just a small trickle, but enough to add to the immensity of the cave system they were exploring.
  
  Drake looked at everyone carefully. The trap was overcome. He turned to go through the exit arch.
  
  And someone's voice shouted: "Stop!"
  
  He froze instantly. His faith in the cry and instinct born of old SAS training saved his life. His right foot barely touched the thin wire, but one more push could set off the booby trap.
  
  This time Kovalenko did not leave the sniper. He correctly judged that the group behind him would be hauling ass through Greed Hall. The tripwire led to a hidden M18 Claymore mine, the one with the words "Front to the Enemy" on it.
  
  The front end was aimed at Drake and would have blown him apart with the steel ball bearings along with Ben and Karin if Komodo hadn't shouted a warning.
  
  Drake dropped and quickly turned off the device. He passed this on to Komodo. "Thanks a lot, buddy. Keep this handy and later we will shove it up Kovalenko"s ass."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  
  
  The next hike was short and quickly descended downhill. Drake and the others had to walk in heels, leaning their bodies back to stay upright. Drake thought that at any moment he might slip and fall helplessly down, God only knows what terrible fate awaits below.
  
  But just a few minutes later they saw a familiar arch. Drake readied his glow stick and stood at the entrance. Mindful of the snipers, he quickly ducked his head and walked out.
  
  "Oh, balls," he breathed to himself. "It"s getting worse."
  
  "Don't tell me," Ben said. "There was a giant concrete ball hanging over our heads."
  
  Drake stared at him. "Life is not a movie, Blakey. God, you're a freak."
  
  He took a deep breath and led them into the third giant cave. The stunning place they saw stopped each of them in their tracks. Mouths opened. If the Blood King could choose any point on their journey so far to set a trap, this was it, Drake thought a few minutes later, the perfect chance. But, fortunately for the good guys, nothing lies in wait. Perhaps there was a good reason for this...
  
  Even Komodo gaped in awe and disbelief, but he managed to squeeze out a few words. "Then I guess it's lust."
  
  Coughing and grunting were his only response.
  
  The path ahead of them followed a single straight line to the exit arch. The obstacle was that the path was bordered on both sides by short pedestals topped with statues and tall pedestals topped by paintings. Each statue and each painting represented several erotic forms, ranging from the surprisingly tasteful to the downright obscene. In addition, cave paintings filled every available inch of the cave walls, but not the primitive images usually found in ancient caves - these were stunning images, easily equal to any Renaissance or modern artist.
  
  The topic was shocking in another way. The images depicted one massive orgy, with every man and woman drawn in excruciating detail, committing every lustful sin known to man... and more.
  
  Overall, it was a stunning blow to the senses, a blow that continued unabated as more and more dramatic scenes unfolded to dazzle the human eye and mind.
  
  Drake nearly shed a crocodile tear for his old buddy Wells. This old pervert would be in his element here. Especially if he discovered it with May.
  
  The thought of May, his oldest living friend, helped distract his mind from the pornographic sensory overload around him. He looked back at the group.
  
  "Guys. Guys, this can't be everything. There must be some kind of trap system here. Keep your ears open." He coughed. "And I mean for traps."
  
  The path went further. Drake now noticed that even staring at the ground won't help you. Exquisitely detailed figures writhed there too. But all this was undoubtedly a red herring.
  
  Drake took a deep breath and stepped forward. He noticed that there was a four-inch raised edge on either side of the path for about a hundred yards.
  
  At the same time, Komodo spoke. "See this, Drake? Could have been nothing."
  
  "Or everything else." Drake carefully placed one foot in front of the other. Ben followed a step behind, then a couple of soldiers, and then Karin, who was closely watched by Komodo. Drake heard the big, burly Komodo whispering quiet apologies to Karin for the insolent images and rudeness of his ogling people, and he suppressed a smile.
  
  The moment his lead foot touched the ground at the beginning of the raised sides, a deep rumbling sound filled the air. Directly in front of him, the floor began to move.
  
  "Hello". His wide Yorkshire style emerged in times of stress. "Wait guys."
  
  The path was divided into a series of wide horizontal stone shelves. Slowly, each shelf began to move sideways, so that anyone standing on it could fall if they did not step onto the next one. The sequence was rather slow, but Drake suggested that they had now found the reason for Chambers' daring distractions.
  
  "Tread carefully," he said. "In pairs. And take your mind off the dirt and move forward, 'unless you want to try this new sport of 'diving into the abyss'."
  
  Ben joined him on the first moving shelf. "It's so hard to concentrate," he groaned.
  
  "Think about Hayden," Drake told him. "This will help you get through."
  
  "I'm thinking about Hayden." Ben blinked at the nearest statue, a writhing trio of intertwined heads, arms and legs. "That"s the problem."
  
  "With me". Drake carefully stepped onto the second pull-out shelf, already assessing the movement of the third and fourth. "You know, I'm so glad I ended up spending all those hours playing Tomb Raider."
  
  "Never thought I'd end up being a sprite in the game," Ben muttered back, and then thought about May. Much of the Japanese intelligence community compared her to a video game character. "Hey Matt, you don't think we're actually dreaming, do you? And this is all a dream?"
  
  Drake watched as his friend carefully stepped onto the third shelf. "I have never had such a vivid dream." He didn't need to nod to his surroundings to make his point.
  
  Now, behind them, the second and third groups of people began their painstaking journey. Drake counted twenty shelves before he reached the end and, fortunately, jumped onto solid ground. Thank God his racing heart was able to take a break. He watched the exit arch for a minute, then, satisfied that they were alone, he turned to check on the progress of the others.
  
  Just in time to see one of the Delta men look away from the gaudy painted ceiling-
  
  And miss the shelf he was about to step on. He was gone in a split second, the only reminder that he had ever been there was the terrified scream that followed his fall.
  
  The whole company stopped, and the air shook with shock and fear. Komodo gave them all a minute and then pushed them forward. They all knew how to get through it. The fallen soldier was a fool to himself.
  
  Again, and this time more carefully, they all began to move. Drake thought for a moment that he could still hear the screams of the soldiers falling forever into that endless abyss, but he dismissed it as a hallucination. He focused back on the humans just in time to see the large Komodo take a similar fall.
  
  There was one desperate moment of flailing his arms, one angry cry of regret at his terrible loss of concentration, and the Big Delta team leader slid off the edge of the shelf. Drake cried out, almost ready to rush to his aid, but sadly certain that he would not be able to do so in time. Ben screamed like a girl-
  
  But that was because Karin simply dove for the big man!
  
  Without hesitation, Karin Blake left the entire highly trained Delta team to watch her leave and rushed headlong towards Komodo. She was in front of him, so her momentum should have helped throw him back onto the concrete slab. But Komodo was a big man, and heavy, and Karin's point-blank leap barely moved him.
  
  But she did touch him a little. And that was enough to help. Komodo managed to turn around, as Karin had given him an extra two seconds of airtime, and grabbed the edge of the concrete with vice-like fingers. He clung on, desperate, unable to pull himself up.
  
  And the sliding shelf moved painfully slowly towards its left perimeter, after which it disappeared, taking with it the leader of the Delta team.
  
  Karin grabbed Komodo's left wrist tightly. Finally, the other members of his team reacted and grabbed his other arm. With great effort they pulled him up and over the slab just as it disappeared into a hidden passage.
  
  Komodo shook his head at the dusty concrete. "Karin," he said. "I will never look at another woman again."
  
  The blond genius ex-student who dropped out smirked. "You guys, with your wandering eyes, you will never learn."
  
  And through Drake's admiration came the realization that this third level of "hell", this room called lust, was nothing more than a picture of the eternal suffering of a man with a wandering eye. Cliché é about what if a man was sitting in a cafe & # 233; with his wife or girlfriend, and another pair of pretty legs walked by - he almost certainly would have looked.
  
  Except that down here, if he had looked, he would have died.
  
  Some women wouldn't have a problem with that, Drake mused. And with good reason, too. But Karin saved Komodo, and now the couple was even. It took another five minutes of anxious waiting, but finally the rest of the team made it through the sliding shelves.
  
  They all took a break. Every man in the company felt it was their duty to shake Karin's hand and express their appreciation for her bravery. Even Ben.
  
  Then a shot rang out. One of the Delta soldiers fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. Suddenly they were attacked. Half a dozen of the Blood King's men poured out of the arch, holding their weapons at the ready. Bullets whizzed through the air.
  
  Already on their knees, Drake and his crew fell onto the deck, grabbing their weapons. The man who was hit remained on his knees and received four more bullets in the chest and head. In less than two seconds he was dead, another victim of the Blood King's cause.
  
  Drake picked up his borrowed M16 assault rifle and fired. To his right, one of the statues was riddled with lead, shards of alabaster scattered in the air. Drake ducked.
  
  Another bullet whistled past his head.
  
  The entire team was still, calm, and able to take careful aim with their rifles on the ground. When they opened fire, it was a massacre, dozens of bullets riddled Kovalenko's fleeing men and forced them to dance like bloody puppets. One man bulldozed his way through, miraculously unharmed, until he met Matt Drake.
  
  The former SAS man came at him head-on, delivering a crushing headbutt and a rapid series of knife blows to his ribs. The last of Kovalenko's men slipped into the place where all evil men ended.
  
  Hell.
  
  Drake motioned for them to pass, casting a regretful glance at the fallen Delta team member. They'll pick up his body on the way back.
  
  "We must be catching a bastard."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  
  
  Hayden came face to face with Ed Boudreaux and the world melted away.
  
  "I'm glad to kill you," Boudreau repeated the words he had told her once before. "Again".
  
  "You failed last time, psycho. You will fail again."
  
  Boudreau glanced down at her leg. "How"s your hip?" - I asked.
  
  "All the better". Hayden stood on tiptoes, waiting for a lightning attack. She tried to guide the American so that his ass was pressed against the wall of the barn, but he was too cunning for that.
  
  "You are blood." Boudreaux mimed licking his knife. "It was delicious. I think my baby wants more."
  
  "Unlike your sister," Hayden growled. "She really couldn"t take it anymore."
  
  Boudreau rushed towards her. Hayden had expected this and carefully dodged, exposing her blade to the blow of his cheek. "First blood," she said.
  
  "Prelude". Boudreau lunged and retreated, then struck her with several short blows. Hayden parried them all and finished with a palm strike to the nose. Boudreau staggered, tears welling up in his eyes.
  
  Hayden immediately took advantage, stabbing with her knife. She pinned Boudreaux against the wall, then retreated one blow-
  
  Boudreau lunged.
  
  Hayden ducked and stuck the knife into his thigh. She pulled away as he screamed, unable to stop the sly grin that appeared in her eyes.
  
  "Can you feel it, asshole?"
  
  "Bitch!" Boudreaux went crazy. But this was the madness of a fighter, a thinker, a seasoned warrior. He knocked her back with blow after blow, taking insane risks but maintaining just enough strength and speed to make her think twice about intervening. And now, as they backed away, they encountered other groups of fighting men, and Hayden lost her balance.
  
  She fell while climbing over the fallen man's knee, rolled and stood up, knife ready.
  
  Boudreau melted into the crowd, the grin on his face turning into a smirk as he tasted his own blood and swung the knife.
  
  "See you," he shouted over the noise. "I know where you live, Miss Jay."
  
  Hayden threw one of the Blood King's men out of the way, breaking the man's leg like a twig as she cleared the way for Boudreau. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mai, who was undoubtedly the game changer in this battle, fighting unarmed against men with sharp weapons, the battle was too close for gunfire and she left them in a heap at her feet. Hayden stared at the dead and dying that twitched around her.
  
  She noticed that even Boudreau was rethinking the situation when he followed Hayden's gaze and saw the legendary Japanese agent in action.
  
  May stared at Hayden. "Right behind you."
  
  Hayden lunged at Boudreau.
  
  The main psycho of the Bloody King took off as if a Hawaiian mongoose was stepping on his heels. Hayden and May were in pursuit. While passing by, Mai dealt a crushing blow to another of Kovalenko's men, thereby saving the life of another soldier.
  
  Beyond the barn was an open field, a helipad with a helicopter, and a narrow dock where several boats were anchored. Boudreau raced past the helicopter, heading toward the large speedboat, and didn't even break stride as he jumped aboard, tumbling through the air. Before Hayden could get past the helicopter, the large boat had already cast off and began to inch forward.
  
  May started to slow down. "This is Baja. Very quickly, and three men are already waiting inside. Compared to them, other boats seem calm." Her eyes glared at the helicopter. "Now this is what we need."
  
  Hayden ducked as the bullet whizzed past them, barely noticed. "Can you control it?"
  
  Mai questioned her, 'Are you really asking me that question?' look before you step on the skid and jump in. Before Hayden got there, Mai had already started the main rotor, and Boudreaux's boat rushed down the river with a mighty roar.
  
  "Have faith," Mai said quietly, demonstrating the legendary patience she was known for as Hayden ground her teeth in frustration. A minute later the car was ready to fly. May improved the team. The sled left the ground. The bullet struck a column next to Hayden's head.
  
  She pulled back, then turned to see the last of the Blood King's men fall under fire. One of the Hawaiian Special Forces soldiers gave them a thumbs up as the helicopter began to descend and turn, preparing to pursue the boat. Hayden waved back.
  
  Just another crazy day in her life.
  
  But she was still here. Still surviving. Jay's old motto popped into her head again. Survive another day. Just live. Even in moments like this, she missed her father very much.
  
  A minute later, the helicopter wavered and rushed in hot pursuit. Hayden's belly remained somewhere in the camp, and she gripped the railing until her knuckles hurt. Mai didn't miss a beat.
  
  "Keep your pants on."
  
  Hayden tried to take her mind off the dizzying ride by checking the condition of her weapon. Her knife returned to its holder. Her only remaining pistol was a standard Glock rather than the Caspian she had favored lately. But what the hell, a gun is a gun, right?
  
  Mai flew low enough that the spray hit the windshield. A large yellow boat moved along the wide river ahead. Hayden saw figures standing behind him, watching them approach. No doubt they were armed.
  
  Mai lowered her head and then glared at Hayden. "Courage and Glory."
  
  Hayden nodded. "To end".
  
  May hit the team, sending the helicopter into a furious dive, on a collision course to the yellow Bayeux. As expected, the people standing on the sides retreated in shock. Hayden leaned out of the window and fired. The bullet went hopelessly far.
  
  Mai handed her the half-empty M9. "Make them count."
  
  Hayden fired again. One of Boudreau's men fired back, the bullet bouncing off the helicopter's canopy. Mai made a zigzag circle around the team, sending Hayden's head smashing against a support post. Mai then dove again, aggressively, giving no quarter. Hayden emptied her Glock and saw one of Boudreau's men go overboard in a spray of blood.
  
  The helicopter was then hit by another bullet, followed by a barrage of others. A big car represented a big target. Hayden saw Boudreau at the wheel of the boat, holding a knife tightly in his teeth, shooting at them with a submachine gun.
  
  "Oh," May's scream was an understatement as black smoke suddenly poured out of the helicopter and the sound of the engine suddenly changed from a roar to a whine. Without guidance, the helicopter began to wobble and jerk.
  
  May blinked at Hayden.
  
  Hayden waited until they were above Boudreau's boat and opened its door as the helicopter descended.
  
  She looked into the very whites of Boudreaux's eyes, said, "Screw this," and jumped out of the falling helicopter.
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  
  
  Hayden's free fall was short-lived. Boudreaux's boat was not far away, but along the way she gave the man a glancing blow before collapsing onto the deck. The air came out of her body noisily. The old wound on her thigh ached. She saw the stars.
  
  The helicopter spiraled down into the fast-moving river some thirty feet to the left, the deafening sound of its death drowning out all coherent thoughts and sending a giant wave across the bow of the boat.
  
  A wave powerful enough to change the very course of the boat.
  
  The ship lost speed, sending everyone flying forward, and began to list. Then, at the end of his forward motion, he flipped over and landed belly up in the white water.
  
  Hayden held on as the boat tilted. As she went under the water, she kicked hard, aiming straight down, and then kicked towards the nearest shore. The cold water gave her a headache, but it soothed her aching limbs a little. The rush of the current made her realize how tired she was.
  
  When she surfaced, she found that she was not far from shore, but face to face with Ed Boudreau. He still held the knife between his teeth and growled when he saw her.
  
  Behind him, the wreckage of the smoking helicopter began to sink into the river. Hayden saw May chase Boudreau's two remaining men toward the muddy bank. Knowing that she would not survive a fight on the water, she rushed past the madman and did not stop until she hit the shore. Thick mud spread around her.
  
  There was a loud splash next to her. Boudreaux, out of breath. "Stop. Fucking. Escape." He was breathing heavily.
  
  "You got it," Hayden grabbed and threw a bunch of dirt in his face and climbed onto the bank. The mud clung to her and tried to drag her down. What should have been an easy crawl onto dry ground brought her only a couple of feet above the river line.
  
  She turned around and slammed her dirty heel into Boudreaux's face. She saw the knife he held between his teeth cut deep into his cheeks, causing him to smile wider than the Joker's. With a scream and a spray of blood and mucus, he belly flopped onto her legs, using her belt as a means of pulling himself up her body. Hayden struck at his unprotected head, but her blows had little effect.
  
  Then she remembered her knife.
  
  She reached under herself with her other hand, pushing, straining, lifting her body an inch as the dirt squished and tried to hold her.
  
  Her fingers closed around the handle. Boudreaux practically ripped her pants off as he jerked once more, stopping right on her back, his head and lips suddenly right next to her ear.
  
  "Nice fucking try." She felt blood dripping from his face onto her cheek. "You'll feel it. It happens nice and slow."
  
  He put his full weight on her entire body, pushing her deeper into the mud. With one hand he buried her face in the slime, stopping her breathing. Hayden struggled desperately, kicking and rolling as best she could. Every time she looked up, her face covered in sticky mud, she saw May in front of her, fighting alone with two of Boudreau's henchmen.
  
  One fell in the three seconds they held Hayden's face. The other retreated, prolonging the agony. By the time Hayden's face came up for air for the fourth time, May had finally cornered him and was about to break his back on a fallen tree.
  
  Hayden's remaining strength was almost exhausted.
  
  Boudreau's knife pierced the skin around her third rib. With an agonizingly slow and measured thrust, the blade began to slide deeper. Hayden reared and kicked, but was unable to throw off her attacker.
  
  "Nowhere to go." Boudreaux's evil whisper invaded her head.
  
  And he was right, Hayden suddenly realized. She had to stop fighting and let it happen. Just lie there. Give yourself time-
  
  The blade sank deeper, steel scraping against bone. Boudreaux's chuckle was the call of the Grim Reaper, the call of a demon mocking her.
  
  The knife underneath her body came free with a heavy slurping sound. In one motion, she turned the sword in her hand and jabbed it hard behind her back into Boudreaux's ribs.
  
  The psycho staggered back screaming, the handle of the knife sticking out of his chest. Even then, Hayden couldn't move. She was pressed too deep into the mud, her whole body was being pulled down. She couldn't even move her other hand.
  
  Boudreau wheezed and choked on her. Then she felt a large knife being taken out. That's how it was back then. He would kill her now. One hard blow to the back of her neck or spine. Boudreau beat her.
  
  Hayden opened her eyes wide, determined to see sunlight one last time. Her thoughts were about Ben, and she thought: Judge me by how I lived, not by how I died.
  
  Again.
  
  Then, huge and terrifying as a charging lion, Mai Kitano rushed in. About three feet away from Hayden, she pushed off the ground, putting every ounce of momentum into a flying kick. A second later, all that force had shattered Boudreaux's upper torso, breaking bones and organs, sending splintered teeth and sprays of blood in a wide arc.
  
  The weight was lifted from Hayden's back.
  
  Someone lifted her out of the mud with apparent ease. Someone carried her, carefully laid her on the grassy bank and bent over her.
  
  That someone was Mai Kitano. "Relax," she said easily. "He is dead. We won".
  
  Hayden couldn't move or speak. She just looked at the blue sky, the swaying trees, and May's smiling face.
  
  And after a while, she said, "Remind me never to make you angry. Really, if you're not the best there's ever been, I..." Her thoughts were still mostly with Ben, so she ended up saying what he might say. "I'll show my ass at Asda."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  
  
  The Bloody King pushed his people to their absolute limits.
  
  The fact that their pursuers had almost closed the gap infuriated him. It was too many people slowing him down. It was their narrow-minded guide, messing around on trifles when they could be making progress. The number of people who died seeking this prize did not matter. The Bloody King demanded and expected their sacrifice. He expected them all to lie down and die for him. Their families would be taken care of. Or at least they wouldn't be tortured.
  
  Everything was a prize.
  
  His guide, a man named Thomas, muttered something about this being a level that some other idiot named Hawksworth called envy. It was the fourth chamber, the Bloody King was seething with anger. Only the fourth. The standard legend spoke of seven levels of hell. Could there really be three more after this?
  
  And how did Hawksworth know? The Scribe and the Cook turned and ran away, their balls shrinking to the size of peanuts when they saw the trap system after the fifth level. Dmitry Kovalenko, he thought, of course he wouldn"t.
  
  "What are you waiting for?" - he growled at Thomas. "We will move. Now."
  
  "I haven"t quite figured out the trap system, sir," Thomas began to say.
  
  "To hell with the trap system. Send people inside. They will find it faster." The Bloody King pursed his lips in amusement as he studied the room.
  
  Unlike the previous three, this chamber sloped down to a central shallow depression that looked as if it had been carved into the rock itself. Several thick metal supports protruded from the hard floor, almost like steps. As we progressed, the walls of the chamber narrowed until, after the pool, they began to expand again.
  
  The pool appeared to be a 'choke point'.
  
  Envy? The bloody king thought. How did such a sin transfer into real life, into this underworld where shadows can not only protect you, but also kill you? He watched as Thomas gave the order to advance. At first everything went well. The Blood King glanced back to where they had come from when he heard the distant sounds of gunfire. Drake and his little army be damned. Once he gets out of here, he will personally ensure that the bloody vendetta achieves its brutal goal.
  
  The shooting revived him. "Move!" - he shouted, just at the moment when the leader stepped on some hidden pressure point. There was a crash like a falling rock, a whoosh of air, and suddenly the leader's head hit the stone floor before rolling down the steep slope like a soccer ball. The headless body collapsed in a bloody heap.
  
  Even the Bloody King stared. But he felt no fear. He only wanted to see what caused such injury to his leading man. Thomas screamed next to him. The Blood King pushed him forward, following in his footsteps, taking great pleasure in the man's fear. Finally, next to the twitching body, he stopped.
  
  Surrounded by frightened people, the Bloody King studied the ancient mechanism. A razor-thin wire was stretched at head height between two metal posts that must have been held in place by some kind of tensioning device. When his man pulled the trigger, the poles released and the wire turned with them, cutting off his man's head at the neck.
  
  Brilliant. A wonderful deterrent, he thought, and wondered if he could use such a device in the servants' quarters of his new home.
  
  "What are you waiting for?" he yelled at the remaining people. "Move!"
  
  Three men jumped forward, and a dozen more followed. The Blood King thought it prudent to leave half a dozen more behind him in case Drake quickly overtook him.
  
  "Now quickly," he said. "If we walk faster, we'll get there faster, right?"
  
  His men fled, deciding that they didn't really have a choice and there was a small chance that their deranged boss was right. Another trap was triggered, and the second head rolled down the slope. The body fell and the man behind him tripped over it, counting himself lucky as another taut wire cut the air directly above his head.
  
  As the second group began to descend, the Blood King joined them. New traps were set. More heads and scalps began to fall. Then there was a loud bang that echoed throughout the cave. Mirrors appeared on both sides of the narrowing passage, positioned so that the person in front was reflected in them.
  
  At the same time, the sound of rushing water was heard, and the pool at the foot of the slope began to fill.
  
  Only this water was not just water. Not judging by the way it smoked.
  
  Thomas screamed as they ran towards them. "It is fed by an acid lake. This is when sulfur dioxide gas dissolves in water and forms sulfuric acid. You definitely don't want to touch this!"
  
  "Don't stop," the Bloody King roared as he saw the people begin to slow down. "Use metal poles, idiots."
  
  The whole team rushed down the slope in a crowd. To the left and right, random traps opened with a sound similar to a bow being fired. Headless bodies fell and heads rolled like discarded pineapples among the men, some of them being tripped over, others accidentally kicking them. The Blood King noticed early on that there were too many people for the number of poles, and realized that the pack mentality would cause the less savvy among them to jump without a second thought.
  
  They would deserve their fate. It was always better for an idiot to die.
  
  The Blood King slowed down and held Thomas back. Several other men also slowed down, reaffirming the Blood King's belief that only the brightest and the best would survive. The leader of the pack jumped onto the first metal post and then began to jump from pole to pole over the rushing water. At first he made some progress, but then the poisonous wave hit his feet. Where the acidic water touched, his clothes and skin burned.
  
  As his feet touched the next post, the pain caused him to double over and he fell, splashing straight into the overcrowded pool. Furious, agonized screams echoed throughout the hall.
  
  Another man fell off the counter and fell inside. The third man stopped at the edge of the pool, belatedly realizing that there was no clear counter for him to jump onto, and was pushed in as the other man slammed blindly into his back.
  
  The mirrors reflected the person in front. Would you envy the man in front of you?
  
  The bloody king saw the purpose of the mirrors and the destruction of the trap. "Look down!" Thomas shouted at the same time. "Look at your feet, not at the person in front. This simple exercise will help you get over the posts safely."
  
  The Blood King stopped at the edge of the newly formed lake. Judging by the fact that the water was still rising, he saw that the tops of the supports would soon be under the seething surface. He pushed the man in front of him and pulled Thomas along with him. The trap went off just out of range, so close that he felt the wind as the metal pole flew past his shoulder.
  
  Walk out onto the poles and dance quickly in random order. There was a short pause while the water splashed ahead. Another pillar, and the man in front of it stumbled. Screaming, he performed miracles, managing to stop his fall by landing on another pillar. The acid-laced water splashed around him but did not touch him.
  
  Bye.
  
  The Bloody King saw his chance. Without thinking or stopping, he stepped on the man's prone body, using it as a bridge to cross and reach the safety of the far shore. His weight pushed the man even lower, plunging his chest into acid.
  
  The next second he was lost in a whirlwind.
  
  The Bloody King stared after him. "Fool".
  
  Thomas landed next to him. More people deftly jumped between the metal posts to safety. The Bloody King looked ahead at the arched exit.
  
  "And so on until the fifth level," he said smugly. "Where will I imitate this worm, Cook. And where, finally," he growled. "I will destroy Matt Drake."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  
  
  The Big Island of Hawaii is named this way to avoid confusion. Its real name is Hawaii, or Hawaii Island, and it is the largest island in the United States. It is home to one of the most famous volcanoes in the world, Kilauea, a mountain that has been continuously erupting since 1983.
  
  Today, on the lower slopes of Mauna Loa's sister volcano, Mano Kinimaka and Alicia Miles, along with a team of US Marines, began to expel a parasite that had taken root in the minds of the island's inhabitants.
  
  They broke through the outer perimeter, gunned down dozens of the Blood King's men, and broke into the large annex just as the guards freed all the hostages. At the same moment, the hoarse roar of cars was heard, accelerating behind the building. Alicia and Kinimaka wasted no time in running around.
  
  Alicia stopped in confusion. "Damn, the assholes are running away." Four ATVs raced away, bouncing on their huge tires.
  
  Kinimaka raised his rifle and took aim. "Not for long." He fired. Alicia watched as the last person fell and the ATV quickly stopped.
  
  "Wow, big guy, not bad for a cop. Let's."
  
  "I'm from the CIA." Kinimaka always took the bait, much to Alicia's delight.
  
  "The only three-letter abbreviations that matter are British. Remember this".
  
  Kinimaka muttered something as Alicia approached the ATV. He was still working. At the same time, they both tried to take the front seat. Alicia shook her head and pointed to the back.
  
  "I prefer my people behind me, mate, if they're not down."
  
  Alicia started the engine and drove off. The ATV was a big ugly beast, but it moved smoothly and bounced comfortably over bumps. The large Hawaiian wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her, not that he needed to. There were pens where he sat. Alicia grinned and said nothing.
  
  The fleeing people ahead realized that they were being pursued. The occupants of two of them turned around and fired. Alicia frowned, knowing that it was completely impossible to hit anything this way. Amateurs, she thought. It always feels like I'm fighting amateurs. The last real battle she fought was against Drake in Abel Frey's stronghold. And even then the man was rusty, hampered by the trappings of seven years of politeness.
  
  Now he may have a different perspective.
  
  Alicia drove smart rather than fast. In a short time, she brought their ATV to an acceptable shooting distance. Kinimaka shouted in her ear. "I'm going to shoot!"
  
  He squeezed out the blow. The other mercenary screamed and bounced violently into the dirt. "That"s two out of two," Alicia exclaimed. "One more and you'll get blo-"
  
  Their ATV crashed into a hidden hill and swerved madly to the left. For a moment they found themselves on two wheels, flipping over, but the vehicle managed to maintain its balance and fall back to the ground. Alicia wasted no time in opening the throttle to take off.
  
  Kinimaka saw the ditch before she did. "Crap!" He shouted "Hold on!"
  
  Alicia could only increase her speed as the wide, deep ditch was approaching quickly. The ATV flew over the abyss, spinning its wheels and roaring its engine, and landed on the other side, trying to stay in place. Alicia hit her head on the soft bar. Kinimaka held her so tightly that he did not allow them both to turn around, and by the time the dust settled they realized that they were suddenly among the enemy.
  
  Next to them, a black ATV spun in the mud, landing awkwardly and now struggling to right itself. Kinimaka jumped without hesitation, running straight at the driver and knocking him and his passenger out of the car into the churned mud.
  
  Alicia wiped the dust from her eyes. The ATV with its only occupant sped up in front of her but was still within range. She picked up her rifle, aimed and fired, and then, without needing to check, moved her sights to where her Hawaiian partner was struggling in the mud.
  
  Kinimaka dragged one person through the mud. "This is my home!" Alicia heard him growl before he twisted and broke his opponent's arm. As the second man lunged at him, Alicia laughed and lowered her rifle. Kinimaka didn't need her help. The second man bounced off him the way instructions bounce off a four-year-old child, having no effect. The man fell to the ground and Kinimaka finished him off with a punch to the face.
  
  Alicia nodded at him. "Let's get this over with."
  
  The last ATV moved forward with difficulty. His driver must have been hurt during all those jumps. Alicia quickly began to gain ground, now a little disappointed with the ease with which they had retaken the ranch. But at least they saved all the hostages.
  
  If there was one thing she knew about the Blood King, it was the fact that these people here, these so-called mercenaries, were the dregs of his team, sent here to hinder and distract the authorities. Divide and conquer.
  
  She slowed down as she approached the last ATV. Without pause, without even holding the steering column, she fired two shots and the two men fell.
  
  The battle that had barely begun was over. Alicia looked into the distance for a minute. If all goes according to plan, if May and Hayden, Drake and the others survive their parts of the battle, then the next battle may well be her hardest and last.
  
  Because it would be against Mai Kitano. And she'll have to tell Drake that May killed Wells.
  
  Cool.
  
  Kinimaka patted her on the shoulder. "It"s time for us to go back."
  
  "Ah, give the girl a break," she muttered. "We're in Hawaii. Let me watch the sunset."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  
  
  "So this is what envy looks like?"
  
  Drake and his team entered the fourth chamber, taking every precaution. Even then, it took a few moments to fully comprehend the scene that lay before them. Headless bodies lay everywhere. Blood was splattered across the floor and was still flowing thickly in some places. The heads themselves were scattered on the floor like discarded children's toys.
  
  Spring traps stood on both sides of the narrow passage. Drake took one look at the razor-thin wire and guessed what had happened. Komodo whistled, not believing his ears.
  
  "At some point these traps might go off," Ben said. "We need to move."
  
  Karin made a sound of disgust.
  
  "We have to move quickly and stay on top of things," Drake said. "No, wait".
  
  Now beyond the traps he saw a wide pool full of water, bubbling and foaming. Water splashed and shimmered along the edges of the pool.
  
  "This could be a problem. Do you see the metal pillars?"
  
  "I bet the Blood King's people used them as stepping stones," Ben said mysteriously. "All we have to do is wait for the water to recede."
  
  "Why not just go through them." Even as Komodo spoke these words, there was doubt on his face.
  
  "This pool could have been fed by some acidic lake or well," Karin explained. "The gases can convert water into sulfuric acid in or near a volcano. Even long-disappeared."
  
  "Wouldn"t acid corrode metal posts?" Drake pointed.
  
  Ben nodded. "Definitely".
  
  They watched the rushing water for several minutes. As they watched, an ominous clicking sound was heard. Drake quickly raised his pistol. The six surviving Delta fighters repeated his actions a split second later.
  
  Nothing moved.
  
  Then the sound came again. Heavy click. The sound of a garage door cable running along metal tracks. Only it wasn't a garage door.
  
  Slowly, as Drake watched, one of the traps began to bite back into the wall. Temporary delay? But such technology was not available to the ancient races. Or was this train of thought akin to the madness of a person declaring that there is no other intelligent life in the universe?
  
  What arrogance.
  
  Who knew what civilizations existed before records were made? Drake shouldn't have hesitated now. It's time to act.
  
  "The water is receding," he said. "Ben. Any surprises?"
  
  Ben consulted his notes and Karin hopefully replayed it in her mind. "Hawksworth doesn't say much." Ben rustled some papers. "Perhaps the poor guy was in shock. Remember, they couldn"t have expected anything like this back then."
  
  "Then level five must be a real shit storm," Komodo said hoarsely. "Because it was after this that Cook turned back."
  
  Ben pursed his lips. "Hawksworth says it was what Cook saw after level five that made him turn back. Not the room itself."
  
  "Yes, most likely levels six and seven," one of the Delta soldiers said quietly.
  
  "Don't forget about the mirrors." Karin pointed at them. "They point forward, obviously at the person in front. Most likely this is a warning."
  
  "It"s like keeping up with the Joneses." Drake nodded. "Understood. So, in the spirit of Dinorock and David Coverdale in particular, I'll ask the opening question that I've always heard him ask at every concert I've ever gone to. Are you ready?"
  
  Drake led the way. The rest of the team fell into line as they were also used to. Entering the center lane, Drake didn't expect any difficulty with the traps and didn't run into anyone, although he earned a few spent pressure points. By the time they reached the edge of the pool, the water was draining quickly.
  
  "The poles look fine," he said. "Watch your back. And don't look down. There"s some nasty stuff floating around here."
  
  Drake went first, careful and precise. The entire team easily crossed them within a few minutes and headed towards the exit arch.
  
  "It was nice of the Blood King to set off all the traps for us." Ben chuckled slightly.
  
  "Now we can"t be far behind the bastard." Drake felt his hands clenching into fists and his head racing at the prospect of coming face to face with the most feared criminal figure in recent history.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The next arch opened into a huge cave. The nearest path led down the slope and then along a wide road under a high rock outcrop.
  
  But there was a serious obstacle that completely blocked their path.
  
  Drake's eyes widened. "Bloody hell."
  
  He had never even dreamed of anything like this. The blockage was actually a huge figure carved out of living rock. He lay at rest, leaning his back against the left wall, his huge belly protruding across the path. Sculptures of food lay in a heap on his stomach, and were also scattered across his legs and piled on the path.
  
  A sinister figure lay at the feet of the sculpture. Dead human body. The torso seemed to be twisted as if in extreme agony.
  
  "This is gluttony," Ben said in awe. "The demon associated with gluttony is Beelzebub."
  
  Drake's eye twitched. "You mean like in Beelzebub from Bohemian Rhapsody?"
  
  Ben sighed. "It's not all about rock 'n' roll, Matt. I mean the demon Beelzebub. The right hand of Satan."
  
  "I have heard that Satan"s right hand is overworked." Drake stared at the huge obstacle. "And while I respect your brain, Blakey, stop talking nonsense. Of course, everything has to do with rock and roll."
  
  Karin let her long blonde hair down and then started tying it back even tighter. Several Delta soldiers were watching her, including Komodo. She noted that Hawksworth had provided some interesting details about this particular cave in his notes. As she spoke, Drake allowed his eyes to wander around the room.
  
  Behind the huge figure, he now noticed the absence of an exit arch. Instead, a wide ledge ran along the back wall, curving toward the high ceiling until it ended on a high rocky plateau. When Drake looked out over the plateau, he saw what looked like a balcony at the far end, almost like an observation deck that overlooked...the last two levels?
  
  Drake's thoughts were interrupted when a shot rang out. The bullet ricocheted over their heads. Drake fell to the floor, but then Komodo silently pointed towards the same rocky plateau he had just inspected and saw over a dozen figures running towards him from a winding ledge.
  
  Kovalenko's people.
  
  What did it mean...
  
  "Find a way to get past that bastard," Drake hissed to Ben, nodding towards the heavy sculpture that blocked their path forward, and then turned his full attention to the rocky outcrop.
  
  A heavily accented voice boomed, arrogant and arrogant. "Matt Drake! My new nemesis! So you're trying to stop me again, huh? Me! Do you people never learn anything?"
  
  "What are you trying to achieve, Kovalenko? What does all of this mean?"
  
  "What does all of this mean? It's about a lifelong quest. About the fact that I beat up Cook. About how I studied and trained by killing a man every day for twenty years. I'm not like other men. I got over it before I made my first billion."
  
  "You've already defeated Cook," Drake said calmly. "Why don't you come back here? We'll talk, you and me."
  
  "You wanna kill me? I wouldn't have it any other way. Even my people want to kill me."
  
  "It"s probably because you"re a great expert."
  
  Kovalenko frowned, but was so carried away by his smug tirade that the insult was not even taken properly. "I would kill thousands to achieve my goals. Maybe I've already done it. Who bothers to count? But remember this, Drake, and remember it well. You and your friends will be part of this statistic. I will erase your memories from the face of the Earth."
  
  "Stop being so melodramatic," Drake shouted back. "Come down here and prove you have the set, old man." He saw Karin and Ben nearby, conferring intently, both now beginning to nod vigorously as something dawned on them.
  
  "Don"t think that I will die so easily, even if we happen to meet. I grew up on the toughest streets of the toughest city in Mother Russia. And I walked through them freely. They belonged to me. The British and Americans know nothing about the real struggle." The stern-looking man spat on the ground.
  
  Drake's eyes were deadly. "Oh, I sincerely hope you don"t die easily."
  
  "I'll see you soon, Briton. I'll watch you burn while I claim my treasure. I'll see you scream while I take another of your women. I will watch you rot while I become a god."
  
  "For heaven's sake". Komodo is tired of listening to the rampage of tyrants. He fired a volley towards the stone ledge, throwing the Blood King's men into panic. Even now, Drake saw, nine out of ten men were still running to his aid.
  
  Return shots were immediately heard. The bullets whizzed off the nearby stone walls.
  
  Ben shouted, "All we have to do is climb over the fat guy. Not too difficult..."
  
  Drake felt the but approaching. He raised an eyebrow as a piece of stone fell onto his shoulder.
  
  "But," Karin interjected, her resemblance to Ben becoming more obvious the longer Drake spent time with her. "The catch is the food. Some of it is empty. And filled with some kind of gas."
  
  "I'm guessing it's not laughing gas." Drake looked at the shapeless corpse.
  
  Komodo fired a conservative volley to keep the Blood King's men at bay. "If that's the case, then it's really, really good stuff."
  
  "Ready powders," Karin said. "Released when the triggers are pulled. Perhaps similar to the ones that killed most of the archaeologists who discovered Tutankhamun's tomb. You know about the supposed curse, right? Well, most people believe that certain potions or gases left to us in the tomb by the ancient Egyptian priests were intended solely to destroy grave robbers."
  
  "Which is the safest way?" Drake asked.
  
  "We don't know, but if we run fast, one at a time, if someone releases a little powder behind them, it must be a tiny amount that will quickly evaporate. The trap is here primarily to thwart anyone who climbs the sculpture &# 184; , don"t get over it."
  
  "According to Hawksworth," Karin said with a tight smile.
  
  Drake assessed the situation. This looked like a turning point for him. If there was an observation balcony up there, then they had to be close to the end. He imagined that from there there would be a direct path to the sixth and seventh chambers, and then to the legendary "treasure." He took a moment to size up the team.
  
  "That's where we're going with this," he said. "All or nothing. Up there," he angrily waved his fist towards Kovalenko, "a blind man shooting bullets into the world. And, Ben, for your information, this is a real Dinoroc. But that's where we're going with this. All or nothing. Are you ready for this?"
  
  He was greeted with a deafening roar.
  
  Matt Drake went on the run, leading his men to the lower levels of Hell in the final stage of his own quest to avenge the woman he loved and rid the world of the most evil man he had ever known.
  
  Time to rock out.
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  
  
  Drake jumped onto the giant sculpture, trying to stay on his feet and grabbing the carved food to pull himself up. The sculpture felt cold, rough and alien under his fingers, like touching an alien egg. He held his breath as he pulled with all his might to keep his balance, but the fruit, crispbread, and pork butt held.
  
  Below him and to the right lay the body of a man who was not so lucky.
  
  Bullets whistled around him. Komodo and another member of Delta Team provided covering fire.
  
  Without wasting a second, Drake jumped over the main part of the molded figure and came down the other side. When his feet touched the stone floor, he turned and gave the next person in line a thumbs-up.
  
  And then he opened fire too, killing one of the Blood King's men with the first shot. The man rolled off the cliff, landing next to the body of his now dead comrade with a terrible crunch.
  
  The second person in line did it.
  
  Ben was next.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Five minutes later, the entire team was safely hidden in the shadow of Gluttony. Only one piece of food was crushed. Drake watched as a cloud of powder rose into the air, spiraling like the body of a deadly, enchanted snake, but after a few seconds it evaporated without even touching the boots of the fleeing criminal.
  
  "Ledge."
  
  Drake twice pointed the way to the short slope that formed the beginning of the ledge. From this vantage point they saw it gracefully curve up the wall before emerging onto a rocky plateau.
  
  The Blood King's men retreated. It was a race against time.
  
  They burst upward, single file. The ledge was wide enough to forgive a few mistakes. Drake fired as he ran, killing another of Kovalenko's men as they disappeared under the arch of the next exit. As they reached the top of the ledge and saw the vast expanse of rocky outcrop, Drake saw something else lying in ambush.
  
  "Grenade!"
  
  At full speed, he threw himself headfirst into the floor, using his momentum to twist his body as it slid across the smooth stone, and tossed the grenade aside.
  
  It fell from the plateau, exploding a few seconds later. The explosion shook the room.
  
  Komodo helped him up. "We could use you on our football team, man."
  
  "The Yankees don't know how to play football." Drake ran to the balcony, eager to see what was beyond it and to catch up with Kovalenko. "No offense".
  
  "Hm. I don't see the English team bringing home many trophies."
  
  "We will bring home the gold." Drake brought the American into order. "At the Olympic Games. Beckham will change the situation."
  
  Ben caught up with them. "He is right. The team will play for him. The crowd will rise up for him."
  
  Karin let out an annoyed scream from behind her. "Is there a place where a man won"t talk about damn football!"
  
  Drake reached the balcony and placed his hand on the low, ruined stone wall. The sight before him made his legs give way, he staggered, forgot all his sorrows and again wondered what kind of creature had really built this awe-inspiring place.
  
  The sight they saw filled their hearts with awe and fear.
  
  The balcony was about a quarter of the way up the truly gigantic cave. Without a doubt the biggest any of them had ever seen. The light came from the countless dark amber flashes that the Blood King's men had released before entering the sixth level. Even then, much of the cave and its dangers still lay hidden in darkness and shadow.
  
  To their left and leading from the exit arch, a covered zigzag staircase led down about a hundred feet. From the depths of these stairs, Drake and his team heard a heavy, booming sound, followed by screams that made their hearts clenched into fists of terror.
  
  Ben took a breath. "Dude, I don"t like the sound of that."
  
  "Yes. Sounds like the intro to one of your songs." Drake tried to keep the spirits from falling too far, but it was still difficult to lift his jaw off the ground.
  
  The staircase ended at a narrow ledge. Beyond this ledge the cave opened into immensity. He could see a narrow, winding path clinging to the right wall, a shortcut leading into a cave above the endless depths, and a similar one that then continued to the left, but there was no bridge or any other means of connecting them across the great chasm.
  
  At the farthest end of the cave stood a huge, black, jagged rock. As Drake squinted, he thought he might be able to make out a shape about halfway up the rock, something large, but distance and darkness prevented him.
  
  For now.
  
  "The final push," he said, hoping it was true. "Follow me".
  
  Once a soldier always remains a soldier. That's what Alison told him. Right before she left him. Right before she...
  
  He pushed the memories away. He couldn't fight them now. But she was right. Frighteningly true. If she had been alive, everything could have been different, but now the blood of a soldier, a warrior, flowed in him; his true character never left him.
  
  They entered the narrow passage: two civilians, six Delta soldiers and Matt Drake. At first the tunnel looked little different from the previous ones, but then, in the light of the amber flashes they continued to shoot ahead, Drake saw the passage suddenly split and widen to the width of two cars, and noticed that a channel had been punched into the stone floor.
  
  Guidance channel?
  
  "Beware of those who break ankles." Drake noticed an ominous small hole ahead, located exactly where a person could put his foot. "Shouldn"t be too hard to escape at this pace."
  
  "No!" - Ben exclaimed without a hint of humor. "You're a damn soldier. You should have known better than to say things like that."
  
  As if to confirm, there was a powerful boom and the ground beneath them shook. It sounded as if something large and heavy had fallen into the passage that separated the one they were walking along. They may turn back and be blocked or-
  
  "Run!" - Drake shouted. "Just fucking run!"
  
  Deep thunder began to fill the passage, as if something heavy was heading towards them. They fled, Drake firing flares as he ran and desperately hoping that neither Ben nor Karin had stepped into any of the vile traps.
  
  At this speed...
  
  The roar grew louder.
  
  They continued to run, not daring to look back, keeping to the right of the wide channel and hoping that Drake had not run out of flares. A minute later they heard a second ominous grunt coming from somewhere ahead.
  
  "Jesus!"
  
  Drake didn't slow down. If he did, they would be dead. He rushed past a wide opening in the wall to their right. The noise came from above. He risked a quick glance.
  
  NO!
  
  Blakey was right, the crazy little geek. The Rolling Stones were thundering towards them, and not in the Dinoroc style. These were large spherical stone balls, released by ancient mechanisms and controlled by obvious and hidden channels. The one to their right pounced on Drake.
  
  He picked up great speed. "Run!" He turned around, shouting. "Oh my God".
  
  Ben joined him. Two Delta soldiers, Karin and Komodo, rushed past the hole with an inch to spare. Two more soldiers pushed past, tripping over their own feet and crashing into Komodo and Karin, ending up in a groaning tangle.
  
  But the last man from Delta was not so lucky. He disappeared without a sound as a huge ball flew out of the cross passage, slammed into him with the force of a Mack truck and clattered into the tunnel wall. There was another crash as the ball that had been chasing them crashed into the one that was blocking their escape route.
  
  Komodo's face said it all. "If we hurry," he growled, "we could bypass the other traps before they go off."
  
  They took off again. They passed three more intersections, where the mechanisms of huge machinery rumbled, crackled and rattled. The Delta leader was right. Drake listened intently, but heard no sound from Kovalenko or his men ahead.
  
  Then they came across the obstacle he was so afraid of. One of the huge stones towered ahead, blocking the path forward. They huddled together, wondering if it was possible that this thing was about to start rebooting.
  
  "Maybe it's broken," Ben said. "I mean a trap."
  
  "Or maybe..." Karin fell to her knees and crawled forward a few feet. "Maybe it should have been here."
  
  Drake fell next to her. There, under a huge rock, there was a small space for climbing. There was enough space for a person to squeeze under it.
  
  "Not good". Komodo also squatted down. "I've already lost one person to this bullshit trap. Find another way, Drake."
  
  "If I'm right," Drake said, looking over his shoulder, "once these traps reset, they'll go off again. They must be running on the same pressure pad system as the others. We'll be trapped here." He met Komodo's eyes with a hard gaze. "We have no choice."
  
  Without waiting for an answer, he slid under the ball. The rest of the team crowded behind him, not wanting to be last in line, but the Delta men were disciplined and positioned themselves where their commander had indicated. Drake felt a familiar desire rise in his chest, the desire to say: Don't worry, trust me. I'll walk you through it, but he knew he'd never say it again.
  
  Not after Kennedy's senseless death.
  
  After a moment of squirming, he found himself sliding headfirst down a steep slope, and immediately heard the others following him. The bottom was not far away, but left enough room for him to stand directly under the massive stone ball. Everyone else crowded behind him. Thinking intensely, he did not dare move a single muscle. If this thing collapsed, he wanted everyone to be on an equal footing.
  
  But then the familiar groaning sound of grinding machinery shook the silence, and the ball moved. Drake took off like a bat out of hell, shouting for everyone to follow him. He slowed down and helped Ben walk, sensing that even a young student had physical limitations and lacked the stamina of a soldier. He knew that Komodo would be assisting Karin, although since she was a martial arts expert, her physical fitness could easily be on par with a man's.
  
  As a group, they ran down the carved out passage under the deadly rolling ball, trying to take advantage of its slow start because they might encounter a steep slope ahead that would force them to face it again.
  
  Drake noticed the broken ankle and shouted a warning. He jumped over the devilishly placed hole, almost dragging Ben with him. Then he crashed into a slope.
  
  It was harsh. He dug in, head down, feet thumping, his right arm wrapped around Ben's waist, rising with every step. He eventually hit the ball some distance, but then had to give everyone behind him a chance.
  
  He didn't give up, he just moved forward to give the others some space and fired a few more flares forward.
  
  They bounced off a solid stone wall!
  
  A huge stone rolled towards them with a roar. The whole team made it through, but now found themselves at a dead end. Literally.
  
  Drake's eyes discerned a deeper blackness between bright flashes of "There's a hole. Hole in the ground."
  
  Quickly, with their legs tangled and their nerves frayed by despair, they rushed to the hole. It was small, human-sized, and completely black inside.
  
  "A leap of faith," Karin said. "Kind of like believing in God."
  
  The heavy roar of the stone ball grew louder. It was within a minute of crushing them.
  
  "Glow stick," Komodo said in a tense voice.
  
  "No time". Drake broke the glow stick and jumped into the hole in one swift motion. The fall seemed endless. The blackness shimmered, seeming to reach out with gnarled fingers. Within seconds he reached the bottom, allowed his legs to give way and hit his head hard on the hard rock. Stars swam before his eyes. Blood ran down his forehead. Mindful of those who would follow him, he left the glow stick in place and crawled out of range.
  
  Someone else landed with a crash. Then Ben was next to him. "Matt. Matt! Are you okay?"
  
  "Oh yeah, I'm damn good." He sat down, holding his temples. "Do you have aspirin?"
  
  "They will rot your insides."
  
  "Polynesian Mai Tai? Hawaiian lava flow?"
  
  "God, don't mention the L-word here, buddy."
  
  "How about another stupid joke?"
  
  "Never run out of them. Stay calm."
  
  Ben checked his wound. By this time, the rest of the team had landed safely and were crowding around. Drake waved the young guy aside and rose to his feet. Everything seemed to be in working order. Komodo fired a pair of flares that hit the roof and bounced down the steep slope.
  
  And they fell again and again until they came out through the arch below.
  
  "That's it," Drake said. "I think this is the last level."
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY
  
  
  Drake and Delta Team emerged from the tunnel, firing heavily. There was no choice. If they were going to stop Kovalenko, speed was vital. Drake immediately looked to the right, remembering the layout of the cave, and saw that the Blood King's men had jumped over to the first S-shaped ledge and were gathering around the farthest point of it. The beginning of the second S-shaped ledge began a few steps in front of them, but on the other side of the giant cave, a gaping chasm of unknown depth separated them. Now that he was closer, and as the Blood King's men seemed to release several more amber flashes, he was finally able to get a good look at the far end of the cave.
  
  A huge plateau of rock protruded from the back wall at the same level as both S-shaped ledges. Carved into the very back wall was a steep staircase that seemed so close to vertical that even a maverick would be dizzy.
  
  A large black figure leaned out at the top of the stairs. Drake only had a second, a glimpse, but... was it a colossal chair made of stone? Perhaps an implausible, unusual throne?
  
  The air was riddled with bullets. Drake fell to one knee, throwing the man aside and hearing his terrible scream as he fell into the abyss. They ran towards the only cover they could see, a broken mass of boulders that had probably fallen from the balcony above. As they watched, one of Kovalenko's men fired a loud-speaking weapon, which launched what looked like a bulky steel dart through the breach. He hit the far wall with a loud crack and got stuck in the stone.
  
  As the dart flew, a thick rope unraveled behind it.
  
  Then the other end of the line was inserted into the same weapon and launched into the nearest wall, sticking several feet above the first. The rope was quickly pulled tight.
  
  They created a postal line.
  
  Drake thought quickly. "If we're going to stop him, we need that cue," he said. "It would take too long to create our own. So don't shoot it. But we also need to stop them when they cross the border."
  
  "Think more like the Bloody King," Karin said with disgust. "Think of him cutting the line with the last few of his men still on it."
  
  "We're not stopping," Drake said. "Never".
  
  He jumped out from behind cover and opened fire. Delta Force soldiers were running to his left and right, shooting carefully but accurately.
  
  The first of Kovalenko's men rushed across the abyss, picking up speed as he went, and landed deftly on the other side. He quickly turned around and began setting up a wall of covering fire on full automatic.
  
  The Delta soldier was thrown to the side, torn to pieces. His body collapsed in front of Drake, but the Englishman jumped over without breaking stride. As he approached the first S-shaped ledge, a wide chasm of emptiness opened up before him. They would have to jump on him!
  
  Continuing to shoot, he jumped over the gap. The second of Kovalenko's men flew along the line. Boulders were thrown off the nearby cave wall as the bullets struck with devastating force.
  
  Drake's team ran and jumped after him.
  
  The third figure jumped onto the tightly stretched line. Kovalenko. Drake's brain was screaming at him to take the shot. Take a chance! Remove this bastard right now.
  
  But too much can go wrong. He can break the line and Kovalenko may still be safe. He can only hurt the bastard. And - most importantly - they needed the Russian asshole alive to stop the bloody vendetta.
  
  Kovalenko landed safely. Three more of his men managed to cross them. Drake dropped three more as the two forces came together. Three shots at close range. Three murders.
  
  Then the rifle flew at his head. He crouched, threw his attacker over his shoulder and pushed him off the ledge into the darkness. He turned and fired from the hip. Another man fell. Komodo was on his side. A knife was drawn. Blood splashed onto the cave wall. Kovalenko's men slowly retreated, driven to a cliff behind them.
  
  The remaining four Delta soldiers knelt at the edge of the precipice, carefully firing at any of Kovalenko's men who lingered near the line. However, it was only a matter of time before one of them thought to back off and start taking pot shots.
  
  Speed was all they had.
  
  Two more of the Blood King's men had climbed onto the zipline and were now pushing off. Drake saw the other begin to climb the battlements and fired, swatting him away like a swatted fly. The man rushed at him, head down, screaming, no doubt seeing that he was cut off. Drake retreated to the wall. Komodo pulled the man off the ledge.
  
  "Up!"
  
  Drake spent precious seconds looking around. What the hell did they use to hold that damn line? Then he saw. Each man must have been given a small special block, such as the professionals use. There were several lying around. The Bloody King came prepared for all eventualities.
  
  So does Drake. They carried professional speleological equipment in their backpacks. Drake quickly pulled out the block and attached the seat belt to his back.
  
  "Ben!"
  
  As the young man approached stealthily, Drake turned to Komodo. "Will you bring Karin?"
  
  "Certainly". Rough, with a hard face and battle scars, the big man still couldn't hide the fact that he was already smitten.
  
  Of all places...
  
  Trusting the Delta men to keep Kovalenko's goons at bay, Drake increased the pressure by quickly attaching his pulley to the tightly stretched cable. Ben buckled into his seatbelt and Drake handed him the rifle.
  
  "Shoot like our lives depend on it, Blakey!"
  
  Screaming, they pushed off and raced along the zipline. From this height and at this speed the distance seemed greater, and the far ledge seemed to recede. Ben opened fire, his shots flying high and wide, and chunks of stone rained down on the Blood King's men below.
  
  But it didn't matter. It was the noise, the pressure and the threat that was needed. Picking up speed, Drake lifted his legs as the air rushed past, revealing a huge bottomless abyss below. Horror and excitement made his heart race. The sound of a metal pulley being pulled over a wire mesh hissed loudly in his ears.
  
  Several bullets whistled past, cutting through the air around the rushing couple. Drake heard return fire from Delta Team. One of Kovalenko's men collapsed noisily. Ben roared and kept his finger on the trigger.
  
  The closer they got, the more dangerous it became. It was a blessing from God that Kovalenko's men had no cover, and the constant barrage of bullets coming from Delta Team was too much to bear. Even at that speed, Drake could feel the cold running through his feet. Centuries of blackness stirred beneath him, seething, churning, and perhaps reaching out with spectral fingers to try to yank him down into an eternal embrace.
  
  The ledge rushed towards him. At the last minute, the Blood King ordered his men to retreat, and Drake released the block. He landed on his feet, but his momentum was not enough to maintain the balance between the forward thrust and the weight directed backwards.
  
  In other words, Blakey's weight knocked them back. To the abyss.
  
  Drake deliberately fell to the side, putting his entire body into the clumsy maneuver. Ben desperately grabbed onto the stubborn stone, but still bravely held on to his rifle. Drake heard the sudden sound of a zipline tightening and realized that Komodo and Karin were already on it, approaching him at breakneck speed.
  
  The Blood King's men made their way along the ledge to the back of the hall, almost able to make the final leap onto the vast rock plateau where the mysterious staircase began. The good news was that there were only about a dozen people left.
  
  Drake crawled over the ledge before unbuckling Ben, then allowed himself a few seconds of breathing before sitting down. In the blink of an eye, Komodo and Karin flew before his eyes, the pair landing gracefully and not without a slight sly smile.
  
  "The guy has gained a little weight." Drake pointed at Ben. "Too many full breakfasts. Not enough dancing."
  
  "The band doesn't dance." Ben instantly hit back as Drake assessed their next move. Should I wait for the rest of the team or give chase?
  
  "Hayden says when you dance you look like Pixie Lott."
  
  "Bullshit".
  
  Komodo also looked after Kovalenko"s people. The rope tightened again and they all pressed themselves against the wall. Two more Delta soldiers arrived in quick succession, their boots scraping loudly on the sand as they slowed to a quick stop.
  
  "Keep moving." Drake made his decision. "It"s better not to give them time to think."
  
  They rushed along the ledge, holding their weapons at the ready. The Blood King's advance was momentarily obscured from view by a curve in the rocky wall, but as Drake and his crew cleared the curve, they saw Kovalenko and the rest of his men already on the rocky plateau.
  
  He lost two more people somewhere.
  
  And now, it seemed, they were ordered to take extreme measures. Several people took out portable RPG grenade launchers.
  
  "Damn, they're muzzle loaded!" Drake screamed, then stopped and turned around, his heart suddenly falling through the ground. "Oh no-"
  
  The first pop and whistle of a grenade being loaded from the muzzle was heard. The last two Delta soldiers were speeding along the zipline, aiming for the ledge when a missile hit it. It crashed into the wall above the zip-line anchors and destroyed them in an explosion of rock, dust and shale.
  
  The line sagged. The soldiers flew down into black oblivion without even making a sound. Either way, this was even worse.
  
  Komodo cursed, anger contorting his features. These were good people that he had trained and fought with for years. Now there were only three strong ones on the Delta team, plus Drake, Ben and Karin.
  
  Drake screamed and chased them down the ledge, maddened by the knowledge that new RPGs would soon be launched. The survivors raced along the ledge, guided by glow sticks and an abundance of amber flashes. Every step brought them closer to a rocky plateau, a strange staircase and the mysterious but incredible sight of a giant throne protruding from a rock wall.
  
  A second RPG shot was fired. This one exploded on a ledge behind the runners, damaging but not destroying the path. Even as he ran, pushing his overworked muscles to the limit, Drake could hear Kovalenko yelling at his men to be careful-the ledge might be their only way out of there.
  
  Now Drake came to the foot of the ledge and saw a chasm that he had to jump over to reach the rocky plateau and confront the Blood King's men.
  
  It was huge.
  
  So big, in fact, that he almost staggered. Almost stopped. Not for myself, but for Ben and Karin. At first glance, he didn't think they would make the jump. But then he hardened his heart. They had to. And there could be no slowdown, no turning back. They were the only people capable of stopping the Bloody King and putting an end to his crazy plan. The only people capable of destroying the leader of international terrorism and making sure he never has the chance to harm anyone again.
  
  But he still half turned around as he ran. "Don't stop," he shouted to Ben. "Believe. You can do it".
  
  Ben nodded, adrenaline taking over his legs and muscles and filling them with willpower, greatness and power. Drake hit the gap first, jumping with his arms outstretched and legs still pumping, arcing over the gap like an Olympic athlete.
  
  Ben came next, arm outstretched, head thrown in all directions, nerves shooting through his sense of balance. But he landed on the other side with a few inches to spare.
  
  "Yes!" He exclaimed and Drake grinned at him. "Jessica Ennis can't do anything about you, mate."
  
  Komodo then landed heavily, almost turning his body inside out as he immediately turned and looked at Karin. Her jump was beautiful. Legs raised high, back arched, mass forward movement.
  
  And a perfect landing. The rest of Delta Team followed.
  
  Drake turned around to see the most shocking sight he had ever seen.
  
  The Bloody King and his men, screaming and wailing, most covered in blood and gaping wounds, all rushed straight towards them and brandished their weapons like demons from hell.
  
  It's time for the final battle.
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  
  
  Matt Drake survived and came face to face with the Bloody King.
  
  His men arrived first, screams rang out as rifles clanged and knives snapped and flashed like swords, reflecting the amber light and casting their fire in many directions. Several shots were fired, but at this distance and in this maelstrom of testosterone and fear, none were properly aimed. And yet there was a sharp cry from behind Drake, another fallen Delta soldier.
  
  Drake's muscles ached as if he were fighting a three-hundred-pound gorilla. Blood and dirt covered his face. Nine people attacked him, them, but he defeated them all, because the Blood King stood behind them, and nothing would stop him from declaring his revenge.
  
  The old soldier was back, the civilian face was now diminished, and he was back there, in the top ranks, with the baddest fucking soldiers alive.
  
  He shot three men point-blank, right in the heart. He entered the fourth, turning the gun over, completely shattering the man's nose and at the same time breaking part of his cheekbone. Three seconds passed. He felt the Delta crew back away from him almost in fear, giving him space to work. He left them to fight the three mercenaries while he moved towards one man and Kovalenko himself.
  
  Komodo headbutted the man and stabbed the other one to death in one move. Karin was next to him and did not back down. Not for a second. She used the palm of her face to push the stabbed man back and a combination of punches followed. As the mercenary growled and tried to brace himself, she intervened and used a taekwondo technique to throw him over her shoulder.
  
  Toward the sheer edge.
  
  The man slipped, screaming, carried away by the abyss. Karin stared at Komodo, suddenly realizing what she had done. The leader of a large team thought quickly and gave her a sign of gratitude, instantly appreciating her actions and giving them relevance.
  
  Karin took a deep breath.
  
  Drake faced the Blood King.
  
  Finally.
  
  The last man had survived the brief struggle and now lay writhing at his feet with his breathing tube crushed and both wrists broken. Kovalenko gave the man a contemptuous look.
  
  "Fool. And weak."
  
  "All weak people hide behind their wealth and the appearance of power it brings them."
  
  "Similarity?" Kovalenko pulled out a pistol and shot the writhing man in the face. "Isn"t this strength? Did you think it was similar? I kill a man in cold blood every single day because I can. Is that a semblance of power?"
  
  "The same way you ordered Kennedy Moore killed? What about my friends' families? Some part of the world may have given birth to you, Kovalenko, but it was not the part that was sane."
  
  They moved quickly and simultaneously. Two weapons, a pistol and a rifle, click simultaneously.
  
  Both are empty. Double click.
  
  "No!" Kovalenko"s scream was full of childish rage. He was refused.
  
  Drake stabbed with his knife. The Bloody King showed off his street smarts by dodging to the side. Drake threw the rifle at him. Kovalenko took the blow to the forehead without flinching, and at the same time he pulled out a knife.
  
  "If I have to kill you myself, Drake..."
  
  "Oh yes, you will," said the Englishman. "I don't see anyone around anymore. You don't have a single fucking shilling, mate."
  
  Kovalenko lunged. Drake saw it happen in slow motion. Kovalenko may have thought that he had grown up hard, may even have thought that he had trained hard, but his training was nothing compared to the harsh demands and tests that the British SAS were subjected to.
  
  Drake came in from the side with a quick knee strike that temporarily paralyzed Kovalenko and broke several ribs. The sigh that escaped the Russian's mouth was instantly suppressed. He backed away.
  
  Drake feigned a swift attack, waited for the Blood King's reaction, and instantly caught the man's right hand with his own. A quick turn down and Kovalenko's wrist broke. And again the Russian just hissed.
  
  They were watched by Komodo, Karin, Ben and the remaining Delta soldier.
  
  The Blood King stared at them. "You can't kill me. You all. You can't kill me. I'm God!"
  
  Komodo growled. "We can't kill you, idiot. You're going to have to scream a hell of a lot. But I'm sure I'm looking forward to helping you choose which hellhole you'll spend the rest of your life in."
  
  "Prison." The bloody king spat. "No prison can hold me. I"ll own it for a week."
  
  Komodo's mouth broke into a smile. "Several prisons," he said quietly. "They don"t even exist."
  
  Kovalenko looked surprised for a moment, but then the arrogance shrouded his face again and he turned back to Drake. "And you?" - he asked. "You might as well be dead if I didn"t have to chase you halfway around the world."
  
  "Dead?" - Drake echoed. "There are different types of dead. You should know this."
  
  Drake kicked him in his cold, dead heart. Kovalenko staggered. Blood was flowing from his mouth. With a pitiful cry, he fell to his knees. A shameful end for the Bloody King.
  
  Drake laughed at him. "He's finished. Tie his hands and let"s go."
  
  Ben spoke. "I recorded his speech patterns." He said quietly, picking up his phone. "We can use special software to reproduce his voice. Matt, we don't actually need him alive."
  
  The moment was as tense as the last second before the explosion. Drake's expression changed from resignation to pure hatred. Komodo was hesitant to intervene, not out of fear, but out of hard-earned respect-the only respect a soldier would recognize. Karin's eyes widened in horror.
  
  Drake raised his rifle and tapped the hard steel on Kovalenko's forehead.
  
  "You are sure?"
  
  "Positively. I saw her die. I was there. He gave orders for terrorist attacks on Hawaii. Ben looked around the room. "Even Hell will spit him out."
  
  "This is where you belong." Drake's smile was cold and dark, like the soul of the Bloody King. "Beyond the gates of hell. This is where you must stay, and this is where you must die."
  
  Kovalenko"s jaw clenched tightly; behind this lay forty years of death, deprivation and bloody decline. "You will never scare me."
  
  Drake studied the fallen man. He was right. Death would not harm him. There was nothing on earth that could frighten this man.
  
  But there was one thing that would break him.
  
  "So we tie you down here." He lowered his rifle, much to Komodo's relief. "And we continue to claim the treasure. It was a quest for your life and you will never know what it was. But mark my words, Kovalenko, I will do it. "
  
  "No!" The Russian's squeal was immediate. "What are your complaints? No! Never. It is mine. This has always been mine."
  
  With a desperate roar, the Blood King made one last desperate thrust. His face was distorted by pain. Blood flowed from his face and hands. He stood up and put every ounce of will and life full of hatred and murder into his jump.
  
  Drake's eyes sparkled, his face became hard as granite. He allowed the Blood King to hit him, stood firm as the crazed Russian expended every last ounce of energy in a dozen blows, strong at first but quickly weakening.
  
  Then Drake laughed, a sound beyond the dark, a sound devoid of love and lost, stuck halfway between purgatory and hell. When the last of the Blood King's energy was expended, Drake pushed him with his palm and stood on his chest.
  
  "It was all in vain, Kovalenko. You lose".
  
  Komodo rushed to the Russian and tied him up before Drake could change his mind. Karin helped distract him by pointing out the nearly vertical staircase and the stunning sight of a black throne jutting out. It was even more stunning from here. The creature was huge and perfectly sculpted, hanging a hundred feet above their heads.
  
  "After you".
  
  Drake assessed the next obstacle. The stairs rose at a slight angle for about a hundred feet. The underside of the throne was a deep black, despite the many amber highlights scattered around it.
  
  "I should go first," Komodo said. "I have some climbing experience. We have to climb a few steps at a time, inserting carabiners as we go, and then extend the safety line to our team."
  
  Drake let him lead. The rage was still strong in his mind, almost overwhelming. His finger still felt good on the trigger of the M16. But to kill Kovalenko now would mean poisoning his soul forever, instilling darkness that would never dissipate.
  
  As Ben Blake might say, it would turn him to the dark side.
  
  He began to climb up the wall after Komodo, needing a distraction as the never-ending need for revenge grew and tried to take control of him. The sudden rise instantly focused his mind. The cries and groans of the Bloody King died down as the throne became closer and the stairs became more difficult.
  
  They went up, Komodo leading the way, carefully securing each carabiner before checking its weight and then threading a safety rope and dropping it to his team below. The higher they climbed, the darker it became. Each step of the staircase was carved into living rock. Drake began to feel a sense of awe as he rose. Some incredible treasure awaited them; he felt it in his gut.
  
  But the throne?
  
  Feeling absolute emptiness behind him, he stopped, gathered his courage and looked down. Ben struggled, his eyes wide and scared. Drake felt a surge of sympathy and love for his young friend that had not been felt since Kennedy died. He saw the remaining Delta soldier trying to help Karin and smiled when she waved him off. He extended a helping hand to Ben.
  
  "Stop making it out of yourself, Blakey. Let's."
  
  Ben looked at him and it was like fireworks went off in his brain. Something in Drake's eyes or the tone of his voice excited him, and a look of hope appeared on his face.
  
  "Thank God you're back."
  
  With Drake's help, Ben climbed faster. The deadly emptiness behind them was forgotten, and every step became a step towards discovery, not towards danger. The underside of the throne grew closer and closer until it was within touching distance.
  
  Komodo carefully walked down the stairs and climbed onto the throne itself.
  
  After a minute, their attention was attracted by his drawling American accent. "Oh my God, you guys won"t believe this."
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  
  
  Drake jumped over the small gap and landed directly on the wide stone block that formed the foot of the throne. He waited for Ben, Karin, and the last Delta soldier to arrive before looking at Komodo.
  
  "What do you have up there?"
  
  The leader of Delta Team climbed onto the seat of the throne. Now he walked to the edge and stared down at them
  
  "Whoever built this throne provided a not-so-secret passage. Here, behind the back of the throne, there is a back door. And they were open."
  
  "Don't go near it," Drake said quickly, thinking about the trap systems they had passed. "For all we know, this flips a switch that sends this throne straight down."
  
  Komodo looked guilty. "Good call. The problem is that I already have one. The good news is..." He grinned. "No traps."
  
  Drake extended his hand. "Help me up."
  
  One by one, they climbed onto the seat of the obsidian throne. Drake took a moment to turn around and admire the view of the abyss.
  
  Directly opposite, across a huge chasm, he saw the same stone balcony that they had occupied earlier. The balcony from which Captain Cook left. The balcony where the Bloody King most likely lost the last shreds of sanity he possessed. It seemed like they were just a stone's throw away, but it was a deceptive mile.
  
  Drake made a grimace. "This throne," he said quietly. "This was built for-"
  
  Ben's scream interrupted him. "Matt! Bloody hell. You won't believe this."
  
  It wasn't the shock in his friend's voice that sent fear through Drake's nerve endings, but a sense of foreboding. Premonition.
  
  "What is this?"
  
  He turned around. He saw what Ben saw.
  
  "Fuck me."
  
  Karin pushed them out. "What is this?" Then she saw it too. "Never".
  
  They looked at the back of the throne, the high post for someone to lean on, and the part that formed the back door.
  
  It was covered in the now-familiar swirls - incredibly ancient symbols that appeared to be some form of writing - and the same symbols that were inscribed on both time travel devices, as well as on the large archway underneath the Diamond. Head, which Cook called the Gates of Hell.
  
  The same symbols that Thorsten Dahl recently discovered in the tomb of the gods, far away in Iceland.
  
  Drake closed his eyes. "How can this happen? Ever since we first heard about Odin's nine bloody shards, I feel like I've been living in a dream. Or a nightmare."
  
  "I bet we're not done with the nine parts yet," Ben said. "This must be manipulation. Of the highest order. It"s like we were chosen or something."
  
  "More like cursed." Drake growled. "And stop with the Star Wars crap."
  
  "I was thinking a little less Skywalker, a little more Chuck Bartowski," Ben said with a slight smile. "Because we're geeks and all."
  
  Komodo looked at the secret door with anticipation. "Should we continue? My people gave their lives to help us get this far. All we can do in return is find an end to this hellhole."
  
  "Komodo," Drake said. "This is the end. There must be."
  
  He pushed past the large group leader and into the giant passage. The space was already larger than the door that led into it, and if that were possible, Drake felt the passage widen, the walls and ceiling going further and further, until-
  
  A cold, sharp breeze caressed his face.
  
  He stopped and dropped the glow stick. In the faint light, he fired an amber rocket. He flew up, up, up, then lower and lower, finding no support. Not finding a ceiling, a ledge or even a floor.
  
  He fired a second flare, this time to the right. And again the amber infusion disappeared without a trace. He broke a few glow sticks and threw them forward to light their way.
  
  The sheer edge of the cliff dropped six feet in front of them.
  
  Drake felt very dizzy, but forced himself to continue. A few more steps and he found himself face to face with emptiness.
  
  "I don"t see anything. Bullshit".
  
  "We couldn"t come all this way without the damn darkness stopping us." Karin voiced everyone's thoughts. "Try again, Drake."
  
  He sent a third flash into the void. There were a few faint highlights in this shot as he flew. There was something on the other side of the abyss. A huge building.
  
  "What was it?" Ben sighed in awe.
  
  The flash quickly faded, a brief spark of life lost forever in the darkness.
  
  "Wait there," said the last remaining Delta soldier, a man with the call sign Merlin. "How many amber flashes do we have left?"
  
  Drake checked his belts and backpack. Komodo did the same. The number they came up with was about thirty.
  
  "I know what you're thinking," Komodo said. "Fireworks, right?"
  
  "One time," said Merlin, the team's weapons expert, grimly. "Find out what we're dealing with and then take it back to a location where we can call for backup."
  
  Drake nodded. "Agree". He set aside a dozen flares for the return trip, and then got ready. Komodo and Merlin came and stood next to him on the edge.
  
  "Ready?"
  
  One after another, in quick succession, they fired missile after missile high into the air. The amber light flared brightly at its highest point and released a dazzling radiance that dispelled the darkness.
  
  For the first time in history, daylight came to the eternal darkness.
  
  The pyrotechnic display began to have an effect. As flare after flare continued to fly up and explode before slowly descending, the huge structure at the other end of the giant cave lit up.
  
  Ben gasped. Karin laughed. "Brilliantly".
  
  As they watched in amazement, the pitch darkness was set on fire and a stunning structure began to appear. First a row of arches carved into the back wall, then a second row below them. Then it became obvious that the arches were actually small rooms - niches.
  
  Beneath the second row they saw a third, then a fourth, and then rows upon rows as blinding lights slid down the great wall. And in every niche great glittering treasures reflected the fleeting glory of the drifting amber hell.
  
  Ben was stunned. "This... this..."
  
  Drake and Delta Team continued to fire missile after missile. They seemed to cause the massive chamber to burst into flames. A magnificent fire broke out and raged before their eyes.
  
  Finally, Drake fired his last flare. He then took a moment to appreciate the stunning revelation.
  
  Ben stuttered. "It's huge... it's-"
  
  "Another tomb of the gods." Drake finished with more concern in his voice than surprise. "At least three times more than in Iceland. Jesus Christ, Ben, what the hell is going on?"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The return journey, although still fraught with danger, took half the time and half the effort. The only major obstacle was a large gap where they had to set up another zip line to get back across, although the Lust room was always a problem for the guys, as Karin pointed out with a sideways glance at Komodo.
  
  Returning through the Cook's Hell Gate arch, they stomped through the lava tube back to the surface.
  
  Drake broke the long silence. "Wow, this is the best smell in the world right now. Finally some fresh air."
  
  Mano Kinimaki's voice came from the surrounding darkness. "Take that Hawaiian breath of fresh air, man, and you'd be closer to your goal."
  
  People and faces emerged from the semi-darkness. The generator was started, lighting a hastily erected set of string lights. A field table was being erected. Komodo reported their location as they began to ascend the lava tube. Ben's signal returned and his cell phone beeped four times with an answering machine. Karin did the same. Parents were allowed to call.
  
  "Only four times?" Drake asked with a grin. "They must have forgotten you."
  
  Hayden walked up to them now, a shabby, tired looking Hayden. But she smiled and timidly hugged Ben. Alicia followed, glaring at Drake with murderous eyes. And in the shadows Drake saw May, a terrible tension was reflected on her face.
  
  It was almost time for their reckoning. The Japanese woman, not the English woman, seemed most embarrassed by this.
  
  Drake shook the dark cloud of depression off his shoulders. He topped it all off by throwing the bound and gagged figure of the Blood King onto the uneven ground at their feet.
  
  "Dmitry Kovalenko." He growled. "King of the bell end. The most depraved of its kind. Anyone want some kicks?"
  
  At that moment, the figure of Jonathan Gates materialized from the growing noise around the temporary camp. Drake narrowed his eyes. He knew that Kovalenko personally killed Gates' wife. Gates had more reasons to hurt the Russian than even Drake and Alicia.
  
  "Try". - Drake hissed. "Anyway, the bastard won't need all his arms and legs in prison."
  
  He saw Ben and Karin flinch and turn away. In that moment, he caught a glimpse of the man he had become. He saw the bitterness, the vindictive anger, the spiral of hatred and resentment that would lead to him becoming someone like Kovalenko himself, and he knew that all these emotions would eat away at him and eventually change him, turn him into a different person. It was an ending that neither of them wanted...
  
  ... That is, Alison or Kennedy.
  
  He turned away too and put an arm around each of Blake's shoulders. They looked east, past a row of swaying palm trees, toward the distant sparkling lights and the roiling ocean.
  
  "Seeing something like this can change a person," Drake said. "Might give him new hope. Time is given."
  
  Ben spoke without turning around. "I know you want a Dinoroc quote right now, but I'm not going to give it to you. Instead, I might quote a few relevant lines from "Haunted". How about this?"
  
  "Are you quoting Taylor Swift now? What went wrong there?"
  
  "This track is as good as any of your Dinorocks. And you know it".
  
  But Drake would never admit it. Instead, he listened to the chatter coming back and forth behind them. Terrorist plots were foiled intelligently and quickly, but there were still some casualties. An inevitable consequence when dealing with fanatics and madmen. The country was in mourning. The President was on his way and had already promised another complete overhaul of the United States. intelligence system, although it was still unclear how anyone could stop Kovalenko from carrying out a plan that had been in the works for twenty years, when all this time he was considered simply a mythical figure.
  
  Very similar to the gods and their remains they were finding now.
  
  However, lessons had been learned, and the US and other countries were determined to take it all into account.
  
  The issue of charges brought against those in power who acted under duress and out of fear for the well-being of their loved ones was going to tie up the judicial system for years.
  
  But the Blood King's captives were freed and reunited with their loved ones. Gates promised that Kovalenko would be forced to give up his bloody vendetta, one way or another. Harrison was reunited with his daughter, albeit briefly, and the news only made Drake sadder.
  
  If his own daughter had been born and loved and then kidnapped, would he have done the same thing as Harrison?
  
  Of course he would. Any father would move heaven and earth and everything in between to save his child.
  
  Hayden, Gates, and Kinimaka walked away from the noise until they were near Drake and his group. He was glad to see Komodo and the surviving Delta soldier, Merlin, with them too. The bonds forged in camaraderie and action were everlasting.
  
  Hayden was asking Gates about some guy named Russell Cayman. It seemed as if this man had replaced Torsten Dahl as head of the Icelandic operation, his orders coming from the very top... and perhaps even from a foggy and distant place above it. It seemed that Cayman was a tough man and ruthless. He routinely directed covert operations and rumored even more covert and select operations both at home and abroad.
  
  "Cayman is a troubleshooter," Gates said. "But not only that. You see, no one seems to know whose troubleshooter he is. His clearance exceeds the highest level. His access is immediate and unconditional. But when pushed, no one knows who the hell he's really working for."
  
  Drake's cell phone rang and he hung up. He checked the screen and was pleased to see that the caller was Thorsten Dahl.
  
  "Hey, it's a crazy Swede! What's up, buddy? Still talking like an idiot?"
  
  "It would seem so. I've been trying to contact someone for several hours and I understand. Fate is not kind to me."
  
  "You're lucky you got one of us," Drake said. "It"s been a tough few days."
  
  "Well, it"s about to get even rougher." Dahl is back.
  
  "I doubt that-"
  
  "Listen. We found a drawing. A map to be more precise. We managed to decipher most of it before that idiot Cayman classified it as a top-level security issue. By the way, did Hayden or Gates find out anything about him?"
  
  Drake blinked in confusion. "Caiman? Who the hell is this Cayman guy? And what do Hayden and Gates know?"
  
  "Doesn't matter. I don't have much time." For the first time, Drake realized that his friend was speaking in a whisper and in a hurry. "Look. The map we found at least indicates the location of the three tombs. Did you understand this? There are three tombs of the gods."
  
  "We just found the second one." Drake felt the wind knocked out of him. "It's huge."
  
  "I thought so. Then the map seems to be accurate. But, Drake, you have to hear this, the third tomb is the biggest of them all, and it's the worst."
  
  "Worse?"
  
  "Filled with the most terrible gods. Really disgusting. Evil creatures. The third tomb was something of a prison, where death was forced rather than accepted. And Drake..."
  
  "What?"
  
  "If we're right, I think it holds the key to some kind of doomsday weapon."
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  
  
  By the time another darkness had descended on Hawaii and the next stages of some ancient megaplan had begun, Drake, Alicia and May had left it all behind to end their own crisis once and for all.
  
  By chance, they chose the most dramatic setting of all. Waikiki Beach with the warm Pacific Ocean, brightly lit by the full moon setting on one side and rows of flaming tourist hotels on the other.
  
  But tonight it was a place for dangerous people and harsh revelations. Three forces of nature came together in a meeting that would change the course of their lives forever.
  
  Drake spoke first. "You two need to tell me. Who killed Wells and why. That's why we're here, so there's no point in beating around the bush anymore."
  
  "That's not the only reason we're here." Alicia glared at Mai. "This elf helped kill Hudson by keeping silent about her little sister. It's time for me and my man to get some old-fashioned revenge."
  
  Mai slowly shook her head. "It is not true. Your fat, idiotic boyfriend-"
  
  "Then in the spirit of Wells." Alicia hissed. "I wish I had some free time!"
  
  Alicia stepped forward and punched May hard in the face. The little Japanese girl staggered, then looked up and smiled.
  
  "You remembered".
  
  "What did you tell me that the next time I hit you, I should hit you like a man? Yeah, you don't tend to forget something like that."
  
  Alicia unleashed a flurry of punches. Mai stepped back, grabbing each of their wrists. The sand around them was churned up, scattered into random patterns by their fast feet. Drake tried to intervene once, but a blow to his right ear made him think twice.
  
  "Just don"t fucking kill each other."
  
  "I can"t promise anything," Alicia muttered. She fell and tripped May's right leg. Mai landed with a grunt, the sand crushing her head. As Alicia approached, Mai threw a handful of sand in her face.
  
  "Bitch".
  
  "Everything is fair-" Mai lunged. The two women came face to face. Alicia was used to close combat and threw strong blows with her elbows, fists and palms, but Mai caught or dodged each of them and responded in kind. Alicia grabbed May's belt and tried to throw her off balance, but all she accomplished was partially ripping the top of May's pants.
  
  And leave Alicia's defense wide open.
  
  Drake blinked as he watched the events unfold. "Now this looks more like the truth." He stepped back. "Continue".
  
  May took full advantage of Alicia's mistake, and there could only be one against a May-class warrior. Blows rained down on Alicia, and she staggered back, her right arm hanging limp in agony, and her sternum burning from the numerous blows. Most warriors would have given up after two or three hits, but Alicia was made of sterner stuff, and even at the end she almost pulled herself together.
  
  She threw herself back through the air, kicked and stunned Mai with a double-legged kick to the stomach. Alicia landed on her back in the sand and turned her entire body upside down.
  
  Only to meet a plant face of the most complex order. A punch to the stomach could have knocked out the Hulk, but it didn't even stop Mai. Her muscles took the blow with ease.
  
  Alicia fell, the light almost went out. Stars swam before her eyes, and not the same ones that twinkled in the night sky. She moaned. "Damn lucky shot."
  
  But May had already turned to Drake.
  
  "I killed Wells, Drake. I did".
  
  "I realized it early," he said. "You must have had a reason. What was it?"
  
  "You wouldn"t say that if I killed the old bastard." Alicia moaned beneath them. "You would call me a psycho bitch."
  
  Drake ignored her. Mai shook the sand out of her hair. After a minute, she took a deep breath and looked deeply into his eyes.
  
  "What is this?"
  
  "Two reasons. The first and simplest thing is that he found out about Chika"s kidnapping and threatened to tell you."
  
  "But we could talk about-"
  
  "I know. This is just a small part."
  
  Only a small part, he thought. Was May's sister kidnapped a small part?
  
  Now Alicia struggled to her feet. She too turned to face Drake, her eyes filled with uncharacteristic fear.
  
  "I know," May began, then pointed at Alicia. "We know something much worse. Something terrible..."
  
  "Jesus, if you don"t put this out there, I"ll shoot both of your fucking heads off."
  
  "First of all, you should know that Welles would never tell you the truth. He was an SAS. He was an officer. And he worked for a tiny organization so high on the food chain that it runs the government."
  
  "Really? About what?" Drake's blood suddenly froze.
  
  "That your wife-Alison-was murdered."
  
  His mouth moved, but made no sound.
  
  "You got too close to someone. They needed you to leave this regiment. And her death made you quit."
  
  "But I was going to leave. I was going to leave the SAS for her!"
  
  "Nobody knew," Mai said quietly. "Even she didn"t know it."
  
  Drake blinked, feeling a sudden moisture in the corners of his eyes. "She had our child."
  
  Mai stared at him with a gray face. Alicia turned away.
  
  "I"ve never told anyone before," he said. "Never".
  
  The Hawaiian night moaned around them, the strong surf whispered long-forgotten songs of the ancients, the stars and the moon looked down as dispassionately as ever, keeping secrets and listening to the promises that man can often make.
  
  "And there"s something else," Mai said into the darkness. "I spent a lot of time with Wells as we bounced around Miami. While we were in that hotel, you know, the one that was blown to pieces, I heard him talking on the phone at least half a dozen times to a man...
  
  "What kind of person?" Drake said quickly.
  
  "The man's name was Cayman. Russell Cayman."
  
  
  END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  David Leadbeater
  At the four corners of the Earth
  
  
  CHAPTER FIRST
  
  
  Secretary of Defense Kimberly Crow sat down with a growing sense of anxiety in her already racing heart. Admittedly, she hadn't been on the job long, but she guessed it wasn't every day that a four-star Army general and a high-ranking CIA official demanded an audience with someone of her stature.
  
  It was a small, dim but ornate room in a hotel in downtown Washington; a place she was used to when things called for a little more tact than usual. The dim lighting reflected faintly from hundreds of gold and solid oak objects, giving the room a more casual feel and emphasizing the features and ever-changing expressions of those who met here. Qrow waited for the first of them to speak.
  
  Mark Digby, the CIA man, got straight to the point. "Your team is crazy, Kimberly," he said, his tone cutting through the atmosphere like acid through metal. "Writes his own ticket."
  
  Qrow, who had been expecting this caustic attack, hated to go on the defensive, but he really had no choice. Even as she spoke, she knew it was exactly what Digby wanted. "They made a call for trial. In field. I may not like it, Mark, but I'm sticking with it."
  
  "And now we"re behind," General George Gleason grumbled dissatisfied. A new engagement was all he cared about.
  
  "In the race for so-called 'vacation spots'? Riders? Please. Our best minds have not cracked the code yet."
  
  "Stick to it, yeah?" Digby continued as if Gleeson had not interrupted. "What about their decision to kill a civilian?"
  
  Qrow opened her mouth but didn't say anything. It's better not to do this. Digby clearly knew more than she did and was going to use every last bit of it.
  
  He stared straight at her. "What about it, Kimberly?"
  
  She stared back at him, saying nothing, the air now crackling between them. It was clear that Digby was going to break first. The man was practically squirming with his need to share, to pour out his soul and mold it according to his way of thinking.
  
  "A man named Joshua Vidal helped them with their investigation. My team on the ground didn't know why they were looking for him, or why they turned off all the cameras in the surveillance room," he paused, "until they checked later and found..." He shook his head, feigning chagrin worse than most soap opera stars.
  
  Qrow read between the lines, feeling the many layers of crap. "Do you have a full report?"
  
  "I believe". Digby nodded decisively. "It will be on your table by evening."
  
  Qrow remained silent about everything she knew about the latest mission. The SPEAR team kept in touch - barely - but they knew a little about what happened. However, the murder of this Joshua Vidal, if it is even remotely true, will have deep and far-reaching consequences for the team. Add to this Mark Digby, who was the kind of man who was happy to correct any mistake that furthered his own goals, and Hayden's team could easily be called a disgrace to the United States. They may be disbanded, classified as fugitives subject to arrest, or... worse.
  
  Everything depended on Digby's plan.
  
  Crowe had to tread very carefully, keeping in mind her own rather difficult career. Getting this far, getting this high, was not without its dangers-and some still lurked behind her.
  
  General Gleason chuckled. "It doesn't move anything forward. Especially those guys who work in the fields."
  
  Qrow nodded to the general. "I agree, George. But SPEAR had and continues to have one of our most effective teams, along with SEAL Teams 6 and 7. They are... unique in many ways. I mean, literally, there is no other team in the world like them."
  
  Digby's gaze was hard. "I view this as a highly precarious position rather than a superior one. These SWAT teams need shorter leashes, not looser chains."
  
  Qrow felt the atmosphere deteriorate and knew that there would be even worse ahead. "Your team has gone off the rails. They have internal problems. Outer mysteries that may yet come to bite us all in the ass..." He paused.
  
  General Gleason grumbled again. "The last thing we need is a team of rogue multinational corporations hired by the United States going crazy overseas, creating another shit storm. Better to cut ties while we can."
  
  Qrow couldn't hide her surprise. "What are you talking about?"
  
  "We don't say anything." Digby looked at the walls as if he expected to see Dumbo's ears.
  
  "Are you saying they should be arrested?" she pressed.
  
  Digby shook his head almost imperceptibly; barely noticeable, but a movement that rang warning bells deep in Qrow's soul. She didn't like it, not one bit, but the only way to relieve the terrible tension in the room and leave was to move on.
  
  "Put a pin in it," she said in as light a voice as she could muster. "And let's discuss the other reason we're here. At the four corners of the earth."
  
  "Let's speak directly," said the general. "And look at facts, not fables. The facts say that some bunch of psychos stumbled upon thirty-year-old manuscripts that were written by war criminals hiding in Cuba. The facts say that this bunch of psychos went ahead and fucking leaked them onto the damn Network, which is quite natural for this bunch. These are the facts."
  
  Crow knew of the general's aversion to archaeological folklore and his complete lack of imagination. "I think so, George."
  
  "Would you like some more?"
  
  "Well, I"m pretty sure we"re about to hear them."
  
  "Every mad scientist, every Indiana fucking Jones wannabe and opportunistic criminal in the world now has access to the same information that we do. Every government, every special forces team, every black ops unit has seen it. Even those that don't exist. And right now... they all focused their dirtiest attention on one place."
  
  Qrow wasn't sure she liked his analogy, but asked, "Which one?"
  
  "Plan for the order of the Last Judgment. Plan for the end of the world."
  
  "Now that sounds a little dramatic coming from you, General."
  
  "I read it verbatim, that"s all."
  
  "We've all read it. All this," interjected Digby. "Of course, this needs to be taken seriously and cannot be discounted for now. The main document, which they call the "Order of the Last Judgment," refers to the Horsemen and, we believe, the order in which they should be sought."
  
  "But-" Gleason clearly couldn"t help himself. "Four corners. This is completely illogical."
  
  Qrow helped him advance. "I'm guessing this is coded on purpose, George. To complicate the decision. Or make it so that it is only available to those chosen by the Order."
  
  "I do not like it". Gleason looked like he was going crazy.
  
  "I'm sure". Qrow tapped the table in front of her. "But look - the manuscript raises many questions, all of which have no answers yet. Basically, where are they now... The Order?"
  
  "This is by no means the biggest mystery we face," Digby disagreed. "This plan is what we must turn to with all haste."
  
  Qrow enjoyed the victory of this particular manipulation. "SPEARS are already in Egypt," she confirmed. "Taking the manuscript at face value and assuming our early interpretations are correct is where we should be."
  
  Digby bit his bottom lip. "This is all good," he said, "but it also brings us full circle to where we want to be. A decision must now be made, Kimberly."
  
  "Now?" She was truly surprised. "They are not going anywhere and it would be a mistake to take them off the field. I assume you have understood the manuscript? Four horsemen? The last four weapons? War, conquest, famine, Death. If this is a valid claim, we need them to do what they do best."
  
  "Kimberly." Digby rubbed his eyes. "You and I have completely different views on what it is."
  
  "Surely you can"t challenge their previous successes?"
  
  "How do you define success?" Digby spread his hands in an outrageously smug manner. "Yes, they neutralized several threats, but so could the SEALs, the Rangers, the CIA Special Activities Division, the SOG, the Marine Raiders..." He paused. "See where I'm going?"
  
  "You say we don"t need SPIR."
  
  Digby deliberately rolled his eyes. "It never happened".
  
  Qrow took more than a second to consider the intended insult. She glanced from Digby to Gleason, but the general responded only with an impassive, stoic look, no doubt the outward expression of his creative streak. It was clear to her where SPIR succeeded. Gleeson sincerely did not understand this, and Digby pursued a different goal.
  
  "For now," she said, "we only have words and reports, mostly rumors. This team has risked their lives, lost their men and sacrificed time and time again for this country. They have a right to speak out."
  
  Digby made a face, but said nothing. Qrow leaned back in his chair, reveling in the calm atmosphere that still pervaded the four corners of the room in an attempt to stay focused. One required concentration and calm when dealing with venomous snakes.
  
  "I propose sending people to TerraLeaks in an attempt to stop this flow of information," she said. "Until the authenticity of this Order is established. What will happen soon," she added. "We are investigating the Cuban bunker where this was found. And we let Team SPEAR do its job. No one will do it faster."
  
  General Gleason nodded in agreement. "They're there," he rumbled.
  
  Digby then smiled broadly at her, alluding to the cat who got the cream. "I accept all your suggestions," he said. "I want to go on record as saying that I don"t agree with them, but I will agree. And in return, I want you to accept my little proposal."
  
  Dear God, no. "Which of them?"
  
  "We are sending a second team. To cover for them and maybe help them."
  
  Qrow knew what he was saying. "To cover" meant to observe, and "to help" quite possibly meant to carry out.
  
  "Which team?"
  
  "SEAL Team 7. They're getting close."
  
  "Incredible." Qrow shook her head. "We have two of our best teams in the same area at the same time. How did this happen?
  
  Digby managed to remain impassive. "Pure coincidence. But you have to agree that two are better than one."
  
  "Fine". Qrow knew she had no choice but to agree. "But under no circumstances will the two teams meet. Not for any reason. All clear?"
  
  "Only if the world depends on it." Digby smiled, dodging the question and causing Gleeson to groan.
  
  "Stay professional," Gleason said. "I can have seven in the right area in a few hours. Provided we get this over with pretty soon."
  
  "Consider it over." Qrow refrained from telling the couple not to let the door hit them in the butt on the way out. For SPEAR, it couldn't have gotten more serious. For the man who killed Joshua Vidal, it was brutal. For her, it could have been any of the above and worse. But first, let's save the world, she thought.
  
  Again.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWO
  
  
  Alexandria lies in all its modern glory behind the plate-glass window; a thriving concrete metropolis fringed by a sparkling sea, marked by palm trees and hotels, a curving coastline and the incredibly impressive Library of Alexandria.
  
  The CIA safe house overlooked six traffic-choked lanes that slowly curved around the bow of the coast. All access to the rickety balcony from the outside was limited by heavy glass and bars. Only the main drawing room offered any signs of comfort; the kitchen was small and makeshift, the two bedrooms had long since become steel cages. Only one person staffed the safe house on a full-time basis, and he was clearly outside his comfort zone.
  
  Alicia ordered a cup of coffee. "Hey man, these are four black, two with milk, three with cream and one with cinnamon flavor. Understood?"
  
  "I don"t..." A thirty-something man with thin-rimmed glasses and bushy eyebrows blinked furiously. "I don't... make coffee. Do you understand this?
  
  "You do not understand? Well, what the hell are you doing here?"
  
  "Connection. Local contact. Housekeeper. I-"
  
  Alicia narrowed her eyes tensely. "Housekeeper?"
  
  "Yes. But not like this. I-"
  
  Alicia turned away. "Fuck, dude. You don't make the beds. You don't make coffee. What the hell are we paying you for?"
  
  Drake tried his best to ignore the English woman, instead focusing on the meeting between Smith and Lauren. The New Yorker was prepared and flew to Egypt at the moment when the new threat turned from somewhat alarming to priority. Standing in the center of the room with her hair down and a playful expression on her face, she was ready to update the team, but when Smith approached Lauren, a whole range of emotions came crashing down on her.
  
  "Not now," she replied immediately.
  
  "I'm alive," Smith growled. "Thought you might be interested."
  
  Instead of snapping back, Lauren took a deep breath. "I worry about you every day, every minute. I believe. Do you like it, Smith?"
  
  The soldier opened his mouth to object, but Alicia deftly intervened. "Damn, didn"t you hear? His name is Lancelot. He prefers it to Smith. Now we all call him that."
  
  Lauren was caught off guard for the second time in a minute. "Lance-a-what? Isn"t that the old knight"s name?"
  
  "Of course," Alicia said happily. "The same guy who committed infidelity with the king"s wife."
  
  "Are you saying that I should worry? Or do you care?"
  
  Alicia stared at Smith. "No. If he loses you, the best he will get is a baboon, and there are no red-faced monkeys in Egypt." She looked around the room with a questioning look. "At least not outside of this room."
  
  Mai was now standing next to Lauren, having stepped aside after double checking the safe house's security system. "Should we catch up with the operation? I guess that"s why Lauren is here?"
  
  "Yes Yes". The New Yorker quickly regained her composure. "Would you all like to sit down? It can take some time".
  
  Yorgi found an empty seat. Drake sat down on the armrest of the chair, carefully looking around the room. It was clear to him, watching from the sidelines, how Dal and Kenzi had grown closer, how Hayden had slipped away from Kinimaki, and, thankfully, how Alicia and May now seemed more accepting of each other's presence. Drake was greatly relieved by this outcome, but the next big thing was about to happen. Yorgi has remained almost completely silent since his revelation just three days ago.
  
  I am the one who killed my parents in cold blood.
  
  Yes, this undermined the celebration, but no one put pressure on the Russians. He really went to great lengths to admit what he had done; Now he needed time to translate the memory into actual words.
  
  Lauren looked a little uncomfortable standing at the head of the room, but when Smith stepped back, she began to speak. "First, we may have a lead as to the location of Tyler Webb's stash. Remember - he promised that more secrets would be revealed?"
  
  Drake remembered this well. They've been worried about the potential consequences ever since. Or at least two or three were.
  
  "But now we don"t have time for that. Later, I hope we can all go on a trip. But this... this new threat began when the TerraLeaks organization posted a whole bunch of documents on the Internet." She winced. "More like a physical bomb dropped on a digital foundation. All the documents were handwritten, clearly fanatical and purely self-aggrandizing. Regular old garbage. TerraLeaks employees found them in an old bunker in Cuba, something left over from decades ago. It appears the bunker used to be the headquarters of a group of madmen who called themselves the Order of the Last Judgment."
  
  "Sounds like a lot of laughs," Drake said.
  
  "Of course it was. But in truth, things get much worse. All these people were war criminals who fled Nazi Germany and were hiding in Cuba. Now, as you all know, it's easier to make a list of the weird shit the Nazis weren't interested in than a list of what they were. This Order was created to pass things on to future generations. If they were caught or killed, they would want to have some glorious resonance somewhere in the future."
  
  "And you say they have it?" Hayden asked.
  
  "Well, not yet. Nothing has been proven. The order consisted of two generals, two influential government figures and two wealthy businessmen. Together they would have significant power and resources."
  
  "How do we know this?" Mai asked.
  
  "Oh, they weren't hiding anything. Names, events, places. All this is in the documents. And TerraLeaks followed suit," Lauren shook her head, "as they do."
  
  "Are you saying that everyone knows?" Drake said quietly. "Every bloody organization in the world? Crap." He turned his head towards the window, as if contemplating the whole world outside, coming together.
  
  "The document in question is not completely finished," Lauren began.
  
  Alicia snorted. "Unless, of course, that"s the case."
  
  "So we don't have all the information. We can only assume that these war criminals, who disappeared from the face of the earth some twenty-seven years ago, were not given the chance to complete their work."
  
  "Disappeared?" Dahl muttered, shifting slightly from foot to foot. "Usually this means the secret police. Or Special Forces. Makes sense since they were war criminals."
  
  Lauren nodded. "This is a consensus. But the one who "disappeared" did not think to look for the secret bunker."
  
  "Then probably SAS." Dahl looked at Drake. "Fat bastards."
  
  "At least our special forces aren't called ABBA."
  
  Kinimaka went to the window to take a look. "Sounds like the mother of all mistakes," he rumbled into his glass. "I allow this information to spread freely. How many governments are going to be hunting for this at the same time?"
  
  "At least six," Lauren said. "Which we know about. By now there could be more than this. The race started when you guys finished in Peru."
  
  "Are you finishing?" Smith repeated. "We saved lives."
  
  Lauren shrugged. "Nobody blames you for this."
  
  Drake clearly remembered Smith's repeated requests to hurry the hell up during the last mission. But now was not the time to raise this issue. Instead, he quietly caught the attention of the New Yorker.
  
  "So," he said. "Why don"t you tell us exactly what this Doomsday Order has planned and how it plans to destroy the world?"
  
  Lauren took a deep breath. "Then it's okay. I hope you're ready for this."
  
  
  CHAPTER THREE
  
  
  "Through spy satellites, hidden agents and cameras, drones, the NSA... you name it, we know that at least six other countries are racing to be the first to find the four corners of the earth. Americans..." she paused, thinking, "well... being Americans... you want to get there before others. Not just for the sake of prestige, but also because we simply can't say what anyone else will do with what they find. The feeling is... what if Israel finds a secret killer from within the country? What if China finds all four?"
  
  "So these are the confirmed countries participating in the project?" Kensi asked quietly. "Israel?"
  
  "Yes. Plus China, France, Sweden, Russia and Great Britain."
  
  Drake thought maybe he knew some of the people involved. It was wrong that he had to work against them.
  
  "Tricky," he said. "What are the exact orders?"
  
  Lauren checked her laptop to make sure. "They contain an awful lot of 'no fail' and 'at any cost'."
  
  "They see it as a global threat," Hayden said. "Why not? There are always only a few days left until the next apocalypse."
  
  "And yet," Drake said, "we're all essentially on the same side."
  
  Hayden blinked at him. "Wow. Stop doing drugs, dude."
  
  "No, I meant-"
  
  "Too many blows finally drove him crazy." Dahl laughed.
  
  Drake's eyes widened. "Shut your mouth." He made a pause. "Have you made inquiries about your Yorkshire? Anyway, what I meant was that we are all special forces. Cut from the same cloth. We sure as hell shouldn't be chasing each other around the world."
  
  "I agree," Hayden said without emotion. "So who are you going to discuss this with?"
  
  Drake spread his hands. "President Coburn?"
  
  "First you would have to go past the Minister of Defense. And others. Cole is surrounded by more than just physical walls, and some of them are not without crenellations."
  
  "Not all teams will play friendly matches," Kenzie added confidently.
  
  "Certainly". Drake gave in and sat down. "Sorry, Lauren. Continue."
  
  "Right. So, everyone has read the leaked documents. Most of it is Nazi bullshit, to be honest. And I'm reading this verbatim. The page named after this unfortunate group, entitled "Order of the Last Judgment", clearly indicates the so-called "resting places" of the Four Horsemen: War, Conquest, Famine and Death."
  
  "From the Book of Revelation?" Hayden asked. "Those four horsemen?"
  
  "Yeah." Lauren nodded, still looking through the many notes confirmed by some of the best geeks in America. "The Lamb of God opens the first four of the seven seals, which bring forth four creatures riding on white, red, black and pale-faced horses. Of course, they've been attached to everything over the years and have been reinterpreted time and time again in popular culture. They have even been described as a symbol of the Roman Empire and its subsequent history. But hey, the Nazis could play with it any way they wanted, right? Now maybe it's best if I give this away. She pulled out a stack of papers from her briefcase, looking more businesslike than Drake had ever seen her. An interesting change for Lauren, and one she seems to have taken to heart. He glanced quickly at the paper.
  
  "Is this the thing that got everyone tanned? Order?
  
  "Yes, read this."
  
  Dahl read it out loud while the others took it in.
  
  "At the four corners of the Earth we found the Four Horsemen and outlined to them the plan for the Order of the Last Judgment. Those who survive the Judgment Crusade and its aftermath will rightfully reign supreme. If you're reading this, we're lost, so read and follow with caution. Our final years have been spent assembling the final four weapons of the world's revolutions: War, Conquest, Famine and Death. United, they will destroy all governments and open a new future. Be ready. Find them. Travel to the four corners of the Earth. Find the resting places of the Father of Strategy and then the Khagan; the worst Indian that ever lived, and then the Scourge of God. But everything is not as it seems. We visited the Khagan in 1960, five years after the completion, placing the Conquest in his coffin. We have found the Scourge that guards the true Last Judgment. And the only kill code is when the Horsemen appeared. There are no identifying marks on the Father's bones. The Indian is surrounded by weapons. The order of the Last Judgment now lives through you and will reign supreme forever."
  
  Drake soaked it all up. Many clues, many truths. A lot of work. However, Dahl beat him to the punch with his first comment. "Arose? Won't they rebel?
  
  "Yes, something seems wrong." Lauren agreed. "But that"s not a typo."
  
  Mai commented, "It seems to show the order in which to watch, albeit subtly."
  
  Lauren nodded in agreement. "This is true. But do you also understand why they call these 'resting places'? Not tombs or burial grounds or whatever?"
  
  "Everything is not as it seems," Dahl read aloud.
  
  "Yes. Clearly a ton more research is needed."
  
  "The Indian is surrounded by weapons," Alicia read aloud. "What the hell does that mean?"
  
  "Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves," Hayden said.
  
  "It is believed that the knowledge of all these final resting places died with the Nazi order." Lauren said. "Perhaps they were planning to record something. Maybe it's the coding. Or passing on knowledge to other generations. We don't know for sure, but we know that's all we have to go on," she shrugged, "and everyone's in the same boat. She stared at Drake. "Boat. Survival raft. You get the idea."
  
  The Yorkshireman nodded proudly. "Of course I want. SAS can make a rock float."
  
  "Well, whoever we run into, they have the same clues that we do," Hayden said. "How about we get started?"
  
  Kinimaka turned away from the window. "At the four corners of the earth?" he asked. "Where are they located?"
  
  The room looked empty. "It"s hard to say," Dahl said. "When the earth is round."
  
  "Okay, how about the first Horseman they referenced. This Father of Strategy." Kinimaka walked into the room, blocking all the light from the window behind him. "What references do we have for it?"
  
  "As you might expect," Lauren tapped the screen, "the think tank back home is doing this too..." She took a moment to read.
  
  Drake took the same moment to reflect. Lauren's mention of a "think tank back home" only made clear what wasn't there.
  
  Karin Blake.
  
  Of course, time flew by when you were part of the SPEAR team, but it was long past the day or even the week when Karin was supposed to be on call. Every time he decided to contact her, something stopped him - be it a bunch of enemies, a world crisis, or his own demand not to be annoying. Karin needed her space, but-
  
  Where the hell is she?
  
  Lauren began to speak, and once again thoughts of Karin had to be put aside.
  
  "It seems that the historical figure was known as the Father of Strategy. Hannibal."
  
  Smith looked unsure. "Which of them?"
  
  Alicia pursed her lips. "If this is Anthony Hopkins' dude, I'm not leaving this room."
  
  "Hannibal Barca was a legendary military leader from Carthage. Born in 247 BC, he was the man who led an entire army, including war elephants, across the Pyrenees and the Alps into Italy. He had the ability to identify his strengths and his enemies' weaknesses and defeated many of Rome's allies. The only way he ultimately failed was when some guy learned his own brilliant tactics and developed a way to use them against him. It was in Carthage."
  
  "So this guy is the Father of Strategy?" - Asked Smith. "This Hannibal?"
  
  "Considered one of the greatest military strategists in history and one of the outstanding generals of antiquity along with Alexander the Great and Caesar. He was called the Father of Strategy because his greatest enemy, Rome, eventually adopted his military tactics into their own plans."
  
  "This is a victory," said Dahl, "if there ever was one."
  
  Lauren nodded. "Better. Hannibal was considered such a nightmare for Rome that they used the saying whenever any disaster happened. Translated, this means Hannibal is at the gates! The Latin phrase became generally accepted and is still used today."
  
  "Back to order," Hayden prompted them. "How does it fit?"
  
  "Well, we can say with confidence that Hannibal is one of the Four Horsemen. Besides the fact that he apparently rode a horse, he has been called the Father of Strategy throughout history. This means that He is War, the first Horseman. He certainly brought war to the Roman Empire."
  
  Drake scanned the text. "So it says here that the plan for the Doomsday Order was laid down by the Horsemen. Are we to assume that the Order buried a destructive weapon in Hannibal's grave? Leave this for the next generation?"
  
  Lauren nodded. "It's a general feeling. Weapons in every grave. There is a grave in every corner of the earth."
  
  Kinimaka raised an eyebrow. "Which, again, makes as much sense as a grass skirt."
  
  Hayden waved his hand at him to stop. "Forget it," she said. "For now. Surely a man like Hannibal should have a tomb or mausoleum?"
  
  Lauren leaned back in her chair. "Yes, this is where things get complicated. Poor old Hannibal was exiled and died a miserable death, probably from poison. He was buried in an unmarked grave."
  
  Drake's eyes widened. "Bullshit".
  
  "It makes you think, doesn't it?"
  
  "Do we have a location?" Mai asked.
  
  "Oh yeah". Lauren smiled. "Africa".
  
  
  CHAPTER FOUR
  
  
  Alicia walked to a side cabinet and pulled out a bottle of water from the mini-fridge on top. Starting a new operation was always stressful. Her forte was combat; however, this time they clearly needed a plan. Hayden had already joined Lauren on the laptop, and Smith was trying to look interested, no doubt because the New Yorker was taking on a different role. Oh yeah, and because she's not in prison visiting a crazy terrorist.
  
  Alicia had her own opinion, but she had a hard time understanding Lauren's logic. Still, it was not her place to judge, not after the life she had already led. Lauren Fox was wise and insightful enough to see what was coming.
  
  Hope so. Alicia drank half the bottle, then turned to Drake. The Yorkshireman was currently standing next to Dahl and Kensi. She was about to enter when there was a movement near her.
  
  "Oh, hi Yogi. How are things going there?
  
  "Fine". The Russian thief has been depressed since he was suddenly exposed. "Do you think they hate me now?"
  
  "Who? They? Are you kidding? Nobody judges you, especially me. She chuckled and looked around. "Or May. Or Drake. And especially not Kenzi. The bitch probably has a dungeon full of nasty little secrets."
  
  "ABOUT".
  
  "Not exactly your nasty little secret." Crap! "Hey, I'm still trying to change here. I don"t know shit about cheering."
  
  "I see it".
  
  She extended her hand: "Come here!" - and rushed to his head when he slipped away, trying to grab his head. Yorgi skipped to the end of the room, his legs light. Alicia saw the futility of the chase.
  
  "Next time, boy."
  
  Drake watched her approach. "You know, he"s afraid of you."
  
  "I didn"t think the child was afraid of anything. Not after spending time in that Russian prison and building walls. Then you find out that he is afraid of it." She tapped herself on the head.
  
  "The most powerful weapon of all," Dahl said. "Just ask Hannibal."
  
  "Oh, Torsti makes jokes. Let's all turn to the calendar. But seriously," Alicia added. "The child needs to speak out. I am not better qualified."
  
  Kensi barked. "Really? I am amazed".
  
  "Were you mentioned in Webb's statement? Oh yes, I think so."
  
  The Israeli shrugged. "I have a hard time sleeping at night. So what?"
  
  "That's why," Alicia said. "Nothing."
  
  "I guess for the same reason as you."
  
  There was deep silence. Dahl met Drake's gaze over the women's heads and bowed slightly. Drake quickly looked away, not belittling the women, but not wanting them to be dragged down the well of misery. Alicia looked up as Hayden began to speak.
  
  "Okay," said their boss. "It's better than Lauren originally thought. Who's for a trip to the Hellespont?
  
  Alicia sighed. "Sounds perfect for this damn team. Sign me up."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  First by helicopter and then by speedboat, the SPEAR team approached the Dardanelles. The sun was already sinking towards the horizon, the light transformed from a bright ball into a panoramic stripe in the background and a horizontal slash. Drake found himself barely switching between modes of transport during the bumpy ride, and found time to marvel at how the pilots got through the day safely. Alicia, being next to him on board the helicopter, clarified her feelings a little.
  
  "Hey guys, do you think this dude is trying to kill us?"
  
  Kinimaka, strapped tightly in and clinging to as many spare straps as he could hold, said through clenched teeth, "I"m pretty sure he thinks they bounce."
  
  Communications were fully operational and open. Silence filled the air as their team inspected the weapons supplied by the CIA. Drake found the usual suspects, which included Glocks, HKS, combat knives and an assortment of grenades. Night vision devices were also provided. Just a few minutes later, Hayden started talking over the communicator.
  
  "So, people, it's time to consider another, more personal aspect of this mission. Competing teams. The CIA still says there are six, so let's be grateful it's not much more. The Alexandria cell constantly receives information trickling in from CIA cells around the world, from the NSA and undercover agents. They convey to me any relevant facts-"
  
  "If it's in their best interest," Kensi interjected.
  
  Hayden coughed. "I understand that you've had bad experiences with government agencies, and the CIA gets really bad press, but I did work for them. And at least I did my job right. They have an entire nation to protect. Rest assured I will give you the facts."
  
  "I wonder what's lifting up her skirt," Alicia whispered over the communicator. "I"m sure it"s no damn good."
  
  Kensi stared at her. "What could be good that makes your skirt ride up?"
  
  "I don't know". Alicia blinked rapidly. "Johnny Depp's mouth?"
  
  Hayden cleared her throat and continued. "Six special forces teams. It's hard to tell who is sympathetic and who is outright hostile. Don't assume. We must treat everyone as enemies. None of the countries we know are involved in this will admit this. I understand that you may know some of these guys, but the song remains the same."
  
  When Hayden paused, Drake thought about the British contingent. The SAS had quite a few regiments and he had been away for many years, but still the world of ultra-elite soldiers was not exactly big. Hayden was right to talk about potential confrontations and reservations now, rather than being caught off guard by them on the battlefield. Dahl might be interested in the Swedish contingent, and Kenzie in the Israeli one. Good job, there was no traditional American presence there.
  
  "I can't imagine China being friendly," he said. "Neither Russia."
  
  "At this speed," Mai said, looking out the window. "They will be shapes in the dark."
  
  "Do we have an idea of the current situation of each country?" - asked Dahl.
  
  "Yes, I was just heading towards this. As far as we can tell, the Swedes are several hours away. The French are still at home. Mossad is closest, very close."
  
  "Of course," said Dahl. "Nobody really knows where they're going."
  
  Drake coughed slightly. "Are you trying to justify Sweden's failed attempt?"
  
  "Now you sound like you're at Eurovision. And no one mentioned Britain. Where are they located? Still making tea?" Dahl raised an imaginary cup, his little finger sticking out at an angle.
  
  It was a fair point. "Well, Sweden probably started backwards."
  
  "At least they started."
  
  "Guys," Hayden interrupted. "Don't forget that we are part of this too. And Washington expects us to win."
  
  Drake chuckled. Dahl grinned. Smith looked up as Lauren began to speak.
  
  "An interesting addition to all this is that some of these countries are vehemently protesting any intervention. Of course, the level of crap is always high, but we could deal with some dishonest elements."
  
  "Unofficially? Splinter groups?" - Kinimaka asked.
  
  "It's possible."
  
  "It just brings us back to the basic information," Hayden said. "Everyone is hostile."
  
  Drake wondered what Smith might have thought of her statement. Back in Cusco, Joshua was hostile, but since his death had not been sanctioned by the government and their stay in the country was constantly changing and contested, no one knew what would happen. This man's death was an accident, but caused by inattention and overzealousness. Yes, he was a parasite and a murderer, but the circumstances were different.
  
  After the helicopter they filled the boats. Dressed in black, their faces camouflaged, bouncing smoothly across the waters of the Hellespont, the night finally filled with darkness. The route they took was empty, the lights flickering beyond the far bank. The Hellespont was an important canal that forms part of the border between Europe and Asia. A narrow strait, Gallipoli was located on its northern shores, while most of its other borders were relatively sparsely populated. As they glided through the water, Hayden and Lauren used their communicator.
  
  "Hannibal never had a grave, not even a grave marker. After a brilliant career, this legendary general died almost alone, poisoned at an old age. So how do you find an unmarked grave?"
  
  Drake looked up as Lauren paused. Did she ask them?
  
  Smith bravely set out to find a solution. "Sonar?"
  
  "It's possible, but you have to have a pretty good idea of where to look," Dahl replied.
  
  "They found an obscure document, a recordable document, yes, but lost to time," Hayden said. "The fate of Hannibal has always irritated those who loved the hero who opposed Roman imperialism. One such person was the President of Tunisia, who visited Istanbul in the sixties. During this visit, the only thing he wanted was to be able to take Hannibal's remains with him to Tunisia. Nothing else mattered. The Turks eventually relented somewhat and took him with them on a short journey."
  
  "Sixties?" Dahl said. "Isn"t that when the war criminals started hatching their nasty little plan?"
  
  "More likely". Hayden said. "After they settled in Cuba and started a new life. Then their new order lasted almost twenty years."
  
  "Plenty of time to get creative," Alicia said.
  
  "And choose the Four Horsemen for them," Mai added. "Hannibal - Horseman of War? It makes sense. But who the hell are Conquest, Famine and Death? And why are the Dardanelles in Africa one of the four cardinal directions?"
  
  "Good point," Alicia echoed May, causing Drake to redouble his efforts. "You need to put that little thinking cap back on, Foxy."
  
  Lauren smiled. Drake could tell by the tone of her voice. "So the Turks, especially embarrassed by their own disrespect for Hannibal, took the Tunisian president to a place on the Hellespont. It says 'on the hill where there is a dilapidated building'. This is the famous resting place of Hannibal Barca."
  
  Drake waited, but no more information came. "And yet," he said, "that was thirty years ago."
  
  "It stood there for so long," Lauren said, "and the Turks no doubt put up something of a guard of honor."
  
  Drake looked doubtful. "In truth, it could just be an honorary grave."
  
  "They took the president of Tunisia there, Matt. He even took vials of sand certified by his bodyguards, calling them 'sand from Hannibal's grave' upon his return home. In that situation, in that year, would the Turks really deceive the President of Tunisia?"
  
  Drake nodded forward toward the approaching dark curve of the coastline. "We're going to find out."
  
  
  CHAPTER FIVE
  
  
  Drake helped pull the sable-colored speedboat out of the water, mooring it to a nearby patch of old roots and mounting the outboard motor. May, Alicia and Smith rushed to set up an outpost. Kinimaka lifted the heavy backpacks with Dahl's help. Drake felt sand under his boots. The air smelled of earth. The waves rushed violently onto the shore to his left, given momentum by the boats. No other sound broke the silence as the spearmen took stock.
  
  Hayden was holding a portable GPS navigator. "Fine. I have the coordinates programmed. Are we ready to go?"
  
  "Ready," several voices breathed in response.
  
  Hayden moved forward, and Drake settled behind him, crossing the quicksand under his feet. They constantly scanned the area, but no other light sources were visible. Maybe they got here first after all. Perhaps other teams held back, letting someone else do all the heavy lifting. Perhaps even now they were being watched.
  
  The possibilities were endless. Drake nodded to Alicia as they passed and the Englishwoman joined the line. "May fluctuates from side to side."
  
  "What about Smith?" - I asked.
  
  "I'm here. The path is clear".
  
  Oh yes, but we're heading inland, Drake thought, but said nothing. The soft sand gave way to hard-packed earth, and then they climbed up the embankment. Only a few feet tall and with a sloping top, they soon crossed the desert border and found themselves on a flat piece of land. Hayden pointed the way and they crossed the barren wasteland. Now there is no need to post sentries. They could see for miles, but May and Smith stayed further away, increasing their viewing range.
  
  The GPS screen blinked silently, guiding them ever closer to their target, and the dark arch of night stretched majestically above them. With so much space, the sky was huge; the stars are barely visible, and the moon is a tiny stripe. Ten minutes turned into twenty, then thirty, and they were still walking alone. Hayden kept in touch via communicator with both the team and Alexandria. Drake let the environment take him in, breathing in the jagged rhythm of nature. The sounds of animals, the breeze, the rustling of the earth - it was all there, but nothing inappropriate. He realized that the teams they were up against could be every bit as good as them, but he trusted his own abilities and those of his friends.
  
  "Ahead," Hayden whispered. "The GPS shows the terrain rising about forty feet. This might be the hill we're looking for. Look up."
  
  The hill slowly emerged from the darkness, a steadily rising mound of earth with tangled roots and boulders littering the dry ground as they carved a steady path through the obstacles. Drake and Alicia took a moment to stop and look back, noting the smooth blackness that stretched all the way to the choppy sea. And far beyond that, the twinkling lights of the harbor, a completely different existence.
  
  "One day?" Alicia asked in surprise.
  
  Drake hoped so. "We'll get there," he said.
  
  "This should be easy."
  
  "And love. Like riding a bike. But you fall and get cuts, bruises and scrapes long before you regain your balance."
  
  "So, half the way has already been passed." She touched him briefly and then continued up the hill.
  
  Drake followed her silently. The future indeed held a new wealth of possibilities now that Alicia Miles had broken free from her cycle of self-destruction. All they had to do was defeat yet another group of madmen and megalomaniacs hell-bent on making the people of the world suffer.
  
  And that's why soldiers like him put everything on the line. For Adrian next door and Graham across the road. For Chloe, who struggled to get her two children to school on time every single day. For the couples who whined and moaned on the way to the supermarket. For the benefit of those who sat good-naturedly in traffic jams on the ring road, and those who jumped the queues. Not for the gutter scum who climbed into your van or garage after dark, making off with whatever they could. Not for bullies, power seekers and backstabbers. May those who fought hard for respect, love and care be taken care of. Let those who fought for the future of their children be confident in its safety. Let those who helped others be helped.
  
  Hayden caught his attention with a low grunt. "This could be the place. The GPS says it is, and I see an abandoned building ahead."
  
  He saw overlapping colored dots. It was the epicenter of events then. There was no time for subtleties now. They might as well have set off fireworks in their search for Hannibal's grave if they could find it faster now that they were here. Because Drake was confident that if they could find it, then so could all the other teams.
  
  Hayden noted the approximate area. Kinimaka and Dahl lowered their heavy backpacks to the ground. May and Smith took up the best observation positions. Drake and Alicia moved closer to Hayden to help. Only Yorgi hung back, showing uncertainty as he waited to be told what to do.
  
  Kinimaka and Dahl created some great flashlights by mounting the trio on carbon fiber stands and giving away even more. These weren't just bright bulbs, they were made to simulate sunlight as closely as possible. Admittedly, even the CIA's extensive capabilities were limited in Egypt, but Drake thought the apparatus didn't look too bad. Kinimaka used a lamp mounted on a stand to illuminate a large area, and then Hayden and Dahl went to survey the ground.
  
  "Now pay attention," Hayden told them. "The Order of the Last Judgment claims that the weapons were buried here long after the death of Hannibal. This is an unmarked grave, not a headstone. So we're looking for disturbed ground, not bones, blocks or columns. We are looking for items that were recently buried, not ancient relics. It shouldn't be too difficult-"
  
  "Don't say that!" Dahl barked. "You"ll jinx everything, damn it."
  
  "I'm just saying that we don't have to look for Hannibal. Only weapons."
  
  "Good point." Kinimaka adjusted the lighting around the perimeter a bit.
  
  Hayden marked three places on the ground. They all looked like they had been changed in some way, and none recently. Yorgi approached carefully, shovel in hand. Drake and Alicia joined him, followed by Kinimaka.
  
  "Just dig," Hayden said. "Hurry up".
  
  "What if there"s a booby trap?" Alicia asked.
  
  Drake looked at the dilapidated building. The walls hung sadly, drooping, as if holding the weight of the world. One side had been sliced in half as if by a giant cleaver, the blocks now protruding from both sides like jagged teeth. The roof had collapsed a long time ago, there were no doors or windows. "Well, it doesn't look like we'll be able to find shelter there."
  
  "Thank you".
  
  "Don't worry, love. Keep your head up."
  
  Drake ignored the furious glare and got to work. "So what is the significance of the Four Horsemen anyway?" he asked Hayden over the communicator.
  
  "The think tank's best guess? They correspond to the historical figures we are looking for and the weapons we hope to find. So, Hannibal, raised to hate the Romans, started an almost endless war in Rome, right? This is where we will find the weapons of war."
  
  "It could also be that they are horsemen," Kinimaka interjected. "I mean, Hannibal was."
  
  "Yeah, a little too vague, Mano."
  
  "So it has nothing to do with the Bible?" Drake dug out another mound of earth. "Because we don't need any of these stupid codes."
  
  "Well, they appeared in Revelation and-"
  
  "Wow!" Alicia suddenly screamed. "I think I hit something!"
  
  "And attention," May's voice whispered over the communicator. "New lights have appeared on the water, they are approaching quickly."
  
  
  CHAPTER SIX
  
  
  Drake dropped the shovel on the floor and walked over to look at Alicia. Yorgi was already there, helping her dig. Kinimaka also advanced quickly.
  
  "How much time do we have?" Hayden asked urgently.
  
  "Judging by their speed, thirty minutes tops," Smith replied.
  
  Dahl peered intently. "Any clues?"
  
  "Probably Mossad," Kensi replied. "They were the closest."
  
  Drake swore. "The only time I wished the damn Swedes would come first."
  
  Alicia stood knee-deep in the hole, digging the edge of her shovel into the soft earth, trying to free the object. She struggled, joylessly tugging at the vague edges. Kinimaka was clearing the ground from above as Yorgi joined Alicia in the ever-expanding wound in the ground.
  
  "What is this?" - I asked. Drake asked.
  
  Hayden squatted down with her hands on her knees. "I can"t say for sure yet."
  
  "Pull yourself together, Alicia." Drake grinned.
  
  A glare and a raised finger was his only response. The object in question was covered in dirt and covered in dirt on all sides, but it had a shape. Oblong, measuring approximately two meters by one meter, it had a definite box shape and moved easily, showing that it was not heavy at all. The problem was that it was surrounded and compacted by hard earth and roots. Drake looked from the box to the sea, watching the lights get ever closer and wondering how the hell such a small, lightweight container could hold a devastating military weapon.
  
  "Fifteen minutes," Smith reported. "No other signs of approach."
  
  Alicia struggled with the ground, cursing and getting nowhere at first, but eventually she unsheathed the item and allowed Yorgi to pull it out. Even then, the overgrown vines and tangled roots clung to him seemingly joyfully, a hard, twisted bunch that refused to let go. Now they were waist-deep in mud, shaking off their clothes and leaning on shovels. Drake refrained from the obvious "Men at work" line and leaned over to help lift. Dahl also bent down, and together they managed to find support on the side of the object and pull it out. The roots protested, breaking and unraveling. Some held on for dear life. Drake pressed and felt it creep up the hole and over the edge. Rivers of displaced soil flowed from above. Then he and Dahl stood up together and stared down at Alicia and Yorgi. Both had flushed faces and were breathing heavily.
  
  "What?" - I asked. Drake asked. "Are you two planning on having a tea break? Get the hell out of here."
  
  Alicia and Yorgi double-checked the bottom of the hole, looking for more boxes or perhaps old bones. Nothing was found. A moment later, the young Russian ran along the edge of the hole, finding support where there seemed to be none, so he could bounce up the slope and over the edge of the hole. Alicia watched what was happening with chagrin, and then jumped a little awkwardly onto the side. Drake caught her hand and pulled her up.
  
  He cackled. "You forgot your shovel."
  
  "Do you want to go get it? I offer the head first."
  
  "Restraint, restraint."
  
  Hayden continued to look down into the hole. "I thought it would be a good time to take a moment to spend a moment with poor old Hannibal Barca. We don't want to disrespect a fellow soldier."
  
  Drake nodded in agreement. "Legend".
  
  "If he"s even down there."
  
  "The Nazis did their research," Hayden said. "And, I begrudgingly admit, they did it well. Hannibal achieved lasting fame simply because he was good at his job. His journey across the Alps remains one of the most remarkable military achievements of the early wars. He introduced military strategies that are still extolled today."
  
  After a moment they looked up. Dahl was with them. Kinimaka swiped the item away to reveal a sturdy box made of dark wood. There was a small coat of arms at the top, and the Hawaiian tried to show it off.
  
  Hayden leaned towards me. "That's all. Their homemade logo. The order of the Last Judgment."
  
  Drake studied it, memorizing the symbol. It resembled a small central circle with four twisted braids placed around it at different points on the compass. The circle was a symbol of infinity.
  
  "Scythes are weapons," Hayden said. "Protecting your inner world?" She shrugged. "We'll deal with this later if necessary. Let's."
  
  The lights were no longer in the sea, which meant that the Mossad, if it was whoever was closest, had reached solid ground and was less than fifteen minutes away at full speed. Drake once again wondered how the confrontation would end. SPEAR was ordered to secure all four weapons at all costs, but orders were rarely carried out perfectly on the battlefield. He saw the nervous expressions on the others' faces and knew they felt the same way, even Hayden, who was closest to the command structure.
  
  They were preparing to leave.
  
  "Try to avoid confrontation," Hayden said. "Obviously".
  
  "What if we can"t?" - asked Dahl.
  
  "Well, if it's Mossad, maybe we can talk."
  
  "I doubt they'll have ID vests," Alicia muttered. "This is not a cop show."
  
  Hayden momentarily switched her communicator to the off position. "If we get shot at, we fight," she said. "What else can we do?"
  
  Drake saw this as the best compromise. In an ideal world, they would have slipped past the approaching soldiers and returned to their transport unharmed and undetected. Of course, SPEAR wouldn't exist in an ideal world. He checked his weapons again as the team prepared to move out.
  
  "Take the long route," Hayden suggested. "They will not".
  
  All precautions. All tricks to avoid conflict.
  
  Lauren's voice was a thorn in his ear. "We just got the news, people. The Swedes are also approaching."
  
  
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  
  Drake led the way, first walking around the dilapidated building and then heading down the slope. Darkness still shrouded the land, but dawn was just around the corner. Drake described his path in an uneven loop until he found himself in the opposite direction to the sea.
  
  Senses alert, heads raised, the team following us.
  
  Dahl took possession of the box, carefully holding the lid under his arm. Kenzi ran up to his side, helping him find his way. The team was wearing night vision gear, all except Smith, who preferred to be fully aware of their surroundings. It was a good combination. Side by side and in single file they ran until they reached the foot of the hill and a flat plain where there was no shelter. Drake stuck to his loop, leading them in the general direction of the boats. Not a word was spoken - everyone used their senses to check their surroundings.
  
  They knew how deadly their enemies were. No half-interested mercenaries this time. Today, and the next, and the next, they were confronted by soldiers who were not inferior to them.
  
  Almost.
  
  Drake slowed down, feeling that they were moving a little too fast. The terrain was not in their favor. A pale glow was creeping towards the eastern horizon. Soon there will be no cover. Smith stood to his right and Mai to his left. The team stayed low. The hill with the dilapidated building on top shrank away, appearing behind them. A row of bushes dotted with several trees appeared ahead, and Drake felt some relief. They were a long way northeast of where they needed to be, but the end result was worth it.
  
  Best case scenario? No fighting.
  
  He moved on, looking out for danger and keeping his body language neutral. The connection remained calm. As they approached the shelter, they slowed down, in case someone was already there, waiting. As commandos, they could expect warning, but nothing could be taken for granted on this mission.
  
  Drake saw a large area bordered by several trees and sparse bushes and stopped, signaling the others to take a break. An inspection of the landscape revealed nothing. The top of the hill was deserted as far as he could see. To their left, thin cover led all the way to a flat plain and then to the shores of the sea. He guessed their boats might be fifteen minutes' walk away. He quietly turned on the connection.
  
  "Lauren, is there any news about the Swedes?"
  
  "No. But they must be close."
  
  "Other teams?"
  
  "Russia is in the air." She seemed embarrassed. "I can"t give you a position."
  
  "This place is about to become a hot zone," Smith said. "We must move."
  
  Drake agreed. "Let's move out."
  
  He stood up and heard a scream as shocking as any bullet.
  
  "Stop it there! We need a box. Don't move."
  
  Drake didn't hesitate, but quickly descended, both grateful for the warning and shocked that they had missed the enemy. Dahl stared at him and Alicia looked confused. Even Mai showed surprise.
  
  Kensi clicked her tongue. "It must be Mossad."
  
  "Did you take them at gunpoint?" Hayden asked.
  
  "Yes," said Drake. "The speaker is straight ahead and probably has assistants on either side. Exactly where we want to be."
  
  "We can't move forward," Mai said. "We're going back. In that direction." She pointed to the east. "There is a shelter and a road, several farms. The city is not too far away. We can announce an evacuation."
  
  Drake glanced at Hayden. Their boss seemed to be weighing the choice between heading north along the coast, east towards civilization, or facing the battle.
  
  "Nothing good will happen if we stay here," Dahl said. "Countering one elite enemy would be a challenge, but we know more are on the way."
  
  Drake already knew that May was right. The North did not offer any path to salvation. They would run along the Hellespont without cover and rely on pure luck that they might stumble upon some form of transport. Traveling east guaranteed opportunity.
  
  In addition, other teams would hardly come from any city.
  
  Hayden called it and then turned east, assessing the terrain and the chances of a quick escape. At this moment, the voice came again.
  
  "Stay right there!"
  
  "Shit," Alicia gasped. "This dude is psychic."
  
  "I just have good eyesight," Smith said, referring to visual technology. "Hide behind something solid. We're going to take the fire."
  
  The team set off, heading east. The Israelis opened fire, bullets over the heads of the spearmen crashing into tree trunks and between branches. Leaves rained down. Drake climbed quickly, knowing that the shots were deliberately aimed high, and wondering what the hell new war they were venturing into here.
  
  "It"s just like a fucking army training," Alicia said.
  
  "I really hope they use rubber bullets," Dahl responded.
  
  They climbed and improvised, moving east, reaching the stronger trees and catching the eye. Drake fired back, deliberately high. He saw no sign of movement.
  
  "Tricky bastards."
  
  "Small team," Kenzie said. "Carefully. Automatic machines. They will await a decision."
  
  Drake was eager to take full advantage. The team carefully made their way east, straight into the pale dawn that still threatened the distant horizon. Having reached the next clearing, Drake heard and practically felt the whistle of a bullet.
  
  "Crap". He dove for cover. "That one was close."
  
  More shooting, more lead discharges among the shelters. Hayden looked deeply into Drake's eyes. "Their ways have changed."
  
  Drake took a deep breath, hardly believing it. The Israelis fired fiercely and no doubt advanced cautiously but at an advantageous pace. Another bullet tore a piece of bark from a tree just behind Yorga's head, causing the Russian to flinch violently.
  
  "Not good," Kensi grumbled furiously. "Not good at all".
  
  Drake's eyes were like flint. "Hayden, contact Lauren. Have her confirm to Qrow that we are returning fire!"
  
  "We have to return fire," Kensi shouted. "You guys have never checked before."
  
  "No! They are mercenary soldiers, elite troops who are trained and follow orders. They are fucking allies, potential friends. Check it out, Hayden. Check it out now! "
  
  New bullets pierced the undergrowth. The enemy remained invisible, unheard; SPIR knew about their advance only from its own experience. Drake watched as Hayden clicked the comm button and spoke to Lauren, then prayed for a quick response.
  
  The Mossad soldiers came closer.
  
  "Confirm our status." Even Dahl's voice sounded tense. "Lauren! Are you making a decision? Are we going to fight? "
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The SPEAR team, having already been driven away from their boats, was forced to move further east. They had a hard time under fire. Unwilling to fight known allies, they found themselves up to their necks in danger.
  
  Scrambling, scratched and bloodied, they used every trick in their arsenal, every trick to put more distance between themselves and the Mossad. Lauren's return only took a few minutes, but those minutes lasted longer than Justin Bieber's CD.
  
  "Qrow is unhappy. He says you received an order. Keep your weapons at all costs. All four of them."
  
  "And it's all?" Drake asked. "Did you tell her who we were dealing with?"
  
  "Certainly. She seemed furious. I think we pissed her off."
  
  Drake shook his head. Doesn't make sense. We must work on this together.
  
  Dahl expressed his opinion. "We actually went against her orders in Peru. Maybe this is payback."
  
  Drake didn't believe it. "No. It would be petty. She's not that kind of politician. We are opposed by allies. Crap. "
  
  "We have orders," Hayden said. "Let's survive today and fight tomorrow."
  
  Drake knew she was right, but he couldn't help but think that the Israelis probably said the same thing. Thus began centuries-old grievances. Now, as a team, they worked their way east, staying within their forest shield, and organized a rearguard, not too aggressive, but enough to slow the Israelis. Smith, Kinimaka and Mai were outstanding in demonstrating that they now meant business, shackling their opponents at every turn.
  
  It came from behind them as Drake flitted through the trees. The helicopter rumbled overhead, then tilted and landed in some inconspicuous clearing. Hayden didn't need to say a word.
  
  "Swedes? Russians? God, this is just crap, guys!"
  
  Drake immediately heard shots coming from that direction. The one who just got out of the helicopter was fired upon, and not by the Mossad.
  
  This meant that four special forces teams were now in the fight.
  
  Ahead the forest ended, revealing an old farmhouse beyond a wide field bordered by stone walls.
  
  "Take some time," he shouted. "Act hard and fast. We can regroup there."
  
  The team ran as if the hounds of hell were hot on their heels.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Moving at a full but controlled pace, the team emerged from cover at random and rushed towards the farmhouse. The walls and window openings were almost as shabby as the house on the hill, indicating the absence of human presence. Three groups of special forces lay behind them, but how close?
  
  Drake didn't know. He jogged heavily across the rutted ground, taking off his night vision and using the brightening sky to mark his path. Half the team looked ahead, half looked behind. Mai whispered that she saw the Mossad team reach the edge of the forest, but then Drake reached the first low wall and Mai and Smith opened up a small amount of suppressing fire.
  
  Together they huddled behind a stone wall.
  
  The farmhouse was still twenty paces ahead. Drake knew it would do them no good to allow the Israelis and others to settle in and establish ideal sight lines. Additionally, other teams would now be wary of each other. He spoke into the communicator.
  
  "You better haul your asses, boys."
  
  Alicia turned to look at him. "Is that your best American accent?"
  
  Drake looked worried. "Shit. I finally turned around." Then he saw Dahl. "But hey, it could be worse, I guess."
  
  As one they broke through the cover. May and Smith again opened holding fire and received only two shots in response. No other sounds were heard. Drake found a solid wall and stopped. Hayden immediately assigned May, Smith, and Kinimaka to guard the perimeter, and then hurried to join the others.
  
  "We're okay for a few minutes. What we have?"
  
  Dahl was already unfolding the map when Lauren's voice filled their ears.
  
  "Plan B is still possible. Head inland. If you're fast, you won't need transportation."
  
  "Plan fucking B." Drake shook his head. "Always plan B."
  
  The perimeter patrol reported that everything was clear.
  
  Hayden pointed to the box Dahl was carrying. "We have to take responsibility here. If you lose it, we have no idea what's inside. And if you lose this to the enemy..." She didn't need to continue. The Swede put the box on the ground and knelt down next to it.
  
  Hayden touched the symbol engraved on the lid. The spinning blades send out an ominous warning. Dahl carefully opened the lid.
  
  Drake held his breath. Nothing happened. It was always going to be risky, but they couldn't see any hidden locks or mechanisms. Now Dahl lifted the lid completely and looked into the space inside.
  
  Kensi chuckled. "What's this? Weapons of war? Connected with Hannibal and hidden by the order? All I see is a pile of paper."
  
  Dahl sat back on his haunches. "War can also be fought with words."
  
  Hayden carefully pulled out several sheets of paper and scanned the text. "I don't know," she admitted. "Looks like a research file and... a record of..." She paused. "Tests? Trial?" She flipped through a few more pages. "Assembly Specifications."
  
  Drake frowned. "Now that sounds bad. They call it Project Babylon, Lauren. Let's see what you can dig up about this."
  
  "Got it," said the New Yorker. "Anything else?"
  
  "I"m just starting to understand these characteristics," Dahl began. "It's gigantic-"
  
  "Down!" Smith screamed. "Approaching."
  
  The team slowed down and prepared. Behind the stone walls, a machine gun volley thundered, sharp and deafening. Smith returned fire from the right, aiming from a niche in the wall. Hayden shook her head.
  
  "We'll have to end this. Get out of here".
  
  "Haul ass?" Drake asked.
  
  "Get your ass."
  
  "Plan B," Alicia said.
  
  Staying safe, they moved from wall to wall towards the back of the farmhouse. The floor was littered with debris, and pieces of masonry and wood marked where the roof had caved in. Mai, Smith and Kinimaka covered the rear. Drake stopped as they reached the rear windows and glanced at the route ahead.
  
  "It can only get more difficult," he said.
  
  The rising sun slid over the horizon in a burst of colors.
  
  
  CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  
  The race continued, but now the odds were dwindling. As Drake and Alicia, who were leading the way, left cover and headed inland, keeping the farmhouse between them and their pursuers, the Mossad team finally emerged from the forest. Dressed all in black and with masks over their faces, they approached low and cautiously, raising their weapons and firing. Mai and Smith quickly took cover behind the farmhouse. Hayden rushed forward.
  
  "Move!"
  
  Drake fought the instinct to stand and fight; Dahl to his left was clearly struggling with this too. They usually fought and outwitted their opponents - sometimes it came down to brute force and numbers. But often it all came down to the stupidity of their opponents. Most of the mercenaries who were paid were slow and dull, relying on their size, ferocity and lack of morals to get the job done.
  
  Not today.
  
  Drake was keenly aware of the need to protect the prize. Dahl carried the box and kept it as securely as he could. Yorgi was now moving ahead, testing the ground and trying to find paths with the most cover. They crossed a hilly field and then descended through a small, sparse grove of trees. The Israelis ceased fire for a while, perhaps sensing other commands and not wanting to make their position known.
  
  A variety of tactics were now demonstrated.
  
  But for Drake, Alicia summed it up best. "For God's sake, Yogi. Put your Russian head down and run!"
  
  Lauren tracked their progress on GPS and announced that the Plan B meeting point was over the next horizon.
  
  Drake sighed a little easier. The grove ended, and Yorgi was the first to climb the small hill, Kinimaka following on his heels. The Hawaiian's trousers were covered in mud where he fell - three times. Alicia glanced at May, who was moving nimbly between the folds of the earth.
  
  "Damn Sprite. Looks like a spring lamb frolicking in the wild."
  
  "Everything she does, she does it well," Drake agreed.
  
  Alicia skidded on the slate, but managed to stay on her feet. "We all do it well."
  
  "Yeah, but some of us are more like assholes."
  
  Alicia raised her weapon. "I hope you don"t mean me, Drakes." There was a note of warning in her voice.
  
  "Oh, of course not, honey. Obviously I meant the Swede."
  
  "Expensive?"
  
  Shots rang out from behind, ending Dahl's remark before it even began. Experience told Drake that the shots were not intended for them and consisted of two different notes. The Mossad collaborated with either the Russians or the Swedes.
  
  The Swedes, he probably thought, ran headlong to the Mossad.
  
  He couldn't help but grin.
  
  Dahl looked around, as if sensing indignation. Drake made an innocent look. They climbed up a small hill and slid down the other side.
  
  "Transport is arriving," Lauren said.
  
  "Like this!" Hayden pointed to the sky, far, far away, where a black speck was moving. Drake scanned the area and pulled Yorgi down just as the bullet whistled over the top of the hill. Someone suddenly became more interested in them.
  
  "Into the valley," said Kinimaka. "If we can get to those trees..."
  
  The team was preparing for the final sprint. Drake looked again at the approaching speck. For a second he thought he might be seeing a shadow, but then he saw the truth.
  
  "People, this is another helicopter."
  
  Kinimaka peered closely. "Shit".
  
  "And there". Mai pointed to the left, high up toward a bank of clouds. "Third".
  
  "Lauren," Hayden said urgently. "Lauren, talk to us!"
  
  "Just getting confirmation." The calm voice returned. "You have the Chinese and the British in the air. Russia, Swedes and Israelis on earth. Listen, I'll connect you to the chatter now so you can get information the first time. Some of it is crap, but all of it can be valuable."
  
  "French people?" Kinimaka became thoughtful for some reason.
  
  "Nothing," Lauren replied.
  
  "Good job, they're not all like Bo," Alicia said with a hint of bitterness and melancholy. "I mean the French. The guy was a traitor, but he was damn good at his job."
  
  Dahl made a face. "If they're like Bo," he said quietly. "They might already be here."
  
  Alicia blinked at the words, studying the nearby piles of dirt. Nothing moved.
  
  "We're surrounded," Hayden said.
  
  "Special forces teams on all sides," Drake agreed. "Rats in a trap."
  
  "Speak for yourself." Mai quickly appreciated everything. "Take two minutes. Remember what's inside this box as best you can." She raised her hands. "Do it".
  
  Drake got the gist of it. The box wasn't worth their lives after all. If things get really tense and a friendlier team gets through it, not boxing might just save their lives. Dahl opened the lid and the team headed straight towards the approaching helicopters.
  
  He handed out reams of paper to everyone.
  
  "Wow, that's weird," Alicia said.
  
  Kenzi shuffled several sheets of paper. "Getting into a fight while reading a document from thirty to fifty years ago, written by the Nazis and hidden in the grave of Hannibal Barca? What's strange about this?
  
  Drake tried to commit the passages to memory. "Her words make sense. This is the same as the course for SPEAR."
  
  High altitude research project, he read. Originally created for the purpose of studying re-entry ballistics at a lower cost. Instead of expensive rockets...
  
  "I don't know what the hell this is."
  
  Launch into space without using a rocket. The project suggests that a very large gun could be used to shoot objects at high speeds at high altitudes...
  
  "Oh shit".
  
  The faces of Dahl and Alicia were just as ashen. "This can"t be good."
  
  Hayden pointed to the approaching helicopters, which were now in full view of everyone. They could see individual guns hanging from helicopters.
  
  "And that"s not true either!"
  
  Drake handed over the papers and readied his weapon. Time for what he was used to and what he was good at. He was bombarded with chatter from Hayden, May, and Smith, as well as from the communications system that Lauren had fixed.
  
  "The Israelis entered into battle with the Swedes. Russia unknown..." Then came bursts of interference and rapid transmissions from live broadcasts that the NSA and other organizations managed to listen to.
  
  French: "We are approaching the area..."
  
  British: "Yes, sir, targets spotted. We have many enemies on the battlefield..."
  
  Chinese: "Are you sure they have the box?"
  
  Hayden led the way. They ran from the field. They ran without a plan. The cautious fire forced the helicopters to take evasive action and forced their ground pursuit to move with extreme caution.
  
  And then, just as Drake was about to zone out and focus on their new escape route, another voice cut through the static.
  
  Just briefly.
  
  Partially hidden behind the noise, a barely audible, deep, drawn-out sound cut into his ears.
  
  American: "SEAL Team 7 is here. We're really close now..."
  
  The shock shook him to the core. But there was no time. There's no way to talk. There's not even a second to absorb it.
  
  However, his eyes met those of Thorsten Dahl.
  
  What the...?
  
  
  CHAPTER NINE
  
  
  "Tell the helicopter to fuck off!" Hayden clicked on his communicator. "We're going to find another way."
  
  "Do you want this to hang around?" Lauren asked, making Alicia laugh even as she ran for her life.
  
  "Certainly. Duck down and cover yourself. Don't call us, we will call you!"
  
  Drake wondered if this day would ever end, then saw the full disk of the sun hanging over the horizon and realized the irony. The area was a series of hills, each steeper than the last. A SPEAR covered their asses as they reached the top of the hill, stepping carefully, then ran at full speed down the other side.
  
  Shots were periodically heard from the rear, but they were not aimed at them; the Israelis and Swedes were probably exchanging blows. Several more dilapidated buildings appeared to the left and right, most of them built in shallow valleys, all abandoned. Drake wasn't sure what caused the people to leave, but it happened a long time ago.
  
  More hills and then a group of trees to the left. Offering shelter, greenery and branches grew thickly. Hayden directed the team in that direction, and Drake sighed a little easier. Any kind of cover-up was better than no cover-up at all. First Hayden and then Alicia flashed through the trees, now followed by Dal, Kenzi and Kinimaka. Drake entered the forest, leaving May, Yorgi and Smith in the rear. Shots rang out, closer now, making Drake wary for his friends.
  
  Turning around, he saw that Mai had tripped.
  
  Watched her face bounce off the ground.
  
  "Nooo!"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Hayden braked abruptly and turned around. At this moment, Mai was lying unconscious on the ground, Drake approached her, Smith was already bending down. The bullets hit the trees on the outskirts with a thud. Someone was close.
  
  Then the underbrush began. Figures jumped out, one striking Hayden in the lower body. She staggered, but stayed on her feet. The tree trunk hit her in the spine. She ignored the flash of pain and raised the gun. Then the black figure attacked her again, striking her with an elbow, a knee, a knife...
  
  Hayden lunged and felt the blade come within a hair's breadth of her stomach. She fought back with an elbow to the face and a knee to the stomach to put more distance between them. She saw Kinimaka and Alicia fighting on the right, and Dal kicking the piece he knocked down.
  
  Drake picks up the limp Mai.
  
  Bullets flew between the trees, shredding leaves and vegetation. One defeated the enemy, but not for long. The man soon stood up, clearly wearing some form of Kevlar. Then Hayden's vision was filled with her own adversary - a Mossad man whose features were imbued with a brutal and vicious determination.
  
  "Stop," she said. "We're on the same page-"
  
  A blow to the jaw stopped her. Hayden tasted the blood.
  
  "Order," came the vague answer.
  
  She blocked new blows, pushing the man aside, trying not to raise the gun, even when he wielded a knife. The blade tasted bark, then dirt. Hayden kicked the man's legs as Drake rushed past, racing down the path and into the trees. Smith covered his back, punching the Israeli in the face and sending him back into the underbrush. Kenzi was next, this time with a hesitant expression on her face and wide eyes, as if she was looking for someone familiar.
  
  Hayden pushed her way towards Drake.
  
  "Mai?"
  
  "She is all right. Just a bullet in the spine and that's it. Nothing spectacular."
  
  Hayden turned pale. "What?" - I asked.
  
  "The jacket stopped it. She fell and hit her skull. Nothing special".
  
  "ABOUT".
  
  Alicia dodged a brutal elbow attack and used a judo throw to send her opponent flying into the trees. Kinimaka bulldozed his way through another Mossad soldier. For a few moments the way was clear, and the SPEAR team took full advantage.
  
  Every ounce of experience came into play as they ran at full pace, with no thought of slowing down, through twisting, diving, dangerous clumps of trees. A gap had opened up between them and the Mossad team, and the thick foliage provided ideal cover.
  
  "How the hell did they manage to get past us?" Drake screamed.
  
  "It must have been when we stopped to check the box," Hayden said.
  
  Smith grunted loudly. "We watched."
  
  "Don"t beat yourself up..." Hayden began.
  
  "No, my friend," Kensi said. "They are the best at what they do."
  
  Smith chuckled, as if to say that we did too, but otherwise remained silent. Hayden saw Kinimaka stumble, his huge feet landing in a pile of elastic loam, and moved to help, but Dal was already supporting the big man. The Swede transferred the box to his other hand, pushing the Hawaiian with his right.
  
  And now another danger has been added to the mix - the unmistakable sound of a helicopter flying overhead.
  
  Will they open fire?
  
  Would they comb the forest with bullets?
  
  Hayden didn't think so. Thousands of things can go wrong due to such an irresponsible action. Of course, these guys were following the orders of their governments, and some of the clowns sitting at home in their warm, air-conditioned offices couldn't care less about what was going on outside their ivory towers.
  
  The flapping of propellers came from above. Hayden continued to run. She already knew that the Mossad would have their eyes on their team, and possibly the Swedes and Russians behind them. There was a noise to the left , and she thought she saw more figures-they must be Russians, she thought.
  
  Or maybe the British?
  
  Crap!
  
  They were too open. Too unprepared. In fact, so were all the teams there. No one expected everyone to arrive at once - and that was a mistake. But tell me a plan that would take this into account?
  
  The Drake Trail lay ahead, not at all slowed down by May's weight. Alicia followed on his heels, looking around. The path meandered aimlessly, but generally went in the right direction, and Hayden was grateful for that. She heard Smith fire bullets at their rear, discouraging their pursuers. She heard several screams from the left, as if two forces were meeting.
  
  Damn, this is some crazy shit.
  
  Drake jumped over a fallen tree. Kinimaka broke through with barely a grunt. The fragments scattered in all directions. The terrain began to descend and then they saw the edge of the forest. Hayden barked into the comm that they should slow down-no one knew what on the ground might be waiting beyond the tree line.
  
  Drake slowed down just a little. Alicia passed him on the right, and Dahl hit him on the left; together the three of them overcame the cover and entered a narrow valley, protected on both sides by steep brown slopes. Kinimaka and Kenzi clicked their heels together in an attempt to provide support, and then Hayden came out of hiding as well, now trying to ignore the growing burning sensation in her chest.
  
  They ran longer than she liked to think.
  
  And the nearest town was miles away.
  
  
  CHAPTER TEN
  
  
  Drake felt Mai starting to struggle a little. He gave her a minute, knowing that she would quickly come to her senses. In that fleeting moment, he noticed something flat, gray and sinuous that made his racing heart skip a beat.
  
  "Left!"
  
  The entire group broke to the left, carefully but unnecessarily covering their flanks as their opponents were still invisible. Drake let May struggle a bit, but held on. Pretty soon she was hitting him in the ribs with her fist.
  
  "Let me go".
  
  "One second, my love..."
  
  Alicia looked at him fiercely. "Do you like it that much?"
  
  Drake hesitated, then grinned. "There is no sure answer to this question, my love."
  
  "Really?"
  
  "Well, think about it from my point of view."
  
  Mai solved his dilemma by using his spine to push off and roll over onto the floor. She landed successfully, but swayed in place, holding her head.
  
  "Look," said Drake. "In my defense, she does seem insecure."
  
  "Your head will shake if we don"t hurry." Alicia pushed past and Drake followed, watching May a little longer until she straightened up and got into a rhythm. The group ran up the embankment to the asphalt.
  
  "First confusion with Mossad." Dahl stretched. "Nothing spectacular."
  
  "They were holding back," Kenzie said. "The way you were."
  
  "Second confusion," Drake said. "Remember that village in England? Many years ago."
  
  "Yonks?" - I asked.
  
  "Centuries".
  
  "ABOUT". Dahl paused for a second, then said: "BC or AD?"
  
  "I think they call it BC now."
  
  "Bullshit".
  
  The road stretched in both directions, deserted, potholed and in need of repair. Drake heard the pop of an anti-aircraft gun approaching the helicopter, and then more shots. He turned around to see that he was being fired upon from the woods, thought he was just littering the area with bullets, and then saw him swerve sharply to the side.
  
  "I can"t risk it," Dahl said. "I guess they must be Chinese and they can"t hear the chatter like we can."
  
  Drake nodded silently. Nothing new has been revealed in the conversations lately. Since...
  
  Hayden let out a quiet greeting. "I see a vehicle."
  
  Drake crouched down and scanned the area. "So what do we have behind us? Mossad and Russians in trees, getting in each other's way. Are the Swedes somewhere next to the Russians? SAS? He shook his head. "Who knows? Your best guess is to go around the forest. They all know that if they give themselves away, they are dead. That's why we were still alive."
  
  "Chinese in the helicopter," Smith said. "Landing there." He pointed to a series of shallow depressions.
  
  "French?" Yorgi asked.
  
  Drake shook his head. Jokes aside, the French may have even held back to test the waters and allow their opponents to thin them out. A cunning victory at the last moment. He stared at the approaching van.
  
  "Arms up."
  
  Smith and Kenzie took direction, standing on the side of the road and pointing their guns at the approaching van. Dahl and Drake placed a couple of heavy boulders on the road. As the van slowed, the rest of the team came up from behind, carefully covering the vehicle and ordering its occupants to get out.
  
  Alicia opened the back door.
  
  "Wow, it stinks in here!"
  
  But it was empty. And Drake heard Kensi asking a question in Turkish. He shook his head as Dahl smiled triumphantly. This girl is full of surprises. "Is there any language she can"t speak?"
  
  The Swede burst out laughing. "Come on, man. Don"t leave yourself so open."
  
  "Oh," Drake nodded. "Yes. The language of the gods."
  
  "Get up, love. Do you want to have sex? Yes, I can just hear your sweet accent rolling off Odin"s tongue."
  
  Drake ignored this, focusing on the two Turkish men who seemed genuinely scared.
  
  And truly Turkish.
  
  Hayden pushed them back into the truck, following close behind. Dahl grinned again and followed her, gesturing for the others to jump into the back seat. Drake realized the reason for his amusement a moment later, then stared at Alicia again.
  
  "How bad is it back there?"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The truck bounced and jerked and tried to destroy itself on the dilapidated road.
  
  Alicia held on with all her might. "Is he trying to hit bloody bad beats?"
  
  "Maybe," Smith said miserably, holding his nose and a dirty belt tied to a rack inside the van. "I smell goats."
  
  Alicia narrowed her eyes. "Oh yes? Your friend?"
  
  Kinimaka sat in the back of the truck, desperately gulping lungfuls of fresh air through the cracks where the rear doors met. "Must be... these... farmers, I guess."
  
  "Or goat smugglers," Alicia added. "I can never tell."
  
  Smith growled in anger. "When I said 'goats,' I meant in general."
  
  "Yes Yes Yes".
  
  Drake stayed out of it, taking shallow breaths and trying to focus on other things. They had to trust Hayden and Dahl, who took care of their safety in advance and found the best place for the trip. The communication remained silent, save for the occasional burst of static. Even Lauren remained silent, which helped in its own way. This told them that they were relatively safe.
  
  The crew complained loudly around him, their way of coping and distracting themselves from the stench of the animals. Comparisons to Swedish baths, American restaurants and London hotels were offered in jest.
  
  Drake let his thoughts wander from Yorga's recent outburst and the need to share a terrible secret, to the new understanding between Alicia and May, to other problems plaguing the SPEAR team. Hayden and Kinimaka remained at odds, as did Lauren and Smith, although the latter were separated by more than just differences. Dahl worked as hard as he could with Joanna, but again work got in the way.
  
  Something more urgent and inexorable pierced his brain. Secretary Crow's irritation that they didn't follow orders in Peru, and the confident knowledge that a secret, top-secret American second team is here. Somewhere.
  
  SEAL Team 7.
  
  There were countless questions and they were inexplicable. What was the answer? Qrow no longer trusted the SPEAR team? Were they backup?
  
  He hadn't forgotten the big question mark still hanging over Smith's head, but he couldn't imagine any other scenario. Qrow sent seven people to keep an eye on them.
  
  Drake suppressed his anger. She had her own job to do. Black and white was a vision of life shared only by fools and madmen. His deep thoughts were interrupted by Hayden.
  
  "Everything is clear in the back and front. Looks like we're approaching a place called Ç Anakkale, on the coast. I'll wait until we find a location before contacting the helicopter. Oh, and Dahl had a chance to take that box apart."
  
  The Swede distracted them from the situation for a while by explaining what the reams of paper appeared to be. It was more than a war, it was its very announcement. Hannibal seemed to be chosen simply as a symbol.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  "Are there any hints as to how Africa became one of the four corners of the earth?" Mai asked.
  
  "No damn thing like that. Therefore, we cannot predict where the next Horseman will be."
  
  "Look into the past," Kenzi spoke. "In my job, in my old job, the answers were always hidden in the past. You just need to know where to look."
  
  Then Lauren intervened. "I'll try this."
  
  Drake struggled against the tilt of the truck. "How far is it to Çanakkale?"
  
  "We are now entering the outskirts. Doesn't look too big. I see the sea."
  
  "Oh, you win." Drake remembered a game he played as a child.
  
  "I saw it first," Dahl said with a smile in his voice.
  
  "Yes, we played that too."
  
  The truck stopped and soon enough the rear doors opened outwards. The team jumped out and took in lungfuls of fresh air. Alicia complained that she didn't feel well, and Kenzi pretended to faint in the English manner. This immediately cheered up Alicia. Drake found himself staring and staring in amazement.
  
  "Damn it," he muttered on purpose. "Well, I"ll be the monkey"s uncle."
  
  Dahl was too stunned to comment.
  
  In front of them stood a huge wooden horse, for some reason familiar, brooding in a small square surrounded by buildings. The rope seemed to bind his legs and was stretched around his head. Drake thought it looked armored and majestic, a proud animal created by man.
  
  "What the hell?"
  
  Crowds gathered around him, staring, posing and taking pictures.
  
  Lauren spoke on the communicator. "I think you just found the Trojan Horse."
  
  Smith laughed. "This is far from a toy."
  
  "No Troy. You know? Brad Pitt?"
  
  Alicia almost broke her neck looking around in all directions. "What? Where?"
  
  "Wow". Kensi laughed. "I"ve seen vipers attack more slowly."
  
  Alicia was still studying the area carefully. "Where is Lauren? Is he on horseback?"
  
  The New Yorker let out a chuckle. "Well, he was once. Remember the modern movie "Troy"? Well, after filming, they left the horse right where you are standing, in Çanakkale."
  
  "Bullshit". Alicia gave vent to her feelings. "I thought all my Christmases came at once." She shook her head.
  
  Drake cleared his throat. "I"m still here, love."
  
  "Oh yeah. Fabulous".
  
  "And don"t worry, if Brad Pitt jumps out of that horse"s ass and tries to kidnap you, I"ll save you."
  
  "Don"t you fucking dare."
  
  Lauren's voice cut through their chatter like the hard blow of a samurai sword. "Admission, guys! Lots of enemies. We are approaching Canakkale right now. They must be connected to the communications system, just like us. Move! "
  
  "See this?" Drake pointed to the fortress. "Call a helicopter. If we can climb the castle and defend ourselves, he can take us from there."
  
  Hayden glanced back at the outskirts of Canakkale. "If we can defend a castle in a tourist town from six SWAT teams."
  
  Dahl picked up the box. "There's only one way to find out."
  
  
  CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
  
  Instinctively, they moved towards the coastal path, knowing that it would wind towards the impressive city fort. Lauren had gleaned very little information from the snippets of comm conversations, and Drake had heard even less from the various team leaders, but the general consensus was that they were all closing in quickly.
  
  The path led past many white-fronted buildings: houses, shops and restaurants overlooking the rippling blue waters of the Hellespont. To the left were parked cars, and behind them were several small boats, above which towered the high walls of the sand-colored fort. Tourist buses passed by, slowly rumbling through the narrow streets. The horns sounded. Local residents gathered near a popular cafe, smoking and talking. The team hurried as quickly as they could without arousing suspicion.
  
  It's not easy to wear combat gear, but especially for this mission, they were dressed all in black and could remove and hide those items that might attract attention. However, the group of people moving when they were turned their heads, and Drake saw that more than one phone had opened.
  
  "Quickly call the damn helicopter," he said. "We"re out of land and damn time here."
  
  "On my way. In ten to fifteen minutes."
  
  He knew that this was an era of battles. Some other SWAT teams wouldn't hesitate to unleash hell on a city, confident in their orders and ability to escape, knowing that the authorities would usually put a terrorist spin on any extremely threatening situation.
  
  The sand-colored walls rose sharply in front of them. Fort Ç Anakkale had two rounded, sea-facing fort walls and a central citadel, and behind them a wide arm of battlements running down the slope towards the sea. Drake followed the line of the first curving wall, wondering what was at the junction of this and its sister. Hayden stopped ahead and looked back.
  
  "We are rising."
  
  A bold decision, but one thing Drake agreed with. Going up meant they would be stuck in the fort, defended from above but defenseless, trapped. Continuing meant they had other options besides fleeing to sea: they could hide in the city, find a car, potentially lay low, or split up for a while.
  
  But Hayden's selection allowed them to take the lead. There were other Riders there too. It would be easier for a helicopter to find them. Their skills were better used in tactical battle.
  
  Rough walls gave way to an arched entrance and then a spiral staircase. Hayden went first, followed by Dal and Kensi, then the rest. Smith brought up the rear. The darkness created a cloak for their eyes, hanging thick and impenetrable until they got used to it. Still, they walked upward, climbing the stairs and heading back towards the light. Drake tried to filter out all the relevant information in his brain and make sense of it.
  
  Hannibal. Horseman of war. The Doomsday order and their plan to create a better world for those who survived. Governments around the world should have worked together on this, but ruthless, greedy people wanted the loot and knowledge for themselves.
  
  At the four corners of the earth? How did it work? And what the hell happened next?
  
  "Interesting..." At that moment, Lauren"s voice came through the communicator. "Ç Anakkale is located on two continents and was one of the starting points for Gallipoli. Now the Russians entered the city, as did the Israelis. I do not know where. Still, local police chatter is common. One of the citizens must have reported you and is now calling for new arrivals. It won't be long before the Turks call upon their own elite forces."
  
  Drake shook his head. Bullshit.
  
  "By then we will be far from here." Hayden moved cautiously towards the light above. "Ten minutes, guys. Let's."
  
  The morning sun illuminated the wide-open, sparse area almost at the top of the tower. The round top edge of the tower rose another eight feet above their heads, but that was as high as they could go without going inside. Ruined battlements lay everywhere, sticking out like jagged fingers, and a dusty path bordered a series of low hills to the right. Drake saw the many defended positions and breathed a little easier.
  
  "We're here," Hayden told Lauren. "Tell the helicopter to prepare for a hot landing."
  
  "Hotter than you think," Smith said.
  
  The entire team stared down.
  
  "Not down," Smith said. "Up. Up."
  
  Above the castle the town still lies on the hills. The houses rose above the battlements, and tall and thick walls stretched towards them. It was through these walls that a team of four ran with their faces covered and their weapons fully drawn.
  
  Drake recognized this style. "Damn, this is a problem. SAS."
  
  Dahl was the first to engage, but instead of releasing his weapon, he hid it, grabbed the box, and jumped onto the battlements themselves. "The British have the right idea for diversity. Look..."
  
  Drake followed his gaze. The battlements stretched in a wide arc all the way to the beach and the choppy sea. If they timed it right, the chopper could rip them right off the top or right at the end. Drake took it upon himself to fire a couple of shots into the rough concrete beneath the British feet, slowing them down and giving the team time to climb to the top of the slightly rickety fortification.
  
  Alicia staggered. "I"m not into heights!"
  
  "Will you ever stop whining?" Kensi deliberately pushed past her, nudging her slightly along the way.
  
  "Oh bitch, you're going to pay for this." Alicia sounded unsure.
  
  "Will I be able to? Just make sure you stay behind me. That way, when you get shot and I hear you scream, I'll know to pick up the pace."
  
  Alicia was seething with anger. Drake supported her. "Just making fun of the Mossad." He spread his arms.
  
  "Right. Well, when we get down from here, I"m going to fuck her ass properly."
  
  Drake guided her through the first few steps. "Is this supposed to sound exciting?"
  
  "Fuck off, Drake."
  
  He thought it best not to mention that the battlements far below had become spaced battlements where they would have to jump from one to the other. Dahl was the first to jog along the three-foot-wide wall, leading the team. Kinimaka this time took over from Smith at the back, watching the British. Drake and the others kept their ears open for any other signs of enemies.
  
  The race down the battlements has begun. The SAS soldiers maintained formation and gave chase, weapons raised, but without making a sound. Of course, professional leniency may be only one reason; In addition to tourists, local residents prefer secrecy and highly secure orders.
  
  Drake found that he needed full concentration for his legs. The cliff on each side and the gradual descent to the sea made no difference, only the safe zone under his feet. It curved gradually, gracefully evenly, in a steady curve. No one slowed down, no one slipped. They were halfway to their goal when the sound of rotating propellers filled their ears.
  
  Drake slowed down and looked at the sky. "Not ours," he shouted. "Damn French!"
  
  This was not a definitive conclusion, but would explain their absence so far. We rush in at the last minute. The SPEAR team was forced to slow down. Drake saw the faces of two soldiers looking out angrily from the windows, while two more were hanging from the half-open doors, turning their weapons to properly click the lock.
  
  "To tell the truth," Dahl said breathlessly. "It might not have been the best idea. The bloody British bells are ending."
  
  As one, Drake, Smith, Hayden and May raised their weapons and opened fire. The bullets ricocheted off the approaching helicopter. Glass broke and one man fell from his rope, hitting the ground hard below. The helicopter swerved, pursued by Hayden's bullets.
  
  "The French are not fans," she said gloomily.
  
  "Tell us something we don"t know," Alicia muttered.
  
  Yorgi quickly passed Dahl, overtaking him on the outer ledge of the wall, and reached back for the box. "Here, give this to me," he said. "I feel better on the wall, don"t I?"
  
  Dahl looked like he wanted to argue but passed the box midway through the inning. The Swede was not new to parkour, but Yorgi was a professional. The Russian took off at top speed, racing down the wall and already approaching the battlements.
  
  Alicia noticed them. "Oh shit, shoot me now."
  
  "It could still happen." Drake saw the French helicopter tilt and come in for a landing. The problem was that if they stopped to take aim, the British would catch them. If they ran to shoot, they might fall or be easily shot.
  
  Dahl waved his weapon. Both he and Hayden opened fire on the helicopter as it returned to play. This time the soldiers on board returned fire. The shells pierced the castle walls with a deadly pattern, hitting below the edge. Hayden's own fire hit the helicopter's cockpit, clanging off the metal struts. Drake saw the pilot grit his teeth in a mixture of anger and fear. A super quick look back revealed that the SAS team was also watching the helicopter - a good sign? Maybe not. They wanted to get their hands on the weapons of war for themselves.
  
  Or for someone high up in their government.
  
  A volley of shots rained down the bird, causing it to dive and yaw. Dahl took advantage of the last hundred meters of the wall to fall and slide while shooting, but he didn't get far. The surface was too rough. However, his actions sent another salvo into the helicopter, which finally caused the pilot to lose heart and fly the bird away from the scene.
  
  Alicia managed to exclaim weakly.
  
  "Not out of it yet." Drake jumped over the battlements one at a time, landing safely and carefully.
  
  Lauren's voice broke the silence that shrouded the connection. "The helicopter is approaching. Thirty seconds."
  
  "We're on the wall," Alicia screamed.
  
  "Yes, I understand you. The District of Columbia sent a satellite to this operation."
  
  It took Drake another moment to feel the shock. "To help?" he asked quickly.
  
  "Why else?" Hayden reacted instantly.
  
  Drake nearly kicked himself before realizing that this was probably a bad idea given the current situation. In truth, he didn't know who else had heard those quiet American intonations and words of SEAL Team 7.
  
  Obviously not Hayden.
  
  The helicopter came into view ahead, nose down, flying quickly over the sea. Yorgi was already waiting at the end of the battlements, where a small round turret overlooked the narrow beach. Dahl soon reached him, and then Hayden. The helicopter approached.
  
  Drake let go of Alicia and then helped Kinimaka pass. Still moving slowly, he pointedly extended his arm, signaling the SAS. Thirty feet from the tower he stopped.
  
  The SAS also stopped, another thirty feet higher.
  
  "We don"t want victims," he shouted. "Not between us. We're on the same damn side!"
  
  Pistols are pointed at his body. From below he heard Dahl roar: "Stop being..."
  
  Drake tuned him out. "Please," he said. "It is not right. We're all soldiers here, even the damn French."
  
  This caused an anonymous chuckle. Finally, a deep voice said, "Order."
  
  "Dude, I know," Drake said. "Been where you are. We received the same orders, but we are not going to open fire on friendly special forces... unless they open fire first."
  
  One of the five figures rose slightly. "Cambridge," he said.
  
  "Drake," he replied. "Matt Drake."
  
  The silence that followed told the story. Drake knew the standoff was over... for now. At the very least, he deserved another reprieve from the next confrontation and maybe even a calm conversation. The more of these elite soldiers they can get together, the safer it will be.
  
  For all.
  
  He nodded, turned and walked away, reaching for the hand that helped pull him inside the helicopter.
  
  "They are cool?" Alicia asked.
  
  Drake made himself comfortable as the helicopter tilted, moving away. "We will find out," he replied. "Next time we come into conflict."
  
  Surprisingly, Lauren was sitting opposite him. "I came with a helicopter," she said by way of explanation.
  
  "What? How do you like the option?"
  
  She smiled indulgently. "No. I have come because our work here is finished." The helicopter rose high above the sunlit waves. "We're heading from Africa to the next corner of the world."
  
  "Which one is where?" Drake fastened his seat belt.
  
  "China. And boy, do we have a lot of work to do."
  
  "Another rider? Which time this time?"
  
  "Perhaps the worst of all. Buckle up, my friends. We are going to follow in the footsteps of Genghis Khan."
  
  
  CHAPTER TWELVE
  
  
  Lauren told the team to get as comfortable as possible in the back of the large cargo helicopter and shuffled a stack of papers. "First, let's get the weapons of war and Hannibal out of the way. What you found in the box are plans to create Project Babylon, a two-ton, hundred-meter-long supercannon. Commissioned by Saddam Hussein, it was based on research from the 60s and designed in the 80s. The Hollywood spirit was felt in this whole affair. Superweapons that could send payloads into space. Killed generals. Killed civilians. Various purchases from a dozen countries to keep it secret. Later diagrams show that this space gun may have been tailored so that it could hit any target, anywhere, just once."
  
  Dahl leaned forward with interest. "One day? Why?"
  
  "It was never intended to be a portable weapon. Its launch would leave an imprint that would be instantly seen by various forces and then destroyed. But... the damage may have already been done."
  
  "Depending on the goal." Kensi nodded. "Yes, many models were built around the idea of a one-strike world war. A way to force a nuclear power to act inexorably. However, with modern technology, the idea is becoming more and more controversial."
  
  "Okay, okay," Smith croaked, still stretching his muscles and checking his bruises from the long, hard run. "So, in the tomb of the first horseman were kept the plans for a massive space cannon. We get it. Other countries did not do this. What's next?"
  
  Lauren rolled her eyes. "First, the designation specifically says 'resting places.' I hope you remember that Hannibal was buried in an unmarked grave and may not even be there anymore. To watch would be disrespectful to many. To leave it unchanged is to show disrespect to others."
  
  Hayden sighed. "And so it goes on. Same story, different agenda all over the world."
  
  "Imagine if the information fell into the hands of terrorists. I would say that all the countries that are currently pursuing the Horsemen could easily create their own super cannon. But..."
  
  "This is who certain factions of this government are selling plans to," Drake concluded. "Because we are still not sure that each team is officially sanctioned." He didn't need to add even if they thought he did.
  
  The helicopter flew in clear blue skies, no turbulence and a comfortable warmth. Drake found himself able to relax for the first time in about a day. It was hard to believe that just the previous night he had knelt at the resting place of the great Hannibal.
  
  Lauren moved on to the next file. "Remember the order of the Last Judgment? Let me refresh you. 'At the four corners of the Earth we found the Four Horsemen and laid out to them the plan for the Order of the Last Judgment. Those who survive the Judgment Crusade and its aftermath will rightfully reign supreme. If you're reading this, we're lost, so read and follow with caution. Our final years were spent assembling the final four weapons of the world's revolutions - War, Conquest, Famine and Death. United, they will destroy all governments and open a new future. Be ready. Find them. Travel to the four corners of the Earth. Find the resting places of the Father of Strategy and then the Khagan; the worst Indian that ever lived, and then the Scourge of God. But everything is not as it seems. We visited the Khagan in 1960, five years after the completion, placing the Conquest in his coffin. We have found the Scourge that guards the true Last Judgment. And the only kill code is when the Horsemen appeared. There are no identifying marks on the Father's bones. The Indian is surrounded by weapons. The order of the Last Judgment now lives through you and will reign supreme forever."
  
  Drake tried to piece together the relevant points. "Destruction code? I really don't like the sound of this. And the 'true Last Judgment'. So even if we neutralize the first three, the last one will be a real humdinger."
  
  "For now," Lauren said, referring to the study in front of her. "The Washington think tank has put forward several ideas."
  
  Drake blacked out for just a second. Every time he heard a mention of research, every time a think tank was mentioned, just two words flashed through his brain like billboard-sized red neon lights.
  
  Karin Blake.
  
  Her prolonged absence did not bode well. Karin could very well be their next mission. He gently pushed the worry aside for the time being.
  
  "... the second horseman is the Conqueror. The second description mentions a kagan. From this we conclude that Genghis Khan is a Conqueror. Genghis Khan was born in 1162. He is, quite literally, a conquest. He conquered much of Asia and China, as well as lands beyond, and the Mongol Empire was the largest contiguous empire in history. Kahn was a reaper; he passed through much of the ancient world, and, as stated earlier, one out of every two hundred men alive today is related to Genghis Khan."
  
  Mai clucked. "Wow, Alicia, he's like a male version of you."
  
  Drake nodded. "This guy definitely knew how to reproduce."
  
  "The real name of this man was Temujin. Genghis Khan is an honorary title. His father was poisoned when the boy was just nine, leaving their mother to raise seven sons alone. He and his young wife were also kidnapped, and both spent some time as slaves. Despite all this, even in his early twenties, he had established himself as a fierce leader. He personified the phrase 'keep your enemies close' as most of his greatest generals were former enemies. He never left a single account unsettled and was allegedly responsible for the deaths of 40 million people, reducing the world population by 11 percent. He embraced various religions and created the first international postal system, using post offices and way stations located throughout his empire."
  
  Drake shifted in his seat. "There's a lot of information to take in."
  
  "He was the first Khagan of the Mongol Empire."
  
  Dahl turned away from contemplating the window. "And his resting place?"
  
  "Well, he was buried in China. In an unmarked grave."
  
  Alicia snorted. "Yes, damn, of course he was!"
  
  "So, first Africa and now China represent two of the four corners of the earth," Mai thought out loud. "Unless it"s Asia and we"re talking about continents."
  
  "There are seven," Smith reminded her.
  
  "Not always," Lauren answered mysteriously. "But we will come to this later. The questions are: what are the weapons of conquest and where is the resting place of Genghis?"
  
  "I guess one answer is China," Kenzi muttered.
  
  "Genghis Khan died under mysterious circumstances around 1227. Marco Polo claimed that it was due to infection, others because of poison, and still others because of the princess taken as spoil of war. After death, his body would be returned to his homeland, to the Khenti aimag, according to custom. It is believed that he was buried on Mount Burkhan Khaldun near the Onon River. However, legend has it that anyone who came into contact with the funeral procession was killed. After this, the river was diverted over Caen's tomb, and all the soldiers who formed the procession were also killed." Lauren shook her head. "Life and living had little meaning back then."
  
  "As is the case now in some places in the world," Dahl said.
  
  "So we"re diving again?" Alicia frowned. "Nobody said anything about diving again. This is not my best talent."
  
  Mai somehow managed to swallow down the remark that seemed ready to escape her lips, instead she coughed. "I"m not diving," she finally said. "It could have been on the mountain. Didn"t the Mongol government isolate a certain area for hundreds of years?"
  
  "Exactly, and that's why we set our sights on China," Lauren said. "And the tomb of Genghis Khan. Now, to keep you informed, the NSA and CIA are still using dozens of methods to collect information about our competitors. The French really lost a man. The British left at the same time as us. The Russians and Swedes later became embroiled in a faster-than-expected Turkish cleansing of the area. We're not sure about the Mossad or the Chinese. The orders remain the same. However, there is one thing... I actually have Secretary Qrow on the line right now."
  
  Drake frowned. It had never occurred to him that Qrow might be eavesdropping on his and Lauren's conversations, but it had to come. Their team, their family, had secrets just like any other. As he looked around, it became clear that the others felt the same way and that this was Lauren's way of letting them know.
  
  Washington has always had its own agenda.
  
  Qrow's voice sounded convincing. "I won't pretend to know more than you about this particular mission. Not on earth. But I know this is a political minefield, with intricacies and intrigues at the highest levels of some of our rival nations."
  
  Not to mention the USA, Drake thought. What never!
  
  "Frankly, I'm surprised by some of the administrations involved," Crowe said openly. "I thought they could work with us, but as I mentioned, things may not be as they seem."
  
  Once again, Drake took her words differently. Was she talking about the Horseman mission? Or something more personal?
  
  "Is there a reason for that, Madam Secretary?" Hayden asked. "Something we don"t know?"
  
  "Well, not that I'm aware of. But even I don't necessarily know all of this. "No restrictions" is a rare word in politics."
  
  "Then it's the weapon itself," Hayden said. "This is the first supergun. If it had been built, if it had been sold to terrorists, the whole world could have demanded a ransom for it."
  
  "I know. This... The Order of the Last Judgment," she said the name with disgust, "has clearly developed a master plan, leaving it for future generations. Fortunately, the Israelis closed them a long time ago. Unfortunately, they didn't find that specific plan. This scheme."
  
  So far, Drake didn't see the point in this call. He leaned back, closing his eyes, listening to the conversation.
  
  "You make the leap to some others. Only Israel and China are MIA. Normal rules apply, but get to that weapon and get it first. America can't afford for this to fall into the wrong hands, any kind. And be careful, SPEAR. There is more to this than meets the eye."
  
  Drake sat down. Dahl leaned forward. "Is this a different kind of warning?" he whispered.
  
  Drake studied Hayden, but their boss showed no signs of concern. Cover your backs? If he had not heard this American dialect before, he would not have attached any meaning to this phrase either. His thoughts turned to Smith and Joshua's death in Peru. This measured the depth of their defiance. As an ordinary soldier, with a soldier's outlook, he would be very worried. But they were no longer soldiers - they were forced to make difficult choices every day, in the field, under pressure. They carried the weight of thousands of lives, sometimes millions, on their shoulders. This was an unusual team. No more.
  
  You're only as good as your last mistake. You are only remembered for your last mistake. Ethics in the world's workplace. He preferred to keep working, keep fighting. Keep your head above water - because there are millions of sharks circling the world constantly, and if you stood still, you would either drown or be torn to pieces.
  
  Qrow finished with a tense pep talk and then Hayden turned to them. She touched her communicator and made a face.
  
  "Do not forget".
  
  Drake nodded. Open a channel.
  
  "I think it will be very different from the usual Tomb Raider stuff." Yorgi spoke. "We are facing government soldiers, experts. Unknown factions, possibly traitors. We are looking for people lost in time, born years apart. We're following some old war criminal's prophecy, just the way he wanted us to do it." He shrugged. "We have no control over the situation."
  
  "I'm as close to a Tomb Raider as you can get," Kensi said with a grin. "This... is completely different."
  
  Alicia and Mai stared at the Israeli. "Yeah, we tend to forget about your nasty criminal past, don't we... Twisty?"
  
  The Swede blinked. "I... um... I... what?"
  
  Kensi intervened. "And I guess circumstances never forced you into any compromising positions, huh, Alicia?"
  
  The Englishwoman shrugged. "Depends on whether we're still talking about crime. Some compromise positions are better than others."
  
  "If we're still awake and alert," Hayden said, "could we start reading about Genghis Khan and the location of his tomb?" A think tank in Washington is all well and good, but we're there and we'll see what they won't see. The more information you can absorb, the better chance we have of finding the second weapon."
  
  "And come out of this alive," Dahl agreed.
  
  The tablets were passed around, barely enough to share. Alicia was the first to shout about checking her email and Facebook page. Drake knew she didn't even have an email address, let alone the first hint of social media, and looked at her.
  
  She pouted. "Serious time?"
  
  "That, or get some rest, love. China will definitely not welcome us with open arms."
  
  "Good point." Hayden sighed. "I will contact the local teams and ask them to facilitate our entry. Is everyone on board with the plan so far?"
  
  "Well," Dahl spoke casually. "I never thought I'd be chasing Genghis Khan into China while trying not to get into a fight with half a dozen rival nations. But, hey," he shrugged, "you know they talk about trying something different."
  
  Alicia looked around, then shook her head. "No comments. Too easy."
  
  "Right now," Drake said, "I'd rather have a little more information."
  
  "You and I both, Yorkies." Dahl nodded. "You and me, both."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
  
  The hours flew by unnoticed. The helicopter was forced to refuel. The lack of news about other teams has become frustrating. Hayden found that her best option was to immerse herself in the wealth of information relating to the Tomb of Genghis, but found it difficult to discover anything new. The others had clearly been trying to do the same for a while, but some had gotten tired and decided to take some time off, while others found it easier to address their personal issues.
  
  It was impossible to ignore it in their cramped space, and in truth, by now the team was close and familiar enough to take it all in stride.
  
  Dahl called home. The children were happy to hear him, which made Dahl smile broadly. Joanna asked when he would be home. The tension was obvious, the result was not that great. Hayden took a moment to watch Kinimaka as the large Hawaiian swiped his finger across the tablet screen. She smiled. The device looked like a postcard in his large hands, and she remembered how those hands had touched her body. Gentle. Excitement. He knew her so well and it enhanced their intimacy. Now she was looking at the damaged tip of her finger, the one she had been forced to swallow during their last mission. The shock of the situation opened her eyes. Life was infinitely too short to fight the will of the one you loved.
  
  She caught her breath a little, unsure if she really believed it. Damn, you don't deserve this. Not after everything you said. She didn't justify going back and had no idea where to start. Maybe it was a battle, a situation, a job. Perhaps this was the case at every moment in the history of her life.
  
  People have made mistakes. They could atone.
  
  Alicia did it.
  
  This thought made her look towards the English woman as the helicopter made its way through the sky. The sudden turbulence made her clutch her belt tighter. A second of free fall, and her heart sank to her feet. But everything was fine. It imitated life.
  
  Hayden's instincts have always been to lead, to get things done. Now she saw that these instincts were interfering with other important aspects of her life. She saw a bleak future.
  
  Drake and Alicia were happy, smiling, tapping on a common tablet. Mai lent Kenzi hers, and the two women took turns taking it. It was interesting how uniquely different people dealt with similar situations.
  
  Smith moved closer to Lauren. "How are you doing?"
  
  "As good as it gets, you smooth bastard. Now is not the time, Smith."
  
  "You think I don"t know this? But tell me. When will the time come?"
  
  "Not now".
  
  "Never," Smith said gloomily.
  
  Lauren growled. "Seriously? We're at a dead end, man. You hit a brick wall and you can"t get over it."
  
  "Wall?"
  
  Lauren snorted. "Yes, it has a name."
  
  "Oh. This wall."
  
  Hayden saw them both work around the problem. It was not her place to judge or intervene, but it clearly showed how any obstacle can undermine any relationship. Smith and Lauren were, to put it mildly, an unorthodox couple, so unusual that they might have worked well together.
  
  Yet the most unconventional obstacles now stood in their way.
  
  Smith tried a different approach. "Okay, okay, so what has he given you lately?"
  
  "I? Nothing. I don't go there for information. That's the job of the CIA or the FBI or whoever it is."
  
  "Then what are you talking about?"
  
  For Smith, this was a step forward. An open, non-confrontational question. Hayden felt some pride in the soldier.
  
  Lauren hesitated a bit. "Shit," she said. "We are talking nonsense. A television. Movies. Books. Celebrities. News. He"s a builder, so he asks about projects."
  
  "What projects?"
  
  "All of this makes you ask a cautious question. Why not which celebrities or which films? Are you interested in buildings, Lance?"
  
  Hayden wanted to turn it off, but found that she couldn't. The cabin was too cramped; the question is too serious; the mention of Smith's name is too attractive.
  
  "Only if someone wants to harm them."
  
  Lauren waved him off and the conversation ended. Hayden wondered if Lauren was breaking some kind of law by sneaking off to talk to a known terrorist, but couldn't quite decide how to phrase Lauren's question. At least not yet.
  
  "Less than an hour left." The pilot's voice came over the communication system.
  
  Drake looked up. Hayden saw the determination on his face. Same thing with Dahl. The team was fully engaged, constantly improving their skills. Look at the last operation for example. They all went through completely different missions, faced the embodiment of evil and did not receive a single scratch.
  
  At least in the physical aspect. The emotional scars - particularly her own - will never heal.
  
  She spent a minute looking through the papers in front of her and trying to absorb some more of Genghis Khan's history. She looked through the text of the Order, highlighting the lines: Go to the four corners of the world. Find the resting places of the Father of Strategy and then the Khagan; the worst Indian that ever lived, and then the Scourge of God. But everything is not as it seems. We visited the Khagan in 1960, five years after the completion, placing the Conquest in his coffin.
  
  Four corners of the earth? Still remains a mystery. Luckily, the clues to the Horsemen's identity have been clear so far. But did the Order find the tomb of Genghis Khan? So it seemed.
  
  As the helicopter continued to cut through the thin air, Yorgi stood up and then stepped forward. The thief's face looked drawn, his eyes were closed, as if he had not slept a wink since his outburst in Peru. "I told you that I was part of Webb's statement, his legacy," the Russian said, his tone revealing that he was horrified by what he was about to say. "I told you that I was the worst of all mentioned."
  
  With an annoyed grunt, Alicia tried to remove the sudden atmospheric dampener. "I'm still waiting to hear who the damn lesbian is," she said cheerfully. "To tell you the truth, Yogi, I was hoping it would be you."
  
  "How..." Yorgi stopped mid-sentence. "I am a man".
  
  "I'm not convinced. Those tiny hands. This face. The way you walk."
  
  "Let him speak," Dahl said.
  
  "And you all should know that I'm a lesbian," Lauren said. "You know, there"s nothing bad or shameful about it."
  
  "I know," Alicia said. "You have to be who you want to be and accept it. I know I know. I just hoped it would be Yogi, that's all."
  
  Smith looked at Lauren with a confused but otherwise blank expression. Drake thought the reaction was amazing considering the surprise.
  
  "That leaves only one," Kinimaka said.
  
  "Someone who is dying," Drake said, staring at the floor.
  
  "Perhaps we should let our friend speak?" Dahl insisted.
  
  Yorgi tried to smile. He then clasped his hands in front of him and stared at the roof of the hut.
  
  "It's not a long story," he said in a thick accent. "But this is a difficult question. I... I killed my parents in cold blood. And I'm grateful every single day. Thankful I did."
  
  Drake raised his hand to get his friend's attention. "You don't need to explain anything, you know. Here we are a family. It won't cause any problems."
  
  "I understand. But this is for me too. You understand?"
  
  The team, every single one, nodded. They understood.
  
  "We lived in a small village. Cold village. Winter? It was not the time of year, it was a robbery, a beating, a thrashing from God. It depressed our families, even our children. I was one of six, and my parents, they couldn't cope. They couldn't drink fast enough to make the days pass easier. They couldn't bring back enough to make the nights survivable. They couldn't find a way to deal with us and take care of us, so they found a way to change the picture."
  
  Alicia couldn't contain her feelings. "I hope it's not what it sounds like."
  
  "One afternoon we all piled into the car. They said they promised a trip to the city. We haven't visited the city for years and should have asked, but..." He shrugged. "We were children. They were our parents. They left the small village and we never saw her again."
  
  Hayden saw the distant sadness on May's face. Her young life may have been different from Yorga's, but there were sad similarities.
  
  "The day outside the car was getting colder, darker. They drove and drove and did not speak. But we are used to it. They had no love for life, for us, or for each other. I guess we never knew love, not the way it should be. In the dark they stopped, saying that the car had broken down. We huddled together, some cried. My younger sister was only three years old. I was nine, the oldest. I should have...should have..."
  
  Yorgi fought back tears, looking at the roof, as if it had the power to change the past. He held out a firm hand before anyone could rise to approach him, but at least Hayden knew that this was something he had to go through alone.
  
  "They lured us out. They walked for some time. The ice was so hard and cold that powerful, deadly waves emanated from it. I couldn't figure out what they were doing, and then I felt too cold to think straight. I saw them turn us around again and again. We were lost and weak, already dying. We were children. We... trusted."
  
  Hayden closed her eyes. There were no words.
  
  "Apparently they found the car. They left. We... well, we died... one by one." Yorgi still couldn't formulate the details clearly. Only the grief-stricken anguish on his face revealed the truth of this.
  
  "I was the only survivor. I was the strongest. I have tried. I carried, and dragged, and hugged, but nothing came of it. I failed them all. I saw the life drain from each of my brothers and sisters and I vowed to survive. Their deaths gave me strength, as if their departed souls had joined mine. I hope they did. I still believe. I believe they are still with me. I survived a Russian prison. I outlasted Matt Drake," he managed a weak smile, "and got him out of there."
  
  "How did you manage to return to the village?" Kinimaka wanted to know. Hayden and Dahl looked at him warily, but it was also clear that Yorgi needed to talk.
  
  "I wore their clothes," he hissed in a painfully low voice. "Shirts. Jackets. Socks. I was warm and left them all alone in the snow and ice and I made it to the road."
  
  Hayden couldn't imagine the heartache, the perceived guilt that shouldn't have been his.
  
  "A car passing by helped me. I told them the story, returned to the village a few days later," he took a deep breath, "and let them see the ghost of the grief they had caused. Let them see and feel how deep his anger was. So yes, I killed my parents in cold blood."
  
  There was a silence that should never be broken. Hayden knew that the bodies of Yorga's siblings lay where they had fallen right now, frozen forever, never to rest.
  
  "I became a thief." Yorgi weakened the heartbreaking resonance. "And was later caught. But he was never convicted of murder. And here we are."
  
  The pilot's voice came over the air. "Thirty minutes to Chinese airspace, guys, and then it"s anyone"s guess."
  
  Hayden was pleased when Lauren called the Washington think tank at this point. The only way to move forward was through distraction.
  
  "We are close to the goal," she told Way when we met. "Anything new?"
  
  "We are working on the four corners, references to the birth dates of the horsemen, Mongolia, the Khagan and the Order itself, what do you want first?"
  
  
  CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
  
  "Oooh," Alicia said excitedly, playing the part. "Let's listen to what date of birth numbers are. I just love crunching numbers."
  
  "Cool. It's nice to hear that from a field infantryman." The voice continued happily, raising a few eyebrows in the salon, but blissfully unaware: "So, Hannibal was born in 247 BC, died around 183 BC. Genghis Khan 1162, died 1227-"
  
  "That"s too many numbers," Alicia said.
  
  "The problem is," Dahl said. "You"re out of fingers and toes."
  
  "Not sure what that means," the computer scientist continued. "But these crazy cults really love their number games and codes. Keep that in mind."
  
  "So Hannibal was born 1,400 years before Genghis," Kensi said. "We understand that."
  
  "You'd be surprised at the number of shitheads who don't do this," the nerd said casually. "Anyway-"
  
  "Hey buddy?" Drake quickly interrupted: "Have you ever been punched in the face?"
  
  "Well, actually, yes. Yes, I have."
  
  Drake leaned back in his chair. "Okay," he said. "Now you can keep fucking."
  
  "We, of course, cannot work with these figures yet, since we do not know the other riders. Although I'm guessing even you guys can figure out the fourth one? No? No takers? Well. So, at the moment, guys, there is a huge amount of firepower being sent to the Mongolian Republic. Seven, or is it still six? Yes, six teams of elite soldiers representing six countries are pursuing the Horseman of Conquest. I'm right? Hooray!"
  
  Drake stared at Hayden. "Is this guy the best representative in Washington?"
  
  Hayden shrugged. "Well, at least he doesn't hide his emotions. Not hidden under many folds of a deceptive cloak like most of Washington."
  
  "Forward to the horseman of conquest. Obviously the Order has its own agenda, so conquest could be anything from a children's toy to a video game... ha ha. World domination can come in many forms, am I right?"
  
  "Just continue with the instruction," Hayden said.
  
  "Of course of course. So let's get straight to the point, shall we? Although the Israelis were strangely reluctant to give us any information about the Nazi war crime cult they destroyed in Cuba, we learned what we needed to know. Once the dust settled, the Nazis clearly decided that they had messed up and came up with this elaborate idea to control the world. They created the Order, along with a coat of arms, secret codes, symbols and much more. They developed a plan - quite possibly the one they had been working on for years under the Reich. They buried four types of weapons and came up with this puzzle. Maybe they wanted to make it more obscure, who knows? But the Mossad destroyed them without a trace and, it seems to me, too quickly. The hidden bunker remained undiscovered for thirty years."
  
  "Fifteen minutes," the pilot answered laconically.
  
  "Is this a weapon?" Hayden asked. "Where did they get them?"
  
  "Well, the Nazis had about as many connections as anyone could have. The Big Pistol is an old design updated for space and accuracy. They could absolutely lay their hands on anything from the forties to the eighties. Money was never an obstacle, but movement was. And trust. They wouldn't trust a single living soul to do this for them. It probably took the little sneaks years to hide all four weapons and several dozen services. Trust factors are also one of the reasons they hid the guns in the first place. They couldn't keep them in Cuba now, could they?" The Washington man burst out laughing, then somehow managed to sober up.
  
  Alicia rolled her eyes and clasped both her hands together as if they could wrap around someone's skinny neck.
  
  "Anyway, are you guys still with me? I understand time is short and you're itching to get out in the dirt and shoot something, but I have a little more information. Just came in..."
  
  Pause.
  
  "Now this is interesting."
  
  More silence.
  
  "Would you like to share?" Hayden nudged the man, looking at the solid side of the helicopter as if she could see their landing point approaching.
  
  "Well, I was going to talk about the four sides of the earth-or at least how we see it-but I see we're running out of time. Look, give me a high five, but whatever you do," he paused, "don"t land!"
  
  The connection was abruptly interrupted. Hayden stared first at the floor and then at the inside of the helicopter.
  
  Drake raised both hands up. "Do not look at me. I am not guilty!"
  
  Alicia laughed. "Yes, me too."
  
  "Don"t land?" Dahl repeated. "What the hell does that mean?"
  
  Alicia cleared her throat as if to explain, but then the pilot's voice barked from the speakers. "Two minutes, guys."
  
  Hayden turned to an old believer for help. "Mano?" - I asked.
  
  "He's an ass, but still on our side," rumbled the big Hawaiian. "I would say take his word for it."
  
  "It"s better to decide quickly," Smith interjected. "We're going down."
  
  The communication system instantly came to life. "What did I say? Don't land! "
  
  Drake stood up and turned on the helicopter's intercom. "Fuck off, buddy," he said. "New intelligence on the way."
  
  "But we are inside Chinese airspace. There is no telling how long it will be before they notice us."
  
  "Do what you can, but don"t land."
  
  "Hey buddy, I was told this would be a quick arrival and departure mission. No bullshit. You can be sure if we stay here longer than a few minutes, we'll have a couple of J-20s up our ass."
  
  Alicia leaned toward Drake and whispered, "This is bad-"
  
  The Yorkshireman interrupted her, seeing the urgency of the situation. "Well, obviously the Knobend from Washington can hear us even when the connection is down," he said, looking pointedly at Dahl. "Did you hear that, Nobend? We have about sixty seconds."
  
  "It will take longer," the man replied. "Be brave, people. We are on this case."
  
  Drake felt his fists clench. This condescending behavior only provoked confrontation. Maybe that was the intention? Ever since they found Hannibal's grave, Drake had felt that something was wrong with this mission. Something unrevealed. Have they been tested? Were they under surveillance? Did the US government evaluate their actions? If so, then it all came down to what happened in Peru. And if that's the case, Drake wasn't overly concerned about their performance.
  
  He worried about the conspiracies, intrigues and intrigues that listeners might cook up after the review. Any country ruled by politicians was never what it seemed, and only those behind the people in power knew what was really going on.
  
  "Fifty seconds," he said out loud. "Then we'll get out of here."
  
  "We"re trying to do a stunt," the pilot told them. "We are already so low that you could step out of the door onto a tree, but I am hiding the bird in a mountain valley. If you hear something scraping along the bottom, it will either be a rock or a yeti."
  
  Alicia swallowed loudly. "I thought they hung out all over Tibet?"
  
  Dahl shrugged. "Vacation. Road trip. Who knows?"
  
  Finally, the connection came back to life. "Okay, people. Are we still alive? Good good. Great job. Now... remember all the controversy regarding Genghis Khan's resting place? He personally wanted an unmarked grave. Everyone who built his tomb was killed. The burial site was trampled by horses and planted with trees. Literally, it is unattainable except by chance. One story that I find touching because it so simply demolishes all these crazy schemes is that Kahn was buried with a young camel - and the location was pinpointed when the camel's mother was found crying at the grave of her calf."
  
  The pilot abruptly cut off communication. "We're almost at the point of no return, buddy. Thirty seconds and we"ll either get out of here as fast as we can like it"s on fire, or we"ll send the kids there."
  
  "Oh," said the man from Washington. "Forgot about you. Yeah, get out of there. I will send you a new location."
  
  Drake winced, sharing the pilot"s pain, but blurted out in response: "Jesus, dude. Are you trying to get us captured or killed?"
  
  He was only partly joking.
  
  "Hey Hey. Calm down. Look - these Nazis - the Order of the Last Judgment - were looking for the Horsemen - the resting place - between the fifties and the eighties, right? Apparently they found them all. Something tells me they didn't find Genghis Khan's tomb. I truly believe that more could be said about such a find. Then follows the Order itself and the words: 'But everything is not as it seems. We visited the Khagan in 1960, five years after the completion, placing the Conquest in his coffin.' Surely Kahn did not have any tomb built in 1955. But, largely due to the lack of a tomb, and also to help believers and increase tourist flow, China built a mausoleum for him."
  
  "Is this in China?" Hayden asked.
  
  "Of course, this is in China. You're thinking about this whole four corners thing, aren't you? Okay, keep your gray matter active. Perhaps one day there will even be a job for you here."
  
  Hayden swallowed a strangled sound. "Just explain your theory."
  
  "Right, cool. The Mausoleum of Genghis Khan was built in 1954. This is a large temple built along a river in Ejin Horo, in southwestern Inner Mongolia. Now the mausoleum is actually a cenotaph - there is no body in it. But they say that it contains a headdress and other items that belonged to Genghis. Chinggis, who has always been associated with the idea of a mausoleum rather than the famous tomb and gravestone, was originally worshiped in the eight white yurts, tent palaces where he originally lived. These portable mausoleums were protected by the Darkhad kings of the Jin and later became a symbol of the Mongol nation. In the end, it was decided to abolish the portable mausoleums and transfer the ancient relics to a new, permanent one. The schedule fits perfectly with the Order's plan. Whatever weapon they choose to conquer is inside Genghis"s coffin, in that mausoleum."
  
  Hayden weighed his words. "Damn dumbass," she said. "If you're wrong..."
  
  "Cur?"
  
  "This is the best you can get."
  
  "The Order had access," Dahl said. "This explains the line in the text."
  
  Hayden nodded slowly. "How far are we from land?"
  
  "Twenty-seven minutes."
  
  "What about the other teams?"
  
  "I'm afraid there's no way to tell if they're as smart as yours truly. They probably have a high-tech specialist advising them." Pause to express gratitude.
  
  "Damn mongrel," Alicia growled.
  
  "No". Hayden controlled her anger. "I meant-what's the latest on internal chatter?"
  
  "Oh, exactly. The chatter is loud and proud. Some teams got their asses kicked by management. Some were tasked with excavating around Hannibal's site again. I know that the Russians and Swedes were heading to Burkhan Khaldun, just like you initially. The Mossad and the Chinese are pretty quiet. French people? Well, who knows, right?"
  
  "You better be right about this," Hayden said, his voice laced with venom. "Because if you don't... the world will suffer."
  
  "Just get to this mausoleum, Miss Jay. But do it quickly. Other teams may already be there."
  
  
  CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
  
  "Ejin Horo Banner," the pilot said, still nervous. "Eight minutes left."
  
  Arrangements were made for the team to disembark outside the city and begin the trek. A local archaeologist was hired to help them, who was supposed to take them to the mausoleum. Drake guessed that she had no idea what was likely to happen then.
  
  To this end, the helicopter would remain hot and ready, despite the pilot's ongoing concerns about Chinese stealth fighter jets.
  
  A blow and a curse, and then the helicopter stopped, giving the team time to jump. They found themselves among thickets of bushes, thickets of dying forest, but they could easily see the way forward.
  
  About a mile down the hill lies the outskirts of a large city. Hayden programmed her sat nav to the correct coordinates and the team then made themselves as presentable as possible. The Chinese needed tourists, so today they got nine more. Lauren was convinced to stay with the helicopter and sort out the ongoing chatter.
  
  "Next time," she called as the team hurried to leave, "Alicia can do some networking."
  
  The Englishwoman snorted. "Do I look like a damn secretary?"
  
  "Mmm, really?"
  
  Drake nudged Alicia and whispered, "Well, you did that last week, remember? For role play?"
  
  "Oh yeah," she smiled brightly, "it was fun. I doubt Lauren's role will be the same."
  
  "Let's hope not."
  
  The two exchanged a warm smile as they emerged from their makeshift shelter and headed down the slowly creeping hill. Sparse vegetation and desert soon gave way to roads and buildings, and several high-rise hotels and office buildings began to loom in the distance. Reds, greens and pastels fought against blue skies and pale clouds. Drake was immediately struck by how clean the streets and the city itself were, how wide some of the highways were. Proof for the future, they said.
  
  Looking strange at first, but unable to help themselves, the tourists headed towards the meeting point, making sure their hands never left their oversized backpacks. The archaeologist greeted them in the shadow of a large black statue of a man riding a horse.
  
  "Fits". Dahl nodded at the rider.
  
  In front of them stood a thin, tall woman with combed-back hair and a direct gaze. "Are you part of a tour group?" She spoke carefully, choosing her words. "Sorry for my English. This is not good". She laughed, her little face scrunching up.
  
  "No problem," Dahl said quickly. "It"s more clear than Drake"s version."
  
  "Funny fu-"
  
  "You don"t look like tourists," the woman said, stopping him. "Do you have experience?"
  
  "Oh, yes," said Dahl, taking her hand and leading her with a magnanimous gesture. "We travel the world in search of new attractions and cities."
  
  "Wrong way," the woman said rather kindly. "The mausoleum is on the other side."
  
  "Oh".
  
  Drake laughed. "Forgive him," he said. "Usually he just carries luggage."
  
  The woman walked in front, straightening her back, with straight hair gathered into a tight headband. The team spread out as best they could, again not wanting to cause a stir or leave behind any lasting memories. Dahl found out that the woman's name was Altan and that she was born nearby, left China in her youth, and then returned just two years ago. She led them directly and politely and soon showed that they were approaching their goal.
  
  Drake saw the top of the mausoleum towering ahead, statues, steps and other iconic elements around. Death can lurk anywhere. Working together, the team slowed the woman down as they checked for other teams and other soldiers, all the while pretending to admire the view. Smith peering behind trash cans and benches might have worried Altan, but Drake's description of his 'very limited edition' only heightened her curiosity.
  
  "Is he special?"
  
  "Oh yes, he is one of one."
  
  "I can hear you through the fucking connection," Smith growled.
  
  "How?"
  
  "In terms of cars, this is the Pagani Huayra Hermes edition, designed for Manny Koshbin by Pagani and Hermes."
  
  "I'm sorry. I don't know what all this means."
  
  "It's clear". Drake sighed. "Smith is one of a kind. But tell me about your favorite hobby."
  
  "I really enjoy hiking. There are some beautiful places in the desert."
  
  "In camping terms, think of Smith as a wobbly tent pole. The one that constantly gets you in trouble, but still works well once you shape it, and always, but always, manages to piss you off."
  
  Smith muttered something over the comms, having completed his reconnaissance. Lauren went into an uncontrollable fit of giggles.
  
  Altan looked at the Yorkshireman suspiciously, and then turned her gaze to the rest of the team. Mai, in particular, avoided this woman, as if she was trying to hide her own origins. Drake understood what others couldn't. One thing led to another, and Mai didn't want to discuss where she came from or how she ended up here. Altan pointed to several steps.
  
  "In that direction. The mausoleum is up there."
  
  Drake saw an incredibly wide and incredibly long concrete path leading directly to long and steep concrete steps. Just before the steps began, the path widened into a huge circle, in the center of which stood the unmistakable statue.
  
  "Well, this dude was definitely a rider," Kinimaka noted.
  
  Genghis Khan, riding a galloping horse, stood on a huge stone slab.
  
  "The second horseman," said Yorgi. "Conquest".
  
  Altan must have heard the last sentence because she turned and said, "Yes. The Khagan conquered most of the known world before his death. Arguably a genocidal king, he also politically unified the Silk Road during his lifetime, increasing trade and communications throughout the western hemisphere. He was a bloody, terrible leader, but he treated his loyal soldiers well and included them in all his plans."
  
  "Could you tell us a little about what is in the mausoleum?" Drake wanted to be prepared. On these missions, speed was everything.
  
  "Well, it"s nothing more than a rectangular cemetery, decorated with external decorations." Now Altan spoke as if she was quoting a tourist guide. "The main palace is octagonal and contains a five-meter statue of Genghis made of white jade. There are four rooms and two halls, which look like three yurts. There are seven coffins in the Palace of Repose. Kang, three consorts, his fourth son and that son"s wife."
  
  "A holiday palace," Smith said. "Also sounds like a resting place."
  
  "Yeees". Altan pulled it out, looking patiently at Smith and knowing nothing about the text they were following.
  
  "The mausoleum is guarded by darkhads, privileged ones. This is extremely sacred to many Mongolians."
  
  Drake let out a deep, excited sigh. If they were wrong, and this was not the location of the second weapon... He was afraid to even imagine the consequences.
  
  Life in a Chinese prison would be the least of their problems.
  
  The long walk continued, first a pilgrimage along the vast path, then the dissection of the sphere, a quick glance at the face of the ancient general, and then an endless climb up the stone steps. The team remained in position, rarely breaking stride, and remained constantly vigilant. Drake was glad to see relatively few visitors to the mausoleum today, which was very helpful.
  
  The impressive structure finally came into view. The team stopped when they reached the top step to take it all in. Altan waited, probably accustomed to tourists caught in moments of awe. Drake saw a huge building with relatively small domes at each end and a much larger one in the middle. Their roofs were bronze, with patterns. The front of the building had many red windows and at least three large entrances. There was a low stone wall in front of the building.
  
  Altan walked ahead. Dahl looked back at the team.
  
  "Straight into the grave," Hayden said. "Open this, find the box and get out. Luckily there is no body to fight with. As our pilot says, no bullshit."
  
  Drake listened as Lauren shared the latest on the chatter.
  
  "I have a big, fat zero here now, guys. I am absolutely sure that the Israelis and Russians are out of their minds, the text pointed the wrong way. DC thinks the French are approaching, maybe half an hour behind you. Listening is becoming much more difficult now. We have other resources and just a few tricks that the NSA will never reveal. Swedes, Chinese and British are unknown. Like I said, it's a struggle."
  
  "Anyone else?" Drake nudged.
  
  "Funny you should mention that. I'm receiving ghostly interference from an unknown source. There are no votes, no way to confirm, but sometimes it seems like there is someone else in the system."
  
  "Don't mention ghosts," Alicia said. "We had enough horror stories on the last operation."
  
  Altan stopped and turned around. "Are you ready? I"ll take you inside."
  
  The group nodded and moved forward. And then Drake saw Chinese soldiers leaving the mausoleum, one of them holding a large box under his arm, among them were archaeologists.
  
  The Chinese took weapons with them, and now the absence of tourists was clearly to their advantage.
  
  It only took a moment before their leader turned his attention to them.
  
  
  CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  
  
  Drake saw Dal grab Altan and pull her back, taking a long leap down the steps until they were protected by Chinese soldiers. He threw his backpack on the ground and quickly unzipped the outer pocket. Working quickly and never looking at the Chinese, he nevertheless felt safe. Hayden, Smith and May were armed with pistols.
  
  On the square in front of the mausoleum of Genghis Khan, weapons were raised and rivals clashed. The man carrying the box looked worried. The Chinese team consisted of five people and was already pushing the thoughtful archaeologists aside. Drake raised his small submachine gun and waited. The rest of the team was spread out on his side.
  
  "All we need is a box," Hayden shouted. "Put it on the ground and leave."
  
  The leader of the Chinese team had eyes the color of gray slate. "It is you who must go your own way while you still have the chance."
  
  "We want a box," Hayden repeated. "And we'll take it."
  
  "Then try it." The presenter translated, and all five Chinese moved forward synchronously.
  
  "Wow. We're on the same damn side."
  
  "Oh, just a joke. Funny. America and China will never be on the same side."
  
  "Maybe not," Drake spoke up. "But we are soldiers fighting for the people. "
  
  He saw the uncertainty in the leader's gait, the slight uncertainty on his face. It must have affected them all because the Chinese team stopped completely. Hayden lowered her weapon and closed the gap even further.
  
  "Can"t we find some common ground?"
  
  Nod. "Yes, we could. But government and political leaders, terrorists and tyrants will always stand in our way."
  
  Drake saw the sadness on the man's face and the absolute faith in his own words. Not a gun or barrel was raised as the rival teams clashed fiercely. It was all for the sake of respect.
  
  Drake stood up, left his submachine gun in his backpack, and met the attack head-on. Fists connected at his chest and raised arms. The knee cut hard into his ribs. Drake felt the air rush out of his body and fell to one knee. The attack was merciless, knees and fists striking hard and raining down, the ferocity calculated to give him no chance of retribution or relief. He endured the pain and bided his time. Other scenes flashed by as he twisted and turned over. Alicia struggled with the tall man; Hayden and Kinimaka fought the leader. Mai sent her opponent over her shoulder and then hit him painfully in the sternum.
  
  Drake saw an opportunity and took it. Behind him he heard Thorsten Dahl appear as usual, jumping over the top of the stairs; a noticeable presence that cannot be ignored. Drake's attacker paused for just a moment.
  
  The former SAS soldier scrambled along the ground, swinging his legs and catching his opponent behind the knee. He fell forward, falling to his knees. As he fell to Drake's level, the Yorkshireman unleashed a powerful header. The scream and widened eyes showed just how hard he hit. The Chinese commando staggered and leaned on one hand. Drake got up and returned the favor in full with knees and head pokes. There were some bruises and some blood, but nothing life-threatening.
  
  Dahl rushed past, targeting Alicia's opponent. The Swede struck like a bull just as Alicia struck. Her attacker was knocked off his feet and struck hard in the back of the neck, shuddering and stunned. They turned around just in time to see Mai knocking her opponent unconscious and then finding a man with a box.
  
  "Hello!" Alicia cried when he saw them and started running.
  
  They started to run, but Smith and Yorgi had already left the battle. "See?" Alicia said. "Our strength is in numbers. I knew there was a reason we suffered so much on this damn team."
  
  Ahead, Kenzi blocked the man's only other route - back to the mausoleum. Now with a grim look and a submissive posture, he took out the weapon that he had previously kept.
  
  Drake checked the area and saw that Hayden had finally subdued the leader of the group.
  
  "Do not do that!" - he shouted to the man. "You're outnumbered, buddy."
  
  Hayden looked up, assessed the situation, and then wiped the blood from her cheek. Drake now saw Altan sneaking back up the steps to take a look and sighed to himself. Curiosity...
  
  The gun remained motionless, the box was still held tightly, almost in a death grip. Hayden stood up and raised his hand, palm facing out. A tall incense burner stood between her and the man, but she moved until she was in sight.
  
  Kenzi advanced from the rear. Smith and Kinimaka from the side. There was no sign of panic in the soldier's eyes, only resignation.
  
  "Nobody died." Hayden pointed to the unconscious and groaning Chinese soldiers. "Nobody is obliged. Just leave the box."
  
  Alicia caught his attention. "And if you need a slap, just to make it look good," she said. "I'm here".
  
  The soldier's mentality did not include surrender. And this guy had nowhere to go, no escape route.
  
  "The gun," said Drake, "is a false hope. You know it is."
  
  The comment hit the target, the hand with the pistol trembled for the first time. The heavy silence stretched on, and Drake noticed that a couple of the defeated men began to stir. "You gotta decide, buddy," he said. "The clock is ticking."
  
  Almost immediately the man pulled out a pistol and started running. He aimed at Hayden, and then, once next to the incense burner, he slammed his hand on the lid, hoping to knock it over on her. A thud and a groan were his only reward as the object was securely fastened, but he continued to run.
  
  Hayden waited, keeping his attention.
  
  Alicia charged from his blind side, dove, and grabbed him around the waist in a rugby grip. The man bent over, almost breaking in half, his head hit Alicia's shoulder, and the box flew to the side. Hayden tried to grab him, catching him before too much damage was done. A quick glance confirmed the presence of the Order's coat of arms.
  
  Alicia patted the unconscious man. "I told you I would be there for you."
  
  The team assessed. The Chinese were already moving. The French must have been close. A word from Hayden brought Lauren back to the conversation.
  
  "Bad news, guys. The French don't take their eyes off you, and the Russians don't take their eyes off them. Move!"
  
  Bullshit!
  
  Drake watched all the way back down the steps and along the straight path that led to the mausoleum. He saw people running, a team of four who almost certainly had to be French. "They're damn good," he said. "Actually, it"s been twice now that they"ve gotten to us first."
  
  "We have to go," Smith said. "They will be with us in a few minutes."
  
  "Where to go?" Alicia asked. "They blocked the only exit."
  
  Drake noticed trees on the sides and lawns in front. In fact the choice was limited.
  
  "Come on," he said. "And Lauren, send a helicopter."
  
  "On my way".
  
  "Make it quick," Smith said. "These French are on their feet."
  
  Drake rushed forward, figuring the Russians couldn't be too far behind. Unfortunately, it didn't take long before someone started shooting. So far, everything had gone well for them, they had seen the best in the relations of soldier to soldier and man to man, but the chances of such a fragile truce lasting were minimal.
  
  Let's face the facts: If these countries wanted to work together and share the rewards, the men and women in power know full well that it would be the easier path - and yet they continue to fight.
  
  He slid between the trees. The team rushed after him, Hayden clutching the ornate box containing her as-yet-unrevealed secret. Dahl hung around behind, tracking the advance of the French.
  
  "Five minutes behind us. No sign of Russians. And the Chinese are waking up. Okay, that might hold them all up a bit."
  
  "The helicopter is in ten minutes," Lauren told them.
  
  "Tell him to hurry up," Alicia said. "This guy must be hot."
  
  "I"ll pass this on."
  
  Drake took the most direct route, hoping for a good line of cover. The trees stretched in all directions, the soil was soft and loamy and smelled richly of earth. Kensi picked up a thick branch, shrugging as she ran as if to say, 'We'll have to make do with this.' First a long descent, then a sharp climb, and the route behind them disappeared. The skies were barely visible and all sounds were muffled.
  
  "I just hope there"s no one ahead of us," Dahl said.
  
  Kinimaka grunted, pressing hard. "Trust the listeners," he said, clearly harking back to his CIA days. "They're better than you think."
  
  Drake also saw that they were not here on earth, and he had a weak field sense. He scanned every horizon, confident that Dahl would do the same from behind. After four minutes they stopped briefly to listen.
  
  "Direction finding on this helicopter?" Hayden whispered to Lauren.
  
  The New Yorker could see their positions as blinking blue dots on a scanner. "Straight ahead. Keep going."
  
  Everything was quiet; they could be the only people in the world. Drake continued after a while, choosing his steps carefully. Alicia crept next to him, Hayden a step behind. The rest of the team now spread out to increase their range. The weapon was drawn and held loosely.
  
  The trees were thinning ahead. Drake stopped near the outer perimeter, checking out the terrain.
  
  "It"s a short descent to a flat field," he said. "Ideal for the shredder. Hell, even a Swede can hit a target that big."
  
  "Three minutes until the meeting," Lauren said.
  
  Hayden leaned closer to Drake. "What does it look like?"
  
  "No sign of enemies." He shrugged. "But given who we are dealing with, why should they be?"
  
  Dahl approached. "It's the same here. They are, of course, out there somewhere, but well hidden."
  
  "And you can be sure that they are heading this way," Mai said. "Why are we waiting?"
  
  Dahl looked at Drake. "Yorkshire pudding needs a break."
  
  "One day," Drake said, taking one last look at the area. "You're about to say something really amazingly funny, but until then, please just speak up when spoken to."
  
  They emerged from the tree line, moving down a sharp, grassy slope. A warm breeze greeted Drake, a pleasant feeling after the cloying thicket of trees. The entire area was empty and fenced off not far from where it ended in a strip of asphalt far ahead.
  
  "Move now," Drake said. "We can set up a perimeter on flat ground."
  
  But then the peace and emptiness in the entire area was destroyed. The SPEAR team raced down the slope while to their left the Russians poured out from where they had been hidden. Ahead of them both, sheltered by a distant grove of trees, the French also came into view.
  
  At least that was Drake's view of things. They certainly weren't wearing name tags, but their facial features and demeanor were strikingly different.
  
  At the same time, their helicopter appeared in the sky above them.
  
  "Oh shit".
  
  To his left, the Russian dropped to one knee and strapped the flare gun to his shoulder.
  
  
  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  
  
  Drake turned mid-step and opened fire. His bullets tore up the grass around the elite soldier, but did not ruin his preparations. The rocket launcher never wavered; the lever holding her remained firm. His comrades fanned out around him, returning fire. Drake suddenly found himself in a world full of dangers.
  
  The French rushed with all their might straight towards the landing helicopter. Drake, along with Dahl and Smith, kept the Russians at bay and on guard. The pilot's face was visible, focused on the landing site. Alicia and May didn't slow down at all and waved to get his attention.
  
  Bullets cut through the air.
  
  Drake hit one of the Russians with his wing, sending him to one knee. Hayden's voice boomed over the communicator.
  
  "Pilot, take evasive action! Lauren, tell him they have missiles!"
  
  Drake, Dahl and Smith battered the Russian contingent, but they remained too far away to form up properly, especially while moving. The pilot looked up, his face shocked.
  
  The RPG fired, the missile flew out with a whoosh of air and a loud bang. Drake and the others could only watch helplessly as he left a trail in the air and flew unerringly straight towards the helicopter. Severely panicked, the pilot made a sharp evasive maneuver, tilting the helicopter, but the passing missile was too fast, hit the underside and exploded in a cloud of smoke and flame. The helicopter tilted and fell, pieces falling off and being carried away beyond its flight path.
  
  It was only as he looked with disbelief, despair and dark anger that he saw where his terrible trajectory would lead.
  
  The French saw it coming and tried to disperse, but the crashed helicopter crashed to the ground among them.
  
  Drake fell to the ground, burying his head in the turf. Red and orange flames shot up and out, and black smoke billowed into the sky. The bulk of the helicopter landed on one person; he and the pilot died instantly. The main rotor blade came off and went right through the third loser, so quickly and suddenly that he knew nothing about it. Drake looked up and saw a huge piece of burning debris fall on the other. The force of the blow knocked him off his feet and threw him back a dozen steps, after which he stopped all movement.
  
  Only two Frenchmen survived; the bulk of the team was defeated in one unfortunate incident. Drake saw one of them crawling away from the raging fire with a burnt hand, and the other, staggering, approaching. Somehow the second one managed to grab the weapon and at the same time help his comrade get away.
  
  Drake swallowed his anger and continued to hold his concentration tightly. Their only means of production was destroyed. Hayden still held the free kick, but now the Russians were rushing towards them with absolutely obvious intentions. The man with the RPG was still aiming at the rubble, as if he was contemplating a second strike.
  
  Drake stood up, and the team rose with him. Moving away from the Russians towards the fire, they established a network of shelters that forced their enemies to lie low. Drake and Dahl both punched the vested men, sending them sprawling to the ground. Seething flames engulfed them as they approached, sharp pops and heavy creaks were heard from inside. Drake felt it wash over his face and then ducked behind his blind side. The remaining French were already far away, struggling with their wounds and losses, and clearly out of the conflict for the time being.
  
  Drake turned around on one knee, pressing the comm button.
  
  "The helicopter is landing," he said to confirm this to Lauren, then, "We need another means of evacuation right now."
  
  The response was muted. "On him".
  
  The team continued to retreat, increasing the distance between the flaming obstacle and the approaching enemy. Incredibly and callously, the Russian RPG fired another rocket at the already destroyed helicopter, sending more columns of flame and shrapnel into the air.
  
  Drake felt a piece of metal come off his shoulder and spun around from the impact. Dahl looked back, but the Yorkshireman nodded, "I"m fine."
  
  Alicia pointed them towards the far fence. "This road is the only option. Move, people!"
  
  Hayden leveled the box and ran. Smith and Kinimaka remained behind, maintaining fire between themselves and the Russians. Drake scanned the area ahead, always ready for new surprises and expecting the worst. The Chinese were somewhere, and the Israelis, Swedes and British were on alert.
  
  Their speed separated them from the pursuing Russians, and they reached the fence with time to spare. Alicia and May took a shortcut and then found themselves on the other side, next to a two-lane strip of asphalt that disappeared in both directions into a seeming desert. Lauren had not yet returned to them, but they left her to her own devices, knowing that DC would help.
  
  Drake wasn't filled with great confidence. He didn't blame Lauren-The New Yorker was on clean water, but nothing in this mission so far told him that the men and women sitting safe and warm in the Capitol had their backs completely covered.
  
  Alicia went for a run. It was an increasingly strange scenario. Drake knew that the Russians must have had some kind of cover. Perhaps it was on the way.
  
  "Look over there," Kenzi spoke up.
  
  About half a mile ahead, a black SUV stopped to pick up the struggling French. As they watched, the car quickly accelerated to one hundred and eighty miles per hour, loaded two operatives and sped away with a squeal.
  
  "Poor bastards," Dahl said.
  
  "We have to worry about ourselves," Smith said. "Or we'll become 'poor bastards' too."
  
  "Grumpy has a point," Alicia said, looking in all directions. "Seriously, we have nowhere to go."
  
  "Bury the box." Kinimaka pointed to a grove of trees just off the road. "Come back for this later. Or ask Lauren to send another team."
  
  Drake looked at Dahl. "Shouldn"t be too hard, huh?"
  
  "Too risky," Hayden said. "They might find it. Intercept the message. Besides, we need this information. Other teams may already be heading towards the third rider."
  
  Drake blinked. He didn't think about it. A knot of tension began to pulsate right in the middle of his forehead.
  
  "I never thought I"d be broke in fucking China," Alicia complained.
  
  "This is one of the four corners of the earth," Dahl told her. "So take comfort in this."
  
  "Oh, thanks, man. Thanks for this. Maybe I'll buy a condominium."
  
  The Russians are already on the road. Drake could see one of them yelling into the radio. Then his gaze moved past the Russians and tried to focus on something moving in the distance.
  
  "Maybe this is their vehicle," Dahl said, running and looking back at the same time.
  
  Yorgi laughed, his eyes eagle-like. "I hope so. And ten years ago you might have been right."
  
  Drake narrowed his eyes. "Hey, it's a bus."
  
  "Keep running," Hayden said. "Try not to look interested."
  
  Alicia laughed. "Now you've done it. I can't stop watching. Have you ever done this? You know you shouldn't stare at someone and find that you can't fucking look away?"
  
  "I get it all the time," Dahl said. "Naturally".
  
  "Well, a Muppet dressed in leather is a rare sight," Drake interjected.
  
  The bus was bright yellow and modern and rushed past the Russians without slowing down. Drake appreciated its speed, driver and passengers, but knew they had no choice. They were a good few miles from any major city. As the bus approached and the Russians stared at it, the SPEAR team blocked the road.
  
  "Slow down," Alicia mouthed.
  
  Smith laughed abruptly. "This is not Kansas. He won't understand you."
  
  "Then a universal language." Alicia raised her weapon despite Hayden's glare.
  
  "Faster," said Dahl. "Before he jumps to radio."
  
  The bus slowed and swerved slightly, the wide front end sliding offside. The Russians had already fled. Drake pushed the door open, motioning for the driver to open it. The man's face was frightened, his eyes wide and darting between the soldiers and his passengers. Drake waited until the door opened and then stepped forward, holding out his hand.
  
  "We just want to go for a ride," he said as calmingly as he could.
  
  The team took the middle of the bus. Dahl was the last to jump up and patted the driver on the hand.
  
  "Forward!" He pointed down the road.
  
  The Russians were no more than a hundred yards behind, guns raised as the driver pressed his foot to the floor. Apparently he was keeping an eye on his side mirrors. The bus began to move, the passengers jumped back. Drake held on. Alicia walked to the back of the bus to assess the chase.
  
  "They are gaining strength"
  
  Drake waved to Dahl. "Tell Keanu to hurry the hell up!"
  
  The Swede looked a little embarrassed, but talked to the bus driver. The car slowly picked up speed. Drake saw Alicia flinch and then quickly turn around, yelling at the bus passengers.
  
  "Duck down! Now!"
  
  Fearing RPG, Drake also fell. Fortunately, the bullets only hit the rear of the car, all lodged in the chassis. He sighed with relief. Obviously, the Russians were warned about civilian casualties. At least it was something.
  
  Once again, the political machinations behind each elite team's plans came to mind. Not all teams were sponsored by the state; and some leaders didn't even know what was happening. Once again his thoughts returned to the French - and the dead soldiers.
  
  They do their job.
  
  The bus pulled away from the Russians, picking up speed along the road, its entire frame trembling. Drake relaxed a little, knowing that they were heading back towards Ejin Horo in the direction they were heading. The driver negotiated a wide, sweeping turn. Drake turned around as Alicia let out a low scream from the back seat.
  
  And they saw a black helicopter that belonged to the Russians, swooping down to pick them up.
  
  Hayden's voice filled the connection. "They will not attack."
  
  Drake pursed his lips. "Fluid op. Orders are changing."
  
  "And they can still push the bus off the road," Dahl responded. "How far is it to the city?"
  
  "Eight minutes," Lauren replied.
  
  "Too long". Dahl walked down the aisle to the back of the speeding car and began explaining to passengers that they should move forward. A few moments passed and then he joined Alicia.
  
  "Hi Torsti. And I always thought back seats were just for kissing."
  
  The Swede made a strangled sound. "Are you trying to make me travel sick? I know where those lips were."
  
  Alicia blew him a kiss. "You don't know where they've been."
  
  Dahl suppressed a smile and made the sign of the cross. A Russian helicopter landed briefly as soldiers boarded, hovering over the runway. The bus covered some distance and turned between them, and Alicia and Dahl examined the air.
  
  Drake looked out for the fleeing French ahead, but doubted whether they would try to attack. They were few in number and struggling with losses. They overestimated. It would have made more sense if they had gone straight to the third clue.
  
  Still, he watched.
  
  Lauren's voice came through the communicator. "Six minutes. Do you guys have time to talk?"
  
  "About what?" Smith growled, but refrained from saying anything inflammatory.
  
  "The Third Horseman is a mystery, someone the Order threw in there to muddy the waters. Famous Indians include Mahatma Gandhi, Idira Gandhi, Deepak Chopra, but how do you find the worst person who ever lived? And he was famous." She sighed. "We're still checking. However, the think tank in Washington is still at a dead end. I told them it might not be so bad."
  
  Drake breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, my love. Not the worst thing that could happen," he said. "This should slow down other nations."
  
  "It will definitely happen. In other news, we think we've cracked the four corners of the earth."
  
  "Do you have?" Mai said. "This is good news."
  
  Drake liked her typical understatement. "Hang in there, Mai."
  
  "Yes, I don"t want to jump out of my seat with excitement," Alicia added dryly.
  
  Mai did not deign to answer. Lauren continued as if nothing had been said, "Wait a minute, guys. I was just told that the Chinese are back at it. At least two helicopters are heading in your direction."
  
  "We're on a Chinese bus," Yorgi said. "Won"t we be safe from them at least?"
  
  "It's a little naive," Kenzie said. "Governments don"t care."
  
  "Despite the over-generalization," Hayden added. "Kenzie is right. We can"t assume they won"t get on the bus."
  
  Prophetic words, Drake thought, as a black speck grew in the blue sky in front of the bus.
  
  Alicia said, "The Russians are here."
  
  It has become much more difficult.
  
  
  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
  
  Helicopters flew in front and behind. Drake watched as the Chinese bird swooped down almost to the asphalt before leveling off and heading straight for the bus.
  
  "They're forcing us to crash," he said, then pointed at the frightened driver. "No no. continue!"
  
  The bus engine roared and the tires thundered on the ground. Several people crowded in front had already started shouting. Drake knew that the Chinese would not deliberately crash a helicopter, but it was difficult to convey his knowledge to the passengers.
  
  The driver closed his eyes tightly. The bus turned.
  
  Drake cursed and pulled the man away from his perch, grabbing the steering wheel. Smith helped the man and roughly led him out into the passage. Drake jumped behind the wheel of the bus, placing his foot on the gas pedal and keeping his hands firmly on the steering wheel, keeping it in a perfectly straight line.
  
  The nose of the helicopter was pointed directly at them, the gap was quickly closing.
  
  Screams were heard from behind and to the sides. Now Smith had to restrain the driver. Drake held on.
  
  The communicator began to crackle. "Come on, my loutish Keanu," Alicia gasped. "The Russians are practically on ours-"
  
  "Bitch," Kenzi snapped back. "Stay calm. Did you look at the façade?"
  
  Alicia's squeal echoed throughout the bus.
  
  "Thoughts?" Drake asked at the last second.
  
  "This is not really a board meeting!"
  
  Drake held tightly to his faith, his experience and his rudder. Loud protests filled his ears. Bodies fall to the floor of the bus. Even Smith cringed. At the very last moment, the Chinese helicopter tilted to the right, and the Russian helicopter braked, the skids almost hitting the back of the bus. Alicia whistled and Dal cleared his throat.
  
  "I truly believe we won this round of chicken."
  
  Drake continued driving, seeing another wide sweeping turn ahead. "And the bonus is that we"re not fried or crunchy."
  
  "Stop it," Kinimaka said. "I'm already hungry."
  
  Alicia coughed. "It's just a crazy Chinese helicopter."
  
  "They're coming back," Hayden said.
  
  "You guys are approaching the outskirts of the city right now," Lauren said. "But it"s still a three-minute drive from any decent population center."
  
  Drake rushed to the communicator. "Come on, people! You have to make them afraid of it!"
  
  Kenzi walked towards the back doors, shouting, "Does anyone here have a katana?"
  
  Her words were met with blank stares, and two or three people offered their seats. The wide-eyed old man extended a trembling hand holding a bag of sweets.
  
  Kenzi sighed. Drake flicked the switch to open the doors. In an instant, the Israeli woman stuck her body out, grabbed the edge of the window, then the roof and pulled herself onto the roof of the bus. Drake drove the car as smoothly as he could, avoiding the large pothole, breathing deeply as he understood his responsibility stemming from Kensi's actions.
  
  Then, in the rearview mirror, he saw Dal jump to join her.
  
  Oh shit.
  
  With intense concentration, he kept it steady.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Dahl climbed onto the roof of the bus. Kensi extended her hand, but he nodded past her.
  
  "Faster!"
  
  The Russian helicopter gained altitude and was now diving again, this time at a three-quarter angle along the front. He could see a man hanging from each side, aiming a weapon, probably aiming at the wheels or even the driver.
  
  He immediately turned around, looking for the Chinese helicopter. It wasn't far. Diving to the left, there were also people aiming their weapons from the doors. The fact that the Chinese were not firing heavily at their own bus was initially encouraging, but was tempered by the realization that they needed the box Hayden was holding, and they needed it intact.
  
  Kensi sat on the roof of the bus, listening to the wind and movement, and spread her knees. She then raised her weapon, focusing on the helicopter. Dahl hoped that she would not even try to film it, she would simply scare off the shooters. The Russians showed no such restraint, but Kenzi desperately wanted to change.
  
  Dahl assessed the approaching helicopter. Packed to the brim, it was not just agile, but deadly. The last thing he wanted was to cause any kind of accident, let alone one that might involve hitting a bus.
  
  The front tires bounced over a pothole, eliciting an "sorry" from Drake. Dahl heard nothing else except the noise of rushing air and the roar of the helicopter. The shot bounced off the metal next to his right leg. The Swede ignored this, took aim and fired.
  
  The bullet must have hit its target because the man dropped the gun and retreated. Dahl didn't let this break his concentration and simply fired another shot through the open doorway. The helicopter turned directly towards him, quickly approaching, and this time Dahl realized that playing coward was a bad idea.
  
  He threw himself onto the roof of the bus.
  
  The helicopter screeched overhead, cutting through the space it had just left. He didn't have the maneuverability to turn toward Kensi, but he got close enough to throw her aside.
  
  To the edge of the bus roof!
  
  Dahl slipped and crawled forward, trying to reach her in time. Kenzi stopped her fall, but lost control of her weapon; however, momentum sent her flying out of the speeding bus and onto the merciless road far below.
  
  The Chinese bird tilted sharply, coming into a circle. The Russian fired overhead, the stray bullet piercing the metal near Dahl's right thigh. Kenzi's body slid off the side of the bus, and he put his entire body into one last desperate leap, arm outstretched.
  
  He managed to wrap his right hand around her twitching wrist; squeezed tightly and waited for the inevitable jerk.
  
  It came, but he held on, stretched to the limit. The shiny, smooth metal worked against him, allowing his body to slide towards the edge, Kenzi's weight pulling them both down.
  
  Screams came over the comms. The team could see Kenzi's legs darting around outside one of the side windows. Dahl held on with all his might, but with every moment his body slid closer and closer to that hard edge.
  
  There was no grip on the roof of the bus and nothing to grab onto. He could hold on, he would never let go, but he also couldn't find any support to lift her up. Drake's voice came through the communicator.
  
  "Do you want me to stop?" Loud, unsure, a little anxious.
  
  Dahl read emotions well. If they had stopped, they would have been hit hard by both the Russians and the Chinese. Nobody knows what the result will be.
  
  Lauren's voice broke. "Sorry, I just received a message that the Swedes are coming towards you. Now it's a four-way spread, people."
  
  Dahl felt the weight stretching his muscles. Every time the bus bounced, another inch of his body would slide to the edge, and Kenzi would fall a little further. He heard the Israeli's voice from somewhere below.
  
  "Let go! I can do it!"
  
  Never. They were traveling at sixty miles an hour. Kensi knew he wouldn't let her go and she didn't want them both to fall. Dahl felt even more respect for her. The heart that he knew was buried deep just rose a little closer to the surface.
  
  The sound of her boots hitting the windows made his own heart beat faster.
  
  They slid together, Kenzi down the side and Dahl along the roof of the bus. He tried to grab the rough edge that ran along the edge, but it was too small and cut his flesh. Seeing no hope, he clung to it for as long as he could, risking everything.
  
  His chest moved towards the cliff, sliding inexorably. His eyes met Kenzi's, looking up. Their exchange was wordless, expressionless, but profound.
  
  You have to let me go.
  
  Never.
  
  He pulled again, only to slip past the point of no return.
  
  Strong hands gripped both of his calves, hands that could only belong to Mano Kinimaka.
  
  "Gotcha," said the Hawaiian. "You guys are not going anywhere."
  
  The Hawaiian supported Dahl and then slowly pulled him away from his fall. Dahl held Kensi tightly. Together they slowly made their way to safety.
  
  Above, the helicopters plunged for the last time.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake knew that Kinimaka was holding his friends tightly, but he was still hesitant to turn the bus too sharply. The Russians and Chinese advanced from opposite directions, no doubt knowing that this would be their last approach.
  
  The sound of windows breaking told him that the others were not standing idle. They had a plan.
  
  From behind, Alicia, Smith, May, Hayden and Yorgi each took a window from different sides of the bus and broke it. Taking aim at the approaching helicopters, they opened heavy fire, which forced them to quickly divert to the side. The tree line ended and Drake saw buildings ahead.
  
  Road network, roundabout. Shots rang out behind him, filling the bus; black helicopters took to the sky.
  
  He sighed with relief.
  
  "We are surviving," he said. "To fight another time."
  
  Lauren interrupted. "The Swedes retreated too," she said. "But I still get a bit of a halo in the signal. Something between Washington, the field and me. This is weird. Almost as if... as if..."
  
  "What?" - I asked. Drake asked.
  
  "It"s like there"s a different set of communications going on. There's something else at play. One more..." she hesitated.
  
  "Team?" Drake finished.
  
  Hayden grumbled loudly. "This sounds ridiculous."
  
  "I know," Lauren replied. "I really do, and I'm no expert. If only Karin were here, I'm sure we'd have something better."
  
  "Can you catch any dialogue?" Hayden asked. "Even just a little?"
  
  Drake recalled an earlier mention of SEAL Team 7, heard only by Dahl and himself. It occurred to him again that all communications were being monitored.
  
  "Can we put this off for a while?" - he asked. "And can you find a better way for us to get out of here?"
  
  Lauren sounded relieved. "Of course, of course," she said. "Give me a minute."
  
  
  CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
  
  Hayden Jay waited several hours until the team was safe in a small satellite shelter in Taiwan before leaving the cramped quarters to make the call.
  
  Her goal: contact Kimberly Crowe.
  
  It took a while, but Hayden persevered. She found a quiet corner behind the house, squatted down and waited, trying to keep her head from spinning. It was difficult to find anything permanent in her life to cling to outside of the team. SPIR became her life, the meaning of her life, and, as a consequence of this, she simply had no personal connections, nothing except work. She thought back to the whirlwind of adventures they had shared together - from Odin and the Gates of Hell, to Babylon and Pandora, the nuclear explosion that had nearly destroyed New York, her old breakup with Ben Blake, and her recent breakup with Mano Kinimaka. She was strong, too strong. She didn't need to be so strong. The most recent incident with the Inca treasure in Peru has affected her both mentally and physically. Never before had she been so shocked to the core.
  
  Now she calmly reconsidered. Bridges may have been burned and it should have been great. But if she really wanted to change, if she wanted more in her life, she had to be damn sure before she took the plunge and risked hurting anyone again. Be it this Mano or someone else.
  
  I care. I really want. And next time I need to make sure that I stay true to what I ultimately want.
  
  From life. Not without work. The SPEAR team came together and did a good job, but nothing lasted forever. The time will come-
  
  "Miss Jay?" - said the robot's voice. "I'm helping you now."
  
  Hayden put it all together. The next voice on the line belonged to the Minister of Defense.
  
  "What's the problem, Agent Jay?" Laconic, quiet, detached. Crowe seemed to be on edge.
  
  Hayden took the time to figure out how to phrase her main question. She decided to bury it in shit and see what Qrow picked up on.
  
  "We came out of China and received a second box. The team is currently testing this. Reports coming soon, no doubt. There were no casualties, although there were many cuts and bruises. Not all rival teams are hostile..." She briefly wondered if Qrow would take the bait, and then continued, "Some countries are more aggressive than others. The French lost at least three. One Russian is wounded. Could there be another, more secretive team? We have heard snippets of secret American chatter, which, of course, proves nothing. The British are on our side, or so it seems, and Drake has some influence over them. Now we are at the safe house, waiting for the think tank to find out the whereabouts of the third Horseman."
  
  Now she stopped and waited.
  
  Qrow maintained her reserve. "Anything else?"
  
  "I do not believe in this". Hayden felt disappointed when her efforts came to nothing. She wondered if she should be more direct.
  
  "I'm in constant contact with people in Washington," Crowe said. "No need to keep me posted."
  
  "Oh, okay. Thank you".
  
  Hayden started signing. It was only then that Qrow sent a seemingly innocent request down the line.
  
  "Wait. You said you thought someone might be impersonating Americans? Somewhere in a field?
  
  Hayden didn't say anything like that. But of all this relevant information, Qrow only caught one thing. She forced out a laugh. "It seems so. We heard it on earth." She didn't bring Lauren into this. "Of course, we know there is no second team, so perhaps this is one of the other countries using former American special forces or even mercenaries."
  
  "A minor element of a foreign government using United States personnel?" Qrow hissed. "It could be, Agent Jay. Maybe you're right. Of course," she laughed, "there won"t be a second team."
  
  Hayden listened to more than words. "And when will we be back? What are we going back to?
  
  Qrow remained silent, which told Hayden that she knew exactly what was being asked. "One thing at a time," she finally said. "First, the so-called Riders of the Order must be found and neutralized."
  
  "Certainly". Hayden also knew that this was her last chance to talk directly to Qrow, so she decided to go a little further. "What if we hear American chatter again?"
  
  "Who am I, a field agent? Deal with it."
  
  Qrow disconnected the call, leaving Hayden to stare at her cell phone screen for several minutes, now re-evaluating not only herself, but her country's intentions.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake took the opportunity to rest while Yorgi, Mai and Kinimaka dealt with the new box. The fact that it came from Genghis Khan's mausoleum and lay among the legendary figure's personal belongings only increased the reverence with which they treated it. The clear, sickening symbol at the top proved that it had once belonged to the Order of the Last Judgment.
  
  Kinimaka studied the castle. "I'm sure the Order once had a plan to give away the keys," he said. "But life got in the way." He smiled.
  
  "Death," Mai said quietly. "Death stood in the way."
  
  "Would you like me to gracefully open it?" Yorgi asked.
  
  "Yeah, let's look at some of those thieving skills, Yogi." Alicia spoke, sitting with her back to the wall next to Drake, a bottle of water in one hand, a gun in the other.
  
  "It makes no sense". Kinimaka flicked the lock with his meaty paw. "It's not really art."
  
  Kenzi crawled over to him as Mai lifted the lid. It was a strange scenario, Drake thought, soldiers locked in a tiny room with no place to sit, no place to socialize, no place to cook. Just a mini-fridge filled with water and a few boxes of cookies. The windows were curtained, the door was secured with massive bolts. The carpet was threadbare and stank of mold, but the soldiers had experienced worse. This was enough to get some rest.
  
  Smith, who was guarding the door, let Hayden back in, entering just as May reached for the box. Drake thought the boss looked exhausted and worried, on edge. I hope she will elaborate on her conversation later.
  
  Mai shuffled from foot to foot for a few seconds before pulling her arms out. She was holding a thick stack of papers, wrapped in a thick folder and tied with a knotted piece of twine, causing some of the team members to raise their eyebrows.
  
  "Really?" Kinimaka sat back on his haunches. "Is this a weapon that could endanger the world?"
  
  "The written word," Kenzie said, "can be quite powerful."
  
  "What is this?" - I asked. Lauren asked. "All the guys from Washington are waiting for us."
  
  Time continued to work against them. As always, this was the key to staying ahead of the game and-in particular, the race. Drake saw two ways forward. "May, Hayden and Dal, why don't you find out what it is? Lauren - what do you have for the third horseman, since we need a direction in which to go?"
  
  Lauren had already told them that she would meet them at the third location. Now she sighed loudly. "Well, no one is 100 percent sure, guys. To introduce you to the picture, I am going to introduce you to their interpretation of the four cardinal directions."
  
  Drake watched May and the others frown as they made their way to the weapon of conquest. "We have time".
  
  "Well, this is really interesting. Before the discovery of the so-called New World in the sixteenth century, it was believed that the earth was divided into three parts - Europe, Asia and Africa. The division between these continents was the Hellespont, which fits perfectly into the Order's plan that you have followed so far. So Asia began beyond the Hellespont, an unknown land of exotic riches, which they called the East. Of course, later they found America, and it then became the New World, desired, unknown and full of hope. A book of emblems depicting the new four cardinal directions was published. Asia, Europe, Africa and America. It seems the Order decided to implement this ancient thinking into their map for reasons unknown - although likely because they still believed themselves to be all-powerful patriarchs hunting for relics." Lauren took a breath.
  
  "So this is the re-education of the world that happened again when they found Australia and then Antarctica?" Kenzi said.
  
  "Yes, a gradual re-education over the centuries, which some people think is still happening. But that's a completely different story. It wasn't all happiness and roses. The phrase "four corners of the earth" may have been the most controversial expression in history. In Hebrew it is translated as "extreme". In Numbers 15:38 these are boundaries; in Ezekiel - angles; and Job has the ends. This can also be translated as divisions. Clearly the Bible has left itself open to ridicule right here..."
  
  Drake understood this. "Because it assumes the world is flat?"
  
  "Yes. But the Bible describes it in the book of Isaiah, calling it a sphere. So, intentional reference. The point is that they could have used any number of words-about a dozen-to describe the angle. It is believed that the word "extreme" was used deliberately to convey, well, just that. And no Jew could ever misinterpret the true meaning, for for 2,000 years they faced the city of Jerusalem three times a day and chanted, 'Blow the great trumpet for our freedom.' Raise the banner to gather our exiles, and gather us together from the four corners of the earth in our own land."
  
  "So they didn"t just pick a phrase at random?" - Asked Smith.
  
  "No. The book of the Prophet Isaiah explains how the Messiah will gather his people from the four corners of the earth. From all over they will gather in Israel."
  
  Kensi didn't move a muscle or say a word. Drake had no idea what her religious beliefs were, if she even had any, but he knew that it would inevitably become a large part of her life nonetheless. At this point he studied her a little more as they waited for Lauren to continue. Dahl's belief that she was inherently good and would always return to her moral heart was justified to some extent. He still saw an edge to her-an edge of lawlessness-but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
  
  From time to time.
  
  But you couldn't have it both ways. And that's what he saw in Kensi - a ruthless slayer when she was needed, and a fighting soul when she wasn't. For her sake, they had to let her change.
  
  "Of course it makes sense," Kinimaka said. "First Africa, then China. So what's next?
  
  Lauren responded immediately. "Yes, we think that the meaning of the Bible was in finiteness, like Order. They made it harder for whoever came next. According to the text... well... I will read the relevant passage: 'Find the resting places of the Father of Strategy, and then the Kagan; the worst Indian that ever lived, and then the Scourge of God. But everything is not as it seems. We visited the Khagan in 1960, five years after the completion, placing the Conquest in his coffin. We have found the Scourge that guards the true Last Judgment. And the only kill code is when the Horsemen appeared. There are no identifying marks on the Father's bones. The Indian is surrounded by weapons..."
  
  Drake absorbed it. "Worst Indian that ever lived? And he's surrounded by weapons? Of course, it could be anywhere in India. This is a country surrounded by weapons."
  
  "Back when the Order hid the Riders?"
  
  Drake thought about it. "Well, yes, I think so. Anyway, what is the third horseman?"
  
  "Hunger".
  
  He took a deep breath and looked at Alicia. "It couldn't be the Furry Princess, could it?"
  
  Alicia waved her hand back and forth. "May be. I will take note of this."
  
  Drake's eyes widened. "You"re fucking impossible."
  
  "Any preferences?"
  
  "For what?"
  
  "Which princess? The girl should know, you know."
  
  He studied his shoes. "Well. I've always been partial to Cleopatra. I know she's not a princess, but..."
  
  "Queen? So even better".
  
  Lauren was still talking. "As I said earlier, guys and girls are still assessing which Indian the Order might be referring to. In truth, this is too ambiguous. I mean, even putting myself in their shoes in their time, it could have been one of a dozen."
  
  "And they are all surrounded by weapons?" - Asked Smith.
  
  "I live in India, yes. Mostly."
  
  "Well, at least we have a destination," Alicia said.
  
  Drake looked at May, Hayden and Dahl, who were sorting through the contents of the second box, Conquest.
  
  "Any progress?"
  
  Hayden moved her hand to show that they were almost there. She looked up. "This seems to be the blueprint for a doomsday scenario. Do you remember the rod effect? One small event causes another and another, each larger one?"
  
  "Chaos theory," said Dahl. "This is a weapon of conquest, and Genghis Khan was a deep thinker. With this you could conquer the whole world."
  
  Drake knocked over his water bottle.
  
  Alicia said, "A domino effect weapon?"
  
  "Exactly. How the assassination of Franz Ferdinand led to a World War I star. Potentially, this plan of increasing chaos could start World War III."
  
  "And," Drake turned off his communicator for a moment and spoke quietly, "it"s quite complicated. Who will we give it to?"
  
  Everyone stared. It was a valid question. Hayden made it clear that he shouldn't say anything more. He knew that Washington and the Secretary of Defense were already unhappy with them, and he returned to thinking about SEAL Team 7.
  
  Coincidence?
  
  Never.
  
  Hayden studied the sheets of paper for a few more minutes, then tucked them under her jacket. Addressing the entire team, she shrugged her shoulders, indicating that the decision had not yet been made and absolutely anything could happen with unsecured documents.
  
  Out loud she said, "We'll deal with this as soon as we can. Right now we need that third location. Lauren?"
  
  "I hear you. We are still waiting ".
  
  "Now wait a minute," Kensi said, the frown on her face from the last ten minutes still clear. "You people say that there are four corners of the earth, right?"
  
  "Well, the Bible mentions it," Lauren said. "And this is the order of the Last Judgment."
  
  "Well, something's wrong. Don't you see it?
  
  Drake blinked, now more confused than ever. Dahl studied Kenzi carefully.
  
  "Perhaps some explanation would help?"
  
  "Four corners? Africa, Asia, Europe and America."
  
  "Certainly. That's what they tell me."
  
  Kensi spread both her hands. "Where is India?"
  
  Hayden rose to her feet. "Damn, India is part of the Asian continent."
  
  "Which we"ve already dealt with."
  
  Lauren thought as she stood on her feet. "Which leaves only Europe and America," she said. "Hey guys, are you thinking the same thing I'm thinking?"
  
  "Perhaps," Alicia moaned. "Is your butt stiff from sitting on the lousy floor, too?"
  
  "Chicken," Kinimaka said. "But then I always think 'chicken'."
  
  "The Order is the war criminals of the forties. By the time they hid the guns, the term 'Native American' was in vogue, but they wouldn't have thought of it that way. They were born in the twenties or earlier, for God"s sake."
  
  "Red Indians?" Drake said. "From the Wild West? Damn it".
  
  "It's possible," Lauren said. "What the think tank was looking in the wrong place."
  
  "So, who was the worst person to ever live?" - asked Dahl.
  
  "Let me get back to you on this. For now, just get on the plane."
  
  Drake wasn't the only one glaring at Hayden.
  
  Back to America?
  
  Crap.
  
  Hayden, in particular, watched Smith. They had no idea what might have happened after the events in Peru, or what the authorities were thinking. The soldier, to his credit, immediately began to get up and check his backpack.
  
  Third horseman? Hunger? And America? Do our rivals know?
  
  Will she ever get a moment of peace to sort out her life?
  
  Not today, Hayden, not today. Signaling to the others to put away their communicators and turn them off, she defiantly stood in the middle of them.
  
  "We do it," she said. "And we do it right. As we should, as we always do. But guys, I have reservations. I believe," she paused, "that Crow and the American government have a second team in the game." SEAL Team 7, and apparently they're damn good. This team may not be in the game just to make sure we get all the riders."
  
  Drake frowned upon hearing this. "Sorry?"
  
  "Well, did you think there might be a second scenario? What if they are here to essentially destroy us?"
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY
  
  
  Karin Blake sat with her black boots on the table, her cell phone clutched between her neck and chin, tapping away at the keyboard with her free hands. She was wearing a ragged T-shirt and jeans, and had her hair tied back with a thick hair tie. The voice speaking into her left ear was almost drowned out by Palladino's laughter.
  
  "Shut the hell up, Dino!" she turned and shouted.
  
  "Yes Yes". The soldier turned around with a grin and then saw her face. "Good good. God, who the hell put you in charge?"
  
  Karin apologized to the speaker. "The kids are mischievous," she said. "A little more and they will find themselves outside on the unruly step."
  
  The woman laughed quietly. "Oh yeah, I bought two of these."
  
  Karin looked at the tall, muscular Dinosaur and their comrade in arms, the small, skinny Wu. Both soldiers were letting off steam, bored with being cooped up in a house in the desert for the past week, setting up various systems. What they needed was some real action.
  
  Karin asked: "And they ran away?"
  
  "Certainly. I was part of the communications unit. They assigned us to shifts. The SPEAR team took the box from the Chinese and managed to escape to Taiwan. Partly luck, partly reserve on the side of other teams, I suppose."
  
  Karin knew this was much more than just luck. There was no better team in the world today than SPEAR. She was once proud to be a part of it.
  
  "This horseman shit doesn't mean much to me," she admitted. "I'm focusing on other things. But tell me, where are they going next?"
  
  "Well, I don't know yet. It seems like India. But there seems to be some disagreement. Look, I agreed to help a little because of what happened to Palladino's poor parents and because we're on the same side, but there's a limit to what I can say."
  
  Karin felt a growing suspicion. "We don't need much more. Just this - when I call, I need to know the Drake team's position. Will it be tomorrow or in a month. You can do it?"
  
  The response was steady. "Yes, as long as I stay in the same unit. I believe."
  
  "Thank you". Karin quickly ended the conversation before any more questions could be asked. She took a moment to assess the room and see where they were. Since they took the place back from the drug dealers' nest, they've cleaned it out of everything bad, finding paraphernalia in all sorts of places, from floorboards to under the house, as well as in nooks and crannies throughout the loft space. Burning every last piece was self-indulgent. While still offline, Karin, Dino, and Wu set up computers, communications, surveillance devices, and more. If the desert house was to become their HQ, it had to be fortified, defensible, a castle in its own right.
  
  Karin thought they were almost there.
  
  A new, painful thought now occurred to her.
  
  She watched as Dino and Wu worked on the computers, connecting wires according to her own instructions and installing software, firewalls, and more. She was dynamite at this kind of thing before she started her training. Now she was much more. Yes, they were still missing a few things, but the current funds would only be enough to cover that. They needed some source of stable income.
  
  Don't ignore it. You can't push it, bury it deep.
  
  Karin knew everything about SEAL Team 7. She knew why they were there, what their goals were; their strengths and weaknesses; their agenda and final secret orders. Then, having effectively provided support, she could now warn Matt Drake.
  
  It was exciting, it was twisting, it was causing acid in her gut.
  
  Every incident they went through, the bright moments and the hard times, the days of complete madness, touched her emotions like a bird pecking at a stubborn worm. Karin had been so badly wounded once before and had given up on life, only to find it again in the most unexpected places. She was given a new purpose.
  
  Again, out of the blue, she experienced devastation when her brother and family died, and then love when Komodo fell in love with her. Perhaps that very early incident when she was so young destroyed her and set her on the path of life.
  
  Devastation.
  
  Now all she really wanted to do was destroy all the good things she had. If something was going right, she wanted it to fail. If something great was coming her way, she would make sure it fell apart with prejudice.
  
  If the new team began to flourish, to grow closer, it would tear it apart.
  
  Self-destruction was not a new way of life for Karin Blake. This is my chosen lifestyle. My cozy blanket. She always wondered if it would come full circle, right around and back to this.
  
  And so she sat, relaxed, with information that even the SPEAR team lacked as they crossed the four cardinal points in their attempts to obtain the four nightmare weapons. The intersection stood wide open at her door.
  
  One path led to eventual redemption, to friends, camaraderie and life's pain.
  
  Another path would destroy all this history, all this uncertain future, and give her everything she needed: chaos.
  
  Karin gathered her things and went out onto the porch. The desert air was dry, mixed with dust. A bright ball flashed high in the sky. Somewhere far away, a super-elite US special forces unit called SEAL Team 7 was pursuing her old comrades - Matt Drake and Alicia Miles, Torsten Dahl and May Kitano and others - with the intent to kill.
  
  Karin thought about warning them.
  
  Then she stuck her head back through the door. "Hey losers, get your asses off. We have places to go and people to see. Tyler Webb's secret stash won't stay hidden forever."
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
  
  Karin rode shotgun, watching Dino as he carefully steered their Dodge Ram through the twisting snakes that formed the highways and back streets of Los Angeles.
  
  "Keep your course," she said as the young soldier passed the red roadster. "Do you remember that we are being hunted?"
  
  Dino grinned at her with immature glee. "Just happy to get out of the house, mom. Either way, you should know that I'm better than you. Better in every way."
  
  "So you keep talking."
  
  "The army won't let us go," Wu said. "Every time we go to the surface, we are vulnerable."
  
  "Lower your tone, Mr. Misery. God, you two could do double duty."
  
  "Let's see how happy you will be when they connect your nuts to the car battery."
  
  "Don't be an ass, Wu. This is the army, not the CIA."
  
  Karin enjoyed the constant panoramic views on either side of the car; Los Angeles in all its glory. A moment to relax and not think about anything. Thick greenery and concrete giants competed for supremacy, and behind them were metal skyscrapers that sparkled under the scorching sun. A light smog hung at cloud level, darkening the day, but it was barely noticeable. People came and went, barely noticeable on the sidewalks and in shopping centers, zipping back and forth in their cars. The Hollywood Hills passed slowly to the right, unnoticed, because at that moment Dino noticed a black and white patrol car entering the fast lane and he slowed down like the good boy he was, keeping his eyes on the road, focusing straight ahead.
  
  If you weren't looking at them, they wouldn't notice you.
  
  Eventually the coast road opened and they were on their way to San Francisco.
  
  "Better than the desert." Wu studied the sparkling, rolling waves.
  
  Karin analyzed the task ahead. They didn't waste their time at headquarters. First, they installed computers, two top-of-the-line Macs with as many special toys as they could afford. The fiber optic cable was the trickiest part, but once they figured that out and Karin installed a bunch of firewalls, they were ready to go. Even then, even with Karin at the keyboard and using her genius intellect, they didn't have the potential for crazy hacking. They were limited, forced to use ingenuity.
  
  Karin knew about Tyler Webb's countless secret bank accounts. She watched them when she worked for SPIR. She was aware of what some called his legacy; about the few secrets he had on her old team. And she was aware of a huge hiding place; something that the world's richest, most prolific stalker had amassed against hundreds of people, again including members of her old team.
  
  Most believed that since Webb was dead, they could find him at their leisure.
  
  The problem was that Karin had no such thoughts. Access to the hiding place would give her untold power-and in the end of all things, power was where it all was. The three of them could move on from there; gaining money, anonymity, security and influence. Of course, if there were hundreds of people looking for Webb's stash, it would be especially difficult to steal.
  
  Right now no one knew where it was.
  
  Except Karin Blake.
  
  At least that's what she thought. The next few hours will tell. The insider information was very helpful. She knew all about Nicholas Bell and how the whistleblower, sitting in his prison cell, told everything - names, places, personalities, the whole rotten cesspool. She knew how much Lauren Fox loved visiting. She knew people who listened and talked to Lauren Fox.
  
  Well, she knew them, they didn't necessarily know her.
  
  She may have been a little late to the party-Karin's army training and subsequent departure took some time-but she made up for it with a little top-notch hacking talent. Bell's conversations were bugged. Smith seemed to have the guts to regularly receive a copy of these conversations - naughty boy - and treat them as he wanted. Who knew what the hot-tempered, easily angered soldier did to them? Defended national security, obviously.
  
  The point was that Karin could hack into the line that led directly to Smith's network. It was a relatively easy job for her. She took the time to collect rich loot. Tyler Webb once owned countless offices, houses, penthouses and even an island around the world. Place names that resonated with her included Washington, D.C., Niagara and Monte Carlo. Bell spoke to Lauren, but he also spoke to security guards and lawyers, and Smith's notes included snippets from all of them.
  
  Smith doesn't have a bright future, she thought.
  
  No matter how you slice it, the Peruvian incident-or incidents-plunged the SPEAR team into a world of misery.
  
  Karin changed her position as a sign flashed past saying they were 130 miles from San Francisco. Bell became quite eloquent with Lauren - over and over again stating facts that were probably correct, naming names, places, bank accounts. For now, Karin didn't dare use any of the accounts, fearing that the authorities might quietly spy on them to see who showed up. First they needed a reliable plan of action and escape.
  
  Hence the trip to San Francisco.
  
  When pressed, Bell described how Webb sometimes bragged about what he knew. This man was a ritual stalker, a wealthy shadow with the resources to expose, hurt, and possess almost any person in the world if he wanted to. Webb always offered Bell tidbits, setting him up, but also hinted at what he called the "mother lode."
  
  This 'mother vein' turned out to be a special office where the megalomaniac kept all the dirt he had ever collected on anyone. Of course, he never told Bell where it was.
  
  Karin thought about it all, though. She had the exceptional advantage of being able to see it all from the inside. And she remembered the moments when Webb stole information from most of the team and visited them secretly. Her eidetic memory took over right there. Of course, it was not easy, but Karin knew that Webb was then working in a well-known office in Washington and had managed to trace the correspondence, which was now recorded.
  
  Large files were sent to a specific San Francisco address half a dozen times. Further investigations revealed that other large files were obtained from other known offices. Thus, while authorities dug through the thick data, Karin was able to determine exactly what she needed.
  
  Dino led them through the traffic, through the Golden Gate and past Fisherman's Wharf. Tourists swarmed the area with cameras at the ready, venturing out onto the roads without much care for themselves. Dino blended into the traffic, giving the cops no reason to notice them. The steep hill led them further into the city, and soon they were circling Union Square, passing banks and pharmacies, ships and restaurants, in their most difficult endeavor to date: finding a good parking spot.
  
  "Just leave it here." Wu pointed to a small space near Walgreens. "The address is a five-minute walk from here."
  
  "Five minutes?" Karin said. "It could have been forever if Webb had left any contingencies."
  
  "Plus," Dino said as he slowly approached his destination, "it"s a Dodge Ram." I would have a hard time parking my ass in that spot."
  
  "Do you want me to do this? I can drive."
  
  "Oh, really? Well, of course, Toretto. Let's see how you handle-"
  
  "Children," Karin breathed. "Shut the fuck up. See over there?"
  
  "We need good access for a quick escape. We need quick access. We need..." Dino paused. "Damn, we're going to need a garage for a long time, aren't we?"
  
  Karin nodded. "Right here. If necessary, we will lie low for a while; we can always leave here another day when the dust settles."
  
  "Damn, I hope not," Wu muttered. "Spending enough time with you two these days."
  
  "This is problem?" Karin thought while Dino drove the Ram to the underground parking.
  
  "Well, testosterone is a little high. You two compete like siblings all the time. It gets a little tiring at times."
  
  "We? Compete?" Karin looked at Dino angrily. "Really us?"
  
  The young soldier laughed loudly. "Only because you don"t want to admit that I"m better than you."
  
  "I don't see it." Karin looked him over critically, then turned to Wu. "Do you see this?"
  
  "Let me put it this way. If you two ever get completely drunk and decide to mate, you'll have to do it standing up because you'll both want to be on top."
  
  Karin laughed hoarsely as Dino finally found a spot to his liking. "Drunk as hell? Damn, there just isn't enough alcohol in the world for that to happen, Woo."
  
  Dino took out the keys and opened the door. "It's time to focus. All this mating nonsense doesn"t help."
  
  "You don"t like girls, Dino?" Karin joined the two men standing in front. "There is a zoo in San Francisco. We can always take you there after we"re done."
  
  Dino ignored her, took out his mobile phone and waited for the address they needed to load. "Three minutes," he said. "We are ready?"
  
  Karin tucked her shoulders into her backpack. "Like hell."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  It was a high-rise office building, and Webb's office was on the thirty-fifth floor. Karin thought that this was unusual for him - a madman usually preferred to live at the highest level so as to look down on everyone - but she thought that he could keep this address as low-key and secret as possible - that was what he treasured and elite repository of his life's work.
  
  All precautions, she thought.
  
  Which made what they were about to do even more...
  
  Silly? Naïve? Smart? Smart?
  
  She smiled darkly to herself as she realized that the answer depended on the outcome.
  
  The trio entered through a revolving door on the ground floor, spotted several elevators, and headed there. Men and women in dark suits wandered back and forth. In the far corner was an information desk manned by two black-haired secretaries. The noise level was low, everyone tried not to make noise. Karin saw one overweight security guard in the corner, who was looking at the passing traffic and three security cameras. She led Dino to the information board.
  
  "Thirty five". She nodded. "One company owns the whole floor."
  
  "Has the meaning".
  
  Wu stared at the title. "Minmak systems?" he read. "Everything is the same, everything is the same."
  
  Faceless corporations that ruled the world.
  
  Karin moved on, reaching the elevators and double-checking. It wouldn't surprise her if she found a blank number 35-or a number missing all together-but there it was, white and shiny like all the others. Residents pressed buttons on different floors, and Karin waited until the last minute, but only she pressed 35.
  
  They didn't have to wait long. She took off her backpack, pretending to rummage around inside for something. Dino and Wu also got ready. When the elevator dinged and the doors opened at the 35 mark, the trio only waited a few seconds to see what they were up against.
  
  A polished hallway stretched into the distance, with doors and windows on either side. At the far end was a wooden table. The walls were decorated with paintings, tasteless and boring. Karin guessed that someone had been waiting since she pressed the button, but now they were here. They were ready, eager, young and capable.
  
  She pointed the way, entered a strange world that somehow still belonged to the dead man. If anything, that was Webb's legacy. His mother vein.
  
  There are no CCTV cameras. No security. The first door she tried shook so violently in its frame that it went away. It was all for show, just a cover. She pulled out a pistol and filled her pockets with magazines. The vest she had worn under her coat had felt bulky all the way here, but now it protected her. The team spread out as they cautiously approached the table.
  
  Karin stopped and looked both ways down the two new corridors. She was surprised when the robot's voice spoke.
  
  "Can I help you?"
  
  She noticed a sensor attached to the front edge of the table. However, she didn't see any cameras.
  
  "Hello? Is there anyone there? I'm playing the fool.
  
  All this time she was contemplating a plan in her head. Webb's large stream of data not only led her to this address, she was able to pinpoint the location of the terminal it came to using the building's digital frame design. She knew they should turn left and then right, but she wondered what the robots could do...
  
  "I think we're lost." She shrugged, looking at Dino and Wu. "Just wait, Mr. Robot, while we try to find someone."
  
  It was worth a try. Karin headed to the left, the guys behind her. The first mountain man appeared on the left, exiting the office, holding a baseball bat tightly in one hand and slapping his head in the other. A second appeared ahead, followed by a third, and then a fourth appeared to the left, this time with a hammer.
  
  Wu chuckled. "Three behind."
  
  Karin waved her pistol. "Come on guys, what am I missing?"
  
  The first mountain, a man with a bald head, grinned. "There's a radar there, girl, and we're staying under it."
  
  "I see. So, knowing Tyler Webb as I do - a man who loves to make noise at the right time and in the right place - is this his garden of peace? Meditation? Well, we"re unlikely to bother him now, boys, are we?"
  
  "Gun shot and the cops will be here in ten minutes," the man said. "BLOW in twenty."
  
  "What about building security?"
  
  The man laughed. "Doesn't matter".
  
  "Thanks for the info".
  
  Karin shot him in the arm without warning and saw him stagger. She shot the next time, in the stomach, and waited until he hit the floor before jumping over his back and using his spine to push off.
  
  A baseball bat flew close to her head, missed her, and went through the door, shattering the glass and frame. She ignored it. Wu was behind her and Dino was moving in the other direction. Third obesity blocked her path. She fired two shots at the mass, dodged a strong swing, and then had no choice but to hit the motionless mass head-on.
  
  She jumped back, shocked.
  
  She was holding onto the gun when she fell on her back. Looking up, she saw a huge round face staring down at her - a numb, cruel giant with bullet holes he couldn't feel, streams of blood he couldn't see, and the largest wooden club, stained with razor blades, that she had ever -I've seen it.
  
  "Fucking caveman."
  
  Karin shot up as the club came down. Two bullets passed through the overhanging belly, hitting the ceiling, but the baton continued to descend. Karin turned her head away. The club landed next to him, splitting the floor, sending sparks from the blazing blades. He lay there for a second, then the hand holding him tightened and he began to lift himself off the floor.
  
  Karin pulled back, saw the terrible face and shot straight at it. This time the owner felt it and immediately staggered, luckily falling to the right and straight through another colleague, trapping the smaller man below.
  
  Wu jumped over it, shooting at two more huge hulks. These people fell to their knees. The baton struck Wu's bicep, causing him to yelp. Karin turned around and saw the first man - the bald guy she shot in the leg - trailing next to her, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
  
  "You just ruined everything, lady. For all."
  
  "Oh, so now that I shot you, I'm a lady, huh? I take it you know what we"re here for?"
  
  He reached for his club and the knife that hung from his belt.
  
  "Are you kidding? There is only one thing here, you know it."
  
  Karin nodded. "Certainly".
  
  "But you'll never find it."
  
  She quickly glanced around the many rooms filled with computer terminals, all no doubt running, running some kind of program, and all identical to their neighbors.
  
  But she knew better. "Oh, I think I could."
  
  She also knew that a man like Webb would never have thought of installing a switch. Not after all the hard work he'd put in to get such material, not when every sweet pursuit he'd ever taken on was happening right here.
  
  She dodged the bat, stopped the blow with the knife and left a second bullet hole in the man. She jumped up and followed Wu, then looked back to see how Dino was doing. All was good. The only problem they faced now was the police.
  
  Wu hesitated; the corridor was empty. "Where are you going?"
  
  Karin ran past, this place was etched in her memory. "To the lair of one of the worst monsters that ever lived," she said. "So let it be frosty. This way, boys."
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
  
  
  The room itself was disgusting, the last trace of Tyler Webb, teeming with external images that testified to a malevolent inner madness. They picked the locks in a matter of seconds, saw framed photographs on the walls-favorite victims and persecutions, before and after gunshots-and a bizarre collection of spy gear from around the world arranged on tables around the room.
  
  Karin ignored it as best she could, already hearing the sirens through the glass windows. Wu and Dino stood guard as she raced towards the terminal.
  
  After double-checking, she confirmed that it was the same one that was receiving huge streams of data connected to a flash drive of a special format, and looked at the small green light that would confirm the automatic loading of the terminal's contents. Karin anticipated that a large amount of information could be transferred and configured the flash drive accordingly. It was as fast as she could do it.
  
  "How are we doing?" She looked up.
  
  Wu shrugged. "Everything is calm here."
  
  "Except for the moaning," Dino said. "There's plenty of that."
  
  Part of their plan was to leave victims behind. This would confuse and delay the police. Karin was happy that they were at least thugs and deserved their upcoming new lot in life. She looked at the blinking green light, saw that it was blinking quickly, and knew that the job was almost done.
  
  "Be ready".
  
  Sirens wailed outside the window.
  
  The indicator stopped blinking, signaling that everything was completed. She took out a tiny disk and placed it in an inside zippered pocket. "It's time to go".
  
  Instantly, the boys moved forward, carefully moving around the fallen, bleeding men and kicking the two who tried to get up. Karin threatened them with her gun, but she wouldn't use it. There may still be some confusion as to where the shooting came from. They would already be busy with surveillance cameras and asking a lot of questions. The key to escaping was not to act quickly, not even to be careful.
  
  This should have come as a surprise.
  
  They unzipped their backpacks, took out their contents, and then threw away their empty bags. They stared at each other and nodded.
  
  "An officer". Wu greeted Dino.
  
  "An officer". Dino nodded vigorously to Karin.
  
  "Sergeant," she thickened her British accent and headed towards the service elevators.
  
  She holds in her pocket the key to power, to government and royal manipulation, to coup after coup, to financial freedom and control of law enforcement.
  
  All they needed was a safe place to launch.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  
  
  Another day, another plane ride, and Matt Drake was feeling some serious jet lag. Takeoff had only happened an hour ago, and they were catching up with the day towards the Atlantic, heading to the United States of America.
  
  Without a clear idea of where to go.
  
  The third horseman is Hunger. Drake was afraid to imagine what kind of war the Order had invented for the famine. They were still very much engrossed in developing the first weapon, the space gun, and in particular the second weapon, the master code. Hayden still kept all the information to himself, but the pressure to share was enormous. Only the sudden confusion and unclear destination made her inaction acceptable.
  
  The master code engineered events across half of Europe and finally America to overthrow the world's heads of state, destroy the country's infrastructure, shackle their armies and free the psychos who wanted to send the Earth back to the dark ages. It seemed frighteningly real and frighteningly easy. One day that first domino fell...
  
  Hayden was silent as she read to the end. Drake let his mind replay all the recent revelations: SEAL Team 7; special forces teams engaging each other; French losses, mainly due to the Russians; and now the connection with Native Americans. Of course, the natives were excellent horsemen - perhaps the best who ever lived. But where did the hunger come from in all this?
  
  Alicia snored quietly next to him, one eye open slightly. Kenzie tried her best to capture the event on video, but Dahl managed to hold her back. Drake noted that it was not gentle physical persuasion, but rather words that made her change her mind. He wasn't sure Dal and Kensi would get close. It"s none of his business, of course, and he, in fact, was traveling along the same railway tracks, but...
  
  Drake wanted what was best for the Mad Swede and that was it.
  
  Lauren sat in front, with Smith as close as he could without making her feel too awkward. Yorgi, Kinimaka and Mai were talking in low voices at the back of the plane; the cargo hold they were in was little more than a drafty, rattling, high-ceilinged sink. At least once he would like to fly first class. Even the coach surpassed the luggage class.
  
  Lauren focused on the correspondence they were still carrying on between themselves and Washington. Right now the conversation was sluggish and unfocused, more brainstorming than actual discussion. Although there are so many geeks? Drake had no doubt that they would find exactly what they were looking for.
  
  Hours passed and the States grew closer. Lauren became interested in the various materials coming from competing countries. The Israelis seem to have sorted out the American connections almost simultaneously with SPIR. The British too. The Chinese remained silent, and the French, quite possibly, came out of it. Drake knew they wouldn't hear anything from the SEALs. In reality, of course, they were not there.
  
  "It will be interesting to see if they send these teams to America quietly," Dahl said. "Or use internal commands."
  
  "Have people already infiltrated society?" Hayden looked up. "I doubt it. Sleeper agents take years to create."
  
  "And it"s not hard to fly in undetected," Smith said. "Drug traffickers have been doing this for decades."
  
  "Any leads on this worst Indian that ever lived?" Mai asked.
  
  "Not from Washington, and if our competitors know, they keep it secret."
  
  "Bullshit".
  
  Drake looked at the time and realized that they were approaching the States. He gently shook Alicia awake.
  
  "Wow?"
  
  "Time to wake up".
  
  Kenzi leaned closer. "I have your bottle ready, baby."
  
  Alicia waved her hands at her. "Damn, fuck! Get this thing away from me!"
  
  "It's just me!"
  
  Alicia moved back as far as the bulkhead would allow. "Bloody circus clown fizzog."
  
  "What is pop?" Kinimaka looked genuinely interested.
  
  "It means 'face' in English," Drake said. And in response to Kensi's obvious despondency, he said, "I disagree. You're rit Bobby Dazzler."
  
  "Really?" Alicia growled.
  
  "What? "
  
  "It means you"re not bad to look at, love."
  
  Kensi frowned as Alicia began to growl, and Drake realized he had probably crossed the line with both women. Well, at least with Kenzi. He nodded quickly to Lauren.
  
  "Never. You are sure? "
  
  Attention turned to the New Yorker.
  
  "Oh yes, I'm sure." Lauren was quick enough to hide her surprise and go straight to reporting the news. "Give me something."
  
  Immediately, as if by fate, good news returned. Lauren put it on speakerphone. "Hey people, good to see we're still having fun." Mr. Obnoxious is on the line again. "Well, the good news is that while you guys were getting your share of the zi, I was working away on a red-hot computer. So first the second horseman and conquest. Miss Jay? Big dogs bark."
  
  Hayden shook her head. "Speak American, asshole, or I"ll fire you."
  
  Drake glanced across the table, knowing she was still stalling. After all, the key code was in their possession, and the Americans knew it. Then a thought struck him, and he signaled for her to join him at the back of the plane.
  
  They quietly clung to each other.
  
  "Would it be possible to just lose one of the sheets?" he asked. "The most important of them."
  
  She stared. "Of course, if you want to draw a target on us. They are not that stupid."
  
  He shrugged. "I know, but look at the alternative."
  
  Hayden leaned back in his chair. "Well, I think we're already screwed. What harm could another act of insubordination cause?"
  
  "Let's ask SEAL Team 7 when they get here."
  
  The two stared at each other for a moment, both wondering what exactly the other team's orders were. The secrecy of it all worried them. Hayden heard the obnoxious man start talking again and turned around.
  
  "Agent Jay, Washington wants to know the exact details of the Conquest Box."
  
  "Tell them I will contact them."
  
  "Mmm, really? Fine."
  
  "Do you have anything new?"
  
  "Yes, yes, we want. Give me a sec".
  
  Hayden turned back to Drake. "It's time to make a decision, Matt. To end?"
  
  Drake rocked back on his heels and smiled. "Always".
  
  Hayden pulled a piece of paper from the stack.
  
  "Have you found the sheet you need yet?"
  
  "I was thinking about this two hours ago."
  
  "Oh".
  
  Together, and without another second of suffering, they destroyed the most important lead in the main chain. Hayden then folded all the sheets back together and put them back in the order box. The rest of the team looked at them both without comment.
  
  Together they were like one.
  
  "Fine". The man from Washington is back. "Now we really cook with gas. It seems that the Order of the Last Judgment hit the nail on the head with its descriptions of the third Horseman - Hunger. The worst Indian that ever lived and that he is surrounded by guns."
  
  "Native American?" - Kinimaka asked.
  
  "Oh yes, born in 1829; this is seven hundred years after Genghis Khan and one thousand fourteen hundred after Hannibal. Almost exactly..." He paused.
  
  "Strange," Kinimaka filled in the blank.
  
  "Maybe, maybe," said the botanist. "Someone once said that there are no coincidences. Well, let's see. Anyway, I've rerouted the plane and you're now headed to Oklahoma."
  
  "Do we know who this old horseman might be?" Drake asked.
  
  "I'd say he's the most famous Native American of them all, not the worst, but what do I know?"
  
  Alicia stirred, still half asleep. "Not that much, dammit."
  
  "Well, thank you. Well, Goyaale, which means "one who yawns," was a famous chief of the Apache tribe. They resisted the US and the Mexicans throughout his life, his raids becoming a terrible thorn in America's side."
  
  "A lot of Native Americans did," Mai said.
  
  "Of course, and that"s right. But the man was revered as a superb leader and strategist, the archetype of raiding and revenge warfare. Does this sound familiar?
  
  Drake nodded in agreement. "Same as Hannibal and Genghis Khan."
  
  "You got it, baby. He surrendered three times and then escaped three times. They made several films about his exploits. He was then treated as a prisoner of war and was first transported to Fort Bowie along with many others."
  
  "And he ran away again?" Alicia looked like she'd like to think so.
  
  "No. In his old age, Geronimo became a celebrity."
  
  "Ah, now I understand," said Drake. "Along with Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, he is probably the most famous."
  
  "Well, yeah, and did you know those three used to get together? Wow-wow, we're sitting by the fire. Build this and that? Talk about picking your favorite celebrity to go have coffee with - I'd go with these three."
  
  Alicia nodded. "It would be an unforgettable experience," she agreed. "Assuming, of course, that Depp and Boreanaz were not free."
  
  "In 1850? Probably not. But this guy Depp? He never seems to age, so who knows? Remember the story about the medicine men who could move their manitou - their spirits - through time? Anyway...Geronimo appeared at the 1904 World's Fair and several other lesser exhibitions. The poor fellow was never allowed to return home, and he died at Fort Sill, still a prisoner of war, in 1909. He is buried in the Fort Sill Indian Cemetery, surrounded by the graves of relatives and other Apache prisoners of war."
  
  "Weapon". Dahl said. "Brave men."
  
  "Oh, and, of course, the many guns of Fort Sill itself, which today serves as the United States Army's artillery school. It remains the only active fort on the southern plains, having played a role in the so-called Indian Wars and having been active in every major conflict since 1869." The Geek paused before adding, "The Order chose this place and this rider for a reason."
  
  "Except for weapons?" - asked Dahl.
  
  "And notoriety too," came the answer. "The original raid into Indian Territory was led from here by Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill Hickok. The fort included the 10th Cavalry, also known as the Buffalo Soldiers."
  
  "So, let"s sum it up." Dahl sighed. "Geronimo's grave is located inside Fort Sill. The Order managed to secrete plans to build devastating weapons within it at least forty years ago, and now half a dozen of the deadliest special forces teams on the planet are rushing headlong towards it."
  
  In the deep silence, the geek said cheerfully: "Yeah, man, cool stuff, huh?"
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  
  
  As the plane came in for the final leg of the flight to Oklahoma, the crew discussed what they knew so far-most of the revelations about the four corners of the earth, the Horsemen, and the deadly weapons that Nazi war criminals had buried in the graves of old warlords. The conspiracy was vast, complex, and it was inevitable - because the Order wanted it to be viable for a hundred years. And even now, according to the text, the fourth Horseman was "the true Last Judgment."
  
  In light of the weapons discovered so far, what the hell could it be?
  
  Drake considered this. First they had to get to Fort Sill and stop everyone from getting their hands on the weapon of hunger. And worry about others heading straight for the fourth Horseman - the Scourge of God. I mean...what kind of name is this?
  
  "Can I ask a question?" - he said as the plane began to descend.
  
  "You already did," the geek laughed, causing Hayden, Alicia and May to close their eyes, their patience running out.
  
  "How did Geronimo get his title?"
  
  "Geronimo was a real fighter. Even on his deathbed, he admitted that he regretted his decision to give up. His last words were: 'I should never have given up. I had to fight until I was the last one standing.' He also had nine wives, some at the same time."
  
  "But the worst Indian that ever lived?"
  
  "During his military career, Geronimo was famous for his daring antics and countless escapes. He disappeared into caves from which there was no exit, only to be seen outside later. He invariably won, although he was always in the minority. There is a place in New Mexico that is still known to this day as Geronimo Cave. One of the greatest stories tells of how he led a small group of thirty-eight men, women and children who were horribly hunted by thousands of American and Mexican troops for over a year. Thus, he became the most famous Native American of all time and earned himself the title of "the worst Indian that ever lived" among the white settlers of the time. Geronimo was one of the very last warriors to accept the occupation of their lands by the United States."
  
  "I was once called the "worst bitch that ever lived,"" Alicia recalled wistfully. "I can"t remember from whom."
  
  "Just one time?" Kenzi asked. "This is weird".
  
  "Most likely it was me." Mai smiled slightly at her.
  
  "Or me," Drake said.
  
  Dahl looked like his brain was breaking. "Well, I think I remember..."
  
  "Fort Sill," the pilot said. "Ten minutes left. We have permission to land and it"s hot in the area."
  
  Drake frowned, preparing himself. "Hot? Is he reading from an edited script or what?"
  
  "There must be about eighty people down there." Kinimaka stared out the very small window.
  
  "I think he means concerned," Yorgi spoke up. "Or under attack."
  
  "No, he means his status," Smith told them. "Excellently prepared."
  
  The plane touched down and quickly stopped. Almost immediately the rear cargo doors began to open. The team, already stretched and on their feet, hurried out into the sunlight, which was brightly reflected from the asphalt. A helicopter was waiting for them, which took them to the territory of Fort Sill. When they arrived, a colonel from Fort Sill briefed them on the situation.
  
  "We are here in full combat readiness. All weapons are ready, loaded and aimed. Geronimo's grave too, and we're ready to film."
  
  "There are five of us left." Hayden said. "I"m aggressively advancing on the burial site. I'm sure you are aware of all potential opponents."
  
  "I was fully prepared, ma'am. It is a United States Army installation, a Marine Corps installation, and an air defense and fire brigade base. Trust me when I tell you that we've covered all our angles."
  
  Hayden zoned out and watched as Fort Sill appeared below. Drake scanned the area and checked his weapon one last time.
  
  I sure as hell hope so.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  
  
  The atmosphere was electric, every soldier was tense and expecting some kind of war. The team walked between the wide brick columns and moved among the many tombstones, each of which was the resting place of a fallen hero. Geronimo's grave was off the beaten path and it took them many extra minutes to get to it. Hayden led the way, and Kinimaka brought up the rear.
  
  Drake listened, getting used to his surroundings. The site of so many artillery battalions had never been quiet, but today a person could almost hear a leaf rustling in the wind. All over the base people were waiting. They were prepared. The order was sent down from above to stand firm in the face of what was about to happen. The Americans would not lose face.
  
  They walked along a narrow, slate-strewn path, their boots crunching. It seemed strange to remain on high alert inside such a base, but the countries and teams they were up against were no doubt capable of anything.
  
  Drake walked next to Lauren, who kept the team updated with any new information.
  
  "The French are still active. Two of them at the moment, with more on the way."
  
  "Reports of shooting in Oklahoma City. It could be the British. It"s impossible to say at this point."
  
  And the answer: "Yes, we do have weapons of conquest. It's right here. If you put someone on base, I'm sure we can get it across."
  
  Drake guessed that they were probably safe from SEAL Team 7, at least here on the inside. The simple fact that they were allowed into the United States and then onto an Army site told him something was seriously wrong.
  
  Who sent the seals?
  
  Why?
  
  Hayden slowed down as their guide led them down another, even narrower path. He soon stopped in front of half a dozen signs.
  
  "This one," he said, "belongs to Geronimo."
  
  Of course, it was largely unmistakable. The gravestone was not an ordinary tombstone, but a cairn; a large, man-made pile of stones in the shape of a crude pyramid with a plaque set in the center bearing the deliberately unambiguous name 'Geronimo'. It was an incredibly ancient place and must have been impressive in its time. He was flanked by the grave of his wife Zi-ye and his daughter Eva Geronimo Godley.
  
  Drake felt a kind of spiritual awe upon seeing the great warrior's grave, and knew that others felt the same. This man was a soldier who fought mostly against the Mexicans and fought for his family, his lands and his way of life. Yes, he lost, just like Cochise, Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse lost, but their names lived on for many years.
  
  A small excavator stood ready.
  
  Hayden nodded to the base commander, who nodded to the excavator driver. Soon a large excavator went to work, lifting huge chunks of soil and scattering them onto the ground nearby. Drake was also aware of the desecration and the accusations that could be made against the military, but the presence of so many soldiers nearby meant that it was unlikely that anyone would find out. They would probably close Fort Sill to the public for a while.
  
  How did the Order do this?
  
  I wonder... so many years ago? Perhaps access was easier then. Hayden told the backhoe driver to dig easy, no doubt remembering Hannibal's shallow grave where there was no coffin. The team watched as the hole became deeper and the mound of earth became higher.
  
  Finally the excavator stopped and two men jumped into the hole to remove the last pieces of earth.
  
  Drake slowly moved towards the edge of the pit. Alicia stole with him. As expected, Kinimaka stayed back, not wanting to end up at the bottom. The two men cleared the coffin lid of the soil and shouted for lifting ropes to be attached to the excavator bucket. Soon the coffin began to slowly rise, and Drake looked around again.
  
  He knew that there were people standing everywhere with stoic faces and surrounding the camp. Now it began to dawn on him that there would be no battle. Geronimo's coffin was carefully lowered to the ground, small pieces of stones and soil crumbling away. Hayden looked at the base commander, who shrugged.
  
  "Your party, Agent Jay. I am ordered to provide you with everything you need."
  
  Hayden moved forward as one of the diggers opened the coffin lid. The team took the lead. The lid lifted surprisingly easily. Drake peered over the frame into the depths of the box.
  
  See one of the greatest surprises of your life.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Hayden pulled away, frozen for a moment; the mission forgotten, her life forgotten, her friends suddenly gone as her brain turned to stone.
  
  Never...
  
  It was impossible. This was certainly true. But she didn't dare look away.
  
  Inside the coffin, mounted on a titanium bracket, hung a state-of-the-art digital screen, and as they watched, it came to life.
  
  Muffled laughter came out of the speakers. Hayden and the others fell back, speechless. Artificial laughter echoed off the enhanced screen as a multitude of colors filled it, flash after flash of stars mushrooming outward. The team began to come to their senses, and Drake turned to them.
  
  "Is that right... I mean... what the-"
  
  Dahl came closer to get a better look. "Is poor old Geronimo still here?"
  
  Hayden pulled him away. "Carefully! Don"t you understand all the connotations of this?"
  
  Dahl blinked. "This means that someone left us a screen instead of a box. Do you think this is a weapon?"
  
  "The Order hasn't given up on this," Hayden said. "At least not when it comes to Nazi war criminals. This means that the Order is-"
  
  But then the laughter stopped.
  
  Hayden froze, not sure what to expect. She looked down, ready to duck and hide. She stood in front of Lauren. She wished Kinimaka, Drake and Dal weren't so damn close. She...
  
  The logo flashed on the screen, bright red on black, nothing more than a streak of blood in her mind.
  
  "This is the logo of the order," Alicia said.
  
  I don"t understand," May admitted. "How could they get that screen in place? And how could it still function?"
  
  "They didn't do it," Yorgi said.
  
  The logo faded and Hayden put everything else out of her mind. The black screen reappeared and an artificially lowered voice began to squeak through the speakers.
  
  "Welcome to your nightmare, boys and girls," it read, and then there was a pause for a burst of suppressed laughter. "Hunger greets you, and you should know that the last two Horsemen are the worst of them all. If hunger doesn't overtake you, death will! Ha, ha. Ha, ha, ha."
  
  Hayden took a moment to wonder what twisted mind and twisted imagination had come up with this crap.
  
  "Then let's get straight to the point. The Third Horseman would rather destroy you all than allow you to destroy each other. Hunger does that, am I right? "- continued the guttural voice. "And now that you've moved into the electronic age, it's going to happen much, much faster. Have you ever heard of Strask Labs?"
  
  Hayden frowned, took a quick look around and turned on the base commander. He nodded and was about to speak when the voice continued.
  
  "This is one of the largest conglomerates, hell-bent on taking over the world. Power. Influence. Huge wealth, they want it all and start moving to the big leagues. The American government recently placed its trust in Strask Labs."
  
  What does it mean? Hayden thought about it. And how recently?
  
  "In Dallas, Texas, not far from here, Strask has a biological testing laboratory. They produce medicines, diseases, cures and weapons. They run the gamut. If there's a deadly infection out there, a world-killing virus, a nerve gas canister, or a new biological weapon, Strask in Dallas will have it. Literally," he grumbled, "it"s a general store."
  
  Hayden wanted to stop it right there. Things were going in a very bad direction.
  
  "The biological laboratory has become a target. The famine will be unleashed. Your crops and those around the world will wither and die. It is a man-made poison that deliberately targets a specific crop variety and cannot be stopped. We are the Order of the Last Judgment. And like I said, this is your nightmare."
  
  The recording stopped. Hayden blinked and stared, completely oblivious to the world and her problems. If the Order was targeting a biolab that had pinpointed a crop contamination and planned to destroy all supplies, then...
  
  It was possible. And probable. Without a doubt, the disease would also affect the soil, so that no edible crops would ever grow again.
  
  Then, suddenly, the screen came to life again.
  
  "Oh, and now that we live in the electronic age, let me tell you this. By opening this coffin, by starting this recording, you set the whole thing in motion-electronically!"
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  
  
  Fort Sill entered the fray. The base commander yelled for a technician to come and disassemble the recording, screen, and anything else they could find inside the coffin. Hayden saw bundles of old clothes and bones at the bottom and had to assume that the Order had simply placed a screen inside and left it for someone to find. Could the signal connected to the base's Wi-Fi have gone out the moment they opened the coffin?
  
  I have to believe so. The printout marked the beginning of the recording. Most likely, sensors were involved. Whoever did all this was tech savvy. Which raised another question.
  
  "Have we just jumped ahead from the Nazi war criminals of fifty years ago to now?"
  
  "I don't understand it," Smith said.
  
  The team had moved away from Geronimo's grave to allow others to take part, and now stood in a group under the trees.
  
  "I thought it was pretty clear," Hayden said. "The guy said we are the Order of the Last Judgment. They still exist."
  
  The base commander approached. "So people, we've doubled and tripled checking our perimeter. No sign of your special forces enemies. Looks like they clearly missed the mark this time and I really blamed them. There's a lot of firepower here." He pointed to the soldiers standing around the fort.
  
  "This does not mean that the signal that came from that grave was not broadcast in other places," Lauren noted. "Any number of people could have seen it in one form or another."
  
  "While this is true," the commander nodded, "there is little we can do about it. Now what we can do is call Strask Labs and, as they say, warn these guys."
  
  He pointed to a man nearby who already had his phone pressed to his ear.
  
  Hayden knew she should call Secretary Crowe, but refrained when the soldier's call came over the loudspeaker, the endless beeping causing the SPEAR team to look around worriedly.
  
  "This is a 24-hour staffed laboratory," said the base commander. "On call to the army and the White House. I can't express how bad it is." He blamed the ringing phone.
  
  "You don"t need to." Hayden said. "Can you contact local authorities? Send them to Strask and tell them we are on our way."
  
  "Right away, Agent Jay."
  
  Hayden ran towards the helicopter. "We have to get to Dallas! Now! "
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
  
  
  Karin spent what was important to her an immeasurable amount of time before even showing the flash drive to the computer terminal. She was well aware that someone with Tyler Webb's wealth and influence could install any technology on his computer - especially one that contained all the dirty secrets he had accumulated over the years.
  
  And here she was.
  
  Young woman. Computer. Flash-card.
  
  How many names have they called me in the past? Girl with data. Head in a web. Khakaz. Long ago, far away, but still relevant.
  
  Dino and Wu stood and watched, surveillance of the house already as good as it could ever be. They had sensors for every approach and plans with backup strategies for both hard and soft evacuation situations. All three soldiers were currently in serious condition - beaten, bruised, slowly healing from their walk in San Francisco. They were also hot, hungry and short on funds. Under Karin's guarantee, they bet everything on it. From the very beginning.
  
  "It's time to prove your worth," she said.
  
  Her early years never left her; for a long time she turned her back to the world. Self-destruction was one of the ways of atonement.
  
  "We believe in you," Dino said.
  
  She smiled grimly as she inserted the flash drive and watched the large screen. She designed everything to run as quickly as possible, and now there was absolutely no delay when the prompt flashed on the screen:
  
  Continue?
  
  Damn right.
  
  She sat down and got to work. The keyboard rattled, her fingers flickered, the screen flickered. She didn't expect to find or even understand it all at once-there were many gigabytes of information in there-and that's why she made everything as ultra-secure as possible before loading the drive. She also opened a few offshore accounts and a couple of accounts in Los Angeles that they might be able to quickly deposit some cash into. Of course, she remembered everything from her time at SPEAR; it is what happened after Webb's death that may contribute to the case.
  
  Ignoring the tawdry but ominous documents for now and focusing on her finances, she turned her fingers and screen into a whirlwind of information. Dino gasped as she struggled to keep up.
  
  "Damn it, I thought I was a genius at Sonic. I bet you make that prickly little shit shoot all over the place, huh?"
  
  "Do you know Sonic? From Master System or Mega Drive? Aren"t we all too young for this?"
  
  Dino looked puzzled. "Playstation, man. And retro is better."
  
  Karin shook her head, forcing herself to smile. "Oh yeah, it's totally retro, man."
  
  Digging deeper into the financial file, she soon discovered account numbers, sort codes, and key commands. She found source banks, most of them offshore. She found over seventy-five different accounts.
  
  "Incredible."
  
  Dino pulled up a chair. "Yeah, I'm having a hard time keeping track of the two. And they are both empty!"
  
  Karin knew she didn't have time to check every account. She needed to cut it down and choose the best. Ingeniously, she had already written a simple program that would go through the file and highlight the accounts with the highest numbers. She released it now and waited five seconds.
  
  The three flashing blue stripes looked promising.
  
  "Let's look at you."
  
  The first account flashed. It was based in the Cayman Islands, unused, and showed a balance of thirty thousand dollars. Karin blinked. You must be joking! She knew that Webb had eventually severed ties in his reckless pursuit of Saint Germain's treasure - he had gone it alone and had spent vast sums to remain undetected and recruit an army towards the end, he had paid thousands to demand one last favor, - but she didn't expect his accounts to be so depleted.
  
  In any case, she quickly sent thirty thousand into the local Los Angeles bank account she had already opened.
  
  It's risky, but if we hurry, we can withdraw the money and take it with us. If someone was spying on the account, which seemed unlikely given its low balance, they should be able to do so before anyone found out.
  
  She moved to the next account, saw the balance was eighty thousand dollars, and had to admit that it was better this way. But nothing like the millions she was expecting. Next to her, Dino remained silent. She took the cash and, holding her breath, pressed the final bill.
  
  Damn it. Fifteen thousand?
  
  She was forced to look through the remaining bills, cashing out by the end of the sum of about one hundred and thirty thousand dollars. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't lifetime guarantee type money. This would take time, and she was wary of staying connected longer, but for now the scarcity of supplies made the next step necessary.
  
  "Food for blackmail," she said.
  
  "I"m not happy with this," Dino said.
  
  "Depends on who it is," Karin noted. "And what did they do. We can expose the truly evil bastards - perhaps through some new specialist website - and discuss what we might do about those who might lose a few pounds."
  
  Wu shook his head. "What?" - I asked.
  
  "A few dollars. Tsentarinos. Wonga. Damn, where do we start?"
  
  The new file contained many pages of names, each in bold and accompanied by a photograph and date. Karin scrolled down the list. "Right, well, they're in alphabetical order. At least that's something. Any preferences?"
  
  "I don"t know any rich guys," Dino said. "Not to mention blackmailing someone."
  
  "I recognize some of these names," Wu said as Karin confidently scrolled through the AC page. "Celebrities. Sports stars. TV presenters. God, who was this Webb guy?"
  
  "Who was he?" Karin felt the hatred flare up with renewed vigor. "One of the worst, creepiest and most powerful creatures that ever lived. Evil incarnate, capable of affecting every life on the planet."
  
  "I could name a couple of them right now," Dino said.
  
  "Yes, anyone could do that. But these are exactly the kind of assholes we want to stay under."
  
  Karin checked her system's firewalls, looking for any early warning signs that someone else was snooping around. Nothing was imaginable, but she wasn't so vain as to believe that someone out there wasn't much smarter than her.
  
  "Check the whole place," she said, removing the flash drive. "We need to monitor everything for a day or so from Site B. Then we"ll see."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  This was all part of her careful preparation. If something goes wrong and they are seen, captured or killed, it will not be due to lack of preparation. Karin used every trick in her considerable arsenal and every ounce of her vast intellect to protect them.
  
  And my plan. My tiny retribution.
  
  Dino, Wu and she left their home in the desert and secluded themselves in a small shack they found in the middle of nowhere. It took weeks of methodical searching, but once found, it turned out to be an ideal place for a backup shelter. Wu spent twenty-four hours watching the house via CCTV. Karin and Dino drove to Los Angeles, withdrew the stash of money and placed what was left elsewhere, periodically checking her network's firewalls, their reliability and the state they were in. Time and time again she saw no sign that this had been tested in any way.
  
  Methodically and carefully, however; it was the only way they could remain free.
  
  A full thirty hours had passed when they returned to the house. A few more checks and Karin was ready to work with the flash drive again.
  
  "Have you checked the cameras?" - she asked.
  
  "Yeah, just do it."
  
  It only took a few seconds and then, once again, she scrolled through the list of names. After C, of course, came D.
  
  Matt Drake wasn't on the list.
  
  But there was a separate section for SPEAR. Drake's name was on the list. So was Alicia Miles. Hayden Jay and Mano Kinimaka she was expecting. She saw Bridget Mackenzie - no wonder. Lancelot Smith? Hmmm. Mai Kitano. Lauren Fox. Yorgi. Interestingly, there was no reference to Thorsten Dahl.
  
  But there was a reference to Karin Blake.
  
  She stared at him for a moment, then decided to ignore him for now. Other links related to the SPEAR team and added to the bottom of the first page were from Kimberly Crow, Secretary of Defense; To Nicholas Bell, prisoner; and a whole submenu entitled "Family/Friends".
  
  Damn, this guy really went to town on them.
  
  Fine.
  
  The first click should have been simply on the name: Matt Drake.
  
  Her gaze flickered, wavered, and then began to widen; her eyes widened to the size of saucers.
  
  "Fuck me," she whispered in fear. "Oh. Fuck. me."
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  
  
  Matt Drake saw the Strask Laboratories sign long before they got there. On the outskirts of Dallas, it was still a tall building, and its blue and white stylized 'S' logo was mounted at the very top of the structure. However, their cars were moving quickly, and soon he saw that the entire terrain opened up ahead.
  
  Strask Labs looked unimportant, bland, a stick in the wheel, and that, without a doubt, was the idea. Its windows were impenetrable, but many were. His car park was covered in a nest of CCTV cameras, but that was the world. No one could tell how advanced the cameras were or how far they extended. There was no gate other than a flimsy barrier. There is no security visible at all.
  
  "Any answer yet?" - asked Dahl.
  
  Hayden pinched the bridge of her nose. "Dead silence," was all she said.
  
  Drake studied the landscape. The parking area was L-shaped around the building, in front and on the east side. To the west was a steep, grassy embankment. No fence. The entire area was open plan. A network of roads ran around it, and dozens of small office buildings, warehouses and strip malls made up the immediate vista.
  
  "Police," Dahl said.
  
  DPD officers were already on scene, parked outside the area along the side of the road. Hayden told their drivers to park nearby and jumped out.
  
  Drake quickly followed me.
  
  "Did you guys see anything? Anything?" Hayden asked.
  
  The tall officer with sideburns looked up. "What you see is what we have, ma'am. We were ordered to observe and take no action."
  
  Hayden cursed. "So we have no idea what we're getting ourselves into. Just a crazy person's promise that things are as bad as they can be."
  
  Alicia shrugged. "Hi, what's new?"
  
  "If they have a biological weapon or a biological device out there that is specifically designed to destroy our crops, then we have no choice," Dahl said.
  
  "And how do you propose we get inside?"
  
  "Head forward," Dahl said with a smile. "Is there any other way?"
  
  "Not for us," Drake said. "Are you ready?"
  
  "Damn," Alicia muttered. "I really hope you two aren"t going to hold hands."
  
  Hayden asked for the items they asked for and gave them away. Drake took his gas mask and put it on. There was no risk in the laboratory.
  
  Drake then slid down a grassy embankment and jumped over a ravine below into a parking area. About forty cars were scattered everywhere, the usual couriers of varying ages and cleanliness. Nothing unusual. Dahl jogged next to him, Alicia and May to his right. They were fully prepared and their weapons were ready. Drake expected the worst, but for now all that greeted them was an eerie silence.
  
  "Do you think the information has reached the other teams?" Kinimaka looked around the perimeter. "If some of these countries get wind that such biological weapons are here and vulnerable in this laboratory, we may face an attack. And Strask is much less secure than Fort Sill."
  
  "Other teams?" Lauren sighed into the communicator. "I am concerned that the recording of the Order was broadcast without restrictions. And that a shit storm may well be in full swing."
  
  Kinimaki's mouth turned into a large circle. "Oooh."
  
  Drake and Dahl moved on, maneuvering between cars and keeping their eyes on all the windows. Nothing moved. No alarms sounded inside. They reached the paths that led to the main lobby and saw that even those small windows were darkened.
  
  "If I delivered here," Dahl said. "I would immediately assume that this was no ordinary laboratory."
  
  "Yeah, buddy. It"s always better to have a nice little reception."
  
  Dahl tried the door handles and looked surprised. "Unlocked."
  
  Drake waited for Hayden's command and order. "Go."
  
  With a gas mask restricting his vision, he watched as Dahl opened the doors wide and then slipped inside. Drake leveled up his new HK while looking for enemies. The first thing they saw were bodies lying near the reception desk and in the corridors behind.
  
  "Fast". Dahl ran to the first one, covered by Alicia. Mai ran to the second one, covered by Drake. The Swede quickly checked his pulse.
  
  "Thank God," he said. "She is alive".
  
  "And this one too," Mai confirmed and lifted the victim"s eyelid. "I think he was drugged. Sleeping gas, or whatever fancy term they call it."
  
  Hayden carried a gas, vapor and fume detector with him. "It's something like that. Non-toxic. Not fatal. Maybe something light to put them to sleep?"
  
  "Vodka turned into a weapon," Alicia said, her voice distorted by the mask. "That would be enough."
  
  Kensi looked at her, slowly shaking her head.
  
  "What are you looking at, Bridget?"
  
  "Well, at least with this mask I can look at you without throwing up."
  
  "The gas must have been a fast-acting, full-coverage gas," Hayden said. "How the hell did they do that?"
  
  "Vents," Lauren said. "Heating system, air conditioning, something like that. Although, perhaps, somewhere there are scientists locked in their laboratories. Given the type of facility, not every laboratory or storage facility will be connected to the main node."
  
  "Okay," Hayden said. "So why ? What did they achieve by putting the entire staff to sleep?"
  
  A new voice broke into their conversation, not through the communication system, but through some kind of loudspeaker system that probably covered the entire building.
  
  "Are you here? What about the rest? Oh good. Then we can start in about twelve seconds."
  
  Drake quickly turned around, watching the door. Lauren's voice swept through the communicator like a tidal wave.
  
  "We're getting closer! I think the Israelis. Let's break through right now. And the Swedes!"
  
  "If there was ever a place where there wasn't a gunfight..." Alicia pointed out.
  
  The shooting has already begun; The Dallas cops were no doubt on the trail of the infiltrators. Despite this, the attack happened incredibly quickly. Drake was already walking down the hallway and connecting to his communicator, requesting an emergency shutdown code that would open most of the interior doors. At that moment, a large row of windows behind the first row of doors exploded, the grenades quickly destroying the triple glazing. Drake saw the razor-sharp shrapnel explode in a deadly, unstoppable wave, spilling across the rooms. Shards embedded in every surface. Interior partitions and office windows are also broken or drooping. Drake pointed the gun at the doors.
  
  Lauren's voice: "Two, three, five, eight, seven."
  
  He quickly entered the override code, then ran through it, followed by the rest of the team. There were bodies everywhere, rendered unconscious by the sleeping gas.
  
  "Is it safe for us to take off our masks?" he asked.
  
  Hayden monitored air quality. "I don't recommend it. Yes, it is clear now, but whoever introduced the gas could do it again."
  
  "With the worst," Dahl added.
  
  "Damn it".
  
  Drake opened fire when he saw masked figures entering. Five at once, so they were probably Russians, freeing themselves from their bullets and not caring who they hurt along the way. Drake hit one on the vest, the rest fled.
  
  "I think we can say with confidence that the Russian team is not under government sanctions. No government in its right mind would agree to this."
  
  Kinimaka chuckled. "We're talking Russians here, buddy. Hard to say."
  
  "And if they thought they could get away with it," Kenzie said. "Israelis too."
  
  Drake took refuge behind the table. The partitions around the perimeter of this internal labyrinth of offices were flimsy at best. They must keep moving.
  
  He waved to Alicia and May as he passed by. "Lauren," he said. "Do we know where the biological weapons are?"
  
  "Not yet. But the information is coming."
  
  Drake made a grimace. The murderous bureaucrats probably weighed the cost of lives against the revenues. Hayden pushed past. "Go deeper," she said. "So it will be."
  
  The Russians fired at the interior offices. The bullets tore through the fiberglass skin, causing panels to collapse and aluminum studs to fly everywhere. Drake didn't raise his head. Hayden crawled forward.
  
  Drake looked between the rubble. "I can"t get my sights on them."
  
  Dahl sat from a different point of view. "I can". He fired; the man fell, but Dahl shook his head grimly.
  
  "Vest. Still five strong."
  
  Lauren ended the call. "Just a snippet of information, people. The command that released the sleeper agent definitely came from inside the building."
  
  "Got it," Hayden said. "Lauren, where are the Swedes?"
  
  Silence, then: "From the way they came in, I'd say from the other side of the building, heading straight towards you."
  
  "Damn, then we need to get to the central point first. Assuming this is the way down to the lower levels, Lauren?"
  
  "Yes, but we don"t know where the biological weapons are yet."
  
  "It's down there," Hayden said. "They would have to be stupid to store it anywhere else."
  
  Drake nodded at Dahl. "Are you okay?"
  
  "Certainly. But as you said earlier, no government would have authorized this attack."
  
  "Now you think the Swedes act independently?"
  
  Dahl frowned, but said nothing. At that point, anything was possible, and the new revelation that the Order might still be in operation, updated to a modern infrastructure, also put question marks all over the page. How many steps are they ahead of us?
  
  And the fourth? If hunger doesn't overtake you, death will!
  
  Drake rolled over. Kinimaka crept to the far side of the office and pressed himself against the outer wall, followed by Smith as they converged on the inner center. Hayden, Mai and Yorgi walked right through the middle. Drake fired shot after shot to pin the Russians to the ground. Kenzi crabbed among them, clutching a pistol, but nevertheless looked grim. The poor girl was missing her katana.
  
  Drake reached the end of the open-plan office area. Hayden was already there, looking around the open space that led to the elevator bank and another large area of offices beyond it. There were Swedes somewhere there.
  
  "I hate to give you bad news," Lauren said into their ears. "But the Israelis also just made a breakthrough. This is a war zone. You're damn lucky to be there. "
  
  Now Kensi is back. "I seriously doubt that the Israelis have the support of the government. But I believe that these are Special Forces. Don"t you have any support?"
  
  "On my way. A boat full of it. I have no idea how these teams expect to get out of it later."
  
  "You don't believe this," Kensi said. "There is always a way. You need to start keeping victims safe here. Giving them the help they need."
  
  Hayden is back. "Sorry, I can"t agree with this yet. We don't know what we're dealing with. We don't know if the Order can release anything more deadly."
  
  "Isn"t that a reason to get them out?"
  
  "The Order may want us to do just that. Open the doors."
  
  "Mmm, dude," Alicia said. "Some idiot has already opened the windows."
  
  Hayden thought about it. "Damn, you're right, but this only makes it worse. What if the Order's ploy is to release something deadly throughout Dallas?
  
  Drake glared at the elevators. "We need to know where the fucking bioweapon is."
  
  The bullets exploded on the Russian contingent, turning it into a "papier-mâché" made of various panels. Stationery flew into the air: a set of pencils, a telephone, a whole stack of paper.
  
  The team has landed.
  
  Lauren's voice was barely audible. "Sub-level four, laboratory 7. That's where it is. Hurry up!"
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  
  
  Using a row of elevators as a shield against the Swedes, the SPEAR team kept up a steady fire on the Russians as they raced towards the steel doors. Hayden and Jorgi were released while Kinimaka and Smith looked after the Swedes and the rest of the team focused on the Russians.
  
  Hayden pressed the button labeled SL4.
  
  If the elevators rang, the sound was lost due to heavy gunfire. Drake ducked, but the enemy still managed to return fire and crawl forward, moving around table after table and using stronger objects to take cover behind them. Even then, one man fell with a bullet in his head. Another screamed in pain as he was winged, and another was shot in the leg. Nevertheless, they came.
  
  Lights flashed above the metal doors and then they swished open. Hayden jumped in and the rest of the team followed. It was difficult for them, but they made it through.
  
  Drake was pressed against Dahl, the Hong Konger between them.
  
  Alicia rested her chin on his back. "Who the hell is that behind me? With wandering fingers?
  
  "It's me". Kenzi huffed as the tight space squeezed them in, leaving no room for movement as it sped up to level four. "But my hands are trapped around my neck. Surprisingly, my fingers are there too." She waved them.
  
  Alicia felt movement. "Well, someone stuck something up my ass. And it"s not a banana."
  
  "Oh, it must be me," said Yorgi. "Well, this is my gun."
  
  Alicia raised an eyebrow. "Your gun, right?"
  
  "My gun. My gun, that's what I mean."
  
  "Is it fully charged?"
  
  "Alicia..." Drake warned.
  
  "Mmm, yes, that"s how it should be."
  
  "Then I better not move. We don"t want it to work in such a confined space now, do we?"
  
  Luckily, just as Kensi looked like she was about to give a pithy answer, the elevator stopped and made an arrival sound. The doors opened and the team practically tumbled out into the corridor. Drake scanned the walls for a sign. Of course there was nothing there.
  
  "Where is Lab 7?"
  
  "Turn right, third door along," Lauren said.
  
  "Perfect".
  
  Dahl walked ahead, still cautious, but looking confident. The threat was largely greater, but Drake never for a moment forgot the reason they were here. The order of the Last Judgment. What else do they have planned?
  
  Yorgi took off his mask, gasping for air. Kensi joined in, breaking the rules, and then Smith followed suit, giving Hayden a blank look as she threw up her arms helplessly.
  
  "Rebels," Dahl said, continuing to walk.
  
  "I would say crooks," Kensi said. "Sounds better."
  
  She stood next to him.
  
  "If I weren"t so well disciplined, I would damn well join you."
  
  "Don't worry. We can work on this."
  
  Drake pushed her in the back. "You know he went to private school, don't you, Kenz? You will never break him."
  
  "The Mossad has its own methods."
  
  Dahl looked over his shoulder. "Would you two shut up? I'm trying to concentrate."
  
  "See what I mean?" Drake said.
  
  "Focus on what?" Alicia asked. "Numbers one through four?"
  
  "Here we are," Dahl said. "Laboratory 7".
  
  "Do you calculate everything yourself, Torsti? Wait, I think I have a sticker somewhere."
  
  Hayden pushed forward. "Formation, people. Look back. Watch out for the elevators on both sides. I need Lauren on the phone to connect me to the bioweapon, and I need the lab to be safe. Do you think you can do it?"
  
  Without a pause, they dispersed and took their positions. Drake and Hayden had to enter the laboratory on their own. They first entered the outer office, which was littered with supplies, every available surface covered with all sorts of tools. Drake had no idea what they were, but they looked vital and expensive.
  
  Behind the glass wall was an inner, safe room.
  
  "Lauren," he said. "Laboratory 7 consists of two rooms. External and internal. The interior is likely a chemical control room that can be sealed and released."
  
  Nothing. Communication was disconnected.
  
  Drake stared at Hayden. "What the-"
  
  "Sorry, Matt. Hayden. Laboratories are always frequency shielded, so signals cannot get in and out. Lab 7 is on a different level from the rest of the facility, and it took us a while to disable the additional security."
  
  "Don't worry," Hayden said. "Where to go?"
  
  "Inner room. There should be a glass cabinet there. Do you see this?"
  
  Drake walked up to the large glass wall. "Yes. Right in the far corner."
  
  "Biological weapons are obviously not weapons-like. It should be stored in a canister about the size of a coffee flask. It can be identified by the code PD777. Got that?"
  
  "Understood". He went to the door code panel and punched in the override code. "Nothing". He sighed. "Could this room have a different code?"
  
  "Let me find out. The problem is that all the bosses, technicians and laboratory assistants are sleeping there with you."
  
  "Not to mention the Russians, Swedes and Israelis. Hurry up".
  
  Drake listened as Hayden consulted with the team. Everything was quiet, eerily so. Smith then growled through his comm.
  
  "Movement on the east stairs. Here they come!"
  
  "I detected movement on the western one," May reported. "Hurry up".
  
  "Hold those elevators," Hayden said. "We will need them very soon."
  
  Drake thought about shooting through the glass. No doubt it would be bulletproof and potentially dangerous. The outer room also contained glass cabinets filled with test tubes and canisters that could contain any number of poisons.
  
  Lauren shouted a new code. Drake punched him. The door swung open. He ran to the far end of the room, opened the closet and began looking for the canister. Hayden was left behind. While covering their backs, each team member keeps the next one in sight.
  
  Drake went through canister after canister. Each one had an imprint of black, bold letters and numbers on it, and they were out of order. A minute passed. Smith opened fire up the stairs, and May did the same a few seconds later. They were attacked, praying that no one would be idiotic enough to send a grenade into the fight.
  
  "Understood!"
  
  He picked up the container, took half a second to remember that it contained a biological weapon that could destroy at least America, and tucked it under his arm. "It's time to go".
  
  As one, coordinated, they began to retreat. May and Smith covered the stairs until Drake and Hayden reached the hallway, and then Yorgi and Dal covered them. May and Smith quickly retreated as Alicia pressed the elevator button.
  
  The doors swung open instantly.
  
  "Faster!" - Mai shouted, quickly appearing around the corner. "They are a few seconds behind me."
  
  She returned fire, pinning them to the ground.
  
  Smith took a different path, now covered by Dahl, both men retreating towards the doors.
  
  And then the alarms began to sound, a powerful horn-like roar that filled the ears and sent the senses into overdrive.
  
  "What the hell is this?" Drake screamed.
  
  "No. Oh no!" Lauren screamed back. "Get out of there. Get out of there now! They just released something into the system." She paused. "Oh my God... it's sarin."
  
  It was already pouring through the vents in the roof of the hallway and the side vents of the elevator.
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY
  
  
  Drake suppressed the initial wave of fear at the mention of the name Sarin. He knew it was deadly. I knew that it was considered a weapon of mass destruction. He knew that Smith, Yorgi and Kenzi had taken off their masks.
  
  And he saw what was said to be a colorless, odorless liquid leaking through the vents.
  
  "I never doubted that they stored sarin here." Hayden attacked Yorgi. "But this..." She grabbed his mask.
  
  Drake knew that almost everything could be manipulated, engineered, or even reimagined. The only limitation was imagination. The liquid nerve agent was infinitely flexible. Now he was rushing with all his might to Kenzi, but he saw that Alicia and May were already there. The Israeli woman was wearing a mask, but her eyes were already closed and her body was limp.
  
  Sarin can kill in one to ten minutes, depending on the dose.
  
  "No," Drake said. "No no no".
  
  Smith slid down the side of the elevator, already unconscious, before Dahl managed to pull the mask completely over his face.
  
  The elevator rushed up, back to the first floor.
  
  "What should we do?" Hayden shouted over the comms. "How much time do they have?"
  
  "Who?" Lauren responded naturally. "Who was hurt?"
  
  "Just find a damn lab rat or a doctor and tell us what to do!"
  
  Kinimaka hoisted Smith over his shoulder as the doors swung open. Drake saw him about to run out, then rushed in first, knowing that the Hawaiian had probably forgotten about the waiting Swedes, Russians and Israelis. He immediately saw what appeared to be faint steam seeping through all the high level vents. His heart sank. "It was released here too."
  
  "The whole complex," Lauren said. "I have a lab technician right here."
  
  "I don"t need him," Kinimaka breathed. "We need atropine. Where is this damn atropine?
  
  A new voice came on the line. "How many people have become infected? And to what level?"
  
  Drake scanned the area and ran for cover, aiming his weapon. Alicia supported him. Movement ahead made them stop.
  
  "To hell with this!" Hayden was crying. "We have three of our own and dozens of people already unconscious in the laboratory. You must come here with the antidote, and you must do it now!"
  
  "Sarin is lethal," the man said. "But it can take an hour to kill. We are on the right track, believe me. We were ready for this. Tell me, do the victims have difficulty breathing?"
  
  Drake looked back. Hayden took a moment to check. "Yes," she said with a lump in her throat. "Yes it is".
  
  Drake watched as Dal walked over to Kenzi, gently pulled her away from Alicia, and cradled her in his arms. He stared straight at Kinimaka. Nobody else. Nowhere else. The world disappeared, and only one thing remained on the Swede"s conscience.
  
  "Mano. What should we do?"
  
  The big Hawaiian snorted. "Atropine and the Auto-Injector."
  
  The voice answered immediately. "Medical bays are located on each floor. Each compartment contains several antidotes, and atropine is one of them. There you will also find automatic injectors. Just stick it in the thigh muscle."
  
  "I know what to do!"
  
  Drake waited for the technician to tell Kinimaka where to go, then he went first. No sneaking around, no dodging at the tables; this time they were heads out, supporting their fallen friends, challenging any rogue nation foolish enough to take them on. The floor was still littered with bodies, only now these sleeping bodies were curled up, tormented by pain, some were already shaking.
  
  The entrance doors were destroyed. Men in masks and suits rushed inside.
  
  Drake kicked his chair aside and then noticed the medical bay in one of the corners of the room. He ran. To the right lay the body of the Russian, dressed in Kevlar, the one they had shot at. Two more lay next to him; they convulsed and died. Sarin hit them hard too. The chemical release effectively stopped the battle and SPIR still had the biological weapon.
  
  Hayden rushed forward without a weapon in his hands and threw open the door to the medical bay. Inside, in front of them stood a dozen ampoules filled with shiny liquid. They were clearly marked, and Kinimaka yelled at the atropine; Mai pulled out the auto-injector and filled it. Kinimaka stuck a needle in Smith's face just seconds before Dal did the same to Kenzie. Alicia and Mai dealt with Yorgi, and then the team hunkered down, exhausted, numb, scared that the hope that had filled their hearts now seemed so desperate.
  
  Minutes passed. Drake turned to Kinimaka. "What's going on now?"
  
  "Well, atropine blocks the effects of sarin. They have to turn around."
  
  "Watch for side effects," the technician said. "Basically hallucinations. But dizziness, nausea, blurred vision..."
  
  "Don't worry," Alicia said. "There's nothing worse than a pub lunch for Team SPEAR."
  
  "Dry mouth. Increased heart rate..."
  
  "Yeah."
  
  A few more minutes passed, and Drake helplessly stared at Yorga's face, wishing a hundred times a second for at least a drop of life to return to him. Hayden asked the technician if they could remove the sarin from the system and allow everyone to remove their masks, but the situation was hardly under control. Whoever released the sarin may still have other plans.
  
  "We're in the system now too," Lauren assured them. "The FBI has detained several high-level computer scientists who have been digging into this case for some time."
  
  "Any news on other special forces teams?" Hayden asked.
  
  "We think so. I'm just getting confirmation. It's all a little confusing there."
  
  Drake patted Yorgi's cheek, to the right of his mask. "Tell me about it".
  
  The Russian stirred slightly, raising his hands. His eyes flew open and he stared blankly straight at Drake. He coughed and tried to take off his mask, but Drake held it in place. With or without atropine, it's best to leave nothing to chance. Smith also struggled, and then Kenzie; Dahl let out a long, audible sigh of relief. The team took the chance to exchange a brief, weak smile.
  
  "Let's get them in the air," Hayden said. "We're done here for today."
  
  Lauren got in touch again. "Everything is alright with them? All of them?" She still had no idea who was infected.
  
  "So far so good, love," Drake said. "Although it would be nice to have a doctor check them out."
  
  "We have a dozen of them here."
  
  "I"m coming to you now," Hayden said.
  
  The team regrouped and helped each other get out of the door. Hayden clutched the bio-weapon to her chest, not even now sure who she could trust. She asked Lauren a question over the comms.
  
  "He needs to be taken to safety in Dallas," Lauren said. "Here I have the details. They are waiting you".
  
  Hayden stared at Drake with tired eyes behind his mask.
  
  It never ends.
  
  Drake knew exactly what she was thinking. By the time they got to the emergency room, removed their masks, and found Lauren, they were starting to feel a little more rested. Drake enjoyed having hot coffee brought to him and Alicia bleated for a bottle of water. Mai took the glass from her, took a sip, then invited her to take a sip from the used bottle.
  
  Kenzi reached out and took it from May and sighed. "Why do I see you four?"
  
  Alicia returned her water. "So, still alive? Hey, does this count as a threesome?"
  
  Drake watched. "You know something? I'll know when it's time to quit this job, when you two stop trying to piss each other off. That"s when I"ll retire."
  
  Lauren stepped away from Smith for a moment as a barrage of information hit her central communications system. This includes communications from the obnoxious guy in Washington, the local operation in Dallas, and, to a lesser extent, the Secretary of Defense.
  
  She waved her hand for the group to listen before remembering that she could use the connection. "Hey, uh, well, hi. I'll give you an address in Dallas and you should be on your way. The longer these biological weapons remain in the wild, the greater the danger. Now we have a little clarification. It appears that the original tranquilizer that was administered to affect almost everyone working in the lab was triggered via redundant code as soon as you opened Geronimo's coffin. They seem to think that the cult may not still exist now, but at least one person may still be working for them. Sarin was also activated by the same code and, no doubt, by the same person. Insider? May be. But don"t forget that we had to remove the protective screens of the laboratory so that the signal could get inside."
  
  "You need to make sure people don't leave before the sleeper agent does its job," Hayden said.
  
  "On him. But that is not all. The bodies have been counted." She took a breath. "Our laboratory staff and innocent civilians did a good job. They all seem to respond to atropine. It is assumed that because they slept on the floor they only received weak doses and help came quickly. Now there is no problem with identification, but since we knew the positions of the Russians and Swedes, we must assume that we are right. Three Russians were killed, two were missing. Two Swedes are dead, one is missing. And three Israelis died, two were missing."
  
  "They didn"t get atropine?" Dahl asked worriedly.
  
  "Of course they did it, but after the civilians. And it really hit them more aggressively."
  
  By this point, Smith, Yorgi and Kenzi were on their feet, looking rested and eager for action. Drake wondered if this could be one of the aforementioned side effects.
  
  "Yorgi," he said. "Look at Alicia. What do you see?"
  
  The Russian grinned. "Ice cream and hot chili?"
  
  Drake grinned. "He is OK".
  
  Alicia frowned deeply. "What the hell does that mean. Yogi? Yogi? Come on, buddy. You know I love you, but if you don"t spill the beans, I"ll have to kill you."
  
  Drake pulled her away towards the waiting cars. "Well done my love, you just proved his point."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  
  
  Speed was their choice, their savior, their God, and their best way to stay alive right now.
  
  They had no illusions about what might await them on their way to Dallas. It didn't matter how many police officers assisted; no matter how many FBI SUVs and SWAT vans lined the route, the people they faced were some of the best in the world, and they would find a way out.
  
  Depending on who they actually worked for.
  
  Drake saw the vehicles they'd been provided with for the short trip through Dallas-two government-issued vehicles with four-wheel drive-and slammed on the brakes.
  
  "This really won't work."
  
  Remembering the parking lot and its contents, he nodded towards a couple of parking spaces near the exit.
  
  "They will".
  
  Lauren expressed her agreement. "I'll ask the FBI to look into this."
  
  "Fast". Drake was already heading in that direction. "All? Load the fuck up. We'll soon need all the ammo we have."
  
  With Hayden in the center, they rushed toward the cars, a black stealth-colored Dodge Challenger and a light blue Mustang with two white stripes along the hood. Dahl modified the Mustang, which was great because Drake wanted the Challenger. Police cars screeched away, preparing to clear a route through downtown Dallas. The helicopter hovered nearby, warned that it was highly likely to be shot down by SWAT teams. Both cars were new enough to be hacked-the FBI didn't need the keys.
  
  Drake climbed in with Yorgi, who took the passenger seat, Hayden, Alicia, and May. He started the engine, smiling happily.
  
  "This," he said, "is the sound for which I would get out of bed before six in the morning."
  
  Alicia ignored it. She got used to his childishness and let everyone know it.
  
  Drake started the engine. Dahl started the Mustang next to him and the two men grinned through two rows of windows, together at last.
  
  Hayden tapped the canister on the back of his seat. "Biological weapons".
  
  "Mmm, yes. Fine."
  
  He pressed himself to the floor, turned the steering wheel and steered the car into the narrow space of the parking lot and rushed to the exit. The car bounced on the uneven pavement, the front lifting and the rear scraping. Sparks flew.
  
  Behind Drake, Dahl saw sparks flash across his windshield, engulfing him in fire for a second. Obviously he wasn't happy.
  
  "Keenell, Drake. Were you trying to get into this?"
  
  "Just drive," Hayden replied. "The secure building is only nine minutes away."
  
  "Yeah, maybe at the race track," Smith said. "But this is Dallas, and these two are not racers."
  
  "Do you want to shoot, Lancelot?" Drake sighed. "Climb over this Swede and take him."
  
  "Doesn't matter".
  
  "You are angry?" Alicia joined. "Of course not, Lancelot."
  
  "Can we-" Hayden tried again.
  
  Lauren's voice drowned out her own. "The enemy is approaching," she said, then: "Don"t get shot, Lancelot."
  
  Drake held off significant oversteer by fine-tuning his steering and using both lanes of the road. A police car stood in front, preventing other drivers from crossing their path. The Challengers sped past the intersection, now surrounded by high-rise buildings. The Mustang rushed past half a second later, narrowly missing the Dodge's rear fender. Drake looked in the rearview mirror and all he could see was Dahl's clenched teeth.
  
  "Now I know what it"s like to be chased by a shark."
  
  Somewhere ahead was the remaining contingent of Russians, Swedes and Israelis, all of whom had one duty - to obtain a biological weapon that was specifically designed to destroy America's food supply.
  
  "Why don"t we just destroy it?" Kinimaka said as he held onto the handrail.
  
  "It"s a fair question," Dahl noted.
  
  "It is," Lauren said. "But I was just told that there are protocols in place. Procedures. Do it wrong and you could kill yourself and countless others."
  
  Drake eased off the gas when a sharp turn appeared ahead. Once again, the police had closed off all other routes, and he gracefully maneuvered the car around the corner, throwing off the tires and speeding through the red light. Dahl was a few feet behind him. Pedestrians lined the streets, gawking and gesticulating, but were held back by police with a megaphone. Drake was always keenly aware that some might not listen.
  
  "The cops can't handle all of this," Hayden said. "Slow down, guys. We have five minutes left."
  
  At that moment, a pickup truck came flying out of a side street, nearly hitting an oblivious police officer. He turned into their path and then caught up with them. Yorgi had already rolled down his window, and Mai broke out the glass from behind.
  
  The pickup truck, a silver F-150, kept pace as it approached. The grinning face behind the wheel stared at them, watching them twice as much as the road. Yorgi leaned back in his chair.
  
  "Oh no, no, no. This is not good. I know her. I know her. "
  
  Drake glanced quickly. "In my opinion, he looks like a Russian weightlifter."
  
  "She was at the Olympics," Yorgi said. "This was before she became a military secret assassin, one of the best to ever come out of Russia. She is Olga."
  
  Drake slowed as a cluster of pedestrians stepped out in front of the speeding cars, most of them holding cell phones inches from their eyes.
  
  "Olga?"
  
  "Yes, Olga. She is a legend. Have you never heard of her?
  
  "Not in this context. No".
  
  The silver F-150 veered sharply, crashing into the side of its Challenger. Freed from the wandering herd, Drake stepped on the gas again and surged forward, the Challenger responding with a satisfying roar. Olga made another turn, aiming for the rear three-quarter wing, but missed by several inches. Her F-150 crossed to the other side, directly between Drake and Dahl. The Swede maneuvered his Mustang behind her.
  
  "I can"t ram it," he said. "Too risky."
  
  "I can't shoot her," Mai said. "Same problem".
  
  "How does she expect to escape?" Kinimaka thought about it.
  
  "Olga is invincible," Yorgi assured them. "And she never fails."
  
  "This is great for her," Alicia said. "Maybe you two could hide under the same mattress."
  
  Three cars sped ahead, other vehicles were largely blocked, and pedestrians were warned by the constant wail of police sirens. Drake followed Hayden's instructions while Hayden sat glued to the screen of the portable sat-nav.
  
  Drake saw a long straight ahead of him.
  
  "Stay with me, Dal," he said. "Push the bitch into a corner."
  
  He accelerated, keeping to the center of the road. The stray vehicle actually began to pull out of a side street, but stalled when the driver saw the pursuit approaching. Drake kept the hammer down, watching Olga and Dahl behind her. The engines roared and the tires began to roar. Glass storefronts and office buildings flashed by as if in a fog. Pedestrians jumped onto the road to take photos. The police car joined the chase, pulling alongside Olga, so that Drake now had two cars in his rear view.
  
  "Three minutes," Hayden said.
  
  "Get your guns, people," Alicia said.
  
  "Let's hope the Russian bitch doesn't go away quietly," Kenzie said.
  
  Yorgi swallowed hard next to Drake.
  
  Then, up ahead, the strangest and most terrifying thing happened. The figures ran into the middle of the road, dropped to one knee and opened fire.
  
  Bullets ripped through the Challenger's front end, clanging against metal and punching through bolts. Sparks flew into the air. Drake drove the car absolutely straight.
  
  "Hit the fucking deck!" - he shouted.
  
  More shots. Police scrambled from the sidewalk to try to stop the shooters. Civilians ducked for cover. The SWAT team left cover and ran with the police, weapons aimed but not used due to the likelihood of hitting people on the other side of the road.
  
  Drake's windshield exploded, shrapnel falling onto his jacket, shoulders, and onto his knees. The bullet struck the headrest just inches to the right of his ear. The Yorkshireman waited another two seconds, allowed the shooters to line up again, and then deflected the Challenger with great force.
  
  Leaving Olga's F-150 in the line of fire.
  
  She twisted her own steering wheel, hitting the policeman in the right side, but the bullets still hit. The man sitting next to her suddenly went limp; red flooded the interior of the car. Another Russian is dead, and there is only one left.
  
  Dahl suddenly found himself in the direct line of fire.
  
  But by then the shooters were focused on the approaching cops and SWAT, only two of them turned and opened covering fire, preparing to flee. Drake saw the bullets piercing the crowd, saw the contempt with which these people - presumably Israelis - treated civilians.
  
  "To hell with everything," he said. "This will not be tolerated."
  
  "Drake!" Hayden warned. "Two minutes".
  
  Mai grabbed her shoulder. "This must be done."
  
  Drake stepped on the gas pedal and swallowed the ground between the car and the fleeing militants. Yorgi leaned out of one window, and Mai leaned out of the other. Aiming their weapons, they fired three shots each along the dead straight street, with no chance of other casualties, and threw off the fleeing people.
  
  Drake swerved sharply, avoiding their falling bodies.
  
  "Bastards."
  
  In the rearview mirror, the cops apprehended them. Then Olga and Dal returned, racing as hard as they could, racing each other down the center of the road. Olga's car was covered in blood, the windshield was missing, the fenders, sides and headlights were broken, and the rubber had fallen off one of the tires. But she came anyway, inexorable, like a hurricane.
  
  "Ninety seconds," Hayden read aloud.
  
  "Where?" - I asked. Drake asked.
  
  She shouted out the address. "Take a sharp right, then a left, and the building is right in front of you, blocking the road."
  
  "On a different note," Lauren interjected. "It was the Israelis who left the battle. And race."
  
  "Unauthorized," Kensi said. "As I thought. This would never have happened if our government had been involved."
  
  Dahl did not take his eyes off the road. "What comes from you surprises me."
  
  "It should not be. I'm not saying they won't act, kill and maim on foreign soil. Friendly territory. I'm saying they wouldn't do it so openly."
  
  "Ah, that makes more sense."
  
  Drake slowed down, slamming on the brakes, and turned the roaring Challenger sharply to the right. Almost reaching the far curb, he turned on the engine and heard the tires screech in search of traction. At the last moment they caught and spat out the gravel and helped push the car forward. The hope was that Dahl could push Olga's defender as she turned, but the Russian was too smart and recklessly cut the corner and took the lead. The trash can bounced high behind her, hitting the front.
  
  "Thirty seconds," Hayden said.
  
  Then everything went to hell.
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  
  
  Olga risked everything, rapidly approaching the trunk of the Challenger.
  
  Drake saw the left turn approaching quickly and prepared to turn the car around.
  
  In the back of his mind all this way he was haunted by the worry that the last remaining Swede was somewhere out there. But he never showed up.
  
  Still.
  
  The soldier jumped out of the store, holding an ominous-looking submachine gun at gunpoint, with a bloody face distorted by a grimace of pain. He was in pain, but he remained on the mission. Another unauthorized attack. Another third party using special forces people.
  
  Drake reacted instantly. What were the options? It seemed as if by moving dangerously to the left flank, trying to fit the Challenger perfectly into the new narrow street, he might throw the backend into the attacking Swede. This was the only game, and it did not take into account the man's possession of a deadly weapon.
  
  Hayden and Yorgi were sitting on the other side of the car. The Swede looked like he was going to spray the entire car as it slid past sideways. His finger tensed. Drake struggled with the steering wheel, holding it tightly, his right foot pressing on the gas at just the right speed.
  
  The Swede opened fire almost point-blank - a few seconds before the tail of the car was supposed to hit him.
  
  And then the whole world went crazy, turned upside down, when Olga crashed into the drifting Challenger with all her might. She didn't slow down one bit. She slammed her car into the side of the Dodge, causing it to spin, crushing the Swede and sending his body halfway across the road. Drake grabbed the steering wheel, unable to see straight as the car spun; two turns, then she hit a high curb and overturned.
  
  He crashed onto the roof, still sliding and scraping across the concrete until he crashed into the front of the store. The glass broke and rain began to fall. Drake struggled for balance. Alicia was stunned, Yorgi was stunned.
  
  Olga slammed on the brakes and somehow managed to bring the F-150 to a sudden stop.
  
  Drake saw her in the upside-down side mirror. The windows were broken on all sides, but the cracks were too small for anyone to crawl through easily. He heard Mai struggling with her seat belt, throwing it off. He knew she was agile, but he didn't believe she would fit through the back window. They couldn't defend themselves.
  
  Olga stomped towards them, her huge arms and legs working, her face so full of anger that it could set the whole world on fire. Blood covered her features and flowed from her neck onto her fingers, dripping onto the floor. She held a machine gun in one hand and a rocket launcher in the other. Drake saw a spare magazine clamped between her teeth and a military blade at her side.
  
  Closing the gap, she was relentless. Approaching death. Her eyes never blinked. Steam and now fire came out of the car behind her, licking her figure. Drake then saw a blue flash and realized that the Mustang had arrived. He saw Olga grinning. He saw the team jump out of the other car in a burst of action.
  
  Olga dropped to one knee, pointed the rocket launcher at her huge shoulder, and aimed at the upside-down Challenger.
  
  Will she then destroy the biological weapon?
  
  She lost it. There is no rational thought behind this demonic face.
  
  They were helpless. The women in the back seat now perked up, freeing themselves and trying to find some room to maneuver. They didn't see what was coming, and Drake didn't tell them. There was no way they could do anything about it.
  
  Olga pulled the trigger and the rocket ignited.
  
  Friends, family, this is how we go...
  
  Torsten Dahl made his way like a terrible battering ram; running at full speed, with all his might, he crashed into Olga from behind. The missile launcher slipped, its ammunition deflected and fired along a different trajectory. Dahl himself, saving the situation, must have experienced the strongest shock of his life, since Olga did not move.
  
  The Swede just ran headfirst into the world's strongest brick wall.
  
  Dahl fell on his back with a broken nose and was unconscious.
  
  Olga waved the Crazy Swede away, barely noticing the magnificent attack. She rose like a new mountain, threw the rocket launcher to the ground and raised the machine gun with one hand, blood still dripping from below, splattering the floor.
  
  Drake saw all this and turned to push Yorgi out, then Hayden. His head was still spinning, but he managed to catch Alicia's eye.
  
  "We are fine?" She knew something was wrong.
  
  "I just saw how Dal hit Olga with all his might, bounced back unconscious, and she barely noticed."
  
  Alicia could barely catch her breath. "Fuck. Me".
  
  "And now she has a machine gun."
  
  Hayden got free. Mai jumped after her, squeezing through the small gap. Drake turned back, watching the mirror even as he tried to squeeze through his own small windows of space. Olga leveled the gun, grinned again, raised her free hand and pulled the tooth out of her mouth, throwing it to the ground. At that moment, the rest of Dahl's teammates arrived.
  
  And one of them was Mano Kinimaka.
  
  The Hawaiian, in true fashion, launched himself at full speed, feet off the ground, arms outstretched, a human projectile wrecking ball of muscle and bone. He hit Olga on the shoulders, accurately, better than Dahl, and squeezed tightly. Olga staggered forward six feet, and that in itself was a miracle.
  
  Kinimaka turned around in front, facing the Russian.
  
  The machine gun fell to the floor.
  
  Drake read her lips.
  
  "You should get on your knees, little man."
  
  Kinimaka swung a haymaker, which Olga deftly dodged, faster than Drake could think. Then her own fist slammed deep into Mano's kidneys, causing the Hawaiian to instantly fall to his knees and gasp.
  
  Kenzi and Smith reached the battle site. Drake couldn't shake the feeling that it wouldn't be enough.
  
  He writhed until the flesh was torn from his belly, until his pelvic bone creaked. He broke out of the car and ignored the fresh blood. Signaling to everyone except Hayden, he began to limp towards the battle as sirens sounded around them, flashing blue lights filled his field of vision, and the roar of men, cops, and soldiers filled the air.
  
  He hobbled up the street, approaching Olga. The Russian ignored Smith as he shot her in the stomach; she grabbed Kenzi by the hair and threw her aside. The brown tufts remained clutched in the Russian's hands, and Kenzi, shocked, rolled over and rolled down the ditch, stripping her flesh. Olga then slammed her hand down on Smith's wrist, knocking the gun to the ground and causing the soldier to scream.
  
  "Are you shooting at me? I will rip your arm off and strangle you with the bloody end."
  
  Drake gathered his strength and hit her from behind, delivering three blows to the kidneys and chest. He would have used his gun, but lost it in the accident. Olga didn't even notice the attack. It was like hitting a tree trunk. He looked around for a weapon, something he could use.
  
  He saw it.
  
  Mai ran up, followed by Alicia, and then Yorgi, white as a sheet. Drake picked up the rocket launcher, raised it above his head and brought it down with all his might onto the Russian's back.
  
  This time she moved.
  
  Kinimaka jumped to the side as the huge mountain collapsed onto one knee. The spare magazine fell out of her teeth. An RPG fell from her belt. Drake dropped his weapon, breathing heavily.
  
  Olga stood up, turned around, and smiled. "I will trample you until you are trash on the concrete."
  
  Drake staggered away. Olga's blow grazed his thigh and sent an explosion of pain from one end of his body to the other. Alicia entered the water but was thrown high into the air and slammed onto Kenzi. Kinimaka rose up before a headbutt that sent him straight to his butt. Smith landed countless punches to the body and then three to the throat and nose, causing Olga to burst out laughing.
  
  "Oh, thank you, baby, for helping me get rid of the phlegm. One more please."
  
  She exposed her face to Smith's blow.
  
  Alicia helped Kenzi up. The cops were rushing towards them. Drake couldn't help but wish they would stay away. This could become a bloodbath. He tried to get up and succeeded on one leg.
  
  Olga grabbed Smith by the throat and threw him aside. Kinimaka shook his huge head, now at Olga's feet, and delivered half a dozen incredible blows to her thick thighs.
  
  She punched Kinimaka in the head, taking him down. She deflected Drake's next attack and knocked him back, even as blood flowed freely from her ears, right eye, and countless cuts and bruises on her forehead. A hole opened in her stomach where Smith shot her, and Drake wondered if this could be a way to stop her.
  
  May caught Olga's attention. "Look at me," she said. "Look at me. I've never been defeated."
  
  The expression of interest crossed the bloody mine. "But you are no more than one of my sweat glands. Are you Supergirl? Wonder Woman? Scarlett Johanssen?
  
  "I am Mai Kitano."
  
  Olga moved forward awkwardly, pushing Smith and the approaching Alicia aside. Mai squatted down. Olga lunged. Mai danced far, far away, and then pointed to Olga's right shoulder.
  
  "And while I distracted you, my friend Yorgi will destroy you."
  
  Olga turned around amazingly quickly. "What..."
  
  Yorgi strapped the rocket launcher to his shoulders, made sure the last grenade was positioned correctly, and then fired directly at Olga's body.
  
  Drake ducked.
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  
  
  The SPEAR team subsequently disappeared. After handing over the biological weapon, they were whisked away from the crime scene and taken through the heart of an unnaturally quiet city to one of the FBI's most secure houses in the countryside. It was a ranch, necessarily small for security reasons, but a ranch nonetheless, with its own house, stables and coral. They kept the horses to sell the illusion and the ranch hand to train them, but he also worked for the feds.
  
  The team was incredibly happy to arrive at the safe house, and even happier to split up and close the doors to different rooms. To a human they were beaten, exhausted, battered, bruised, bleeding.
  
  Blood soaked them all, bruises and hairiness too. Those who did not lose consciousness wished they had done so; and those who did it regretted that they could not help. Drake and Alicia walked into their room, undressed, and headed straight to the shower. The stream of hot water helped wash away more than just the blood. Drake helped Alicia and Alicia helped Drake in places where their arms were too bruised to help.
  
  The team wasn't broken, but they were a little overwhelmed.
  
  "There"s always someone," Drake gasped as the water hit him in full force, "who can knock you off your feet."
  
  "I know". Alicia poured handfuls of liquid soap into her palm. "Did you see Dahl bounce off her?"
  
  Drake started coughing. "Oh, no, please. Do not make me laugh. Please".
  
  Drake didn't find it strange that he could find humor so quickly after what he had just witnessed. This man was a soldier trained to deal with trauma and heartache, death and violence; he did this most of his life, but soldiers coped differently. One such way was to maintain camaraderie with your colleagues; others were to always look on the bright side of things.
  
  When it's possible. There were some situations that brought even a soldier to his knees.
  
  Now Alicia, cut from the same cloth, remembered Kinimaki"s fight with the huge Olga. "Damn, it was like Godzilla's baby versus Godzilla. Bloody Mano was more shocked than wounded."
  
  "He can certainly take a headbutt." Drake grinned.
  
  "No!" Alicia laughed and they luxuriated together for a while, wanting to get rid of the pain.
  
  Later, Drake got out of the shower, threw on a bath sheet and returned to the bedroom. A feeling of unreality struck him. An hour ago they were in the very center of Hell, immersed in one of the hardest and bloodiest battles of their lives, and now they were washing themselves on a ranch in Texas, surrounded by guards.
  
  What's next?
  
  Well, the positive side was that they won three of the four cardinal directions. And three of the four Horsemen. The Order had hidden four weapons, so by Drake's admittedly slightly inconsistent, fuzzy, and downright uncertain count, there was only one left. He laughed at himself.
  
  Damn, I hope I got this right.
  
  Footsteps were heard behind him and he turned around.
  
  Alicia stood there, completely naked and glistening with the shower water, her hair stuck to her bruised shoulder. Drake stared and forgot about the task.
  
  "Damn," he said. "So there are times when seeing you two is good."
  
  She walked over and took off his towel. "Do you think we have time?"
  
  "Don't worry," he said with a smile in his voice. "It does not take a lot of time".
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Later, after they discovered and tried to avoid bruises on their bodies, Drake and Alicia put on fresh clothes and went down to the huge kitchen. Drake wasn't sure why they chose the kitchen; it seemed like a natural meeting place. The slanting rays of the setting sun penetrated through the panoramic windows, giving a golden hue to the wooden floor and kitchen fittings. The room was warm and smelled of freshly baked bread. Drake sat down on a bar stool and relaxed.
  
  "I could spend a month here."
  
  "Another rider," Alicia said. "And then we take a break?"
  
  "Can we do this? I mean, it doesn't sound like the end of the word "take a break, love."
  
  "Well, we still have to answer to Qrow," she shrugged, "about Peru. And Smith may have problems. We should not go on a mission when a member of our family is in trouble."
  
  Drake nodded. "Yes, I agree. And then there"s SEAL Team 7."
  
  "Someday," Alicia sighed, sitting down on the perch next to him, "our holiday will come."
  
  "Hey, look what the cat brought!" - Drake shouted when he saw Dahl.
  
  The Swede walked carefully through the door. "Bullshit, I"m trying to walk, but everything is double before my eyes."
  
  "Do you think walking is hard?" Drake said. "Do you want to try to get laid?"
  
  Dahl groped his way to the bar stool. "Someone get me a drink."
  
  Alicia pushed the water bottle toward him. "I"ll go get some more."
  
  Drake looked at his friend with concern. "Are you going to have to wait until the end, buddy?"
  
  "Truth be told, it"s getting better by the minute."
  
  "Oh, because I remember how you sat out during the quarrel with Olga."
  
  "Fuck off, Drake. I never want to remember this."
  
  Drake chuckled. "As if we"ll ever let you forget about this."
  
  The rest of the team arrived little by little, and twenty minutes later they were all sitting at the bar, downing coffee and water, fruit and strips of bacon, and more wounds than they could count. Kinimaka wasn't looking at anyone, and Smith couldn't hold anything in his right hand. Yorgi was immensely depressed. Kensi couldn't stop complaining. Only May, Lauren and Hayden seemed to be themselves.
  
  "You know," Hayden said. "I'm just happy that we all got through this together. It could have been much worse. Atropine did its job. Are there any after effects, guys?"
  
  Yorgi, Smith and Kenzi blinked. Kensi spoke for them all. "I think Olga has surpassed after effects."
  
  Hayden smiled. "Okay, because we're not done yet. Those teams that didn't visit Fort Sill and Dallas were looking for one last clue. Fortunately, the Washington think tank and the NSA were able to keep tabs on the major players."
  
  "SAS?" - Drake suggested.
  
  "Well, the British, yes. They will be followed by China and all that remains of France-"
  
  "SEAL Team 7?" - asked Dahl.
  
  "Unknown, undeclared and unauthorized," Hayden said. "According to Crowe."
  
  "There are higher structures than the Minister of Defense," Kinimaka said.
  
  "President Coburn wouldn't hang us out to dry," Drake protested. "I have to believe he doesn"t know anything about the seals."
  
  "I agree," Hayden said. "And while I agree with Mano that there are beings higher than Crow, there are many more insidious. The kind that come at you sideways, out of the blue, and leave you with little choice. I have to believe there is more going on than we know."
  
  "This doesn't help our problem." Smith chuckled and struggled to lift the glass of milk.
  
  "Right". Hayden took a handful of fruit and made herself comfortable. "So, let's focus on ending this bad mother and go home. We are still the biggest team and the best. Even now, the British only got a one-day head start. The Chinese too. Now, it seems, of all the others, only the French have perked up. They sent another team of three to contact the only remaining original."
  
  "It"s the same in a special operations forces battle," Dahl said. "We are at the top."
  
  "Yes, but this is unlikely to be relevant. And lies. It's not like we're hand in hand or together in the desert."
  
  "It's a rough, unpredictable battle," Dahl said. "This is as real as it gets."
  
  Hayden nodded and then quickly continued. "Let's summarize the text of the Order. 'At the four corners of the Earth we found the Four Horsemen and laid out to them the plan for the Order of the Last Judgment. Those who survive the Judgment Crusade and its aftermath will rightfully reign supreme. If you're reading this, we're lost, so read and follow with caution. Our final years have been spent assembling the final four weapons of the world's revolutions: War, Conquest, Famine and Death. United, they will destroy all governments and open a new future. Be ready. Find them. Travel to the four corners of the Earth. Find the resting places of the Father of Strategy and then the Khagan; the worst Indian that ever lived, and then the Scourge of God. But everything is not as it seems. We visited the Khagan in 1960, five years after the completion, placing the Conquest in his coffin. We have found the Scourge that guards the true Last Judgment. And the only kill code is when the Horsemen appeared. There are no identifying marks on the Father's bones. The Indian is surrounded by weapons. The order of the Last Judgment now lives through you and will reign supreme forever."
  
  She finished and took a sip.
  
  "Everything is fine? I think it makes more sense now. The Order is dead, long gone, but there is still a small element of them in this. Maybe a mole. Single. Maybe something else. But it's good enough to hack a lab in Dallas, and good enough to take out a whole bunch of special forces, so we can't underestimate it."
  
  She paused as Drake waved. "Yes?"
  
  "Do you know where it"s best for him to be?" - he asked. "Inside a think tank in Washington. Or working for the NSA."
  
  Hayden's eyes widened. "Damn, that's a really good point. Let me think about it." She poured black coffee from a glass jug.
  
  "Time flies, my friends," said Mai.
  
  "Yes I am with you". Hayden stuffed his mouth. "Then let"s analyze the text: the last corner of the earth is Europe. We must find the grave of the Scourge of God, who is the Horseman of Death and guards the true Last Judgment. The worst of them all. And was there a kill code when the Horsemen showed up? I don"t understand this yet, sorry."
  
  "I assume the think tank has been doing this for a while?" Yorgi said.
  
  Now Lauren, who was leaning against the huge refrigerator, spoke up. "Of course have. The ancient leader was once given the dubious title of 'Flagellum of God' by the Romans he fought and killed. He was probably the most successful of the barbarian rulers and attacked the eastern and western Roman Empires when he lived around 406-453. He was the most terrible enemy of Rome and was once quoted: "Where I have passed, grass will never grow again."
  
  "Another glorified ancient mass murderer," Dahl said.
  
  "Attila the Hun," Lauren said, "killed his brother in 434 to become sole ruler of the Huns. Known for his fierce gaze, Attila was known to often roll his eyes, "as if enjoying the terror he inspired," according to historian Edward Gibbon. He also reputedly claimed to wield the real sword of Mars, the Roman god of war. You can imagine the fear this would have instilled on a Roman battlefield."
  
  "We got it," Drake said. "Attila was a bad boy or a good boy, depending on which side you were on. And who wrote the history books. How and where did he die?
  
  "Several conflicting accounts describe how he died. From a nosebleed to a knife at the hands of his new wife. When they found his body, the men, according to the custom of the Huns, tore out the hair from their heads and inflicted deep, disgusting wounds on their faces. It was said that Attila, being such a terrible enemy, received a message from the gods about his death as a fantastic surprise. Blessing. His body was laid in the center of a vast plain, inside a silken tent, for all to see and admire. The best horsemen of the tribes rode around and told stories of his great exploits around campfires. It was a great death. It goes on to say that a celebration was held over his grave." Lauren continued to repeat the relevant points that the constable whispered in her ear. There was no point in installing a loudspeaker.
  
  "They sealed his tombs with gold, silver and iron, because he had three. And they believed that these three materials were befitting of the greatest of all kings. Of course, weapons, riches and rare gems were added. And, it seems, also according to custom, they killed all those who worked on his grave, in order to keep its location a secret."
  
  Alicia looked around at those sitting at the table. "One of you will die," she said. "Don't ask me to bury you. Not a damn chance."
  
  "You will be both saddened and delighted to hear that Attila's tomb is one of the greatest lost burial sites in history. Of course, from some others - the long-lost body of King Richard III discovered under a Leicester car park several years ago - we believe they can still be found. Maybe Cleopatra? Sir Francis Drake? Mozart? In any case, as far as Attila is concerned, it is believed that the Hunnic engineers diverted the Tisza River long enough to dry up the main riverbed. Attila was buried there in his magnificent, priceless triple coffin. Tisza was then released, hiding Attila forever."
  
  At that moment they heard the sound of an approaching helicopter. Hayden looked around the room.
  
  "I hope you are ready for another battle, boys and girls, because this is far from over."
  
  Drake stretched his aching muscles. Dahl tried to keep his head on his shoulders. Kensi winced when she touched a scratch on her back.
  
  "To be fair," Drake said. "I was still getting bored here."
  
  Hayden smiled. Dahl nodded as best he could. May was already on her feet. Lauren headed towards the door.
  
  "Come on," she said. "They're going to brief us more along the way."
  
  "Europe?" Yorgi asked.
  
  "Yes. And for the last Horseman of Death."
  
  Alicia jumped off the bar stool. "Great pep talk," she said sarcastically. "Coming from you, it sounds so exciting that even my toes are starting to tingle."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  
  
  Another flight, another fight on the horizon. Drake settled into a comfortable chair and listened as Lauren voiced the District of Columbia's judgments and conclusions in the Attila the Hun case. The team sat in various positions, taking what they could and trying to ignore the pain from the recently dubbed 'Olga incident'.
  
  "Attila"s grave is lost to history," Lauren concluded. "Never been found, although there were several bogus discoveries. So," she paused, listening, "have you heard about the gravitational anomaly?"
  
  Dahl looked back. "This term has several meanings."
  
  "Well, that"s our point. Just recently, scientists discovered a huge and mysterious anomaly buried under the polar ice sheet. You knew that? It is enormous in size - 151 miles across and almost a thousand meters deep. Detected by NASA satellites, it was a gravitational anomaly as changes in its surroundings indicated the presence of a huge object located in the crater. Now, wild theories aside, this object is a gravitational anomaly. It is positioned incorrectly, does not move like everything else around it, and therefore can be detected by powerful radar."
  
  "You're talking about ground penetrating radar," Dahl said. "My old specialty."
  
  Drake's eyes widened. "You are sure? I thought it was a male striptease at hen parties. They called you the Dancing Viking."
  
  Dahl tired him. "Stop that".
  
  Alicia leaned towards me. "He seems grumpy," she whispered theatrically.
  
  "Bouncing off an unsuspecting old lady will do that to you."
  
  Surprisingly, Smith had tears in his eyes. "I have to say," he gasped, "I"ve never seen someone bounce so hard off someone without a trampoline involved." He hid his face, trying to calm down.
  
  Kinimaka patted him on the shoulder. "Are you okay, bro? I've never seen you laugh before, man. This is weird".
  
  Lauren intervened, saving the Swede from more teasing. "GPR, but on an intensive scale. I mean, there's this weird thing on Google Maps called Antarctica. You can see this from your laptop. But finding something as small as Attila's tomb? Well, that includes using machines and software that NASA hasn't even admitted to owning yet."
  
  "Are they using a satellite?" Yorgi asked.
  
  "Oh yes, all cool nations have this."
  
  "Including China, UK and France." Drake pointed to their list of opponents.
  
  "Certainly. From space, the Chinese could identify a person sitting in his car, check the Internet sites he is browsing, and classify the contents of the sandwich he is eating. Any man. Almost anywhere."
  
  "Only men?" Kenzi asked. "Or women too?"
  
  Lauren grinned and whispered, "I have a man in my ear passing it on. Sounds a little young, like he hasn't discovered women yet."
  
  Drake listened to the helicopter cut across the sky between America and Europe, the third and fourth ends of the earth.
  
  "Okay, well, anyway..." Lauren winked. "If we piece together Piscara's little-known geography, one text says that Attila's famous palace was located between the Danube and the Tisza, in the Carpathian hills, on the plains of upper Hungary and neighboring Zazberin. A much more obscure passage says that Attila's tomb was opposite his palace."
  
  "But buried under the river," Mai stated.
  
  "Yes, the Tisza crosses Hungary from north to south, being a huge tributary of the Danube itself. The river's path will help our scientists. Hopefully their research using geophysical technology will combine satellite, magnetics, MAG and ground penetrating radar. Magnetic surveys are complemented by GPR profiles for selected anomalies. They also say they can see if the river has ever been diverted." She shrugged. "We're talking about thousands and thousands of images that the computer has to look at and then make a decision."
  
  "Okay, okay, so we're heading to Hungary." Alicia feigned a headache. "Just say it."
  
  The team settled back, wondering how their aggressive colleagues were doing.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Hungary, the Danube and the Tisza looked as black at night as the rest of Europe, but Drake knew that right now it was much more turbulent here. The most powerful of the Four Horsemen lay there - Death - and those who found him may well determine the future of the world.
  
  The team landed, took off again, landed again, and then hopped into a huge, non-reflective van to complete the final leg of their journey. The calculators had not figured anything out yet, the areas were still large and the target small, not to mention old and potentially degraded. It would have been nice to figure out how the Order operated independently, but their sudden murders many decades ago put an end to any retreat.
  
  They set up camp on the plains, posted guards outside and settled inside. A strong wind blew, fluttering the tents; the surreal reality of everything they had done over the past few days was still trying to sink in.
  
  Are we really here now, camped halfway up a Hungarian hill? Drake thought about it. Or is Olga still beating us up?
  
  The flowering canvas of the tent spoke the truth, as did the writhing figure next to him. Alicia, wrapped in her sleeping bag with only her eyes showing.
  
  "Is it cold, love?"
  
  "Yes, come here and warm me up."
  
  "Please," Dahl said from somewhere south of Drake"s feet, "not today."
  
  "I agree," said Kenzi from the east. "Tell the bitch you have a headache or something. Who knows where she was? The number of diseases and so on and so forth."
  
  "So there is no question of a foursome?"
  
  "It is," added Mai, who was standing at the entrance to the tent. "Especially since there are five of us."
  
  "Crazy, I forgot you were here, Sprite. I still can't believe they locked us all in one damn tent."
  
  "I, for one, prefer to sleep on the plains," Dahl said, getting up. "Then maybe I"ll sleep."
  
  Drake watched the Swede head for the exit, assuming he would take the chance to call Joanna. Their relationship remained up in the air, but the day would come, soon, when someone would make a permanent decision.
  
  Dawn came, and experts from Washington suggested half a dozen sites. The team split up and began to dig, throwing out the magnificent landscapes from their heads and hearts: the sparkling blue snake of the Tisza, sometimes wide, sometimes strangely narrow in places, the grassy hills of the Carpathians, the endlessly clear sky. The cool breeze blowing across the wide spaces was welcome, relieving fatigue and soothing bruises. Drake and the others constantly wondered where their enemies were. British, Chinese and French. Where? Over the nearest hill? No one ever saw the slightest hint of surveillance. It was as if the other teams had given up.
  
  "Not your average relic hunt," Drake once said. "I hardly know where I will end up next."
  
  "I agree," said Dahl. "One moment we're all fighting, and the next it's all easy. And yet it could have been worse."
  
  The first day flew by quickly, then the second. They didn't find anything. It started to rain, and then the blinding sun. The team took turns resting and then allowed a few hired workers to relieve them for a while. Men and women who did not speak English were appointed from a nearby village. One day, Alicia discovered a hole in the ground, possibly an old tunnel, but her excitement quickly faded when her search came to a dead end.
  
  "No use," she said. "We could be a meter away from him and still not find him."
  
  "How do you think this went unnoticed all these years?"
  
  Dahl continued to scratch his head, sure that they did not understand something. "It"s on the tip of my tongue," he repeated more than once.
  
  Drake couldn't help himself. "You mean Olga, don't you? It was a very brief experience, mate."
  
  Dahl growled, still scanning.
  
  Another night and a few more hours in the tent. The most tense of these evenings was when Drake started talking about Webb's statement, his legacy and his secret vault of information.
  
  "We need to focus on that next time. The secrets he collected could be devastating. Stunning".
  
  "For whom?" Dahl said. "The ones against us weren"t that bad."
  
  "Except for one that we don"t know yet," Mai said.
  
  "Damn, really? I forgot. Which one is it?"
  
  The Japanese woman lowered her voice and spoke quietly. "One of you is dying."
  
  For a long, painful moment there was silence.
  
  Alicia broke it. "Have to agree with Drake. This doesn't just apply to us. Webb was a stalking specialist and a mega-rich asshole. He must have had dirt on everyone."
  
  A false alarm caused them to rush out of the tent, falling into the ground and mud, among the rubble and sand of an ancient burial site. To their deep irritation, it turned out that it did not belong to Attila. At least not as far as they could tell.
  
  Later, in the tent, they returned to their thoughts.
  
  "There"s so much to deal with," Hayden said. "Perhaps this search for Webb's hiding place and what we subsequently discover could protect us from what may be coming."
  
  "Joshua's death in Peru? Our disobedience? Questionable judgment and an uncertain leash? We have to answer to someone. One name-calling you can get away with. But three? Four? Our bills are in the red, people, and I don"t mean overspending."
  
  "Hence, SEAL Team 7?" - asked Dahl.
  
  "Maybe," Hayden muttered. "Who knows? But if they attack us with prejudice, I swear to God that I will strike back with comparative force. And so it will be with all of you. That's an order."
  
  Another day came and the hunt continued. Rainfall hampered their efforts. The Washington think tank returned with seven more sites for a total of twenty-three. Most of them yielded nothing but empty spaces or old foundations, buildings long gone, skeletons reduced to rags. Most of another day passed and the SPEAR team's morale began to wane.
  
  "Are we even in the right place?" Kenzi asked. "I mean Hungary. Opposite Attila's palace. How long ago was this person born? One thousand six hundred years ago, right? What's this? Fourteen centuries before Geronimo. Maybe Attila is the wrong 'scourge'. I guess the Catholic Church has labeled many."
  
  "We find a wide variety of anomalies," Kinimaka said. "There are so many of them, and none of them are correct."
  
  Dahl stared at him. "We need a way to narrow down our search."
  
  Lauren, always plugged into the think tank, looked the other way. "Yes, they say. Yes."
  
  The wind gently blew the Swede's hair, but his face remained impassive. "I have nothing".
  
  "Perhaps we should take another look at Attila?" May suggested. "Anything in his biography?"
  
  Lauren told the Washington gang to take care of it. The team rested, slept, looked for faults and found none, and took part in two more false alarms.
  
  Finally, Drake assembled a team. "I think we'll have to call this a failure, people. The Order says they have found it, possibly ¸ but if we can"t, then other countries won"t be able to either. Perhaps the fourth Horseman would be better left where he was buried. If he's even still there."
  
  "Perhaps the grave was robbed," Hayden said, spreading her hands, "shortly after the burial. But then, of course, the relics would have been discovered. Cloth. Sword. Gems. Other bodies."
  
  "It's hard to leave such a powerful weapon there," Kenzi said with a blank expression on her face. "I know my government wouldn't. They would never stop searching."
  
  Drake nodded in agreement. "True, but we undoubtedly have other crises brewing. We can't stay here forever."
  
  "They said the same thing in Peru," Smith said.
  
  Drake nodded to Lauren. "Do they have anything for us?"
  
  "Not yet, with the exception of eight other potential sites. The indications are still the same. Nothing hard."
  
  "But couldn"t this be exactly what we"re looking for?" Dahl said very quietly.
  
  Hayden sighed. "I think I may have to call this person and get in touch with the secretary. We are better-"
  
  "Be careful," Alicia warned. "Perhaps this is the signal the seals are waiting for."
  
  Hayden fell silent, uncertainty appearing in his eyes.
  
  Dahl finally got their attention. "Ground penetrating radar," he said. "Looks for anomalies, gravitational, magnetic or whatever. Naturally, he finds an awful lot, since it's a very old planet. But we can narrow down our search. We can. Oh damn, how could we be such fools?"
  
  Drake shared Alicia's worried look. "Are you okay, buddy? You"re still not feeling the effects of that Olga you tried to kidnap, are you?"
  
  "I'm fine. I'm perfect as always. Listen - remember those idiots who found the tombs of the gods?
  
  Drake's face became serious now. "It was us, Torsten. Well, most of us."
  
  "I know it. We found the bones of Odin, as well as Thor, Zeus and Loki." He made a pause. "Aphrodite, Mars and much more. Well, what were their weapons and armor made of? Some of their gems?"
  
  "An unknown substance that later helped us on another mission," Drake said.
  
  "Yeah." Dahl couldn't stop grinning. "Whose sword was buried with Attila?"
  
  Lauren jumped at it. "Mars!" - she exclaimed. "The Roman god of war pierced Attila with his sword through the Scythians. It was called the Sword of Holy War. But if it really came from Mars" own hand..."
  
  "You can reconfigure the ground penetrating radar to look for that particular element," Dahl said. "And just this incredibly rare element."
  
  "And boom!" Drake nodded at him. "It's that simple. The crazy Swede is back."
  
  Alicia still looked upset. "You couldn"t have thought of this, damn it, a few days ago?"
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  
  
  Another eight hours and they were ready. The DC team rebooted the ground penetrating radar after contacting an Icelandic archaeological unit that was still exploring what remained of the first tomb of the gods. It always comes back to Odin, Drake thought as he waited. It is clear that the Icelanders preserved most of the details of the find and all the samples. Sending data about a rare element to Washington was a matter of minutes.
  
  At least that's what they said, Drake later imagined. He would be shocked if the Americans didn't already have this on file.
  
  A test was performed and then a hot signal was sent. Ping on the area they had already walked around, and the ancient Sword of Mars became a clear point on the map.
  
  "That's it," said Mai. "Tomb of Attila the Hun."
  
  The excavations began in earnest. The villagers began to expand the hole they had already dug out. Before they reached the void that ran perfectly parallel to the sword, they paid off the villagers and pretended to be depressed as they watched them leave.
  
  "The other side of this," Mai said, "is a huge cultural find."
  
  "We can't worry about that now," Hayden said. "This is the weapon of Death. This must be neutralized before we announce anything."
  
  Smith, Yorgi and Kinimaka jumped in, attacking the ground. Dahl still looked and felt a little woozy, although Alicia and Kenzi took the opportunity to call him everything from 'idle ass' to 'Crazy Sloth'.
  
  It didn't take long to burst into the void.
  
  Drake watched as the trio widened the gap. Mai and Alicia scanned the area to make sure there were no surprises in the long grass that were about to sneak up. Lauren was going to stay close to the hole; line of sight between the two women and those below.
  
  "Since we don't know how far we're going down," Drake said, "communication may be useless. But I think we'll play it the way we find it."
  
  "All we need is a box," Hayden confirmed. "We don't waste time staring at anything or anyone else. Do you agree?"
  
  They nodded. Yorgi went first, being the most agile in the team. Kinimaka came next, still nursing a head wound, followed by Smith. Drake jumped into the hole, followed by Hayden and Dahl. The Swede had to remain at the entrance. Drake dove under the uneven ground and found himself inside a dark tunnel. One minute of crawling and squeezing between walls led to a wider void where the team turned left. Yorgi connected the sword to the portable navigator and called out the distance between them and him every few minutes.
  
  Drake held his flashlight steady, connecting the beams with those in front. The passage never deviated, but circled around the sword's resting place until they slowly headed away from it.
  
  Yorgi stopped ahead. "We may have to break through."
  
  Drake swore. "It's solid stone. We would need large equipment to break through there. Do you see how fat she is?"
  
  Yorgi made a dissatisfied sound. "Twice the width of this passage."
  
  "And the sword?" - I asked.
  
  "Only on the other side."
  
  Drake had the distinct impression that they were being played with. The old gods are having fun again. Sometimes it seemed that they followed him all the way, dragging him into one adventure or another, sometimes returning to make themselves known.
  
  Like now.
  
  He made his decision. "Move on," he said. "We need to see where this passage leads."
  
  "Well, there is one of the anomalies ahead," Yorgi sent the answer. "Large unknown form."
  
  Alicia's voice crackled through the communicator. "Is it moving?"
  
  Drake knew the wicked tone of humor. "Stop that".
  
  "How many legs does he have?"
  
  "Alicia!"
  
  Everyone underground took out their pistols. Drake tried to crane his neck to look ahead, but Kinimaka blocked his view. The only thing he managed to do was hit the top of his head against the tunnel.
  
  Dust sifted through the air. Drake was sweating, his fresh bruises throbbing. The team crawled on as fast as they could. Yorgi led them around a slow bend. Only then did the young Russian stop.
  
  "Oh! I have something."
  
  "What?" - I asked. Several voices were heard.
  
  "Wait. You can come up here with me."
  
  Soon Drake rounded the bend and saw that the side of the passage widened, turning into a stone arch eight feet high and four times the width of a man. It was tan in color, smooth, and rose above a narrower hole that had been cut into the rock itself, a small entrance like a door.
  
  Drake peered into the blackness of this hole. "So maybe they gouged out the rock a little bit, ensuring that Attila would stay here forever?"
  
  "But there is no river above us," Yorgi said. "It was on my mind."
  
  "River courses change over the years," Hayden said. "At the moment we cannot say whether the Tisza once flowed this way. Anyway, it's just a few meters south."
  
  Drake walked towards the darkness. "I'm in the game. Shall we take a look?
  
  Yorgi jumped up, maintaining his position in front. At first the new door was just an outline of complete blackness, but as they got closer and shined their flashlights, they saw hints of a large room on the other side. The room was no larger than a decent dining room, full of dust particles and absolute silence, with a knee-high pedestal in the center.
  
  There was a stone coffin on the pedestal.
  
  "Incredible," Yorgi breathed.
  
  "Do you think Attila is there?" Kenzi asked.
  
  "The sword is, I think." Yorgi checked his ground penetrating radar. "So says this thing."
  
  "We remain on a mission." Hayden didn't even look at the coffin. She was busy learning about gender. "And it's right there? That's all".
  
  Drake looked where she was pointing. The team walked through the entrance arch and found themselves completely inside the room. A familiar wooden box with the seal of the Order on the lid stood on the pedestal itself, at the foot of the coffin. Hayden stepped towards him.
  
  "Get ready," she told Lauren over the comms. "We're on our way. Tell Washington we found the last box."
  
  "Did you open it?"
  
  "Negative. I don't think it's a good idea down here. We'll wait until we get to the top."
  
  Drake stared at the coffin. The yogi moved closer. Kenzi climbed onto the pedestal and looked down.
  
  "Is anyone going to help me?"
  
  "Not now," Hayden said. "We have to go".
  
  "Why?" Kenzi remained larger. "It's not like other teams here. It's nice to have a moment to yourself, don't you think? It's a nice change to not have anyone trying to hold me back."
  
  Drake turned on the comms. "Dal? You're a bastard."
  
  "What?"
  
  Kenzi sighed. "It"s just a stone lid."
  
  Drake saw her as a relic smuggler with a passion for treasure. Of course, this will never subside. It was part of her. He nodded at Hayden.
  
  "We'll catch up with you. I promise".
  
  He ran to the other side of the pedestal, grabbed the stone and pulled.
  
  Hayden hurried out of the tomb, Yorgi and Kinimaka following behind him. Smith paused at the door. Drake watched as treasures from the tomb of Attila the Hun were discovered.
  
  In the light of the flashlight his eyes were blinded; sparkling greens and reds, sapphire blues and bright yellows; shades of the rainbow, shimmering and free for the first time in almost a thousand years. The wealth was moved, the sword was knocked out of alignment by this movement. Other blades flashed. Necklaces, ankles and bracelets lay in heaps.
  
  Beneath it all, still wrapped in a few scraps of clothing, lay Attila's body. Drake believed it that way. The site was never discovered by grave robbers; hence the presence of wealth. The Nazis only needed it for their larger plans, and drawing attention to the monumental find would only draw attention to them. Holding his breath, he jumped to the communicator.
  
  "Lauren," he whispered. "You have to hire someone to guard it all. You just have to make it happen. This is... incredible. The only thing is..." He paused, searching.
  
  "What is this?" - I asked.
  
  "There are no swords here. The sword of Mars is missing."
  
  Lauren exhaled. "Oh no, this is not good."
  
  Drake's face became tense. "After everything we've been through," he said. "I know it damn well."
  
  Kensi chuckled. Drake looked back. "The Sword of Mars is here."
  
  "Damn, you're good. Relic smuggler and master thief. You stole it right from under my nose." He stared. "It's amazing".
  
  "You can't take anything." He saw her take out a jeweled object. "But I trust you to go there for the most valuable goods."
  
  "More than Attila?"
  
  "Yes, sure. You can pick it up. But whatever you do, keep the sword for yourself."
  
  Kenzi laughed and removed her hand, leaving behind the bejeweled treasure but keeping the sword. "Now I"ve seen it all," she said with some reverence. "We can go."
  
  Drake was happy that she showed an inner desire and that he helped her fulfill it. "Then it's okay. Let's see what the Horseman of Death is."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  
  
  Kneeling in direct sunlight, the SPEAR team examined the final box of the Order of the Last Judgment.
  
  Kinimaka waited for approval as Alicia and Mai approached the borders, now that friendly helicopters could be seen on the horizon. Hayden pointed at Kinimaka.
  
  "Keep up the good work, Mano. We have to see what's inside before the company arrives; friend or foe."
  
  The Hawaiian nodded and clicked the lock. Drake leaned forward as the lid lifted, butting heads with Dahl.
  
  "Crap!" - he shouted, blinking.
  
  "Was that your attempt at a kiss, Yorkie?"
  
  "I"ll kiss you if you shove that shaggy mop you call a head in my face one more time. Bloody Yorkshire Kiss."
  
  Of course, no one heard him. They were all focused on the new revelation.
  
  Hayden peered inside, leaning over Kensi. "Sheeeit," she said casually. "I never imagined it would be like this."
  
  "And me too". May stood.
  
  "The True Last Judgment," Lauren said, reciting the text again. "The worst of all."
  
  "Well, I don't know about you guys," Alicia muttered. "But all I see inside is a fucking piece of paper. Sounds like my shopping list."
  
  Mai looked back. "Somehow I can"t imagine you inside a supermarket."
  
  Alicia winced. "Just one time. All these carts, aisle barriers and choices completely threw me off track." She studied the approaching attack helicopters with longing. "It is much better".
  
  Kinimaka reached into the box and pulled out a piece of paper and held it up for everyone to see. "It"s just a bunch of numbers."
  
  "By chance," Smith said.
  
  Drake felt angry. "So, the Order of the Last Judgment sent us halfway around the world to find a piece of paper in a tomb that had been hidden for hundreds of years? A place we might never have found if we didn't have experience with the tombs of the gods? I do not understand this ".
  
  "The Nazis were relic and treasure hunters," Kenzie said. "Do you know about this incredible mass they recently discovered under the polar ice? Some say it's a Nazi base. They looted everything from jewelry to scrolls and paintings. They tried to create zombies, searched for eternal life and lost thousands of people in a dangerous search. If they chose to leave it in the tomb of Attila the Hun rather than steal the wealth, there is a terrible reason for that."
  
  Lauren pointed to her ears. "The District of Columbia wants to know what it is."
  
  Hayden took it from Kinimaki. "So, guys, this is an old piece of notepaper, quite thick and torn on both sides. It has yellowed and appears quite fragile. So, in the middle there is a line of writing consisting only of numbers." She read them out: "483794311656..." She took a breath. "That's not all..."
  
  "A geek"s wet dream." Alicia sighed. "But what the hell should we do?"
  
  "Get out of here," Drake said, standing up as the helicopters touched down. "Before the Huns find us."
  
  The pilot jogged up. "Are you guys ready? We'll have to keep an eye on that."
  
  The team escorted him back to the helicopters. Hayden finished her speech and passed the piece of paper around as they took their seats. "Any ideas?"
  
  "You can"t even play the lottery with them," Alicia said. "Useless".
  
  "And what do they have to do with death?" Drake said. "And the four horsemen? Since numbers seem important, could it have something to do with birth dates? Dates of death?
  
  "We're here," a voice said in his ear, and he remembered again that they were connected to the entire world unless they had to shut down DC to complete a mission, in which case they were only connected to Lauren.
  
  "Not only on him," said another voice. "We got it."
  
  Drake listened to the helicopters slowly rise into the air.
  
  "These breakdown numbers are coordinates. Easily. The Nazis left you a perfect target, people."
  
  Drake began checking and preparing his weapons. "Target?" - I asked.
  
  "Yes, the first set of numbers points to Ukraine. The sequence is one long continuous number, so it took us a while to decipher it."
  
  Alicia looked at her watch. "I don"t call for five minutes a day."
  
  "You don"t have an IQ of one hundred and sixty."
  
  "How the hell do you know, smart guy? I've never tested it."
  
  A minute of silence, and then: "Anyway. We entered the entire sequence and connected it to the satellite. What we're looking at now is a large industrial area, perhaps eight square miles in total. It's mostly full of warehouses, we counted over thirty, and they seem to be empty. Something from an abandoned era of war. This could be an old Soviet military storage facility, now abandoned."
  
  "And the coordinates?" Hayden asked. "Do they point to anything specific?"
  
  "Still checking." There was silence on the line.
  
  Hayden didn't need to inform the pilots; they were already heading to Ukraine. Drake felt himself relax a little; at least their rival teams couldn't beat them to it. He looked at Hayden and mouthed.
  
  Can we turn this off?
  
  She made a face. It would look suspicious.
  
  Mole? He mimed it slowly, leaning forward.
  
  Hayden thought so too. There is no one we can trust.
  
  Alicia laughed. "Damn it, Drake, if you want to kiss her, just do it."
  
  The Yorkshire man leaned back as the helicopter cut across the sky. It was almost impossible to work at full capacity when you weren't sure if even your own bosses would have your back. A heaviness fell on his heart. If someone was planning something against them, they are about to find out.
  
  The communicator beeped.
  
  "Wow".
  
  Hayden raised his head. "What?" - I asked.
  
  The voice of the super geek from Washington sounded scared. "Are you sure, Jeff? I mean, I can't tell them this and then find out it's just guesswork."
  
  Silence. Then their lover took a deep breath. "Wow, I have to say. This is bad. This is really bad. The coordinates seem to lead directly to the Horseman of Death.
  
  Dahl paused midway through loading a magazine into his pistol. "It makes sense," he said. "But what is it?"
  
  "Nuclear warhead."
  
  Hayden clenched her teeth. "Can you pinpoint this? Is this live? Is there-"
  
  "Wait," the geek exhaled, catching his breath. "Please just wait. That's not all. I didn't mean 'nuclear warhead'."
  
  Hayden frowned. "Then what did you mean?"
  
  "There are six nuclear warheads in three warehouses. We can't see through walls because the buildings are lined with lead, but we can see through roofs with the help of our satellites. The images show that the nuclear weapon dates back to the eighties era, is likely worth a fortune to the right buyer and is carefully guarded. The security is mostly inside, sometimes they drive around the empty base."
  
  "So, the Order of the Last Judgment hid six nuclear weapons in three warehouses for later use?" Mai asked. "It really does seem like a Nazi thing."
  
  "The weapon is also in working order," said the geek.
  
  "How did you know that?"
  
  "The computer system is working. They can be armed, directed, released."
  
  "Do you have the exact location?" Kenzi asked.
  
  "Yes, we do. All six were strapped into the backs of flatbed trucks located inside the warehouses. Oddly enough, activity inside has recently doubled. Of course, they could be moved too."
  
  Drake looked at Hayden, who stared back at him.
  
  "Mole," Kensi said out loud.
  
  "What about the rival teams?" - asked Dahl.
  
  "According to the NSA, the number of rumors has increased. Doesn't look good."
  
  "I'd like to know what they hope to find," Mai said. "Not including six old nuclear warheads."
  
  "Sword of Mars"
  
  Drake quickly turned his neck. "What?" - I asked.
  
  "Everyone got the coordinates, assuming that this mole was working here. Everyone set themselves the task of creating a satellite. Our imaging software is equipped with all kinds of sensors, and starting with the story of Odin and subsequent misses, we can detect a rare element associated with tombs and gods. Our instruments show the approximate size and shape of the object, and it matches the missing sword. They all know that we have found the sword and are heading towards the nuclear charges. We have to do this."
  
  "Leave the sword on the chopper." Smith shrugged.
  
  Drake, Dal and Hayden exchanged glances. "Not a chance in hell. The sword remains with us."
  
  Drake lowered his head. "The only bloody thing that is more valuable than Genghis Khan, Attila, Geronimo and Hannibal combined," he said. "And we are forced to switch to nuclear weapons."
  
  "Forethought," Mai said. "And they need it for a lot of reasons. Wealth."
  
  "Reward," Smith said.
  
  "Greed," Kensi said.
  
  "Trouble-free," Hayden said with conviction. "For all these reasons combined. Where are the six nuclear weapons?"
  
  "There are two inside warehouse 17," the computer guy said. "Other nuclear installations are located in Eighteenth and Nineteenth, and I am telling you their exact location right now. It's a large base and we're counting heat emissions from at least two dozen bodies, so be careful."
  
  Drake leaned back, looking at the roof. "Again?"
  
  Hayden knew what he was thinking. "Do you believe that everything will change after this?"
  
  He smiled sadly. "I believe".
  
  "Then let"s hit it hard," Dahl said. "As a team, as colleagues. Let's do this one last time."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  
  
  It wasn't easy for the SPEAR team. The old, abandoned base was simply a jumbled collection of large, elongated warehouses with a network of smooth dirt roads running between them. The roads were very wide to accommodate large trucks. Drake theorized that it had once been some kind of warehouse, a place where huge amounts of military equipment could be stored. The helicopters landed on the outskirts, behind a rusty, dilapidated fence, and almost instantly turned off their engines.
  
  "The team is ready," Hayden said into her communicator.
  
  "Go," Constable DC told her. "Make sure the warheads are disabled and the other item is safe."
  
  Dahl grumbled at the ground. "Let's talk about locking the stable door after the horse has run away."
  
  The team had already mapped out the locations of all three warehouses in their minds and had a good idea of the winding road network. Essentially, everything overlapped with everything else. There were no dead ends, no detours, no escape routes, except one. All the perimeter warehouses were surrounded by dense forest, but the inner ones - the three vital ones - were located among the others in a random order.
  
  They ran together.
  
  "We're going to have to split up, neutralize the nuclear weapons, then find a way to get them out of here to a nicer place," Hayden said. "Romania is not far away."
  
  Now Lauren was with them, fully plugged into Washington, and having proven that she could think under pressure, they might need her when it came to handling nuclear weapons. A stable head capable of transmitting information through channels cannot be underestimated. They walked low, quickly and headed for the warehouses.
  
  A dirt road opened before them, deserted. Beyond this the entire area was covered in bare earth and shale, with only a few tufts of sparse brown grass. Drake examined the scene and gave the order to move forward. They ran out into the open with their weapons ready. The smell of dirt and oil assaulted his senses, and a cold breeze hit his face. Their gear clanged and their boots hit the ground hard.
  
  They approached the first wall of the warehouse and stopped, leaning their backs against it. Drake glanced along the line.
  
  "Ready?" - I asked.
  
  "Go."
  
  He scanned the next leg of their route, knowing that they didn't have any CCTV cameras to worry about since the devices hadn't picked up any signals coming from the base other than cell phones. The nuclear charges themselves emitted a low-frequency hum. Beyond this the place was barren.
  
  Another run and they came across another warehouse. Each of them had a number written across it in black scrawl. Each of them looked dilapidated, tasteless, with rivulets of rust running down from the roof to the floor. The gutters swung freely, jagged sections pointing to the ground, dripping dirty water.
  
  Drake could now see the left corner of Warehouse 17 ahead. "We're crossing this road," he said. "We make our way along the flank of this warehouse until we reach the end. So we are only twenty feet away from seventeen."
  
  He moved on, then stopped. A security vehicle drove down the road ahead, moving along the path that crossed them. However, nothing happened. Drake breathed a sigh of relief.
  
  "There are no friends here," Dahl reminded them. "Don't trust anyone outside the team." He didn't need to add "Even the Americans."
  
  Now Drake moved from his place, pressed himself against the wall of the warehouse and moved forward. Warehouse 17 had two small windows facing the front. Drake cursed quietly, but realized that there was no other way out.
  
  "Move," he said urgently. "Move it now."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  
  
  They ran to the warehouse doors, splitting into three groups. Drake, Alicia and May each scored seventeen points; Dal, Kenzie, and Hayden each scored eighteen, leaving Smith, Lauren, Kinimaka, and Yorgi with nineteen each. As one they crashed into the main doors.
  
  Drake kicked the door, ripping it off its hinges. The man was just leaving the office inside. Drake took him under his arm, yanked him hard and threw him against the opposite wall of the office. The narrow passage they were in opened directly onto the warehouse, so Alicia and May walked around it.
  
  Drake finished off the man, left him comatose, and checked out the small offices before joining the women. A breathtaking sight met his eyes. The warehouse was huge, long and tall. In its center, facing a bank of roller doors, stood a long, low flatbed truck-a cab with a large engine at the front. Two nuclear warheads lay in the back of the truck, clear as day, their noses facing forward, black straps securing them at regular intervals. The straps would provide flexibility without much movement-a good idea for transportation, Drake suggested, since no one wanted a deadly missile to crash into a stationary object. A huge bundle of side curtains lay at the side of a huge truck, which he assumed had been attached before departure.
  
  "No security," Mai said.
  
  Alicia pointed to another office to the right of the truck. "My suggestion".
  
  "You'd think they'd be more concerned," Mai said.
  
  Drake couldn't help but check the security cameras, finding it difficult to rely entirely on a group of fans sitting in an air-conditioned office. "Our old friend, complacency is probably at work," he said. "They kept it a secret for a long time."
  
  Through communication channels they heard the sounds of battle, other teams were busy.
  
  Alicia rushed to the truck. "On me!"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Dahl grabbed the nearest man and threw him into the rafters, getting a decent amount of airtime before watching him collapse awkwardly to the ground. The bones were broken. Blood flowed. Kenzi slid past, firing her submachine gun, hitting the fleeing men, who then slammed their faces hard into the ground. Hayden switched sides, preferring her Glock. The huge truck they found was parked in the center of the warehouse, next to three offices and several rows of boxes. They had no idea what was inside, but thought it would be wise to find out.
  
  Hayden walked towards the truck, her eyes scanning the pair of nuclear charges mounted above her head. Damn, they were huge at that distance. Monsters that have no other purpose than to devastate. Then, undoubtedly, they were Death and were clearly part of the fourth Horseman. Attila was the second oldest figure of the four, born seven hundred years after Hannibal and, coincidentally, seven hundred years before Genghis Khan. Geronimo was born in 1829. All riders are right in their own way. All kings, assassins, generals, unrivaled strategists. Everyone challenged their supposed best.
  
  Was this the reason the Order chose them?
  
  She knew that the Washington mole was taunting them with skill.
  
  There is no time to change anything now. She walked behind the platform, heading towards the boxes. Some lids were warped, others leaned against the wooden walls. Straw and other packing materials leaked from above. Hayden shot one man, then exchanged bullets with another and was forced to dive to the ground for cover.
  
  She found herself in the back of the truck, with the tail of a nuclear warhead hanging over her.
  
  "What the hell would happen if a bullet hit one of these things?"
  
  "Don't worry, it should be a good shot to hit the core or explosive," the voice told her over the comm. "But I think there"s always a chance for a lucky break."
  
  Hayden clenched her teeth. "Oh, thanks, buddy."
  
  "No problem. Don't worry, that's unlikely to happen."
  
  Hayden ignored the soft, dispassionate comment, rolled out into the open and fired the entire magazine at her opponent. The man fell, bleeding. Hayden inserted another magazine as she rushed towards the drawers.
  
  A huge warehouse surrounded her, echoing with gunfire, spacious enough to be unsettling, the rafters so high that an unfriendly enemy could easily hide in them. She looked out from behind the boxes.
  
  "I think we're doing well," she said. "It looks like they have more than one operation going on here."
  
  Kenzi ran up, brandishing the Sword of Mars. "What is this?" - I asked.
  
  Dahl squatted down at the huge wheel of the platform. "Watch your back. We have more than one enemy here."
  
  Hayden sifted the straw. "Stolen goods," she said. "This must be a waypoint. There is a large selection here."
  
  Kenzi took out a gold figurine. "They have teams that conduct house-to-house raids. Burglary. This is a huge business. Everything is exported, sold or melted down. The level of consciousness behind these crimes is below zero."
  
  Dahl whispered: "To your left."
  
  Hayden ducked behind a box, spotted her victim and opened fire.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Lauren Fox followed Mano Kinimaka into the lion's den. She saw how Smith dealt with the enemy and left him for dead. She saw Yorgi pick the lock on the office door, walk in and declare it obsolete in less than a minute. Every day she tried desperately to keep up. Every day she worried that she might lose her place on the team. It was part of why she courted Nicholas Bell, why she kept in touch and looked for other ways to help.
  
  She loved the team and wanted to remain a part of it.
  
  Now she stayed back, Glock in hand, hoping she wouldn't have to use it. The plateaus occupied most of her vision, huge and terrible. The warheads were a dull greenish color that did not reflect light, undoubtedly one of the most menacing shapes the modern human mind can imagine. Smith grappled with a large guard, took several hits, and then took the guy out just as Lauren was sneaking up to help. To her right, Kinimaka shot two more. Bullets began to fly around the warehouse as the others realized they were under attack.
  
  From behind, she saw several guards break through to the cab of the truck.
  
  "Careful," she turned on the connection, "I see people heading towards the front. Oh my god, are they going to try to get them out of here?"
  
  "Oh no," was the answer from DC for all to see. "You must neutralize these nuclear weapons. If these guys have launch codes, then even one of these that gets released will be a disaster. Look, all six must be neutralized. Now!"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  "Easy as hell for you to say," Alicia muttered. "Wrapped in my robe and sipping my frothy cappuccino. Wait, I see they are heading towards the taxi here too."
  
  Drake changed direction, seeing that he could race along this side of the platform without encountering any resistance. He waved to Alicia and quickly set off.
  
  Mai's voice broke his concentration. "Watch your step!"
  
  What...?
  
  A man in a thick black leather jacket slid under the platform, legs stretched out. By luck or clever design, they hit Drake in the shins and sent him tumbling. The submachine gun slid forward. Drake ignored the new bruises and crawled under the truck just as the guard opened fire. Bullets pierced the concrete behind him. The guard chased him, drawing his gun.
  
  Drake climbed right under the truck, feeling the huge weapon above his head. The guard ducked, then crouched. Drake fired his Glock and cut the man's forehead. He heard the sound of footsteps behind him, and then the weight of another man came down on top of him. Drake's chin hit the ground, causing stars and blackness to spin before his eyes. His teeth clicked together, breaking off tiny pieces. Pain exploded everywhere. He rolled over and slammed his elbow into someone's face. The pistol rose and fired; the bullets missed Drake's skull by an inch and went straight up into the base of the nuclear charge.
  
  Drake felt a rush of adrenaline. "This..." He grabbed the man"s head and slammed it onto the concrete with all his might. "... fuck." Nuclear. Rocket." Every word is a blow. Eventually the head fell back. Drake climbed back out from under the truck and met Alicia running further.
  
  "No time to sleep, Drakes. This is some serious shit."
  
  The Yorkshireman grabbed his submachine gun and tried to stop the ringing in his ears. Alicia's voice helped.
  
  "Mai? Are you okay?"
  
  "No! Pressed against each other."
  
  A roar came from the platform's engine.
  
  "Run faster," Drake said. "A few more seconds and these warheads will be out of here!"
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  
  
  Drake increased his speed. These days it was unusual for him to see straight, so today everything was as usual. The cabin door in front rose to head height. Drake reached out, grabbed the handle and pulled. Alicia took aim with her Glock.
  
  A hand grenade bounced off.
  
  Drake stared at him, not believing his eyes. "What are you, a fucking child-"
  
  Alicia hit him in the chest, sending him flying backwards and around the front of the truck. The grenade exploded violently, sending shrapnel flying in all directions. Drake rode with Alicia, the two sticking together. The truck door began to spin and tumble in front of the vehicle. When Drake looked up, there was only one person sitting in the cabin, high above, grinning evilly down at him. He pressed the gas pedal.
  
  Drake knew there was no way in hell the vehicle could move fast enough to run them over. He looked to the side and saw three more guards rushing at them. The truck roared to life as its wheels began to lock together and propel it forward, one inch at a time. The sliding doors didn't budge, but that wouldn't stop him.
  
  The communicator came to life.
  
  "They're moving trucks out of here! The cabins are bulletproof. And damn hard to get to." It was Hayden's voice."
  
  "No way in?" - Kinimaka asked.
  
  "No. It's sealed. And I don"t want to use too much force, if you know what I mean."
  
  And although Drake knew that their own truck now had no side door, there were still two more to worry about.
  
  "Jump on the platform," he said. "Start disconnecting these nuclear charges. They will be forced to stop."
  
  "Risky. Damn risky, Drake. What if one of the warheads comes off?"
  
  Drake ran out from behind the cabin, firing at the attackers. "One damn problem at a time. Who are we-prodigies?"
  
  Alicia shot her pursuer. "I'm afraid they're more like 'shady bastards' these days."
  
  Together they jumped onto the platform and found themselves face to face with a nuclear bomb.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  "It works on two fronts," Drake said now over the comms. "We can neutralize and disconnect at the same time."
  
  Hayden chuckled. "Try not to sound so smug about it."
  
  "Yorkshire people don't act smug, my love. We do everything amazingly with just a little humility."
  
  "Plus a few thousand shitty things." Dahl's voice sounded like he was running. "Yorkshire puddings. Terriers. Beer. Sports teams. And that accent?"
  
  Drake felt the truck begin to move underneath him. "Where's the control panel, people?"
  
  The technician responded immediately. "See how the warhead is made up of about thirty curved panels? This is an eighth from the pointed end."
  
  "My peculiar language."
  
  More shots rang out. Alicia was already focused on the pursuit. Mai just jumped onto the back of the platform. Now she looked at the backend of the nuke.
  
  "Bad news. The British are here."
  
  "I think we have Chinese," Dahl spoke up.
  
  "French," said Kinimaka. "New team"
  
  Drake jumped to the control panel. Do we know where the Sword of Mars is?"
  
  "Yes, Matt. But I can"t say it out loud now, can I?" - answered the voice.
  
  "Yeah," Dahl said.
  
  Drake winced and pulled out a small electric screwdriver with a multi-purpose bit. He quickly unscrewed the eight bolts and let them fall out. He found himself in front of two small control panels the size of car sat-nav screens, a keypad and a lot of flashing white symbols.
  
  "Cyrillic," he said. "Of course it is."
  
  "Could this day get any worse?" Alicia screamed across the world.
  
  The Yorkshireman lowered his head. "It"s fucking going to happen now."
  
  The truck picked up speed, heading towards the sliding door. The British advanced in close formation from the rear of the warehouse. The guards were spread out all around them.
  
  The nuclear bomb flashed, fully activated, awaiting a launch code or kill code.
  
  Drake knew they had to move. He knew they couldn't move. The only thing he didn't know was who would die first?
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The guards rushed in first, shooting. Drake was a large target, and the stationary bullets zipped past Alicia, hitting the warhead. For a second, Drake's life flashed before his eyes, then Alicia took down one guard, and Mai the other. He saw something more coming, even though he knew more was coming from their blind side. White symbols flashed, the cursor blinked and waited.
  
  "Do you think the security might explode?" Smith suddenly said quietly. "Perhaps this is their order?"
  
  "Why did they have to die?" Kenzi asked.
  
  "We've seen this before," Kinimaka said. "Families receiving huge payments required medical assistance or desperate relocation when the head of their family died. If they belong, for example, to the mafia or triad. It's possible."
  
  Drake knew they couldn't stay happy for long. Alicia managed to loosen the belt as the truck rolled on. I hope the driver sees. But then wouldn't he care? Drake saw no other choice.
  
  He raced along the platform towards the back, waving his arms madly.
  
  "Wait! Stop, stop. Do not shoot. I am English!"
  
  Dahl's grumbling said it all, no words were required.
  
  Drake fell to his knees in the back of the truck, the tail of the nuke to his left, his hands in the air and facing the approaching five-man SAS unit, completely unarmed.
  
  "We need your help," he said. "There is too much at stake for us to fight a war."
  
  He saw the young man switch to comms, saw the two older men stare at his face. Perhaps they would recognize him. Perhaps they knew about Michael Crouch. He spoke again.
  
  "I'm Matt Drake. Former SAS soldier. Former soldier. I work for an international special forces team called SPEAR. I trained in Hereford. I was coached by Crouch."
  
  I remember the name, all of it. Two of the five guns were lowered. Drake heard Alicia's voice over the comms.
  
  "You could have mentioned my name too."
  
  He winced slightly. "This may not be the best idea, love."
  
  Mai and Alicia kept the guards at a distance. Seconds passed. British SAS soldiers opened fire on more approaching guards who ducked behind the oil drums that filled the flat bed. Drake was waiting. The radio man finally finished.
  
  "Matt Drake? I'm from Cambridge. We've met before. What do you need?"
  
  Happy day, he thought. SAS on board.
  
  "Help us secure this warehouse, stop this truck and disarm this nuclear bomb," he said. "In this order".
  
  The British seized on this.
  
  Splitting up and running along both sides of the platform, they took down the approaching guards, working well as a team. Drake saw this and reveled in the memories of old times. There was a fluid grace, regal bearing and unyielding confidence in the team's movements. He thought that SPIR was the best team in the world, but now...
  
  "Drake! Mai was crying. "Nuclear bomb!"
  
  Oh yeah . He rushed back to the control panel, staring at the screens, keyboard and numbers.
  
  "Geeks?" he asked. "Do we know the code?"
  
  "It could be literally anything," someone responded.
  
  "This isn"t really fucking helping, you fucking dumbass."
  
  "Sorry. If we knew the names of the members of the Order, could we find out their birthdays?"
  
  Drake knew he was talking to a man who didn't care. It was the man they were talking to earlier, the obnoxious asshole.
  
  Lauren shouted, "You mentioned the Order. If they were here, they probably programmed nuclear weapons. I can't believe they didn't leave a note with the codes."
  
  "Maybe there"s no code here, baby," the asshole said. "Remember the signal you gave when you opened Geronimo's grave? Perhaps this happened here too and led to the launch of nuclear warheads."
  
  Drake stepped back. "Damn, are they armed?"
  
  "Fully. The flashing white symbols you see are countdown numbers."
  
  The sharp, icy water flooded his body and he could barely breathe. "How... how long?"
  
  Cough. "Sixty-four seconds. Then you and your illegitimate brothers will become history. The Order will reign supreme forever! They live through me! I am Order!"
  
  A scuffle and a lot of shouting ensued. Drake kept track of the seconds on his wristwatch.
  
  "Hello? Are you there?" - asked a young voice.
  
  "Hey, buddy," Drake muttered. "We have thirty-one seconds."
  
  "I thought about it. Your friend Lauren mentioned the Order. Well, they must have a kill code. And since everything else is part of the text, I just skimmed. Do you remember? It says here: 'The only code to kill is when the riders are up.' Does this mean anything to you?
  
  Drake racked his brains, but could think of nothing but the diminishing count of seconds. "Arose?" - he repeated. "Awoke? Risen? Think about how the Order thinks? What did the Nazis mean? If the Horseman appears, he-"
  
  "Being born," said a young voice. "Maybe these are their birth dates? But this cannot be. These eighties-era nuclear bombs usually have a three-digit kill code." There was desperation in his voice.
  
  Nineteen seconds until destruction.
  
  Kensi spoke up. "Three digits you say? Usually?"
  
  "Yes".
  
  Sixteen.
  
  Drake looked back at Alicia and saw that she was bending over her belt, trying to unfasten it and shoot the guard at the same time. I saw her hair, her body, her amazing spirit. Alicia...
  
  Ten seconds.
  
  Kenzi then screamed, confirming Dahl's faith in her. "I have it. Try seven hundred."
  
  "Seven-o-o-o. Why?"
  
  "Do not ask. Just do it!"
  
  The young techie gave Drake the Cyrillic number symbols and the Yorkshireman pressed the buttons.
  
  Four - three - two -
  
  "It didn't work," he said.
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY
  
  
  "Yes," Kensi replied. "It happened".
  
  Of course, she disarmed their own, and Lauren disarmed theirs. Drake looked from the body of the nuke to Mai, where she stood in front of another keyboard. All six nuclear charges were neutralized.
  
  He looked at his watch. "We had less than a second left," he said.
  
  Everywhere the SAS made quick work of the guards. Alicia unbuckled the second strap and the warhead moved slightly. Drake felt him pick up speed as he approached the roller doors.
  
  "Has anyone stopped their truck yet?"
  
  "I'll take care of it!" - Kenzi exclaimed. "Literally!"
  
  "No way," Kinimaka said. "The French are everywhere where there is no security. There's a real riot here."
  
  Drake watched as the SAS dispatched the guards; Alicia tugs on the other belt as Mai throws the guard into the back tire of the truck.
  
  "Yes, I know what you mean." The SPEAR team was incredibly stressed.
  
  "I see something else going on," the young technician began. "I-"
  
  Their connection with Washington was severed.
  
  "Shall I say it again?" Drake tried.
  
  Ominous silence was his only answer.
  
  "Damn, this can"t be good." Drake combed the entire warehouse.
  
  SEAL Team 7 descended upon them as if all hell had exploded.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Dahl ran after the truck as it approached the sliding doors of Warehouse 18. The Chinese man ran through the front of the rumbling truck, heading for the far side door. They shot across as they ran. The guards tried to stop them. Chinese special forces destroyed them with bullets and hand-to-hand combat. Hayden had the misfortune of being at the front of the platform when the action began.
  
  She broke the guard's neck, then used his body to cover herself as the Chinese opened fire indiscriminately. The bullets pierced her body with a dull thud and threw her back. Her shield collapsed. Throwing it away, she jumped behind one of the front, rumbling tires, passing it from behind as it rolled forward. The Chinese crossed the front of the truck.
  
  Dahl lit a fire, scattering them like bowling pins. Incredible to watch, it served as a demonstration of their almost inhuman reactions. Even after jumping back, they opened fire back.
  
  Dahl quickly took cover, crouched behind the truck, then looked out and fired a few more bullets. The Chinese were pinned to the ground for a moment as the guards approached them from behind. Dahl looked at Kensi.
  
  Not where she was supposed to be.
  
  "Kenz? Are you okay?"
  
  "Oh yeah, just picking up an old friend."
  
  Dahl instinctively turned around and saw her rummaging through the drawers, her head deep inside, her stomach perched on the edge of the lid, her ass raised high.
  
  "It's a little off-putting."
  
  "What? Oh, do you miss your wife? She may be hotter than you, Torst, but remember, that only makes you hotter than her."
  
  He looked away, feeling torn. He lived in this state between marriage and divorce, and yet he had a chance to do something about it all. What the hell was he doing here?
  
  My job.
  
  The Chinese engaged again, cutting down the approaching guards with machine gun fire and pinning Dahl and Hayden to the ground. The Swede turned around and saw Kensi slipping out of the wooden box.
  
  "Oh, eggs. Really?"
  
  She held a new shiny katana in front of her eyes, blade up. "I just knew I would find one if I dug deep enough. Robbers cannot resist the sword."
  
  "Where is the bloody Sword of Mars?"
  
  "Oh, I threw it in the drawer."
  
  "Damn it!"
  
  She ran with a sword in one hand, a machine gun in the other, then jumped back onto the back of the truck, flashing before Dahl's eyes as a blur. Throwing away the katana, she opened fire on the fleeing Chinese.
  
  "Where are they going?"
  
  "Warehouse 17," Dahl said. "And we must follow them."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Lauren saw the French contingent attack from the right side of Warehouse 19. Kinimaka and Smith were already in that direction and immediately engaged. Yorgi crouched behind the barrels, shooting at the guards. Lauren felt her heart flutter as the truck with the two nuclear warheads moved forward.
  
  Remembering everything that had been said, she jumped onto the roof of the truck, using the wheels as support. Then she began to loosen the first strap. If they could make the load very unstable, the trucks would be forced to stop. She looked up from behind the nuclear bomb, stepping on one of the big logs, and saw Smith fist-fighting with one of the French guys.
  
  The constable got in touch. "Just confirmed by agent in Paris. Remember Armand Argento? He's helped you guys a few times over the years. Well, he says the presence of the French contingent is not authorized. Fully. There could be some kind of brutal war going on inside."
  
  Lauren swallowed and watched as Smith fell backwards, dropping to one knee. The Frenchman standing over him grabbed him by the hair, tore a strip from the roots and threw it aside. Smith screamed. A knee to the nose sent him staggering. The French guy jumped on top. Smith struggled. Lauren looked from him to Kinimaka, then to Yorgi, the nuclear warhead, and the approaching swing doors.
  
  What should I do?
  
  Make some damn noise.
  
  She emptied the magazine of her Glock high above the heads of her enemies, causing them to flinch and duck. This gave Smith and Kinimaka precious seconds. Smith saw space and fired into him, knocking the attacker to the ground. Kinimaka broke a man's neck, another's face and shot at point-blank range. in the third, causing him to stagger and drop out of the fight.
  
  There is only one Frenchman left.
  
  Lauren fell as the bullet clanged off the body of the nuclear projectile. How scary was it that it didn't even bother her? How used to it is she? But she was part of this team and was determined to stay with it as long as they had it. She found this family and will support it.
  
  The huge truck quickly picked up speed, accelerating strongly, straight into the roller shutter door, slammed into it, causing the front cab to bounce slightly, and then crashed straight through it.
  
  Lauren threw herself onto the back of the truck.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake winced as the SEALs engaged SAS and SPEAR next to a moving nuclear warhead, wondering if any battle could be more confusing or more deadly than this. A few words from the communicator told him that this was certainly possible.
  
  All three trucks, carrying six nuclear weapons, burst through the roller shutter doors at the same time. Metal shrapnel flew everywhere as the torn doors sank. Trucks passed by. The men attacked the trucks, jumping inside, feeling that they would only gain speed. Now Drake saw two Chinese soldiers running nearby. He stayed on the platform and saw Alicia and May a little further away, hiding behind one of the wooden supports. The nuclear bomb dislodged as they hit one of the largest potholes in the world.
  
  Drake cringed. If the huge, heavy weapon came loose from its rests and broke the straps, they would all be in trouble.
  
  They walked out into the daylight and rushed off. Twenty miles an hour, then thirty, the three platforms roared to life as their drivers stepped on the gas pedal. There was a wide open road ahead, almost straight to the base's exit, about two miles away. Now, being next to each other, Drake could look from his truck to Dahl's truck, and then to Kinimaka. The sight of huge, moving nuclear missiles, people fighting side by side, people firing pistols, knives and fists being used, people being thrown off, no quarter given, the road curving, and all three trucks downshifting on a turn, stunned him to the core. . It was a bedlam of greed and violence, a glimpse into Hell.
  
  But now all his attention was focused on the seals.
  
  Four strong, they attacked the SAS first, killing one without any problems. The British rallied and struck back, forcing the SEALs to take cover. The four men ran behind the trucks, hoping to jump aboard. SAS Commander, Cambridge, fought hand-to-hand with a Navy SEAL and both were hit. Mai and Alicia were busy fighting off the guards and trying to find an opening in the melee.
  
  Drake came face to face with the SEAL team leader. "Why?" - he asked.
  
  "Don't ask questions," the man growled and walked up to Drake. The blows were precise and incredibly hard, very similar to his own. He blocked, felt the pain of those blocks and struck back. He kicked hard. A knife appeared in the other man's hand. Drake parried the blow with his own, throwing both weapons aside and flying away from the truck.
  
  "Why?" - he repeated.
  
  "You screwed up. You and your team."
  
  "How?" - I asked. Drake stepped back to gain some space.
  
  "And why would these bastards want to kill us?" Alicia asked as she appeared behind the man.
  
  He delivered an instant blow, hitting her in the temple. Drake kicked him in the kidneys and watched him fall. Alicia moved her foot in his face. Together they threw him, spinning, overboard.
  
  The road widened ahead.
  
  Mai sent two guards. Another SAS man was killed, and now the British and Americans were equal in strength. Three against three. Drake saw the two Chinese he had seen earlier crawl like spiders over the nuclear bomb.
  
  "Look at this!"
  
  Too late. They fell upon him.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Dahl knew, essentially, that they were heading to Romania. It was good. It was a half hour drive that could kill them before they got there.
  
  He fought the Chinese and the guards, pushed them back and found them jumping up, wanting more. The Chinese bypassed his defenses, striking hard and almost impaling him twice with his terrible blades. More guards surrounded him. Hayden resorted to throwing them off the truck until their numbers dwindled.
  
  In the rear, Kenzi dealt with the last of her enemies. The machine was empty, red was dripping from the katana. She stalked back down the platform, now narrowing her eyes as the two Chinese came at her together, brandishing knives. She countered, walking around. They took out weapons. She threw herself in their faces, surprising them. The shot passed under her arm, bouncing off a nuclear bomb. She found herself next to one of the guys with a gun pointed at her face.
  
  "Shit".
  
  The only way was up. She kicked the hand holding the gun, sending it flying, and then climbed up the support onto the shell of the nuclear weapon. She reached the top, finding that up there it was just a gentle curve, but dangerous to balance. Instead, she sat astride a nuclear bomb with a katana in her hand.
  
  "Come and fucking take me!" - she screamed. "If you dare."
  
  They took off quickly, perfectly balanced. Kenzi stood on top of the warhead, twirling her sword, as they attacked her with knives. Strike and swing. She countered, but they drew blood. She hit the rocket. The truck was shaking at thirty miles an hour. The Chinese have adapted to the highest degree. Kenzi lost her balance, slipped and fell back onto the rocket.
  
  "Oh".
  
  A gust of wind blew through her hair, as cold as a freezer. The knife fell on her. She switched the katana to her other hand, grabbed her wrist with her fingers and jerked it sharply to the side. The wrist broke and the knife fell out. She also twisted the body in this way and saw it fly head first out of the truck. The second person had already attacked. Kenzi shifted the katana back to her right hand and let it hit the point directly. He hovered for a moment before Kenzi tossed him aside.
  
  She then looked down from her perch on top of the nuclear bomb, the blade of her katana dripping blood onto those fighting below.
  
  "Two Chinese were killed. Three left."
  
  Alicia looked at her from her won truck, watching the battle on top of the warhead. "It looked so damn cool," she said. "I really believe I have an erection."
  
  Dahl looked at her from his own truck. "Me too".
  
  But then the warhead began to move.
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  
  
  Dahl immediately noticed the shift, saw the two straps they had managed to unbuckle flutter in the wind, and then the third parted like the world's craziest rubber band, slapping furiously against the nuclear charge and the bottom of the platform. With the first powerful lunge, he hit the guard in the stomach, causing him to fly, arms akimbo, straight from the side of the truck and hit the rear tires of the one driving next to him point-blank. Dahl winced at the result.
  
  The nuclear bomb moved again. Dal felt a red mist descend over him as Kenzi struggled on top of him and Hayden struggled right under his shadow, having no idea what was coming next. He screamed and roared, but to no avail. The roar of tires, the screams, the concentration required to fight; all this interfered with their hearing. He jumped to the communicator.
  
  "Move." The nuclear bomb is about to explode!"
  
  Kenzi stared down. "Where to go? Do you mean take off?"
  
  "Nooo!"
  
  At the end of his tether, the Swede ran like crazy close to Hayden and pressed his shoulder against the incredible mass of the projectile. "A nuclear bomb is falling!"
  
  Hayden rolled quickly, and so did the guard. The warhead moved another inch. Dahl lifted him with every ounce of strength he had ever mustered, every muscle screaming.
  
  A heavy knock sounded next to him.
  
  Shit.
  
  But it was Kenzi, still holding the katana and with a sarcastic smile on her face. "Damn it, you're just a crazy fucking hero. Do you really think you can hold this for even a second?"
  
  "Um, no. Not really."
  
  "Then move."
  
  The crazy Swede dived accurately.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake and Alicia managed to take a second to share in the spectacle.
  
  "What the hell is Dal doing?" Alicia asked. "Is he hugging a damn nuclear bomb?"
  
  "Don"t be a fool," Drake snapped, shaking his head. "Obviously he"s kissing her."
  
  Drake then jumped to the side to help the SAS guys, snatched the SEAL from the young man and threw him under the nuclear bomb. The man's whole body shook. They exchanged blows, and then the SEAL lay unconscious, face down, but alive. Drake intended to leave it that way.
  
  Another SEAL died, followed by an SAS soldier, both stabbed at close range. Cambridge and the young man are all that remains. They teamed up with Drake to fight the final SEAL. At the same time, Alicia and May joined them. The truck rumbled along the dirt road, hit the neighbor once and drove off. The collision allowed Dahl's nuclear bomb to be stabilized by securing it to its enormous supports. All three cars, as one, broke through the exit gate and continued driving, heading towards Romania. The steel and concrete were completely destroyed, tearing back and forth. By this time, the helicopters had taken off and were flying alongside the trucks, and men with heavy artillery were leaning out of the doors and focusing on the drivers.
  
  Drake stopped the attack on the SEAL. "Wait. You are a special forces soldier. American women. Why would you try to kill us?"
  
  In truth, he never expected an answer, but the man responded by attacking. He took out Cambridge and then finished off Drake. The young SAS man fell on his side. The SEAL was cruel and merciless, delivering crushing blow after blow. But then Mai turned to face him.
  
  Eight seconds passed and the fight was over. Once again they left him alive, groaning in a heap, disarmed.
  
  Drake turned to Cambridge. "I cannot express how much we appreciate your help, Major. I'm so sorry for the loss of your people. But please, if you want, leave these people alive, they were just following orders."
  
  The two surviving seals looked up, surprised and perhaps puzzled.
  
  Cambridge nodded. "I understand and agree with you, Drake. At the end of the day, we are all pawns."
  
  Drake made a grimace. "Well, not anymore. The American government just tried to kill us. I don't see any way back from this."
  
  Cambridge shrugged. "Strike back."
  
  Drake smiled grimly. "A man after my heart. It was nice to meet you, Major Cambridge."
  
  "And you, Matt Drake."
  
  He nodded to Mai and Alicia, then carefully walked towards the back of the truck. Drake watched him leave, checking the stability of the warhead at the same time. Everything looked good.
  
  "Do you know that they are going to come back and take the sword?" Alicia prompted him.
  
  "Yes, but you know what? I don't give a fuck. The Sword of Mars is the least of our problems." He turned on the connection. "Hayden? How far? How are you doing there?"
  
  "Okay," Hayden replied. "The last of the Chinese has just jumped off. I"m going for the sword."
  
  Kenzi giggled. "No, they saw me in action."
  
  "Aren"t we all?" Drake smiled. "I'm not going to forget this sight for a while."
  
  Alicia smacked him squarely on the shoulder. "Chill out, soldier. Next time you want me to put a nuclear bomb between my legs."
  
  "No, don't worry," Drake said, turning away. "I'll do it for you later."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The helicopters taunted, threatened and persuaded drivers to slow down their vehicles. Of course, it didn't work at first, but after someone put a high-caliber bullet through one of the windshields, people who thought they were untouchable suddenly began to have doubts. Three minutes later, the trucks slowed down, hands stuck out of the windows, and all traffic stopped.
  
  Drake regained his balance, accustomed to the constant thrusting and forward movement. He jumped to the ground, realizing that the communication system had suddenly come to life, and was now very closely monitoring his pilots.
  
  There was no sound coming from the communicator. Washington, this time, remained silent.
  
  The team gathered after destroying their headphones. They sat on a grassy hill overlooking the three missile ships, wondering what the world and its more evil characters might throw at them next.
  
  Drake looked at the pilot. "Could you fly us to Romania?"
  
  This man's eyes never wavered. "Of course," he said. "I don"t understand why not. In any case, nuclear weapons are sent there to be stored at the base. We will have an advantage."
  
  Together they left another battlefield.
  
  Together they remained strong.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  A few hours later, the team left the Romanian safe house and boarded a bus to Transylvania, disembarking near Bran Castle, the supposed residence of Count Dracula. Here, among the tall trees and high mountains, they found a dark, quiet guest house and settled into it. The lights were dim. The team was now dressed in civilian clothes taken from the safe house, and carried only what weapons and ammunition they could carry, as well as a good stash of money from the safe that Yorgi had taken. They had no passport, no documents, no identification cards.
  
  They gathered in one room. Ten people, no connection. Ten people are on the run from the American government with no idea who they can trust. There is no clear place to turn. No more SPEAR and no more secret base. No office in the Pentagon, no home in Washington. The kind of families they had was beyond what was permitted. Contacts they could use may be compromised.
  
  The whole world has changed due to some unknown, incomprehensible order of the executive branch.
  
  "What's next?" Smith raised the issue first, his voice low in the dimly lit room.
  
  "First we complete the mission," Hayden said. "The Order of the Last Judgment sought to destroy the world by hiding four terrible weapons. War, thanks to Hannibal, who was a great weapon. Conquest with the help of Genghis Khan, which was the key code that we destroyed. Famine, through Geronimo, which was a biological weapon. And finally, Death, through Attila, who had six nuclear warheads. Together these weapons would reduce our society as we know it to ruin and chaos. I think we can say with confidence that we have neutralized the threat."
  
  "With the only loose end being the Sword of Mars," Lauren said. "Now in the hands of either the Chinese or the British."
  
  "I really hope it"s us," Drake said. "SAS saved us there and lost some good men. I hope Cambridge will not be reprimanded."
  
  "Moving forward..." Dahl said. "Even we can't do this alone. First of all, what the hell are we going to do now? And secondly, who can we trust to help us do this?"
  
  "Well, first we'll find out what made the Americans turn on us," Hayden said. "I guess the operation in Peru and... other things... that happened. Is it just a few powerful people against us? A splinter group influencing others? I can't believe for a second that Coburn would have sanctioned this."
  
  "Are you saying we should have a secret chat with the President?" Drake asked.
  
  Hayden shrugged. "Why not?"
  
  "And if it's a splinter group," Dahl said. "We destroy them."
  
  "Alive," Mai said. "The only way to survive this is to catch our enemies alive."
  
  The team sat in a large room in different positions, the curtains were drawn tightly, protecting them from the impenetrable night. Deep in Romania they talked. Planned. It soon became clear that they did have resources, but those resources were meager. Drake could count them on one hand.
  
  "Where to go?" Kenzi asked, still holding her katana, letting the blade bask in the dim light.
  
  "Go ahead," Drake said. "We are always moving forward."
  
  "If we ever stop," Dahl said. "We are dying."
  
  Alicia held Drake's hand. "And I thought my days of running away were over."
  
  "This is different," he said, then sighed. "Of course you know that. Sorry."
  
  "Everything is fine. Silly but cute. Finally, I realized that this is my type."
  
  "Does this mean we are on the run?" Kenzi asked. "Because I really wanted to get away from it all."
  
  "We'll deal with that". Dahl leaned closer to her. "I promise you. I also have my children, don't forget. I will overcome anything for them."
  
  "You didn't mention your wife."
  
  Dahl stared and then sat back in his chair, thinking. Drake saw Kensi move a little closer to the big Swede. He put it out of his mind and looked around the room.
  
  "Tomorrow is another day," he said. "Where do you want to go first?"
  
  
  END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  David Leadbeater
  On the brink of Armageddon
  
  
  CHAPTER FIRST
  
  
  Julian Marsh has always been a man of contrasting colors. One side is black, the other is gray... ad infinitum. Oddly enough, he never showed any interest in why he evolved a little differently than the rest, just accepted it, learned to live with it, enjoyed it. In every sense this made him an object of interest; it took the attention away from the machinations lurking behind the expressive eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. March was always going to be outstanding - one way or another.
  
  Inside he was a different person again. Inner focus focused his attention on one core. This month it was the cause of the Pythians, or rather what was left of them. A strange group caught his attention and then simply dissolved around him. Tyler Webb was more of a psychopathic mega-stalker than a cabalist leader. But Marsh relished the opportunity to go it alone, creating personal, eccentric designs. To hell with Zoe Shears and everyone who was still active within the sect, and to an even deeper hell with Nicholas Bell. Bound, handcuffed and waterboarded, there's no doubt the former construction worker would have laid everything out to the authorities to get even the slightest reprieve from his sentence.
  
  For Marsh, the future looked bright, albeit with a slight tint. There were two sides to every story, and he was very much a two-sided man. After we sadly left the ill-fated Ramses Bazaar - we really liked the pavilions with all their offerings - March took to the skies with the help of an abyss-colored helicopter. Rushing away, he quickly focused on the new adventure ahead.
  
  NEW YORK.
  
  Marsh tested the device on its side, moving it closer, unsure of what he saw but confident in what it could do. This child was the main bargaining tool. Big daddy of absolute conviction. Who can argue with a nuclear bomb? Marsh left the device alone, checking the outer backpack and loosening the shoulder straps to accommodate his hefty frame. Of course, he would have to subject the item to tests and confirm its authenticity. After all, most bombs could be cooked to look like something they weren't-if the cook was good enough. Only then would the White House bow.
  
  Risky, one side of him said. Risky.
  
  But fun! the other insisted. And it was worth a little radiation poisoning, for that matter.
  
  March laughed at himself. Such a scoundrel. But the mini Geiger counter he had brought with him remained silent, fueling his bravado.
  
  But, to be completely honest, flying was not his thing. Yes, there was excitement, but there was also the chance of a hot death - and right now that really didn't appeal to him. Perhaps another time. Marsh had spent many agonizing hours planning this mission, making sure all the waypoints were in place and as safe as possible, although given the places he would be stopping at, the idea was almost laughable.
  
  Let's take right now for example. They were heading under the canopy of the Amazon rainforest on their way to Colombia. There was a man waiting for him - more than one, in fact, and Marsh stamped his personality on the meeting by insisting that they wear white. Just a small concession, but an important one for the Pythia.
  
  Is this all I am now?
  
  Marsh laughed loudly, causing the helicopter pilot to look around in alarm.
  
  "Everything is fine?" - asked a skinny man with scars.
  
  "Well, that depends on your point of view." March laughed. "And how many points of view do you have? I prefer to entertain more than one. You?"
  
  The pilot turned away, muttering something unintelligible. March shook his head. If only the unwashed masses knew what forces stalked, ducked and squirmed beneath them, uncaring or unheeding of the havoc they caused.
  
  Marsh watched the scenery below, wondering for the millionth time if this point of entry into the United States was the right route. When it came down to it, there were only two real options - through Canada or through Mexico. The latter country was closer to the Amazon and riddled with corruption; jam-packed with people who could be paid to help and keep their mouths shut. Canada offered a few safe havens for people like Marsh, but they were not enough and did not even come close to matching the diversity that existed in South America. As the monotonous landscape continued to unfold below, Marsh found his mind wandering.
  
  The boy grew up in a privileged position, with much more in his mouth than a silver spoon; more like a solid gold bar. The best schools and the best teachers-read "best" as "most dear," Marsh always corrected-tried to set him on the right path, but failed. Perhaps a stay in some normal school would have helped, but his parents were rich pillars Southern society and were far out of touch with reality. Marsh was raised by servants and saw his parents mainly during meals and luxurious receptions, where he was ordered not to talk. Always under the critical gaze of his father, who ensured impeccable behavior. And always his guilty smile a mother who knew that her son had grown up loveless and alone, but was completely unable to bring himself to challenge himself in any form.And so Julian Marsh grew, developed, and became what his father openly called "a strange boy."
  
  The pilot spoke, and Marsh ignored it completely. "Shall I say it again?"
  
  "We are approaching Cali, sir. Colombia."
  
  Marsh leaned down and watched the new scene unfold below. Cali was known as one of the most violent cities in the Americas and home of the Cali Cartel, one of the world's largest suppliers of cocaine. On any ordinary day, a man like Marsh would take his life into his own hands, walking through the back streets of El Calvario, where ragamuffins scoured the streets for trash and slept in flophouses, where locals suffered from being labeled a "tolerance zone" by allowing commercial consumption drugs and sex can flourish with minimal police intervention.
  
  Marsh knew this was the place for him and his nuclear bomb.
  
  As he sat down, the pilot showed Marsh a gray pickup truck in which sat three overweight men with cold, dead eyes and expressionless faces. Openly armed with firearms, they escorted Marsh into the truck with only a brief greeting. They then drove through damp, cluttered streets, dirty buildings and rusty awnings, offering his trained eye another alternative view of the world, a place where part of the population "floated" from one shack to another, without a permanent home. March pulled back a little, knowing he had nothing to say about what happened next. These stops were necessary, though, if he wanted to successfully smuggle nuclear weapons into the US, and were worth any risk. And of course, Marsh looked as neutral as he could, with a few tricks up his colorful sleeves.
  
  The car wound its way through some fog-covered rolling hills, eventually turning into a paved driveway with a large, quiet house in front of it. The journey had been made in silence, but now one of the guards turned an unyielding face towards Marsh.
  
  "We are here".
  
  "Obviously. But where is "here"?"
  
  Not too disrespectful. Not too whiny. Keep it all together.
  
  "Take your backpack." The guard jumped out and opened the door. "Mr. Navarro is waiting for you."
  
  March nodded. It was the right name and the right place. He wouldn't stay here long, just long enough to make sure his next mode of transport and final destination was smooth and safe. He followed the guard under a low archway dripping with mist and then into the dark entrance of an old house. There were no lights on inside, and the appearance of one or two old ghosts would not have been either a surprise or a concern. Marsh often saw old ghosts in the dark and talked with them.
  
  The guard pointed to an opening on the right. "You paid for a private room for yourself for a maximum of four hours. Come straight inside."
  
  March bowed his head in gratitude and pushed open the heavy door. "I also asked permission to land the next mode of transport. Helicopter?"
  
  "Yes. It is also good. Call me on the intercom when the time comes and I will show you around the house."
  
  March nodded with satisfaction. The money he paid over and above what was required was to provide better service, and so far, it has. Of course, paying more than the asking price also raised suspicions, but such were the risks.
  
  Two sides again, he thought. Yin and yang. Swamp and swamp. Black and... black with crimson flashes rushed through...
  
  The inside of the room was luxurious. The far side was occupied by a corner sofa made of black leather and deep plush. A glass table with a carafe for drinks, wine and spirits sat nearby, while in another corner a machine offered coffee and tea. Snacks are laid out on a glass table. Marsh smiled at all of this.
  
  Comfortable, but only for a short time. Ideal.
  
  He poured in a pod of the strongest coffee and waited a bit for it to brew. He then settled down on the couch and took out his laptop, carefully placing his backpack on the leather upholstery next to him. Never before had a nuclear bomb been so pampered, he thought, briefly wondering if he should make his own brew for it. Of course, for a man like Marsh, this was not difficult, and within minutes there was a steaming cup in the backpack and a small cupcake with frosting on the side.
  
  March smiled. All was good.
  
  I surfed the Internet; confirmatory emails informed him that the Forward helicopter was already entering Colombia. No flags had yet been raised anywhere, but only a few hours had passed since he left the bazaar in full swing. Marsh finished his drink and packed a small bag of sandwiches for the next flight, then pressed the intercom button.
  
  "I'm ready to leave."
  
  Twenty minutes later and he was in the air again, the nuclear backpack's flight twisted but comfortable. They were heading to Panama, where he would finish his fast flights and begin the tedious leg of his journey overland. The pilot made his way in the air and through any patrols, the best at what he did, and he was paid handsomely for it. As the outline of Panama began to appear in the left window, Marsh began to realize how much closer he already was to the United States of America.
  
  There's a hurricane coming, folks, and it won't go away easily...
  
  He settled in Panama City for a few hours, changed clothes twice and showered four times, each time with a different scented shampoo. The aromas mixed pleasantly and overpowered the faint aroma of sweat. He had breakfast and lunch, even though it was dinner time, and drank three glasses of wine, each from a different bottle and a different color. Life was good. The view outside the window remained unchanged and uninspiring, so Marsh took out the box of lipstick he had been saving for just such an occasion and painted the glass bright red. This helped, at least for a while. Marsh then began to imagine what it would be like to lick that panel clean, but at that moment the ping of an incoming message interrupted his dreams.
  
  Estimated time of arrival is 15 minutes.
  
  March made a grimace, happy but worried at the same time. A forty-hour journey lay ahead along some of the worst roads in the region. This thought is unlikely to inspire. However, once completed, the next stage would be infinitely more interesting. March gathered his things, arranged the coffee pods, wine bottles and dishes in order of color, shape and size, and then headed out.
  
  The SUV was waiting, purring by the side of the road, and looked surprisingly comfortable. Marsh decomposed the nuclear bomb, strapped his seat belt on it, and then tended to himself. The driver chatted for a bit before realizing that Marsh didn't care about his own shitty little life, and then got behind the wheel. The road stretched endlessly ahead.
  
  Hours passed. The SUV slid, then shook, and then slid again, stopping several times for gas and spot checks. The driver wouldn't risk getting pulled over for a minor offense. After all, it was just another vehicle among many, another spark of life traveling along the eternal highway to destinations unknown, and if it remained unremarkable, it would pass unnoticed.
  
  And then Monterrey lay ahead. March smiled broadly, tired but happy, because the long journey was more than halfway done.
  
  The nuclear briefcase lay next to him, now just a few hours from the US border.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWO
  
  
  March made the next leg of his journey under cover of complete darkness. It was a place where anything could be won or lost; an unknown factor, raised to an inestimable amount by local cartel bosses, was brought into the picture. Who could guess the thoughts of such people? Who knew what they would do next?
  
  Of course not them... or Julian Marsh. He was ignominiously transported along with a dozen other people in the back of a truck heading for the border. Somewhere along the way, this truck turned off the highway and disappeared into the darkness. No lights, no signs, the driver knew this route blindfolded - and it"s good that he knew.
  
  Marsh stood back in the back of the truck, listening to the chatter and discontent of the families. The scale of his plan loomed before him. The moment of his arrival in New York couldn't come soon enough. When the truck braked and the back doors swung open on greased hinges, he stepped out first, looking for the leader of the armed men who stood guard.
  
  "Diablo," he said, using a code word that identified him as a VIP traveler and that he had agreed to payment. The man nodded, but then ignored him, herding everyone into a small huddle under the wide-spread branches of an overhanging tree.
  
  "It is vital now," he said in Spanish, "that you move quietly, don"t say anything and do as you"re told. If you don't do this, I will cut your throat. You understand?"
  
  Marsh watched as the man met everyone's gaze, including his own. The march began a moment later, along a rutted road and through thickets of trees. The moonlight flickered overhead, and the leading Mexican often waited until the clouds had hidden the brightness before continuing. Very few words were spoken, and those only by men with guns, but suddenly Marsh found himself wishing he could speak a little Spanish-or perhaps a lot.
  
  He trudged along in the middle of the line, not paying attention to the frightened faces around him. After an hour they slowed down, and Marsh saw ahead a rolling sandy plain dotted with sparse trees, cacti and a few other plants. The whole group squatted down.
  
  "So far so good," the leader whispered. "But now is the hardest part. The Border Patrol cannot monitor the entire border at all times, but they do conduct random checks. All the time. And you," he nodded at March, "requested to cross Diablo. I hope you're ready for this."
  
  March chuckled. He had no idea what the little guy was talking about. However, people soon began to disappear, each with a small group of immigrants, until only Marsh, the leader, and one guard remained.
  
  "I am Gomez," said the leader. "This is Lopez. We will guide you safely through the tunnel."
  
  "What about those guys?" Marsh nodded to the departing immigrants, putting on his best fake American accent.
  
  "They only pay five thousand a head." Gomez made a dismissive gesture. "They risk bullets. Don't worry, you can trust us."
  
  Marsh shuddered when he saw the sly smile firmly fixed on his guide's face. Of course, the whole journey went too smoothly to expect it to continue. The question was: when would they attack him?
  
  "Let's go into the tunnel," he said. "I sense curious glances here."
  
  Gomez couldn't help the flash of worry that flashed across his face, and Lopez scanned the darkness around him. As one, the two men led him in an easterly direction, at a slight angle, but towards the border. March lumbered forward, deliberately misstepping and looking inadequate. At one point, Lopez even gave him a helping hand, which Marsh cataloged for later, writing it down as a weakness. He was by no means an expert, but a bottomless bank account had once allowed him much beyond the material trappings, experience of world martial arts champions and former special forces soldiers among them. Marsh knew a few tricks, no matter how fancy they were.
  
  They walked for some time, the desert stretched around them, almost silent. As the hill appeared ahead, Marsh was fully prepared to begin the climb, but Gomez stopped and pointed out a feature he would never have seen otherwise. Where the sandy soil met the gently sloping foothills, a couple of small trees met a thicket of brush. However, Gomez did not go to this place, but took careful thirty steps to the right, and then another ten up the steepest slope. Once there, Lopez examined the area with infinite care.
  
  "Clean," he said finally.
  
  Gomez then found a piece of buried rope and began to pull. Marsh saw a small section of the hillside rise up, shifting rocks and brush to reveal a man-sized hole that had been carved into the living rock. Gomez slipped inside, and then Lopez pointed the barrel of his gun at Marsh.
  
  "Now you. You too."
  
  March followed him, keeping his head down carefully and watching for the trap that he knew was only a few steps away from being sprung. Then, after some thought, the man with two sides switched channels, deciding to retreat into the darkness.
  
  Lopez waited, gun raised. March slipped, his boots scraping along the rocky slope. Lopez reached out, dropping the weapon, and Marsh swung the six-inch blade, plunging the tip into the other man's carotid artery. Lopez's eyes widened and he raised his hand to stop the flow, but Marsh had no intention of doing so. He hit Lopez between the eyes, snatched the gun from him, and then kicked his dying body down the hill.
  
  Fuck you.
  
  Marsh dropped the rifle, knowing that Gomez would realize it faster than necessary if he saw it in Marsh's hand. He then re-entered the tunnel and quickly walked down the original passage. It was rough and ready, supported by shaking beams and dust and mortar dripping from the roof. Marsh fully expected to be buried at any moment. Gomez's voice reached his tense ears.
  
  "Don't worry. It's just a false entrance to scare anyone who might stumble into this tunnel. Go even lower, my friend."
  
  Marsh knew exactly what would be waiting for him "further down," but now he had a small element of surprise. The tricky part would be disabling Gomez's weapon without seriously injuring him. New York was still thousands of miles away.
  
  And it seemed much further away as he stood as he was under the Mexican desert, feeling the dirt running down his back, and surrounded by the stench of sweat and vegetation, his eyes stinging with dust.
  
  March ventured forward, at one point crawling and dragging behind him a backpack, the strap of which was wrapped around his ankle. There are plenty of clothes here, he thought at one point. Just clothes and maybe a toothbrush. Nice cologne. A bag of coffee... he wondered where the Americans might have placed their devices to measure radiation, then began to worry about the radiation itself. Again.
  
  This is probably something you should have checked before going.
  
  Well, you have to live and learn.
  
  March forced himself to laugh as he emerged from the narrow tunnel into a much larger one. Gomez leaned over, extending his hand to help.
  
  "Something funny?"
  
  "Yes, your fucking teeth."
  
  Gomez watched, shocked and in disbelief. This sentence seemed to be the last thing he expected to hear at this stage of their journey. Marsh calculated what it might be. As Gomez tried to figure it out, Marsh stood up, twirled the gun in Gomez's hands and drove the butt into the other man's mouth.
  
  "Now do you understand what I mean?"
  
  Gomez fought with all his might, pushing Marsh away and returning the barrel to himself. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he roared and his teeth fell to the floor. Marsh dove under the long barrel and delivered a strong blow to the jaw and another to the side of the head. Gomez staggered, his eyes revealing that he still could not believe that this strange duck had gotten the better of him.
  
  Marsh pulled the knife from the sheath at the Mexican's side as they grappled. Gomez rushed away, knowing what would happen next. He crashed into a stone wall, breaking his shoulder and skull with a heavy groan. Marsh threw a punch that bounced off the Mexican and then hit the roca. Blood oozed from his own knuckles. The gun rose again, but Marsh straightened up so that it was between his legs, the business part now rendered useless.
  
  Gomez headbutted him, their blood mixed and splattered on the walls. March staggered, but dodged the next blow, and then remembered the knife he still held in his left hand.
  
  A powerful push, and the knife grazed Gomez's ribs, but the Mexican dropped the gun and put both hands on Marsh's hand with the knife, thus stopping the force of the blow and burying the blade. Pain distorted his features, but the man managed to prevent inevitable death.
  
  March immediately concentrated on his free hand, using it to strike again and again, looking for weak spots. Together, the men struggled as best they could, moving slowly up and down the tunnel, bumping into wooden beams and wading through mounds of mud. Streams of sweat ran down the sand; heavy grunting, similar to the rutting of pigs, filled the artificial space. There was no mercy, but no land was reached. Gomez took every punch like the seasoned street fighter he was, and Marsh began to weaken first.
  
  "Eagerly...waiting for me to...cut...cut you..." Gomez was breathing heavily, his eyes wild, his lips bloody and thrown back.
  
  Marsh refused to die in this lonely, hellish place. He yanked the knife back, twisting it away from Gomez's body, and then stepped back, giving the two men several feet of distance. The pistol lay on the floor, thrown away.
  
  Gomez attacked him like a devil, screaming, thundering. Marsh deflected the attack as he had been taught, turning his shoulder and allowing Gomez's own momentum to slam his head into the opposite wall. Marsh then kicked him in the spine. He did not use the knife again until the end was a foregone conclusion. He was also taught that the most obvious weapon is not always the best to use.
  
  Gomez lifted his body from the wall, hanging his head, and turned around. March stared into the blood-red face of the demon. For a moment it fascinated him, the contrast of the crimson face and white neck, the black holes where yellowed teeth had once nestled, the pale ears sticking out almost comically on either side. Gomez swung at the blow. Marsh was struck on the side of the head.
  
  Now Gomez was wide open.
  
  Marsh stepped forward, his head spinning, but he remained aware enough to actually stab with the knife, pointing the blade at the other man's heart. Gomez jerked, his breath whistling from his broken mouth, and then met March's gaze.
  
  "I paid you in good faith," March breathed. "You should have just taken the money."
  
  He knew that these people were traitors by nature and, no doubt, by education too. Betrayal would be their second or third thought of the day, after "why is there blood on my hands?" and "who the hell did I end up killing last night?" Perhaps there is also a thought about the consequences of a dose of cocaine. But Gomez... he should have just taken the money.
  
  Marsh watched as the man slid to the ground, then took stock. He was bruised and aching, but relatively unharmed. His head was pounding. Fortunately, he thought of putting paracetamol in one of the small bags in his backpack, which was located next to the nuclear bomb. So convenient that. He also had a package of baby wipes there.
  
  March wiped it off and swallowed the pills dry. He forgot to take water with him. But there's always something, isn't there?
  
  Without looking back at the dead body, he lowered his head and began the long journey through the underground tunnel to Texas.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The hours dragged on. Julian Marsh trudged beneath America with a nuclear weapon strapped to his back. The device may have been smaller than he expected - although the backpack was still bloated - but the internal compartments were no less heavy. The creature clung to him like an unwanted friend or brother, dragging him back. Every step was difficult.
  
  Darkness surrounded and almost swallowed him, broken only by the occasional hanging light. Many were broken, too many. It was damp down here, a pack of invisible animals always conjuring up nightmarish images in his mind that played in eerie harmony with the occasional itch running up his shoulders and down his spine. Air was in limited quantity, and what was there was of poor quality.
  
  He began to feel immensely tired and began to hallucinate. One day he was chased by Tyler Webb and then by an evil troll. He fell twice, scraping his knees and elbows, but struggled to his feet. The troll turned into angry Mexicans and then into a walking taco stuffed with red and green peppers and guacamole.
  
  As the miles passed, he began to feel that he might not make it, that things would turn out better if he just lay down for a while. Take a little nap. The only thing stopping him was his brighter side-the part that had once stubbornly survived his childhood when everyone else wanted him gone.
  
  Eventually brighter lights appeared ahead and he made it across the other end of the tunnel and then spent many minutes assessing what kind of reception he could get. In truth, he did not expect any admissions committee-he was never expected to reach the land of the free.
  
  According to his plan, he organized a completely separate transport at this end. Marsh was careful and no fool. The helicopter should be stationed several miles away, awaiting his call. Marsh removed one of the three burning cells allocated around his body and in his backpack and made a call.
  
  At the meeting, not a word was said, no comments were made about the blood and dirt that covered Marsh's face and hair. The pilot lifted the bird into the air and headed toward Corpus Christi, the next and penultimate stop on Marsh's grand adventure. One thing was for sure, he would have a story to tell...
  
  And there is no one to tell them. The only thing you didn't share with the party guests was how you managed to smuggle a nuclear briefcase from Brazil to the East Coast of America.
  
  Corpus Christi offered a short respite, a long shower and a short nap. Next will be a twenty-four hour trip to New York, and then...
  
  Armageddon. Or at least the edge of it.
  
  Marsh smiled as he lay face down on the bed with his head buried in the pillow. He could barely breathe, but he quite liked the feeling. The trick would be to convince the authorities that he was serious and that the bomb was genuine. Not hard - one look at the canisters and the fissionable material would make them sit up and beg. Once that was done... Marsh imagined the dollars pouring in, like some slot machine in Las Vegas spitting out money at a rate of knots. But all for a good cause. Webb's case.
  
  Maybe not. Marsh had his own plans to carry out while the strange leader of the Pythians was chasing rainbows.
  
  He slid off the bed, landing on his knees before standing up. He applied some lipstick. He rearranged the room's furnishings so that they made sense. He got out and took the elevator down to the basement, where the rental car was waiting for him.
  
  Chrysler 300. The size and color of a bleached whale.
  
  Next stop... the city that never slept.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Marsh drove the car effortlessly as the world-famous Skyline came into view. It seemed ridiculously easy to drive this car to New York, but then who knew it would be different? Well, someone might. More than three days had passed since he left Ramses' bazaar. What if the news leaked out? The march didn't change anything. He was just another traveler, wandering through life on a winding path. If the game is over, he will know it very soon. Otherwise... Webb promised that Ramses would provide people willing to help with this. March was counting on them.
  
  Marsh drove blindly, not knowing or caring much about what would happen next. He was careful enough to stop before entering the great city, taking refuge for the night on the other side of the river as the sun began to set, complicating the haphazard route of his journey. The L-shaped motel was sufficient, although the bedding was scratchy and undeniably dirty, and the window frames and edges of the floors were coated with several inches of black dirt. However, it was unremarkable, unplanned and virtually unnoticeable.
  
  That's why, around midnight, he sat up straight, heart pounding, when someone knocked on the door of his room. The door opened onto the parking lot, so in all honesty, it could have been anyone from a stray drunk guest to a prankster. But it could also be cops.
  
  Or SEAL Team Six.
  
  Marsh laid out the knives, spoons and glasses and then pulled back the curtain to look outside. What he saw left him speechless for a moment.
  
  What the...?
  
  The knocking sounded again, light and fresh. Marsh did not hesitate to open the door and allow the man to enter.
  
  "You surprised me," he said. "And that doesn"t happen too often these days."
  
  "I feel good as it is," said the visitor. "One of my many qualities."
  
  March wondered about the others, but he didn't have to look too far to notice at least a dozen. "We've only met once before."
  
  "Yes. And I immediately felt a kinship."
  
  March straightened up, now wishing he had taken that fourth shower. "I thought that all the Pythia were dead or captured. Except for Webb and me."
  
  "As you can see," the visitor spread her hands, "you were wrong."
  
  "I'm pleased." March faked a smile. "Very satisfied.
  
  "Oh," his visitor smiled too, "you"re about to become one."
  
  March tried to push away the feeling that all his birthdays had arrived at once. This woman was strange, perhaps as strange as he was. She had brown hair cut in a spiky style; her eyes were green-blue, exactly like his. How creepy was it? Her outfit consisted of a green wool pullover, bright red jeans and navy blue Doc Martins. In one hand she held a glass of milk, in the other a glass of wine.
  
  Where did she get...?
  
  But it didn't really matter. He loved that she was unique, that she somehow understood him. He liked that she came out of nowhere. He liked that she was completely different. The forces of darkness pitted them against each other. Blood red wine and bleaching white milk were about to mix.
  
  March took the glasses from her. "Do you want to be at the top or at the bottom?"
  
  "Oh, I don't mind. Let"s see where the mood takes us."
  
  So Marsh positioned the nuclear bomb at the head of the bed where they could both see it and saw through Zoe Shears' eyes an additional spark that looked like a comet. This woman was powerful, deadly, and downright freaky. Probably crazy. Something that suited him to no end.
  
  As she took off her clothes, his split mind wandered off to contemplate what was about to happen. The thought of all the excitement promised for tomorrow and the day after tomorrow, when they would bring America to its knees and be happy with the nuclear bomb, made him completely ready for Zoey as she pulled his pants down and climbed aboard.
  
  "No foreplay?" he asked.
  
  "Well, when you placed that backpack just like that," she said, watching the nuclear bomb as if she could watch it. "I realized that I don"t need it."
  
  March smiled in happy surprise. "Me too".
  
  "Do you see, love?" Zoe lowered herself onto him. "We were made for each other."
  
  Then Marsh realized that he could see her slowly moving, extremely pale ass in the reflection of the mirror that hung on the wall directly above the old chest of drawers, and behind it the backpack itself, nestled among the pillows of the bed. He stared at her well-tanned face.
  
  "Damn," he blurted out. "It does not take a lot of time".
  
  
  CHAPTER THREE
  
  
  Matt Drake is gearing up for the team's wildest ride yet. An unpleasant, sickening feeling settled in the pit of my stomach, and it had nothing to do with the bumpy flight, just the result of tension, anxiety and disgust at the people who could try to commit such terrible crimes. He sympathized with the people of the world who went about their daily affairs, ignorant but content. They were the people he fought for.
  
  The helicopters were packed with soldiers who cared and put themselves in harm's way for the people who made the world a good place to live. The entire SPEAR team was present, with the exception of Karin Blake and Beauregard Alain and Bridget McKenzie - aka Kenzie, the katana-wielding, artifact-smuggling, former Mossad agent. The team left Ramses' devastated 'last bazaar' in such a hurry that they were forced to take everyone with them. There was not a minute to lose, and the entire team was prepared, informed and ready to hit the streets of New York at a run.
  
  From a real jungle to a concrete jungle, Drake thought. We never close.
  
  All around him were the reliable intersecting lines and stormy waves of his life. Alicia and Bo, May and Kenzi, and Torsten Dahl. In the second helicopter were Smith and Lauren, Hayden, Kinimaka and Yorgi. The team raced into New York airspace, already cleared by President Coburn, and banked sharply, rushing through the gaps between skyscrapers and descending towards a square-shaped roof. The turbulence battered them. The radio chirped as the information came through. Drake could only imagine the bustle of the streets below, the rushing agents and frantic SWAT teams, the hellish thought of a headlong rush to save New York and the East Coast.
  
  He took a deep breath, feeling that the next few hours would be turbulent.
  
  Dal caught his eye. "After this I"m taking a vacation."
  
  Drake admired the Swede's confidence. "After this, we"ll all need one."
  
  "Well, you're not coming with me, Yorkie."
  
  "No problem. I'm pretty sure Joanna will be in charge anyway."
  
  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
  
  The helicopter descended quickly, sending their stomachs into the stratosphere.
  
  Alicia giggled. "Only that we know who runs the Daley house, Torsti. We know".
  
  The Swede made a grimace, but made no further comment. Drake exchanged a smile with Alicia and then noticed that Mai was watching them both. Damn, it's like we don't have anything to worry about anyway.
  
  Alicia waved to Mai. "Are you sure you can handle this kind of action, Sprite, after cutting yourself while shaving just recently?"
  
  May's expression didn't change, but she hesitantly reached out to touch the new scar on her face. "Recent events have made me much more careful about the people I trust. And keep an eye on those who betray."
  
  Drake inwardly cringed.
  
  Nothing happened. She left me, putting an end to it! Nothing was promised. .
  
  Emotions and thoughts mixed, turning into sour bile, which mixed with a thousand other feelings. Dahl, he noticed, slowly moved away from Kenzi, and Bo barely took his eyes off Alicia. God, he hoped things had calmed down a bit in the second helicopter.
  
  New gusts of wild wind hit them when the helicopter's skid touched the roof of the building. The bird landed, and then the doors swung open, the passengers jumped down and ran towards the open door. Men with guns guarded the entrance, and several more people were stationed inside. Drake dived in first, flying feet first and feeling a little unprepared without a weapon, but knowing full well that they would soon be armed. The team hurried down the narrow stairs one at a time until they found themselves in a wide corridor, darkened and surrounded by even more guards. Here they paused for a moment before receiving instructions to continue.
  
  All is clear.
  
  Drake jogged, realizing that they had lost vital days extracting information from the bazaar and then being interrogated by suspicious agents, especially from the CIA. In the end, Coburn himself intervened, ordering the immediate dispatch of the SPEAR team to the hottest spot on the planet.
  
  New York City.
  
  Now, down another flight of stairs, they emerged onto a balcony overlooking the interior of what he was told was the local police station at the corner of 3rd and 51st streets. Unknown to the public, the site also served as the national security office-in fact, it was one of two that were called the "downtown" of the city, the core of all agency activities. Drake now watched the local police go about their daily business, the station bustling, loud and crowded, until a man in a black suit approached from the far end.
  
  "Let's move," he said. "There is no time to waste here."
  
  Drake couldn't agree more. He pushed Alicia forward, much to the blonde's displeasure, earning a glare for his troubles. The others crowded inside, Hayden tried to approach the newcomer, but he ran out of time as he disappeared behind the far door. As they walked, they entered a circular room with white tiled floors and walls, and chairs arranged in rows in front of a small raised platform. The man saw them off as quickly as he could.
  
  "Thank you for coming," he said dispassionately. "Just so you know, the men you captured-the impostor Ramses and Robert Price-have been taken to the cells below us to await the results of our... manhunt. We thought they might contain valuable information and should be around."
  
  "Especially if we fail," Alicia said grimly.
  
  "Really. And these underground prison cells with extra security inside the Homeland Security division will keep Ramses' presence undetected, as I'm sure you can appreciate."
  
  Drake recalled that Ramses's local units, after they had stolen or forcibly taken a nuclear bomb from Marsh's hands, were ordered to wait for Ramses' permission to detonate. They didn't know that he had been captured, or that he was almost dead. The New York cells of Ramses' organization knew nothing at all.
  
  At least that was the only thing that spoke in favor of the SPEAR team.
  
  "He's going to be useful," Hayden said. "I'm pretty sure."
  
  "Yes," Smith added. "So put off pushing the cattle for now."
  
  The Home Office agent winced. "My name is Moore. I'm the lead field agent here. All intelligence will pass through me. We are creating a new task force to assimilate and distribute activities. We have a center and now we are organizing branches. Every agent and police officer-available or not-is working against this threat, and we fully understand the consequences of failure. It can"t..." he faltered a bit, showing stress that would normally be unheard of. "This cannot be allowed to happen here."
  
  "Who is the boss on earth?" Hayden asked. "Who makes the decisions here where it really matters?"
  
  Moore hesitated and scratched his chin. "Well, we know. Homeland. In collaboration with the Counter-Terrorism Unit and the Threat Management Unit."
  
  "And by "we," do you mean you and me?" Or do you just mean the Motherland?"
  
  "I think that could change as the situation demands," Moore admitted.
  
  Hayden looked satisfied. "Make sure your cell phone battery is charged."
  
  Moore looked around the group as if she sensed their urgency and liked it. "As you know, we have a short window. It wouldn't take these bastards long to realize that Ramses wasn't going to give that order. So, first things first. How do we detect a terrorist cell?"
  
  Drake looked at his watch. "And march. Shouldn't March be a priority if he's carrying a bomb?"
  
  "Intelligence reports that March will unite with local cells. We don't know how many there will be. So we of course focus on both."
  
  Drake recalled Beau's account of the conversation between Marsh and Webb. It occurred to him then that the slimy Frenchman they had first met while being forced into the Last Man Standing tournament, and had fought quite often since then, shone the light of goodness when it mattered. Shined like a star. He really should give the guy some extra breathing room.
  
  Somewhere along the shin...
  
  Moore spoke again. "There are several ways to detect a deep cell or even a sleeper cell. We're narrowing down the suspects. We are exploring connections with other known cells that are already under surveillance. Check out the burning places of worship where famous jihadists spew their venom. We look at people who have recently devoted themselves to rituals-those who suddenly take an interest in religion, withdraw from society, or speak out about women's clothing. The NSA is listening to metadata collected from millions of cell phones and assessing it. But far more effective are the men and women who risk it every day of the week-the ones we have infiltrated into the population from which new jihadists are regularly recruited."
  
  "Under cover". Smith nodded. "This is good".
  
  "This is true. At this point, our information is thinner than Iggy Pop's Barbie. We are trying to confirm the number of people in each cell. Cell size. Districts. Opportunities and readiness. We're reviewing all recent phone records. Do you think Ramses will speak?"
  
  Hayden couldn't wait to get to work. "We"re going to give it a damn good try."
  
  "The threat is imminent," Kinimaka said. "Let"s assign teams and get the hell out of here."
  
  "Yeah, yeah, that's good," Moore explained. "But where will you go? New York is a very big city. You won't achieve anything by running away if you have nowhere to go. We don't even know if the bomb is real. Many people can make a bomb... look to your right."
  
  Alicia shifted in her seat. "I can vouch for that."
  
  "Vehicles are on standby," Moore said. "Special forces vehicles. Helicopters. Fast cars without markings. Believe it or not, we have plans for this, ways to clean up the streets. Officials and their families are already being evacuated. All we need now is a starting point."
  
  Hayden turned to her team. "So, let's quickly distribute the groups and get to Ramses. As that man said, our window is small, and it is already closing."
  
  
  CHAPTER FOUR
  
  
  Julian Marsh left the motel feeling refreshed, even excited, but also a little sad. He was well dressed: blue jeans, one leg of which was slightly darker than the other, several layers of shirts and a hat pushed to one side of his head. The view was good and he thought he had surpassed Zoe. The woman emerged from the small bathroom, looking a little disheveled, her hair only half combed and lipstick half applied. Only after several minutes of assessment did Marsh realize that she was deliberately trying to imitate him.
  
  Or pay tribute to him?
  
  Perhaps it was the latter, but it really pushed Marsh over the edge. The last thing he wanted was for a female version of himself to limit his unique style. Almost as an afterthought, he picked up the backpack from the bed, stroking the material and feeling the outline of the living beast inside.
  
  My .
  
  The morning was good, fresh, bright and happy. Marsh waited until a five-seater car pulled up and two men jumped out. Both were dark-skinned and wore thick beards. March spoke the final password for the final journey and allowed them to open the back door. Zoey appeared as he climbed inside.
  
  "Wait". One of the men pulled out a gun as the woman approached. "There should only be one."
  
  March was inclined to agree, but the other side of him wanted to get to know this woman even better. "She is a late addition. She is all right".
  
  The hand with the gun still hesitated.
  
  "Listen, I haven"t been in contact for three days, maybe four." Marsh couldn't remember exactly. "Plans change. I gave you the password, now listen to my words. She is all right. Even useful."
  
  "Very good". Neither man looked convinced.
  
  The car quickly took off, raising a column of dirt from under the rear tires, and turned towards the city. The march pulled back as the skyscrapers loomed even larger and the traffic intensified. Shiny, reflective surfaces surrounded the car, blinding in some places as they redirected artificial light. Crowds filled the sidewalks and buildings sparkled with information. Police cars drove through the streets. Marsh did not notice any signs of increased police attention, but at the time he could not see above the roof of the car. He mentioned this to the driver.
  
  "Everything seems normal," the man replied. "But speed is still important. Everything will fall apart if we move too slowly."
  
  "Ramses?" Marsh asked.
  
  "We are waiting for his word."
  
  March frowned, sensing some condescension in the answer. This plan was entirely his, and Ramses' minions must dance to his tune. Once they arrived at the location Marsh had chosen and prepared months before they could begin.
  
  "Stay under the radar," he said, to assert control. "And under the speed limit, right? We don't want to be stopped."
  
  "We're in New York," the driver said, and then both men laughed as he ran a red light. Marsh chose to ignore them.
  
  "But," the driver then added. "Your backpack? This... content needs to be verified."
  
  "I know it," Marsh hissed. "You think I don"t know this?"
  
  What kind of monkey did Webb load on him?
  
  Perhaps sensing the growing tension, Zoey sidled up to him. Between them there was only a nuclear bomb. Her hand slowly slid down the backpack, one fingertip at a time, and down to his lap, causing him to flinch and then stare at her.
  
  "Is this really appropriate?"
  
  "I don't know, Julian. Is it so?"
  
  Marsh wasn't entirely sure, but it felt good enough that he left it alone. It occurred to him for a moment that Shears was a bit attractive, powerful like the Shadow Pope, and no doubt capable of summoning any male specimen she required.
  
  Why me?
  
  The nuclear bomb probably helped, he knew. Every girl liked a man with nuclear weapons. Something to do with power... Oh, well, maybe she liked the idea that he was a little more formidable than her. His quirkiness? Sure, why the hell not? His train of thought was derailed when they stopped at the side of the road, the driver curtly pointing at the building Marsh had chosen on his previous visit. The day outside was still warm and completely unexpected. Marsh imagined the government's fat asses, firmly seated in their plush leather seats, about to receive the spanking of their lives.
  
  It's coming soon now. So soon I will barely be able to contain myself.
  
  He took Zoe by the hand and almost skipped along the sidewalk, letting the backpack dangle on his bent elbow. After passing the doorman and receiving instructions to the left, the group of four took the elevator to the fourth floor and then checked out the spacious two-bedroom apartment. All was good. March opened the balcony doors and took another breath of the city air.
  
  I might as well while I still can.
  
  The irony made him laugh at himself. This would never happen. All the Americans had to do was believe, pay, and then he could destroy the nuclear bomb in the Hudson as planned. Then, new plan. New life. And an exciting future.
  
  A voice came from behind his shoulder. "A person is sent to us who can check the contents of your backpack. He should arrive within the hour."
  
  March nodded without turning around. "As expected. Very good. But there are a few more considerations. I need someone to help me transfer the money as soon as the White House pays. I need help setting up a chase to create a distraction. And we need to activate all the cells and detonate this bomb."
  
  The man behind him stirred. "It"s all in the planning," he said. "We are ready. These things will come together very soon."
  
  March turned and walked back to the hotel room. Zoe sat sipping champagne, her slender legs raised and resting on a chaise lounge. "So now we just wait?" - he asked the guy.
  
  "Not for long".
  
  Marsh smiled at Zoe and extended his hand. "We'll be in the bedroom."
  
  The couple grabbed a strap from each backpack and carried them with them to the largest bedroom. Within a minute they were both naked and squirming on top of each other on top of the sheets. Marsh tried to prove that he had the necessary stamina this time, but Zoe was just a little too cunning. Her wide, flawless face did all sorts of things to his libido. In the end, it was a good thing Marsh finished quickly, because soon there was a knock on the bedroom door.
  
  "This man is here."
  
  Already? Marsh quickly got dressed with Zoe, and then the two of them returned to the room, still flushed and slightly sweaty. Marsh shook hands with the new arrival, noting his thin hair, pale complexion and rumpled clothes.
  
  "You don"t get out often?"
  
  "They keep me locked up."
  
  "Oh, well, never mind. Are you here to check my bomb?"
  
  "Yes, sir, I did."
  
  Marsh placed his backpack on the low glass table that occupied the center of the large room. Zoe walked by, catching his attention as he momentarily remembered her naked figure just a few minutes ago. He looked away, turning to the newcomer.
  
  "What's your name, guy?"
  
  "Adam, sir."
  
  "Well, Adam, you know what it is and what it can do. Are you nervous?"
  
  "No, not at the moment."
  
  "Tense?"
  
  "I don't think so".
  
  "Are you nervous? Tense? Maybe he"s overtired?"
  
  Adam shook his head, looking at the backpack.
  
  "If that"s the case, I"m sure Zoey can help you." He said this half-jokingly.
  
  The Pythian turned around with a sly smile. "Be happy".
  
  Marsh blinked, as did Adam, but before the young man could change his mind, their bearded driver spoke. "Hurry up with it," he said. "We must be prepared for..." he trailed off.
  
  March shrugged. "Okay, no need to start stomping your feet. Let"s get down and dirty." He turned to Adam. "I mean, with a bomb."
  
  The young man looked at the backpack, puzzled, and then turned it so that the buckles were facing him. He slowly unfastened them and opened the lid. Inside lay the actual device, surrounded by a more durable and overall superior backpack.
  
  "Okay," said Adam. "So we all know about MASINT, a measurement and signature intelligence protocol that scans for signatures of radiation and other physical phenomena associated with nuclear weapons. This device, and at least one other similar one that I know of, were designed to slip under this field. There are currently many nuclear device detection and monitoring systems in the world, but not all of them are advanced, and not all of them are fully staffed." He shrugged. "Look at the recent failures in civilized countries. Can anyone really stop a determined individual or a close-knit cell acting alone? Of course not. It only takes one glitch or internal work." He smiled. "An unhappy employee or even dead tired. Mostly it requires money or leverage. These are the best currencies of international terrorism."
  
  Marsh listened to the young man's story, wondering if one or two more serious precautions had been taken as he explained his route to Ramses and Webb. It would be in their own interests. He'd never know, and honestly, he didn't care. Now he was right here and about to open the door to Hell.
  
  "It's essentially what we call a 'dirty bomb,'" Adam said. "The term has always existed, but is still applicable. I have an alpha scintillator, a pollutant detector, and a few other goodies. But basically," Adam took a screwdriver out of his pocket, "I have this."
  
  He quickly removed the sturdy packaging and unfastened the Velcro strips that exposed the small display and mini-keyboard. The panel was held in place by four screws, which Adam quickly removed. When the metal panel came free, a series of wires unraveled behind it, leading to the heart of the newly discovered device.
  
  March held his breath.
  
  Adam smiled for the first time. "Don't worry. This thing has multiple fuses and isn't even armed yet. No one here will start this."
  
  March felt a little empty.
  
  Adam peered at the mechanism and the details inside it, taking it all in. After a moment, he checked the laptop screen next to him. "It"s leaking," he admitted. "But it"s not that bad."
  
  March fidgeted restlessly. "How bad is it?"
  
  "I would advise you never to have children," Adam said without emotion. "If you still can. And enjoy the next few years of your life."
  
  Marsh stared at Zoey as she shrugged. Either way, he never expected to outlive his selfish father or his arrogant brothers.
  
  "Now I can protect it better," Adam said, taking the package out of the suitcase he had brought with him. "As I would do with any device of this nature."
  
  March watched for a moment and then realized that they were almost finished. He met the dead eyes of their driver. "These cameras that Ramses spoke of. Are they ready? The chase is about to begin and I don't want any delays."
  
  A dry smile flashed in response. "And so do we. All five cells are now active, including two sleeper cells that Americans may not be aware of." The man looked at his watch. "It"s 6:45 a.m. Everything will be ready by seven."
  
  "Fantastic". Marsh felt his libido rise again and thought he might as well take advantage of this fact while he still could. Knowing Zoey, as he had recently done, they would have ended quickly anyway. "And the protocols for money transfers?"
  
  "Adam will focus on completing a program that will broadcast our location around the world in an endless loop. They will never track the transaction."
  
  March didn't notice the surprise on Adam's face.
  
  He was too focused on Zoe, and she on him. He took another five minutes to watch Adam set off the bomb and listen to instructions on how to disarm the damn thing, then made sure the man took the appropriate photos of the device in action. The photographs played a critical role in convincing the White House of the device's authenticity and in setting up a pursuit that would create a distraction and divide the forces arrayed against him. Happy, he finally turned to Adam.
  
  "The yellow one. Is this the disarming wire?"
  
  "Um, yes sir, it is."
  
  Marsh smiled sincerely at the driver. "So, are we ready?"
  
  "We are ready".
  
  "Then leave."
  
  Marsh reached out and led Zoe into the bedroom, pulling her jeans and panties on as he went and trying to suppress a chuckle. A flood of passion and excitement almost overwhelmed him as he realized that all his dreams of power and importance were about to come true. If only his family could see him now.
  
  
  CHAPTER FIVE
  
  
  As Drake straightened up, the full weight of what was happening hit him. Urgency coursed through his veins, fraying his nerve endings, and one glance at his teammates told him they felt the same way-even Kenzi. He really thought that the ex-Mossad agent had already made her move, but then, in truth, because of the connection between the soldiers, he didn't even need to ask her why she didn't do it. The same innocents she fought for, the same civilians, were at stake. Anyone with half a heart wouldn't allow this to happen, and Drake suspected that there might be a lot more to Kensi than half a heart, no matter how deeply hidden it was.
  
  The wall clock showed seven forty-five, and the whole team was on the move. An alarming, chaotic calm reigned at the police station; the police were in charge, but clearly on edge. News reports flashed on the television screens, but none of them had anything to do with them. Moore walked and walked, waiting for news from undercover agents, surveillance teams or driving cars. Hayden caught up with the rest of the team.
  
  "Mano and I will deal with Ramses. We need two more groups, one to evaluate information about a nuclear explosion as it occurs, and one to search for these cells. Keep quiet, but take no prisoners. Today, my friends, is not the day to fool around. Get what you need and get it fast and hard. Lying can cost us dearly."
  
  Moore caught what she was saying and looked back. "Today," he said, "there will be no mercy."
  
  Dahl nodded grimly, cracking his knuckles as if he could crack a man's skull. Drake tried to relax. Even Alicia walked around like a caged panther.
  
  Then, at 8am, the madness began.
  
  Calls began to come in, the dedicated phones ringing again and again, their noise filling the small room. Moore effectively fought them off one by one, and two assistants came running to help. Even Kinimaka accepted the challenge, although the table he was sitting at didn't seem particularly happy.
  
  Moore compared information with the speed of light. "We're at the threshold," he said. "All teams are ready. Undercover agents reported the most recent conversations about secret meetings and chatter. Movements around famous mosques intensified. Even if we didn't know what was happening, we would be worried. New faces were seen in their usual habitats, all determined and moving quickly, with purpose. Of the cells known to us, two disappeared from radar." Moore shook his head. "It"s like we haven"t dealt with this already. But we have clues. One team should head to the docks - one of the known cells operates from there."
  
  "This is us," Dahl rasped. "Get up, you bastards."
  
  "Speak for yourself." Kensi sidled up to him. "Oh, and I"m with you."
  
  "Oh, do you have to do this?"
  
  "Stop playing hard to get."
  
  Drake studied the teams, which were divided into pairs in an interesting way. Dahl and Kenzie had comrades - Lauren, Smith and Yorgi. He ended up staying with Alicia, May and Bo. It was a recipe for something; that was for sure.
  
  "Good luck, buddy," Drake said.
  
  Dahl turned to say something just as Moore raised his hand. "Wait!" He covered the receiver with his hand for a second. "This has just been corrected on our hotline."
  
  All heads turned. Moore accepted another call and now reached out, feeling for the speakerphone button.
  
  "You're in," Moore said.
  
  A disembodied crack filled the room, the words came out so fast it was as if Drake's legs wanted to give chase. "This is Julian Marsh, and I know you know almost everything. Yes, I know. The question is, how would you like to play it?"
  
  Hayden took over when Moore waved his hand to continue. "Stop being a fool, Marsh. Where is it?"
  
  "Well, that's an explosive question, isn't it? I'll tell you this, my dear, it's here. In NYC."
  
  Drake didn't dare breathe as their worst fears were undoubtedly confirmed.
  
  "So the other question is what do I want next?" March paused for a long time.
  
  "Get to work, asshole," Smith growled.
  
  Alicia frowned. "Let's not antagonize this idiot."
  
  March laughed. "Let's not, really. So, the nuclear bomb is loaded, all the codes have been carefully entered. As they say, the clock is ticking. Now all you have to do is make sure it's real and provide you with a bank account number. I'm right?"
  
  "Yes," Hayden said simply.
  
  "Do you need proof? You'll have to work for it."
  
  Drake leaned forward. "What do you mean?"
  
  "I mean the chase is on."
  
  "Are you going to get to the point anytime soon?" Hayden asked.
  
  "Ah, we'll get there. First, you little worker ants need to do your job. If I were you, I'd go away. Do you see...do you see how I came up with this rhyme? I was going to make it all rhyme, you know, but in the end... well, I realized that I didn't care."
  
  Drake shook his head in despair. "Damn, mate. Speak proper English."
  
  "The first clue is already in the game. Confirmation form. You have twenty minutes to get to the Edison Hotel, room 201. Then there will be four more clues, some of which are about confirmation and some about requirements. Now you understand me?"
  
  May returned first. "Madness".
  
  "Well, I'm a person of two minds. One from need, one from vice. Perhaps sparks of madness fly at their intersection."
  
  "Twenty minutes?" Drake looked at his watch. "Can we even do this?"
  
  "For every minute you were late, I ordered one of Ramses" cells to kill two civilians."
  
  Again, jaw-dropping shock, horror, growing tension. Drake clenched his fists as the adrenaline rose.
  
  "Twenty minutes," Marsh repeated. "From... now."
  
  Drake ran out the door.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Hayden ran down the stairs and into the basement of the building, Kinimaka at her back. Fury took hold of her and beat upon her like the wings of a devil. Anger made her feet go faster and nearly caused her to trip. Her Hawaiian partner grunted, slipped and stood up almost without stopping. She thought about her friends, in terrible danger, scattering to different parts of the city without the slightest idea of what to expect, putting themselves on the line without question. She thought about all the civilians there and what the White House might be thinking right now. It was good to have protocols, plans and workable formulas, but when the real, working world became the target of extreme threat - all bets were off. At the foot of the stairs she ran into the corridor and began to run. Doors flashed by on both sides, most of them unlit. At the far end, a row of bars was quickly pulled aside for her.
  
  Hayden extended her hand. "Gun".
  
  The guard flinched, but then obeyed, the order from above already reaching his ears.
  
  Hayden took the weapon, checked it was loaded and the safety was off, and burst into the small room.
  
  "Ramses!" - she screamed. "What the hell have you done?"
  
  
  CHAPTER SIX
  
  
  Drake ran out of the building with Alicia, May and Beau by his side. Four of them were already drenched in sweat. Determination emanated from every pore. Bo fished out a state-of-the-art GPS navigator from his pocket and pinpointed the Edison's location.
  
  "Times Square area," he said, studying the route. "Let's cross third and cross Lexington Avenue. Head to the Waldorf Astoria."
  
  Drake burst into a dense stream of cars. Nothing compares to trying to save the life of a New York taxi driver when he was desperately trying to break your legs at the knees, pushing forward with all his might. Drake jumped at the last second, skidding across the front of a nearby yellow taxi and landing at full tilt. The horns roared. Each member of the team had managed to commandeer a pistol on the way out and was now waving it around, wishing they had more. But time was already wasted. Drake looked at his watch as he fell to the sidewalk.
  
  Seventeen minutes.
  
  They crossed Lexington and then sped along the Waldorf, barely stopping as cars crawled down Park Avenue. Drake fought his way through the crowd at the stoplight, finally coming face to face with an angry red face.
  
  "Listen, buddy, I'll cross here first, even if it kills me. Boss bagels are going to get cold, and there's no way in hell that's going to happen."
  
  Drake stepped around the angry man as Alicia and May rushed past outside. The signals changed and the road was clear. Now, having hidden their weapons, they resolutely headed towards the next main street - Madison Avenue. Once again crowds filled the sidewalk. Bo slipped into 49th, maneuvering between cars and gaining an advantage. Fortunately, the traffic was now slow, and there was some space between the rear bumpers and the front fenders. The women followed Beau and then Drake got in line.
  
  The drivers shouted insults at them.
  
  Twelve minutes left.
  
  If they were too late, where would the terrorist cells strike? Drake imagined it would be near Edison. Marsh would like the crew to know that his orders were carried out to the letter. A car door opened up ahead-just because the driver could-and Beau jumped over the roof just in time. Alicia grabbed the edge of the frame and slammed it back into the man's face.
  
  Now they turn left, approaching 5th Avenue and even more crowds. Beau slipped through the worst like a pickpocket at a pop concert, followed by Alicia and May. Drake had just shouted at everyone, his Yorkshireman's patience had finally run out. Both men and women blocked his path, men and women who didn't care whether he was rushing to save his own life, the life of one of his children, or even themselves. Drake pushed his way through, leaving one man stretched out. The woman with the child looked at him intently enough to make him feel guilty until he remembered what he was running for.
  
  You'll thank me later.
  
  But of course she'll never know. No matter what happens.
  
  Bo now shot to the left, running down the Avenue of the Americas towards 47th Street. The Magnolia Bakery passed to the right, making Drake think of Mano, and then of what the Hawaiian might have already learned from Ramses. Two minutes later, as they were exploding on 47th Street, Times Square suddenly appeared to their left. To the right of them was a regular Starbucks, where there was a bustle and lines at the door. Drake scanned the faces as he ran past, but didn't expect to come face to face with any of the suspects.
  
  Four minutes.
  
  Time passed faster and was even more precious than the last moments of a dying old man. To the left, facing the sidewalk, the gray facade of the hotel with its gilded entrance appeared, and Beau was the first to enter the front doors. Drake sidestepped a luggage cart and a dangerously turned yellow taxi to follow Mai inside. They were greeted by a wide foyer with a patterned red carpet.
  
  Beau and Alicia were already pressing the buttons to call individual elevators, keeping their hands close to their hidden weapons as the guard watched them. Drake considered showing his Team SPEAR ID, but that would only lead to more questions, and the countdown was already on to the final three minutes. The bell signaled that Alicia's elevator had arrived and the team boarded. Drake prevented the young man from joining them, pushing him away with an open palm. Thank God it worked because the next gesture would have been a clenched fist.
  
  The four-man team assembled as the vehicle rose, stopping its movement and drawing its weapons. As soon as the door opened, they poured out, searching for room 201. Instantly, a flurry of fists and feet appeared among them, shocking even Bo.
  
  Someone was waiting.
  
  Drake flinched as a fist connected above his eye socket, but ignored the flash of pain. Someone's foot tried to catch his own, but he stepped aside. The same figure moved away and surrounded Alicia, slamming her body into the plaster wall. Mai stopped the blows with his hands raised, and then Bo unleashed a quick one-two punch that stopped all momentum and brought the attacker to his knees.
  
  Drake jumped and then punched down with all his might. Time was running out. The figure, a stocky man in a thick jacket, shuddered under the Yorkshireman's blow, but somehow managed to deflect the strongest part of it. Drake fell onto his side, losing his balance.
  
  "Punching bag," Mai said. "He's a punching bag. Positioned to slow us down."
  
  Bo drove in harder than before. "He is mine. Are you going."
  
  Drake jumped over the kneeling figure, checking the room numbers. There were only three rooms left to their destination, and they had one minute left. They remained in the last seconds. Drake stopped outside the room and kicked the door. Nothing happened.
  
  Mai pushed him aside. "Move."
  
  One high blow and the tree split, the second and the frame collapsed. Drake coughed. "That must have weakened it for you."
  
  Inside, they spread out, weapons drawn and searching quickly, but the object they were looking for was terribly obvious. It was lying in the middle of the bed - a glossy A4 photograph. Alicia walked over to the bed, looking around.
  
  "The room is spotless," Mai said. "I bet there are no leads."
  
  Alicia stood at the edge of the bed, looking down and breathing shallowly. She shook her head and groaned as Drake joined her.
  
  "Oh my God. What's this-"
  
  He was interrupted by a phone call. Drake walked around the bed, went to the nightstand and grabbed the phone from the lever.
  
  "Yes!"
  
  "Ah, I see you did it. It couldn't be easy."
  
  "March! You crazy bastard. Did you leave us a photo of the bomb? Fucking photograph?"
  
  "Yes. Your first clue. Why did you think I'd let you have the real thing? So stupid. Send this to your leaders and eggheads. They'll check serial numbers and all this other crap. Canisters of plutonium E. Fissile material. It's a boring thing, really. The next clue will be even more eloquent."
  
  At that moment, Bo entered the room. Drake hoped he would drag the Punch Man with him, but Beau drew an imaginary line through his carotid artery. "He committed suicide," the Frenchman said in a stunned voice. "Suicide Pill."
  
  Crap.
  
  "You see?" Marsh said. "We are very serious."
  
  "Please, Marsh," Drake tried. "Just tell us what you want. We"ll do it right now, damn it."
  
  "Oh, I'm sure you would. But we'll leave that for later, okay? How about this? Run for clue number two. This chase keeps getting better and more difficult. You have twenty minutes to get to the Marea restaurant. By the way, this is an Italian dish and they make a very tasty Nduyu calzone, trust me. But let's not stop there, my friends, because you will find this clue under the toilet. Enjoy."
  
  "Swamp"-
  
  "Twenty minutes".
  
  The line went dead.
  
  Drake cursed, turned around and ran as fast as he could.
  
  
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  
  Having no other choice, Torsten Dahl and his team decided to abandon the car and leave. He wanted nothing more than to hold on tight as Smith tossed the powerful SUV around a half-dozen turns, tires squealing, moving things, but New York was nothing but an angry growl of yellow cabs and buses and rental cars. The word "Deadlock" came to Dahl's mind, but it happened every day, most of the day, and the horns were still blaring and people were screaming from the rolled down windows. They ran as fast as they could, following the directions. Lauren and Yorgi pulled on their bulletproof vests. Kensi jogged next to Dahl, her lips pouting.
  
  "I would be much more useful to you," she told Dahl.
  
  "No".
  
  "Oh come on, how could it hurt?"
  
  "Never".
  
  "Oh, Torsti-"
  
  "Kenzi, you're not getting your damn katana back. And don't call me that. Having one crazy woman give me nicknames is bad enough."
  
  "Oh yeah? Just like you and Alicia ever... you know?"
  
  Smith growled as they crossed another intersection, seeing pedestrians and bikers crowding the road at the green light, all of them holding their lives in their hands, but they were sure that they weren't the ones who would suffer today. They sped down the next street, the soldiers barely feeling the heat of the sprint as they passed two slow-moving Priuses, smashing their side mirrors. The GPS beeped.
  
  "Four minutes to the docks," Yorgi estimated. "We should slow down."
  
  "I"ll slow down in three," Smith snapped. "Don"t point out my work to me."
  
  Dahl handed Kenzie a Glock and a Hong Kong pistol - no easy task, not easy to accomplish secretly in New York. He winced as he did this. Against his better judgment, they were practically forced to accept the rogue agent's help. It was an unusual day, and all measures, even desperate ones, were required. And, in truth, he still felt that they might have a kinship, something like parallel military souls, which increased his level of trust.
  
  He believed they could save Bridget Mackenzie, no matter how hard she fought.
  
  Smith now crossed two lanes of traffic, brushed his shoulder against the stalled F150, but continued driving without looking back. Running out of time, they couldn't afford any pleasantries, and the terrible cloud hanging over them meant they were forced to go all in, all the time.
  
  Dahl cocked the hammer of his weapon. "The warehouse is less than a minute away," he said. "Why the hell don"t they fix all these potholes?"
  
  Smith sympathized with him. The roads were an endless, rutted, treacherous stretch where cars slowly navigated around uneven potholes and roadworks popped up at any moment, seemingly indifferent to the time of day or traffic density. It really was dog on dog, and not a single person wanted to help anyone else.
  
  They quickly navigated the GPS and aimed at the arrowhead. The freshness of the early morning sent shivers down their bare skin, reminding them all that it was still early. Sunlight filtered through breaks in the clouds, turning the docks and nearby river a pale gold. Those people that Dahl could see were doing their usual business. He had imagined the dock area to be dark and dingy, but other than the warehouses, it was clean and not particularly crowded. And it wasn't busy, since the main shipping areas were across the bay in New Jersey. However, Dahl saw large, battered containers and a long, wide ship sitting motionless on the water, and huge container cranes, painted blue, that could run along the pier on railroad tracks and collect their containers using spreaders.
  
  To the left were warehouses, as well as a courtyard full of brighter containers. Dahl pointed to a building one hundred and fifty feet away.
  
  "This is our boy. Smith, Kenzi, come forward. I want Lauren and Yorgi behind us."
  
  He walked away, now focused, focused on fighting off one attack behind them before they moved on to the next... and then the next, until this nightmare was over and he could return to his family. Newly painted doors were placed along the side of the building, and Dahl looked up when he saw the first window.
  
  "Empty office. Let's try the next one."
  
  Several minutes passed as the group crept along the side of the building, weapons drawn, checking window after window, door after door. Dahl noted with disappointment that they were beginning to attract the attention of local workers. He didn't want to scare away their prey.
  
  "Let's".
  
  They hurried forward, finally reaching the fifth window and taking a quick look. Dahl saw a wide space cluttered with cardboard boxes and wooden crates, but next to the window he also saw a rectangular table. Four men sat around the table, heads down, as if they were talking, planning and thinking. Dahl jumped to the ground and sat down, leaning his back against the wall.
  
  "We are fine?" Smith asked.
  
  "Perhaps," Dahl said. "It could have been nothing... but-"
  
  "I trust you," Kenzi said with a hint of sarcasm. "You lead, I will follow," Then she shook her head. "Are you people really that crazy? Just rush in there and start shooting first?"
  
  A man approached, looking sideways at them. Dahl raised his HK and the man froze, raising his hands in the air. The decision was made mainly because the guy was in the direct line of sight of everyone in the warehouse. Less than a second passed before Dal stood up, spun around, and slammed his shoulder into the outer door. Smith and Kensi were with him, reading his thoughts.
  
  When Dahl entered the spacious warehouse, four men jumped up from the table. The weapons lay at their sides, and now they put them away, firing indiscriminately at the approaching strangers. Bullets flew everywhere, breaking the window and going through the revolving door. Dahl dove headlong, rolling, emerging, shooting. The men at the table backed away, firing back, shooting over their shoulders and even between their legs as they ran. Nowhere was safe. Random gunfire filled the cavernous space. Dahl leaned on both elbows until he reached the table and turned it over, using it as a shield. One end shattered as a large caliber bullet passed right through.
  
  "Crap".
  
  "Are you trying to kill me?" Kenzi muttered.
  
  The big Swede changed tactics, picked up a huge table, and then launched it into the air. The falling edges caught one man's ankles, sending him flying and sending his gun flying. As Dal was quickly approaching, Kensi's voice caused him to slow down.
  
  "Be careful with those little bastards. I've worked all over the Middle East and seen thousands of them wearing vests."
  
  Dahl hesitated. "I don't think you can just-"
  
  The explosion shook the walls of the warehouse. The Swede flew off his feet, flew into the air and crashed into an already broken window. White noise filled his head, an overwhelming buzz in his ears, and for a second he couldn't see anything. By the time his vision began to clear, he realized that Kensi was squatting in front of him, patting his cheeks.
  
  "Wake up, man. It wasn"t a whole body, just a grenade."
  
  "Oh. Well, it makes me feel better."
  
  "This is our chance," she said. "The concussion knocked his fellow idiots off their feet as well."
  
  Dahl struggled to his feet. Smith was on his feet, but Lauren and Yorgi were sitting on their knees, their fingers pressed to their temples. Dahl saw that the terrorists were beginning to come to their senses. Urgency pricked him like a pin piercing a piece of tenderized meat. Raising his pistol, he came under fire again, but managed to wound one of the rising terrorists and watched as the man doubled over and fell.
  
  Smith rushed past. "Caught him."
  
  Dahl took the lead. Kensi squeezed out the shots next to him. The two remaining terrorists turned the corner, and Dahl realized that they were heading for the exit. He slowed for a moment, then turned the same corner, firing carefully, but his bullets only hit empty air and concrete. The door was wide open.
  
  The grenade bounced back inside.
  
  Now the explosion was a given, the SPIR team took cover and waited for the shrapnel to pass them by. The walls shook and cracked under the strong impact. Then they were on their feet, squeezing through the door into the shelter and into the bright day.
  
  "It"s one o"clock in the morning," Smith said.
  
  Dahl looked in the indicated direction, saw two running figures, and behind them the Hudson, leading to the Upper Bay. "Bullshit, they might have speedboats."
  
  Kensi dropped to one knee, taking careful aim. "Then we'll take-"
  
  "No," Dahl lowered the barrel of her weapon down. "Don"t you see the civilians over there?"
  
  "Zubi," she cursed in Hebrew, a language Dahl did not understand. Together, Smith, Kenzie and Swede began pursuit. The terrorists acted quickly; they were almost at the pier. Kenzi compromised by firing her HK into the air, expecting the civilians to either run away or hide.
  
  "You can thank me after we save the day," she snapped.
  
  Dahl saw that a path of opportunity had opened up before him. Both terrorists stood tall against the watery background, excellent targets, and Kenzi's opportunistic fire cleared the way for them. He slowed down and put the butt to his shoulder, taking careful aim. Smith followed suit next to him.
  
  The terrorists turned as if practicing telepathy, already shooting. Dahl remained focused as the lead whistled between the spearmen. His second bullet hit the target in the chest, the third - in the forehead, exactly in the center. The man fell over, already dead.
  
  "Leave one alive," Lauren"s voice came through his earpiece.
  
  Smith fired. The last terrorist had already jumped to the side, the bullet grazing his jacket while Smith adjusted himself. With a quick movement, the terrorist threw another grenade - this time along the pier itself.
  
  "No!" Dahl shot to no avail, his heart leaping to his throat.
  
  The small bomb exploded with a loud sound, the blast wave echoing across the docks. Dahl hid behind the container for a moment, and then jumped back out - but his momentum wavered when he saw that now it was not only the remaining terrorist he had to worry about.
  
  One of the container cranes was damaged at the base by the explosion and tilted dangerously over the river. The sounds of grinding, tearing metal heralded the imminent collapse. People stared up and began to run away from the tall frame.
  
  The terrorist took out another grenade.
  
  "Not this time, idiot." Smith was already on one knee, squinting along the sight. He pulled the trigger, watching the last terrorist fall before he could pull the pin on the grenade.
  
  But the crane could not be stopped. Tilting and collapsing along the entire length of the frame, the heavy iron scaffolding fell onto the pier, destroying the frame and turning the small hut on which it fell into dust. The containers were damaged and pushed back several feet. Rods and crossbars of metal flew down, bouncing off the ground like deadly matches. A bright blue pole the size of a street light streaked between Smith and Dahl-something that could have torn them in half if it had hit it-and stopped just a few feet from where Lauren and Yorgi stood with their backs to the warehouse.
  
  "There is no move." Kensi took aim at the terrorist, double-checking. "He's very dead."
  
  Dahl collected his thoughts and looked around the docks. A quick check showed that, fortunately, no one was injured by the container crane. He put his finger to his throat microphone.
  
  "The camera is off," he said. "But they're all dead."
  
  Lauren is back. "Okay, I'll pass it on."
  
  Kenzi's hand rested on Dahl's shoulder. "You should have let me take the shot. I'd crush that bastard's knees; then we would make him talk, one way or another."
  
  "Too risky." Dahl understood why she did not understand this. "And it"s doubtful we could get him to talk in the short time we have."
  
  Kensi huffed in annoyance. "You speak on behalf of Europe and America. I am Israeli."
  
  Lauren came back over the comms. "We have to go. A camera was seen there. Not good."
  
  Dahl, Smith and Kenzie stole a nearby car, figuring that if it only took them five minutes longer than walking, the time savings could be more than significant.
  
  
  CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  
  Drake slammed into the concrete of 47th Street, exhausted, with only eighteen minutes left on the clock. They immediately ran into a problem.
  
  "Seventh, Eighth or Broadway?" Mai screamed.
  
  Bo waved the GPS at her. "Marea is close to Central Park."
  
  "Yes, but what street leads us right past it?"
  
  They hovered on the sidewalk as the seconds ticked away, knowing that March was preparing not only a nuclear bomb, but also teams that would take the lives of two civilians for every minute they were late for the next rendezvous.
  
  "Broadway is always busy," Drake said. "Let"s do the eighth."
  
  Alicia stared at him. "How the hell would you know?"
  
  "I heard about Broadway. Never heard of the Eighth."
  
  "Oh, fair enough. Where-"
  
  "No! This is Broadway!" Beau suddenly screamed in his almost musical accent. "The restaurant is at the very top... almost."
  
  "Almost?"
  
  "With me!"
  
  Bo took off like a hundred-meter sprinter, jumping over a parked car as if it wasn't there. Drake, Alicia, and May followed at his heels, turning east toward Broadway and the intersection where Times Square shimmered and shimmered and disdained its flickering displays.
  
  Once again the crowd found it difficult to disperse, and again Beau led them along the side of the road. Even here there were tourists, leaning back, staring at tall buildings and billboards, or trying to decide whether to risk their lives and rush across a busy road. The crowds were catered to by barkers offering cheap tickets to various Broadway shows. Languages of all colors filled the air, an almost overwhelming, complex mixture. There were few homeless people, but those who spoke for them campaigned very loudly and energetically for donations.
  
  Up ahead was Broadway, filled with New Yorkers and visitors, dotted with crosswalks, and lined with colorful shops and restaurants with their hanging, illuminated signs and A-frame displays. Passersby were a blur as Drake and his side of the SPEAR team raced on.
  
  Fifteen minutes.
  
  Bo stared back at him. "The GPS says it's a twenty-two minute walk, but the sidewalks are so crowded that everyone walks at the same pace."
  
  "Then run," Alicia urged him. "Wag your huge tail. Maybe it will make you move faster."
  
  Before Beau could say anything, Drake felt his already plummeting heart sink even further. The road ahead was completely blocked in both directions, mostly by yellow taxis. A fender fracture occurred, and those who were not trying to avoid it slowly moved their cars to get a better look. The sidewalk on both sides was filled with people.
  
  "Bloody hell."
  
  But Bo didn't even slow down. A light jump carried him onto the trunk of a nearby taxi, and then he ran along its roof, jumped onto the hood and ran into the next one in line. May quickly followed, followed by Alicia, leaving Drake behind to be yelled at and attacked by vehicle owners.
  
  Drake was forced to concentrate beyond normal. Not all of these machines were the same, and their metal changed, some even slowly rolling forward. The race was tight, but they jumped from car to car, using the long line to get ahead. Crowds stared on both sides. It"s good that no one bothered them here and they could see the approaching intersection of Broadway and 54th, then 57th streets. When the crush of cars eased, Bo rolled out of the last car and resumed his run along the road itself, Mai next to him. Alicia looked back at Drake.
  
  "Just checking to see if you fell through that open hatch in the back."
  
  "Yes, it"s a risky option. I"m just grateful there weren"t convertibles back then."
  
  Beyond the other intersection and 57th Street, cement mixers, delivery vans and red-and-white barriers were lined up. If the team thought they had succeeded, or that this run would be as straightforward as the previous one, their illusions were suddenly shattered.
  
  Two men emerged from behind a delivery truck, guns pointed directly at the runners. Drake didn't miss a beat. Constant battle, years of battles sharpened his senses to the maximum and kept them there - twenty-four hours a day. Menacing forms instantly appeared, and without hesitation, he rushed headlong towards them, right in front of the approaching cement truck. One of the pistols flew to the side with a roar, and the other got stuck under the bodies of one of the men. Drake staggered back as the blow struck the side of his skull. Behind them, he heard the grinding of the wheels of a cement truck as it braked sharply, and the swearing of its driver...
  
  He saw a huge gray body turning towards him...
  
  And I heard Alicia's frightened scream.
  
  "Matt!"
  
  
  CHAPTER NINE
  
  
  Drake could only watch as the out of control truck turned towards him. The attackers did not retreat for a second, showering him with a hail of blows, because they were not concerned about their own safety. He was punched in the throat, chest and solar plexus. He watched the body swing and kicked as it flew directly over his head.
  
  The first terrorist fell backwards, stumbling, and was hit by one of the wheels, the impact breaking his back and ending his threat. The second blinked, as if stunned by Drake's audacity, then turned his head towards the approaching back of the truck.
  
  The wet slapping sound was enough. Drake realized he was out of his depth, and then saw the first terrorist's skull crushed under the sliding wheels as the truck's body swung around above him. The frame was flattened, he could only hope. For a split second, darkness swallowed everything, even sound. The underside of the truck moved above him, slowing, slowing, and then came to an abrupt stop.
  
  Alicia's hand reached under it. "Are you okay?"
  
  Drake rolled up to her. "Better than those guys."
  
  Beau waited, almost shuffling his feet as he looked at his watch. "Four minutes left!"
  
  Exhausted, bruised, scratched and battered, Drake forced his body into action. This time Alicia stayed with him, as if sensing that he could take some time off after the near miss. They beat the crowds of tourists, finding Central Park South and the Marea among many other restaurants.
  
  May pointed to the sign, which was relatively discreet for New York.
  
  Bo ran ahead. Drake and the others caught him at the door. The waitress stared at them, at their disheveled appearance, at their heavy jackets, and backed away. It was clear from her eyes that she had seen destruction and suffering before.
  
  "Don't worry," Drake said. "We are English."
  
  Mai sent a glare in his direction. "Japanese".
  
  And Bo paused his search for the men's room with a raised eyebrow. "Definitely not English."
  
  Drake ran as gracefully as he could through the still-closed restaurant, hitting a chair and a table along the way. The men's restroom was small, consisting of only two urinals and a toilet. He looked under the bowl.
  
  "There"s nothing here," he said.
  
  Beauregard's face showed tension. He tapped the buttons on his watch. "Time is over".
  
  The waitress standing nearby jumped when the phone rang. Drake extended his hand to her. "Do not rush. Please take your time."
  
  He thought that she could run away, but her inner determination directed her to the tube. At that moment, Alicia came out of the women's restroom with a worried expression on her face. "He's not there. We don"t have that!"
  
  Drake flinched as if he had been hit. He looked around. Could there be another toilet in this tiny restaurant? Perhaps a cubicle for employees? They would have to check again, but the waitress was already on the phone. Her eyes flickered towards Drake and she asked the caller to wait.
  
  "This is a man named Marsh. For you."
  
  Drake frowned. "Did he call me by name?"
  
  "He said Englishman." The waitress shrugged. "That's all he said."
  
  Bo lingered next to him. "And because you are easily confused, my friend, it is you."
  
  "To your health".
  
  Drake reached for his phone, one hand rubbing his cheek as a wave of fatigue and tension washed over him. How could they fail now? They have overcome all obstacles, and yet Marsh may still be playing with them in some way.
  
  "Yes?"
  
  "March here. Now tell me what did you find?"
  
  Drake opened his mouth, then quickly closed it. What was the correct answer? Perhaps Marsh was expecting the word "nothing." May be...
  
  He paused, hesitating from answer to answer.
  
  "Tell me what you found, or I will give the order to kill two New Yorkers within the next minute."
  
  Drake opened his mouth. Damn it! "We found-"
  
  Mai then ran out of the women's restroom, slipping on the wet tiles and falling on her side. Clutched in her hand was a small white envelope. Beau was at her side in a split second, picking up the envelope and handing it to Drake. Mai lay on the floor, breathing heavily.
  
  Alicia stared at her with her mouth open. "Where did you find this, Sprite?"
  
  "You did what they call the 'boy look', Taz. And this should not surprise anyone, since you are three-quarters a man anyway."
  
  Alicia seethed with anger in silence.
  
  Drake coughed as he opened the envelope. "We... found... this... damn flash drive, Marsh. Damn, dude, what is this?"
  
  "Great job. Great job. I'm a little disappointed, but hey, maybe next time. Now just take a close look at the USB. This is your final test, and as before, you may want to hand it over to someone with more intelligence than you or the NYPD."
  
  "Is this the inside of... the cake?" Drake realized that the waitress was still standing nearby.
  
  Marsh laughed loudly. "Oh good, oh very good. Let's not let the cat out of the bag, shall we? Yes it is. Now listen, I"ll give you ten minutes to send the contents of the flash drive to those better than you, and then we"ll start all over again."
  
  "No, no, we don"t know." Drake gestured towards May, who was carrying a small backpack in which they had hidden a tiny laptop. The Japanese woman lifted herself off the ground and approached.
  
  "We won't be chasing our tails all over this town, Marsh."
  
  "Umm, yes you will. Because I say so. So, time goes by. Let's boot up the laptop and enjoy what's coming next, shall we? Five, four..."
  
  Drake slammed his fist on the table as the burst died down. Anger boiled in his blood. "Listen, Marsh-"
  
  The restaurant's window exploded when the front fender of the van crashed into the dining room. The glass shattered and pieces flew into the air. Wood, plastic and mortar products burst into the room. The van didn't stop, slamming into its tires and roaring like death's apprentice as it sped through the small room.
  
  
  CHAPTER TEN
  
  
  Julian Marsh felt a sharp pain in his stomach as he rolled to the right. Pieces of pizza fell to the floor and a bowl of salad fell onto the sofa. He quickly grabbed his sides, completely unable to stop laughing.
  
  The low table that stood in front of him and Zoe shook when someone's wild foot accidentally kicked it. Zoey reached out to support him, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder as another exciting event began to unfold. So far they had watched Drake and his crew spill out of the Edison - watched fairly easily as a man dressed like a tourist was filming the event from across the street - then seen the mad dash up Broadway - this hysterical scene was more sporadic , since there weren't many security cameras that a local terrorist could hack into - and then watched with bated breath as the attack somehow developed around a cement mixer.
  
  All this is a pleasant distraction. Marsh held a disposable cell phone in one hand and Zoe's thigh in the other as she ate a few slices of ham and mushrooms and chatted on Facebook.
  
  In front of them were three screens, eighteen inches each. The pair were now showing close attention as Drake and Company burst into the small Italian restaurant. Marsh checked the time and looked at the colorful fireworks.
  
  "Damn, this is close."
  
  "Are you excited?"
  
  "Yes, isn't it?"
  
  "It's an okay movie." Zoey pouted. "But I was hoping for more blood."
  
  "Just wait a minute, my love. Getting better".
  
  The couple sat and played in a rented apartment that belonged to one of the terrorist cells; the main one, thought Marsh. There were four terrorists there, one of whom, at a previous request, had set up a cinema-like viewing area for Marsh. While the Pythian couple enjoyed watching, the men sat to the side, huddled around a small television, browsing through dozens of other channels, looking for tidbits of news or waiting for some call. Marsh didn't know and didn't care. He also ignored the strange furtive glances, knowing full well that he was a handsome man with an unusual personality, and some people - even other men - liked to appreciate such personality.
  
  Zoey showed him a little more appreciation by sliding her hands down the front of his boxers. Damn, she had sharp nails.
  
  Spicy and yet somehow... enjoyable.
  
  He looked at the nuclear briefcase for a moment - a term he couldn't quite get out of his head, even though the smaller bomb was in a large backpack - and then popped some caviar into his mouth. The table before them was, of course, magnificent, consisting of priceless and tasteless products, but they were all delicious.
  
  Was that a nuclear bomb screaming his name?
  
  Marsh realized it was time to act and called, speaking to a charming waitress and then to a heavily accented Englishman. The guy had one of those strange timbres of his voice - something that smacked of the peasantry - and Marsh made contorted faces, trying to make out vowel from vowel. Not an easy task, and it gets a little more difficult when women's hands are clutching your Nutcracker set.
  
  "Tell me what you found, or I will give the order to kill two New Yorkers within the next minute." Marsh smirked as he said this, ignoring the annoyed looks his students were sending across the room.
  
  The Englishman hesitated a little more. Marsh found a slice of cucumber that had fallen out of the salad bowl and stuck it deep into Zoe's hair. Not that she ever noticed. Minutes passed and Marsh chatted through the combustion chamber, becoming more and more agitated. There was a bottle of cold Bollinger nearby, and he took half a minute to pour a large glass. Zoe snuggled up to him as he worked, and they sipped from the same glass, opposite sides of course.
  
  "Five," Marsh said into the phone. "Four, three..."
  
  Zoya's hands became especially insistent.
  
  "Two".
  
  The Englishman tried to bargain with him, clearly wondering what the hell was going on. Marsh imagined the car he had orchestrated crashing through the front window at a predetermined time, aiming now, accelerating, approaching the unsuspecting restaurant.
  
  "One".
  
  And then everything exploded.
  
  
  CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
  
  Drake rushed towards the wall of the restaurant, grabbing the waitress by the waist and dragging her along with him. Shards of glass and brick fell from his rolling body. The approaching van screeched to gain traction as its tires hit the floor of the restaurant and the middle of the car went over the window sill, the rear end now lifting up and hitting the lintel above the glass. Metal scraped. The tables collapsed. Chairs piled up like trash in front of him.
  
  Alicia also reacted instantly, walking around the table and slipping away, her only wound being a small cut on her shin from a fast-flying piece of wood. Mai somehow managed to roll across the top of the moving table without taking any damage, and Bo went one step further, jumping over her and jumping from surface to surface, finally timing his jump so that his legs and arms hit the side wall and helped him land safely.
  
  Drake looked up, the waitress was screaming next to him. Alicia looked accusingly.
  
  "So you grabbed her, didn"t you?"
  
  "Watch out!"
  
  The van was still moving forward, slowing by the second, but now the barrel of a gun was sticking out of the rolled down passenger window. Alicia ducked down and covered. May rolled back a little more. Drake pulled out his pistol and fired six bullets into the disembodied hand, the sounds loud in the confined space, rivaling the deafening roar of the van. Bo was already moving, rounding the back of the car. Finally the wheels stopped turning and stopped. Broken tables and chairs cascaded from the hood and even the roof. Drake made sure the waitress wasn't hurt before moving forward, but by then Bo and May were already at the car.
  
  Beau smashed the driver's window and struggled with the figure. Mai checked the location through the broken windshield and then picked up the splintered piece of wood.
  
  "No," Drake began, his voice a little hoarse. "We need-"
  
  But Mai was in no mood to listen. Instead, she threw the makeshift weapon through the windshield with such force that it lodged itself firmly in the driver's forehead, shaking in place. The man's eyes rolled back and he stopped struggling with Beau, the Frenchman looking stunned.
  
  "I really had it."
  
  Mai shrugged. "I thought I should help."
  
  "Help?" Drake repeated. "We need at least one of these bastards alive."
  
  "And on that note," Alicia chimed in. "I'm fine, ta. Although it's nice to see you saving Wendy's waitress ass."
  
  Drake bit his tongue, knowing on some deep level that Alicia was just making fun of him. Beauregard had already pulled the driver out of the car and was rummaging through his pockets. Alicia went to the miraculously untouched laptop. The USB drive finished loading and brought up a bunch of images-disturbing images of silver canisters that made Drake's blood run cold.
  
  "It looks like the insides of a bomb," he said, examining the wires and relays. "Send this to Moore before anything else happens."
  
  Alicia leaned over the machine, tapping away.
  
  Drake helped the waitress to her feet. "Are you okay, love?"
  
  "I... I think so."
  
  "Mint. Now how about you make us some lasagna?"
  
  "The chef... the chef has not arrived yet." Her gaze took in the destruction with fear.
  
  "Damn, I thought you just threw them in the microwave."
  
  "Don't worry". Mai walked over and put her hand on the waitress's shoulder. "They will be reconstructed. The insurance company should take care of this."
  
  "I hope so".
  
  Drake bit his tongue again, this time to keep from swearing. Yes, it was a blessing that everyone was still breathing, but Marsh and his cronies were still ruining people's lives. Without a twinge of conscience. No ethics and no worries.
  
  It was as if the phone rang through a psychic connection. This time Drake answered the phone.
  
  "Are you still kicking?"
  
  Marsh's voice made him want to hit something, but he did it in a strictly professional manner. "We have forwarded your photos."
  
  "Oh, excellent. So, we sorted this out a little. I hope you grabbed something to snack while you waited, because this next part-well, it might kill you."
  
  Drake coughed. "You know we haven"t tested your bomb yet."
  
  "And hearing that, I can see that you want to slow things down while you try to catch up. This won't happen, my new friend. This doesn't happen at all. Your cops and agents, military and firefighters may be part of a well-oiled machine, but they are still a machine, and it takes them a while to get up to speed. So I'm using this time to tear you apart. It's quite fun, trust me."
  
  "What do the Pythia get out of all this?"
  
  Marsh cackled. "Oh, I think you know that this vain group of ragamuffins recently blew up. Has there ever been anything more definite? They were led by a serial killer, a psycho stalker, a megalomaniac and a jealous overlord. They all turned out to be the same person."
  
  At this point, Alicia leaned closer to Drake. "So tell us - where is this bastard?"
  
  "Oh, new girl. Are you blonde or Asian? Probably blonde from the way it sounds. Darling, if I knew where he was, I'd let you skin him alive. Tyler Webb always wanted one thing. He left the Pythians the moment he realized where to find them."
  
  "Which one was at the market?" - Drake asked, now gaining both time and information.
  
  "This place is a hive of disgusting, am I right? Imagine all the deals made there that will impact the world for decades to come."
  
  "Ramses sold him something," Drake said, trying it out.
  
  "Yes. And I'm sure the tricky French sausage pâté already told you what it was. Or you can always ask him right now."
  
  So this confirmed it. Marsh watched them, although he had no eyes in the restaurant. Drake sent a short message to Moore. "How about you tell us where Webb went?"
  
  "Well, seriously, who am I, Fox News? Next you'll ask me for cash."
  
  "I"ll settle for this terrorist asshole."
  
  "And back to the work at hand." Marsh said these words and then seemed to amuse himself, suddenly laughing. "Sorry, personal joke. But now we're done with the control part of the chase. Now I want to lay out my demands to you."
  
  "So just tell us." Alicia's voice sounded tired.
  
  "What's so funny about this? This bomb will explode if I am not completely satisfied. Who knows, darling, I might even decide to own you."
  
  In an instant, Alicia seemed ready to go, her eyes and expression burning enough to set a parched forest on fire.
  
  "I would like to be alone with you," she whispered.
  
  March paused, then quickly continued. "Natural History Museum, twenty minutes."
  
  Drake set his watch. "And then?"
  
  "Hmmm, what?"
  
  "This is a grand piece of architecture."
  
  "Oh, well, if you've made it this far, I'd suggest stripping a male security guard named Jose Gonzalez. One of our partners sewed my demands into the lining of his jacket last night. An original way to transport documents, yes, and without returning to the sender."
  
  Drake didn't answer, mostly puzzled.
  
  "I know what you're thinking," Marsh said, again demonstrating amazing intelligence. "Why not just mail you the photos and let me know what you want? Well, I'm a peculiar person. They told me that I have two sides, two minds and two faces, but I prefer to see them as two separate qualities. One part is curved, the other is bent. You know what I mean?"
  
  Drake coughed. "Of course I know who you are."
  
  "Great, then I know you'll understand that when I see your four torn apart corpses in about seventeen minutes, I'll feel both amazingly happy and incredibly annoyed. With you. And now, goodbye."
  
  The line went dead. Drake clicked on his watch.
  
  Twenty minutes.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWELVE
  
  
  Hayden and Kinimaka spent time with Ramses. The Terrorist Prince seemed out of place in his six-foot-square cell: dirty, disheveled and, although clearly exhausted, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. Hayden put on her body armor, checked her Glock and spare bullets, and asked Mano to do the same. From now on there will be no chance. Both Ramses and March turned out to be too smart to be underestimated.
  
  Perhaps the terrorist myth was exactly where he wanted to be.
  
  Hayden doubted it, doubted it very much. The battle inside the castle and the desperate death of his bodyguard showed how much he wanted to escape. Also, was his reputation ruined? Shouldn't he be desperate to repair the damage? Perhaps, but man was not destroyed to the point where he could not rebuild. Hayden watched him pace as Kinimaka brought them a pair of plastic chairs.
  
  "There are nuclear weapons in this city," Hayden said. "Which I'm sure you know since you made a deal with Tyler Webb and Julian Marsh. You're in this city, and if the time comes, we'll make damn sure you're not underground. Of course your followers don't know we have you..." She let it hang right there.
  
  Ramses stopped, staring at her with tired eyes. "You mean, of course, a deception where my people will soon kill Marsh, take responsibility for the bomb and detonate it. You should know this from Webb and his bodyguard, since they are the only ones who knew. And you also know that they are just waiting for my command." He nodded, as if to himself.
  
  Hayden waited. Ramses was shrewd, but that didn't mean he wouldn't have stumbled.
  
  "They will explode," said Ramses. "They will make their own decision."
  
  "We can make your last few hours almost unbearable," Kinimaka said.
  
  "You can't make me cancel this," said Ramses. "Even through torture. I won't stop this explosion."
  
  "What do you want?" Hayden asked.
  
  "There will be negotiations."
  
  She studied him, peering intently into the face of the new world enemy. These people wanted nothing in return, they didn't want to negotiate, and they believed that death was just a step towards some semblance of Heaven. Where does this leave us?
  
  Really, where? She fumbled for her weapon. "A person who wants nothing more than to commit mass murder is easy to deal with," she said. "With a bullet in the head."
  
  Ramses pressed his face to the bars. "Then go ahead, Western bitch."
  
  Hayden didn't need to be an expert to read the madness and eagerness shining in those soulless eyes. Without another word, she changed the subject and left the room, carefully locking the outer door behind her.
  
  You can never be too careful.
  
  In the next room was Robert Price's cell. She had received permission to keep the secretary here due to the imminent threat and his potential role in it. When she and Kinimaka entered the room, Price gave her a haughty look.
  
  "What do you know about the bomb?" - she asked. "And why were you in the Amazon, visiting the terrorist bazaar?"
  
  Price sat down on his bunk. "I need a lawyer. And what do you mean? Bomb?"
  
  "Nuclear bomb," Hayden said. "Here in New York. Help yourself, you piece of shit. Help yourself now by telling us what you know."
  
  "Seriously". Price's eyes widened. "I do not know anything".
  
  "You committed treason," Kinimaka said, moving his body closer to the camera. "Is this how you want to be remembered? Epitaph for your grandchildren. Or would you rather be known as the penitent who helped save New York?"
  
  "No matter how sweetly you say it," Price"s voice rattled like a coiled snake. "I did not participate in any negotiations about the "bomb" and I don"t know anything. Now please, my lawyer."
  
  "I'll give you some time," Hayden said. "Then I'm going to put Ramses and you together, in the same cell. You can fight this. Let's see who speaks first. He would rather die than live, and he wants to take every living soul with him. You? Just make sure you don't commit suicide."
  
  Price seemed agitated by at least some of her words. "Without a lawyer?"
  
  Hayden turned around. "Fuck you."
  
  The secretary looked after her. Hayden locked him inside and then turned to Mano. "Any ideas?"
  
  "I'm wondering if Webb is involved in this. He's been a figurehead all along."
  
  "Not this time, Mano. Webb isn't even after us anymore. I'm sure it's all Ramses and March."
  
  "So what's next?"
  
  "I don't know how else we can help Drake and the guys," Hayden said. "The team is already in the middle of it all. Homeland took care of everything else, from the cops kicking down doors, to the spies hiding behind their hard-earned cash, to the army build-up and the arrival of NEST, the Nuclear Emergency Support Team. Cops are everywhere, with everything they have. Sappers are on high alert. We must find a way to break Ramses."
  
  "Did you see him. How do you break a man who doesn"t care whether he lives or dies?"
  
  Hayden stopped angrily. "We have to try. Or would you rather just give up? Everyone has a trigger. This worm cares about something. His fortune, his lifestyle, his hidden family? There must be something we can do to help."
  
  Kinimaka wished they could call on Karin Blake's computer expertise, but the woman was still caught up in her Fort Bragg regime. "Let"s go look for a job."
  
  "And pray that we have time."
  
  "They are waiting for Ramses to give the go-ahead. We have some time."
  
  "You heard it as well as I did, Mano. Sooner or later they will kill Marsh and blow him up."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
  
  Dahl listened to conflicting communications messages as Smith drove their car through the crowded streets of Manhattan. Luckily, they didn't have to go far, and not all of the concrete arteries were completely blocked. It seemed like the entire team of informants was involved, from the lowest snitch in the slums to the richest, crooked billionaire and everyone in between. This led to a pile of conflicting reports, but at home they did everything possible to separate the reliable from the distorted.
  
  "Two of the known cells have close ties to a nearby mosque," Moore told Dahl through his earpiece. He dictated the address. "We have an undercover agent there, although he is fairly new. Says this place has been isolated all day."
  
  Dahl was never a person capable of assuming anything. "What does this actually mean in mosque terminology?"
  
  "What does it mean? That means, damn it, go there and clean out at least one of Ramses' cells."
  
  "Civic engagement?"
  
  "There's not much to talk about. But whoever is there is unlikely to say prayers. Search all utility rooms and underground chambers. And get ready. My boyfriend doesn"t make mistakes often, and I trust his intuition on this."
  
  Dal relayed the information and entered the coordinates into the GPS. Fortunately, they were almost at the top of the mosque, and Smith turned the steering wheel towards the curb.
  
  "Providence," Lauren said.
  
  "The name I gave to my old katana." Kensi sighed, remembering.
  
  Dahl tightened the buckles of his vest. "We are ready? Same system. We strike hard and fast, people. There will be no mercy".
  
  Smith turned off the engine. "There are no problems with me."
  
  Morning still greeted them as they climbed out of the car and explored the mosque across the street. Nearby was a red and white vent with steam pouring out. The building, located at an intersection, lined both streets, its colorful windows and elongated façade part of the community. On the roof of the building stood a small minaret, strange and almost garish against the background of the surrounding concrete facades. The entrance from the street was through a pair of glass doors.
  
  "We're going in," Dahl said. "Now move."
  
  They purposefully crossed the road, stopping traffic with outstretched arms. A pause now could cost them everything.
  
  "Great place," Smith commented. "It"s hard to find a determined group out there."
  
  Dahl contacted Moore. "We are in place. Do you have anything else for us?"
  
  "Yes. My man assures me that the cameras are underground. He is close to being accepted, but not close enough to help us today."
  
  Dahl relayed the news as they crossed another sidewalk and pushed open the mosque's front doors. With their senses heightened, they slowly moved inside, their eyes adjusting to the slightly dimmer lighting. The white walls and ceiling reflected the light, along with gold light fixtures and a red and gold patterned carpet. All this was located behind the registration area, where the man looked at them with undisguised suspicion.
  
  "Can I help you?"
  
  Dahl showed his SPEAR ID. "Yes, buddy, you can. You can take us to your secret underground entrance."
  
  The receptionist seemed confused. "What is this, a joke?"
  
  "Move aside," Dahl extended his hand.
  
  "Hey, I can't let you-"
  
  Dahl lifted the man by his shirt and placed him on the counter. "I think I said step aside."
  
  The team hurried past and entered the main building of the mosque. The area was empty and the doors in the back were locked. Dahl waited for cover from Smith and Kenzie and then kicked them twice. The wood split and the panels fell to the floor. At that moment, noise and commotion was heard from the foyer behind. The team took up positions, covering the territory. Three seconds passed, and then the face and helmet of the special forces commander poked out from behind the side wall.
  
  "Are you Dal?"
  
  The Swede chuckled. "Yes?"
  
  "Moore sent us. HIT. We are here to support your game."
  
  "Our play?"
  
  "Yes. New information. You're in the wrong damn mosque, and they're dug in pretty deep. It will take a frontal attack to knock them out. And we're aiming for the feet."
  
  Dahl didn't like it, but he understood the procedure, the etiquette of working here. It didn't hurt that the special forces already had a better place.
  
  "Show the way," said Dahl.
  
  "We are. The correct mosque is across the road."
  
  "On the other side..." Dahl swore. "GPS bullshit."
  
  "They're pretty close to each other." The officer shrugged. "And that English swear word is heartwarming, but isn"t it time we moved our damn asses?"
  
  Minutes passed as the teams mixed and formed a raiding party as they crossed the road again. Once assembled, not another moment was wasted. A full-scale assault began. The men attacked the front of the building, knocked down the doors and broke into the lobby. A second wave passed through them, fanning out in search of the landmarks they had been told about. Once the blue door was found, the man placed an explosive charge on it and blew it up. There was an explosion, much wider than Dahl expected, but with a radius that the special forces were clearly counting on.
  
  "Booby trap," the leader told him. "There will be more of them."
  
  The Swede sighed a little easier, already knowing the value of undercover agents and now not forgetting to give them their due. Undercover work was one of the most insidious and fateful methods of police. This was a rare and valuable agent who could infiltrate the enemy and thereby save lives.
  
  The special forces entered the almost destroyed room, then turned to the far door. It was open and covered what was clearly the entrance to the basement. As the first man approached, shots rang out from below and a bullet ricocheted across the room.
  
  Dahl looked at Kensi. "Any ideas?"
  
  "You ask me? Why?"
  
  "Maybe because I can imagine you having a room like this yourself."
  
  "Don't beat around the bush, damn it, Dal, okay? I'm not your pet smuggler. I"m only here because... because-"
  
  "Yes, why are you here?"
  
  "I'd really like to know. Maybe I should leave..." She hesitated, then sighed. "Listen, maybe there's another way in. A smart criminal wouldn't go down there without a reliable escape route. But with real terrorist cells? Who knows with such suicidal bastards?"
  
  "We don"t have time to think," said the special forces commander, sitting down next to him. "It"s rollerball for these guys."
  
  Dahl watched as the team pulled out their flashbang grenades while contemplating Kenzi's words. Deliberately harsh, he believed that behind them lay a caring heart, or at least the broken remnants of one. Kensi needed something to help put these pieces together - but how long could she search without losing all hope? Perhaps this ship has already been wrecked.
  
  The SWAT team signaled they were ready and then unleashed a crazy form of inferno using a wooden ladder. When the grenades bounced down and then exploded, the teams took the lead, Dahl pushing the commander for pole position.
  
  Smith pushed past. "Move your butts."
  
  Running down, they were immediately met with machine gun fire. Dahl caught glimpses of the dirt floor, table legs, and weapon boxes before deliberately sliding down four floors in a row, drawing his pistol and returning fire. Smith twisted in front of him, sliding to the bottom and crawling to the side. The SWAT team advanced from behind, crouching and not flinching in the line of fire. The bullets returned shot after shot, deadly volleys pierced the basement and tore pieces out of the thick walls. When Dahl hit the ground at the very bottom, he immediately appreciated the script.
  
  There were four cell members here, which matched what they had seen in the previous cell. Three were on their knees, blood flowing from their ears, with their hands pressed to their foreheads, while the fourth appeared unharmed and was firing heavily at his attackers. Perhaps three others were covering him, but Dahl instantly found a way to get a living prisoner and took aim at the shooter.
  
  "Oh no!" The leader of the special forces inexplicably rushed past him.
  
  "Hey!" Dahl called. "What-"
  
  In the midst of the worst kind of hell, only those who have experienced it before can act without pause. The leader of the special forces clearly noticed the sign, something familiar to him, and thought only about the lives of his colleagues. As Dahl pulled his own trigger, he saw the terrorist drop a loaded grenade from one hand and throw away his weapon with the other.
  
  "For Ramses!" - he shouted.
  
  The basement was a death trap, a small room where these creatures lured their prey. There are other traps scattered around the room, traps that will be triggered when shrapnel explodes. Dahl shot the terrorist between the eyes, although he knew that the gesture was purely academic - it would not have saved them.
  
  Not in this tiny room with brick walls, in cramped conditions, as the last seconds count down before the grenade explodes.
  
  
  CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
  
  Dahl saw the world plunge into darkness. He saw how time slowed to a crawling pace, how the beat of every living heart was measured in endless moments. As the grenade bounced, raising dust and dirt from the floor in a tiny mushroom cloud, his bullet entered the terrorist's skull, rattling around before bursting out of his back and hitting the wall amid a wide fountain of blood. The body is weakened, life is already gone. The grenade fell for a second ricochet, and Dahl began to move the gun away from his face.
  
  Precious seconds remained.
  
  The three terrorists were still on their knees, groaning and defeated, and they did not see what was coming. The special forces guys tried to restrain their impulse or climb back up the steps.
  
  Smith turned his gaze to Dahl, the last vision of his life.
  
  Dahl knew that Kensi, Lauren, and Yorgi were at the top of the stairs, and for a moment he hoped that they were far enough from the epicenter.
  
  And yet, this is all for my children...
  
  The grenade exploded at the peak of the second ricochet, the sound momentarily the loudest the Swede had ever heard. Then all sounds suddenly died away as the thought disappeared...
  
  His eyes were fixed forward and he couldn't believe what they were seeing.
  
  The SWAT leader ran as fast as he could, knowing what was coming and was determined to save as many people as possible, instantly realizing that he was the only person who could do it. His run-up lifted him above the grenade, allowing him to fall directly onto it a split second before it exploded. Through Kevlar, flesh and bone, it detonated, but did not hit those who stood, chained to their place in the room. The explosion was muffled and then died down.
  
  Dahl cleared his throat, unable to believe his own eyes. The dedication of his colleagues always humbled him, but this was on another level.
  
  I didn't... I didn't even know his name.
  
  And yet the terrorists knelt before him.
  
  Dahl ran down the last few steps, tears blurring his eyes even as he kicked the three men onto their backs. Smith tore their jackets. There were no explosive vests in sight, but one man was foaming at the mouth even as Smith knelt next to him. The other was writhing in agony. The third was pinned to the ground, motionless. Dahl met the man"s terrible gaze, like a polar cap, with his own hatred. Kenzi walked over and caught the Swede's attention, looking at Dahl, her icy blue eyes so clear, cold and filled with emotion that they seemed like a vast, thawing landscape, and mouthed the only words she could say.
  
  "He saved us by sacrificing himself. I... I feel so flawed, so deplorable compared to him."
  
  Dahl, in all his days, never found himself unable to comment. He did it now.
  
  Smith searched all three men, finding more grenades, bullets and small arms. The papers and notes in the pockets were crumpled, so the assembled men began to rummage through them.
  
  Others approached their fallen leader, bowing their heads. One man knelt down and reached out to touch the officer's back.
  
  The third terrorist died, no matter what poison he took, it just took longer for the poison to take effect than for his colleagues. Dahl watched impassively. When his earpiece beeped and Moore's voice filled his head, he listened but couldn't think of an answer.
  
  "Five cameras," Moore told him. "Our sources have found out that Ramses has only five cameras. You've faced two, which leaves three remaining. Do you have any new information for me, Dal? Hello? Are you there? What the hell is going on?"
  
  Crazy Swede pressed a small button that muted Moore. He wanted to express his respect in silence for at least a few seconds. Like all the men and women down there, he survived only because of the enormous sacrifice of one man. This man will never again see daylight or the setting sun, or feel the warm breeze blowing across his face. Dahl would experience it for him.
  
  As long as he was alive.
  
  
  CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
  
  Seventeen minutes.
  
  Drake followed Bo's lead, cutting left on 59th and heading straight into the chaos that was Columbus Circle. Flags fluttered from the buildings to his left, and to his right lay a green strip dotted with trees. Ahead of them stood an apartment building, mostly made of glass, its windows gleaming welcomingly in the rays of the still rising sun. The yellow taxi pulled over to the side of the road, its driver expecting to see four well-dressed sprinters racing down the sidewalk behind him, but Beau didn't give the man a second glance. The circle was a wide concrete space with waterfalls, statues and seating. Tourists wandered here and there, repacking their backpacks and drinking water. Drake cut through the middle of the group of sweaty athletes, then ran under the trees that provided at least a little shade.
  
  Out of sight of prying eyes.
  
  The contrast between the harsh, hectic streets with their many extremes - majestic, cluttered skyscrapers vying for space among the traditional churches along the grid - and the absolute peace and serenity that reigned in the greenery to his right filled Drake with a sense of unreality. How crazy was this place? How much of a dream is this? The differences were unimaginably extreme.
  
  He wondered how closely Marsh was watching them, but didn't mind too much. This can lead to the death of a person. Back home, they were even now trying to find the channel so they could trace it back to its source.
  
  The bright orb slowly turned to the left as the group sped up. Alicia and May were running close behind, watching but unable to use all their abilities at this pace. The enemy can be anywhere, anyone. A passing sedan with tinted windows required a closer inspection, but disappeared into the distance.
  
  Drake checked the time. Eleven minutes left.
  
  And yet the moments ticked by, second by second. Bo slowed down as a light gray building that Drake immediately recognized appeared over the road. Still running, he turned to Alicia and May. "In the same building where we fought during the story with Odin. Damn, it feels like a lifetime has passed."
  
  "Didn"t the helicopter hit the side?" Alicia asked.
  
  "Oh yeah, and we got attacked by a Tyrannosaurus Rex."
  
  The Natural History Museum seemed comparatively small from this angle, a misconception if ever there was one. There were steps leading up from the sidewalk to the front doors, currently filled with a group of tourists. Mixed smells of diesel and gasoline attacked them when they stopped at the side of the road. The noise of the engines, blaring horns, and the occasional shout still tormented their senses, but at least there was a lot of traffic around here.
  
  "Don't stop now," Alicia said. "We have no idea where the security will be."
  
  Drake tried to stop traffic and allow them to cross. "Let's hope he didn't say he was sick."
  
  Luckily, there was little traffic and the group was able to get across the road quite easily. Once at the bottom of the museum steps, they began to climb, but suddenly stopped when they heard a loud squeal of tires behind them.
  
  Drake thought: Seven minutes.
  
  They became a scene of unchecked madness. Four men jumped out of the car, rifles at the ready. Drake tried to evade, jumping away from the museum doors and scattering visitors. Bo quickly drew his weapon and took aim at the enemy. Shots rang out. Screams tore the morning to shreds.
  
  Drake jumped high and threw a low punch, rolling as he hit the pavement and ignoring the pain where his shoulder had taken the full force of his body. The attacker jumped onto the hood of the sedan and was already holding Mai at gunpoint. Drake rolled towards the car and then stood up, fortunately being within arm's reach of the rifle. He extended his hand, becoming more of a threat and demanding attention.
  
  Alicia dove the other way, clearing the steps and placing the equestrian statue of Theodore Roosevelt between her and her attackers. Nevertheless, they fired, the bullets crashing into the bronze casting. Alicia pulled out her weapon and snuck around the other side. The two men were now on top of the cars, making perfect targets. Civilians ran in all directions, clearing the area. She took aim at the terrorist, who fell to his knees, but a continuous stream of his fire moved towards her, forcing her to take cover.
  
  May and Bo squeezed into a small indented arch near the museum's main entrance, huddling tightly to avoid the stream of bullets that ripped their way through the stonework. Beau stood facing the wall, unable to move, but May was looking out, her back turned to the Frenchman.
  
  "This is... awkward," Beauregard complained.
  
  "And it"s very lucky that you are as thin as a reed," Mai answered. She stuck her head out and fired a volley. "You know, when we first encountered you, you seemed to often crawl between cracks in the walls."
  
  "That would be helpful right now."
  
  "Like smoke." Mai leaned out again, returning fire. The bullets traced a route above her head.
  
  "Can we move?"
  
  "Not unless you want to get punched."
  
  Drake realized that he did not have time to use his own weapon, so he tried to intercept his opponent's weapon. He realized too late that he couldn't reach him - the guy was too high - and then he saw the barrel turn towards him.
  
  Nowhere to go.
  
  Instinct pierced him like a missile. Retreating, he kicked the car window, breaking the glass, and then dove inside just as the terrorist opened fire. Behind him, the pavement foamed. Drake squeezed through the gap into the driver's seat, the leather creaking, the shape of the seats making it difficult for him to pass. He knew what was coming. The bullet penetrated the roof, seat and floor of the car. Drake shuffled faster. The center compartment consisted of a glove compartment and two large cup holders that gave him something to grab onto as he heaved his body into the passenger seat. More bullets mercilessly tore through the roof. Drake screamed, trying to buy time. The flow stopped for a moment, but then, as Drake leaned back and loaded the window, it began again with even greater speed.
  
  Drake climbed into the back seat, a bullet burning a gash down the middle of his back. He found himself in an unkempt heap, out of breath and out of ideas. A moment of hesitation must have caused the shooter to stop too, and then the man came under Alicia's fire. Drake unlocked the back door from the inside and slipped out, face buried in the concrete and unable to see where to go.
  
  Except...
  
  Under the car. He rolled, barely fitting under the vehicle. Now he saw the black chassis, pipes and exhaust system. Another bullet fired from above, punching a gap between the spread V-shaped muscles of his legs. Drake exhaled, whistling softly.
  
  Two people can play this game.
  
  Shifting his feet, he forced his body to move along the ground towards the front of the car, drawing his Glock as he went. Then, aiming through the previous bullet holes, he approximated where the man must have been. He fired six shots in a row, changing his position slightly each time, and then quickly got out from under the car.
  
  The terrorist fell next to him, clutching his stomach. The rifle fell with a crash next to him. As he desperately reached for it, as well as his belt, Drake shot him at point-blank range. The risks were too great to take risks, the population was too vulnerable. Pain in his muscles tormented him as he then struggled to stand upright, peering over the hood of the car.
  
  Alicia jumped out from behind the Roosevelt statue, firing several bullets before disappearing again. Her target was at the front end of the other car. Two more terrorists tried to take aim at May and Bo, who seemed to be somehow pressed into the wall, but May's accurate shooting kept the terrorists at bay.
  
  Drake looked at his watch.
  
  Two minutes.
  
  They were fucked well and truly.
  
  
  CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  
  
  Drake took on the terrorists. Releasing his HK, he focused on the two who were bothering Bo and May. One fell instantly, his life spreading throughout the concrete, a difficult death for a hardened heart. The other turned around at the last moment, taking a bullet, but was still able to return fire. Drake followed the man's charge with bullets, leaving death in his wake. Eventually, the man had nowhere to go and stopped, then sat down and fired one last burst in May's direction as Drake's gun ended his threat.
  
  May saw this coming and tackled Bo to the floor. The Frenchman protested, landing in an awkward heap, but May pinned him down with her elbows on top, preventing him from moving. Pieces came off the wall right where their heads were.
  
  Bo stared up. "Merci, Mai."
  
  "Ki ni sinayde."
  
  Drake had by now attracted the attention of the last remaining terrorist, but none of that mattered. Only the terrible fear in his soul mattered. Only the desperate beating of his heart mattered.
  
  They missed the deadline.
  
  His spirits lifted a little when he saw May and Bo run into the museum, and then Alicia came out of hiding to send the last terrorist to the raging hell he deserved. Another man is bleeding on the sidewalk. Another soul lost and sacrificed.
  
  They were endless, these people. They were a stormy sea.
  
  Drake then saw the last, presumably dead, terrorist stand up and stagger away. Drake thought he must have been wearing a vest. He aimed at the swaying shoulders and fired, but the bullet missed the target only millimeters. Exhaling slowly, he took aim for the second shot. Now the man fell to his knees and then stood up again, and the next moment he burst into a crowd of people, onlookers, locals and children with cameras who were trying to capture their moment of fame on Facebook or Instagram.
  
  Drake staggered towards Alicia. "So this was one of Ramses"s cells?"
  
  "Four men. Exactly as Dahl described. This will be the third cell we have faced as a team."
  
  "And we still don"t know the terms of the March."
  
  Alicia looked around the streets, the road and the stalled, abandoned cars. She then turned around as May's scream caught their attention.
  
  "We have a guard!"
  
  Drake rushed up the steps, head down, not even trying to put his weapon away. This was everything, this was their whole world. If Marsh had called, they might have-
  
  Jose Gonzalez handed him a cell phone. "Are you the same Englishman?"
  
  Drake closed his eyes and put the device to his ear. "Swamp. You pronounce s-"
  
  The Pythia's laughter interrupted him. "Now, now, don"t resort to commonplace curse words. Curses are for the uneducated, or so I was told. Or is it the other way around? But congratulations, my new friend, you are alive!"
  
  "It will take more than a few punches to defeat us."
  
  "Oh, I'm sure. Can a nuclear bomb do this?
  
  Drake felt like he could have continued his angry remarks indefinitely, but he made a conscious effort to shut his mouth. Alicia, May, and Beau huddled around the phone as Jose Gonzalez watched with a sense of foreboding.
  
  "The cat swallowed your tongue? Oh, and hey, why the hell weren"t you answering Gonzalez"s calls?"
  
  Drake bit his upper lip until blood began to flow. "I'm right here."
  
  "Yes, yes, I see it. But where were you... um... four minutes ago?"
  
  Drake remained silent.
  
  "Poor old Jose had to answer the phone himself. I had no idea what I was talking about."
  
  Drake tried to distract Marsh. "We have a jacket. Where-"
  
  "You are not listening to me, Englishman. You are late. Do you remember the punishment for being late?"
  
  "Swamp. Stop fooling around. Do you want your demands to be fulfilled or not?"
  
  "My demands? Well, of course they will be done when I decide I'm good and ready. Now, you three, be good soldiers and wait right there. I"ll just order a couple of takeaways."
  
  Drake swore. "Do not do that. Don"t you fucking dare do that!"
  
  "Speak quickly."
  
  The line went dead. Drake stared into the three pairs of haunted eyes and realized that they were just reflections of his own. They failed.
  
  With a gigantic effort, he managed to keep himself from crushing the phone. Alicia took it upon herself to report the imminent threat to Homeland. Mai made Gonzales take off his jacket.
  
  "Let's get this over with," she said. "We deal with what's in front of us and prepare for what might come next."
  
  Drake scanned the horizons, concrete and tree-lined, distant in mind and heart, crushed by the very idea of March's intentions. Innocents would die in the next few minutes, and if he failed again, there would be more.
  
  "March is going to detonate this bomb," he said. "Whatever he says. If we don't find it, the whole world will suffer. We stand on the very edge..."
  
  
  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  
  
  March laughed and hung up the phone with a flourish. Zoey pressed herself even closer to him. "You sure showed him," she purred.
  
  "Oh yeah, and now I'm going to show him even more."
  
  Marsh took out another burner cell phone and checked the number he had already stored in his memory. Convinced that this was what he needed, he quickly dialed the number and waited. The voice that answered, rough and imposing, confirmed his expectations.
  
  "You know what to do," he said.
  
  "One? Or two?
  
  "Two, as we agreed. Then move on in case I need you again."
  
  "Of course, boss. I was kept up to date via my mobile phone app. I would definitely enjoy some of that action."
  
  March snorted. "Are you a terrorist, Stephen?"
  
  "Well, no, I wouldn"t put myself in that class. Not really."
  
  "Do the job you were paid to do. Right now."
  
  Marsh switched one of the screens to a city camera, simply a mini surveillance device that neighboring businesses used to keep an eye on who was coming and going on the sidewalk. Stephen would cause chaos on this particular street, and Marsh wanted to watch.
  
  Zoe leaned over, trying to get a better look. "So, what else are we going to do today?"
  
  March's eyes widened. "Is this not enough for you? And you suddenly seem a little soft, a little pliable for a woman invited to join the big bad Pythias, Miss Zoe Shears. Why is this? Is it because you like the madness in me?"
  
  "I think so. And more than just a little. Maybe the champagne went to my head."
  
  "Fine. Now shut up and watch."
  
  The next few moments unfolded just as Marsh wanted them to. Normal men and women would have flinched at what they saw, even tough ones, but Marsh and Shears looked at it with cold detachment. It then took Marsh just five minutes to save the footage and send it to the Englishman via video message with a note attached: Send this to Homeland. I will contact you soon.
  
  He wrapped one arm around Zoey. Together they studied the following chase scenario, in which the Englishman and his three henchmen actually knew that they would arrive too late before they had even begun. Perfect. And the chaos at the end... is priceless.
  
  Marsh recalled that there were other people in the room. The main Ramses cell and its members. They sat so quietly in the far corner of the apartment that he could barely remember their faces.
  
  "Hey," he called. "The lady is out of champagne. Could one of you tramps clean it up?"
  
  A man stood up, his eyes filled with so much contempt that Marsh shuddered. But the expression was quickly masked and turned into a quick shake of the head. "Certainly can".
  
  "Perfect. One more bottle should be enough."
  
  
  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
  
  Drake watched as Mai unzipped the guard's jacket as she searched for a list of demands. Alicia and Beau scanned the gathering crowd, almost certain that the last remaining member of the third cell would make some kind of move. Homeland was on its way with only two minutes left. Nearby, sirens blared as cops gathered. Drake knew that by now the climactic incidents would have all New Yorkers on edge and tourists in awe. It might be a good idea if people stayed off the streets, but what else could the White House really do?
  
  Drones with radiation detectors circled the sky. Metal detectors stopped everyone who deserved attention, and many who didn't. The army and the NEST were here. There were so many agents roaming the streets that it was like a veterans' meeting. If the Department of the Interior, the FBI, the CIA and the NSA had done their jobs correctly, Marsh would likely have been found.
  
  Drake looked at his watch. A little over an hour has passed since this nightmare began.
  
  This is all?
  
  Alicia nudged him. "She found something."
  
  Drake watched as Mai retrieved a folded piece of paper from Gonzalez's ruined jacket.
  
  The New Yorker winced at the sight of her and took a tattered sleeve in each hand. "Will the city give me compensation... compensation-"
  
  "The city can give you some advice," Alicia said decisively. "Next time use a little warm oil. Don't pay for bad company."
  
  Gonzales shut up and slipped away.
  
  Drake walked up to May. Marsh's demands were printed on a white A4 sheet in the largest font. Overall they were pretty straightforward.
  
  "Five hundred million dollars," Mai read. "And nothing more".
  
  Beneath the demand was a sentence written in contrasting small handwriting.
  
  "Details to follow soon."
  
  Drake knew exactly what that meant. "They are going to send us on yet another pursuit of the impossible."
  
  Beauregard watched the crowd. "And we, without a doubt, remain under surveillance. Surely we will fail again this time."
  
  Drake lost count of the number of cell phones being raised by the gathered crowd, then heard the dull buzz of a message on his cell phone and checked the screen. Even before he clicked on the video link, his scalp began to itch with a sense of foreboding. "Guys," he said and held the device at arm's length as they crowded around.
  
  The photo was grainy and black and white, but the camera was steady and clearly showed one of Drake's worst nightmares. "It makes no sense," he said. "Killing people who have no idea what's going on. This is not to intimidate, this is not for profit. This is for..." He couldn't continue.
  
  "It"s nice," Mai breathed. "We are digging more and more of these bottom feeders every day. And the worst part is that they live in the very heart of our communities."
  
  Drake didn't waste a minute and sent a link to Homeland. The fact that Marsh seemed to be able to pull his cell phone number out of thin air wasn't particularly surprising given all he had achieved so far. The terrorists helping him were clearly more than expendable foot soldiers.
  
  Drake watched the cops do their job. Alicia moved closer to him, then randomly pulled up the leg of her pants. "Do you see this?" - she said in a sing-song voice. "Got it when you tried to kick my ass in the desert. And it's still damn fresh. That"s how fast this thing is moving forward."
  
  Her words made more than one impression on Drake. There was a memory of their connection, their new attraction; the conclusion for May and Bo that something happened between them; and a more obvious reference to her own life so far - how quickly it moved and how she tried to slow things down.
  
  In the direct line of fire.
  
  "If we survive this," he said. "Team SPEAR is taking a week off."
  
  "Torsty has already booked tickets to Barbados," Alicia said.
  
  "What happened in the desert?" Mai thought about it.
  
  Drake looked at his watch, then at his phone, caught up in the strange, surreal moment. Faced with unnecessary death and increasing threat, with an endless pursuit and brutal battle, they were now kicking their heels and were forced to take a few minutes of respite. Of course, they needed time to get rid of the tension, the growing anxiety that could ultimately lead to their death... But Alicia's way of doing this has always been somewhat unconventional.
  
  "Bikini. Beach. Blue waves," Alicia said. "It's me".
  
  "Are you taking your new best friend with you?" Mai smiled. "Kenzie?"
  
  "You know, Alicia, I don't think Dahl booked a team vacation," Drake said, only half joking. "More like a family vacation."
  
  Alicia growled. "What a bastard. We are Family".
  
  "Yes, but not the way he wants. You know, Joanna and Dahl need some time."
  
  But Alicia was now staring at May. "And in response to that initial taunt, Sprite, no, I was thinking about taking Drakey. Does it suit you?"
  
  Drake quickly looked away, pursing his lips in a silent whistle. Behind him, he heard Bo comment.
  
  "Does this mean that you and I are finished now?"
  
  May's voice remained calm. "I think it's up to Matt to decide."
  
  Oh thanks. Thank you so much, damn it.
  
  He sounded almost relieved when his own phone rang. "Yes?"
  
  "March here. Are my little soldiers ready for a quick run?"
  
  "You killed those innocent people. When we meet, I will see that you will answer for this."
  
  "No, friend, you are going to answer. You read my requirements, right? Five hundred million. That's a fair amount for a town full of men, women and little nerds."
  
  Drake closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. "What's next?"
  
  "Payment details, of course. Go to the central station. They are waiting inside one of the central cafes." He mentioned a name. "Neatly folded and tucked into an envelope that some kind soul had taped to the underside of the last table at the far end of the counter. Trust me, you will understand when you get there."
  
  "What if we don"t do this?" Drake did not forget about the escaped cell member, nor the existence of at least two other cells.
  
  "Then I"ll call the next donkey to carry my load and blow up the donut shop. Does it suit you?"
  
  Drake briefly fantasized about what he could do to Marsh once they captured him. "How long?"
  
  "Oh, ten minutes should be enough."
  
  "Ten minutes? This is bullshit, March, and you know it. Central Station is over twenty minutes' drive from here. Perhaps twice as much."
  
  "I never said you should go."
  
  Drake clenched his fists. They were being set up to fail, and they all knew it.
  
  "I"ll tell you what," Marsh said. "To prove that I can be accommodating, I will change this to twelve minutes. And counting..."
  
  Drake started to run.
  
  
  CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
  
  Drake ran out onto the road as Beau was typing the coordinates of Grand Central Station into his GPS. Alicia and May ran a step behind. This time, however, Drake did not plan to make the journey on hooves. Despite the incredibly tight schedule set by Marsh, the attempt had to be made. Three cars were abandoned near the museum, two Corollas and a Civic. The Yorkshireman didn't give them a second glance. What he wanted was something...
  
  "Get in!" Alicia stood at the open door of the Civic.
  
  "It"s not cool enough," he said.
  
  "We can't waste time standing here waiting-"
  
  "That's enough," Drake saw behind a slow-moving horse and carriage ride that had just pulled out of Central Park to where a powerful F150 pickup truck was idling by the side of the road.
  
  He rushed towards him.
  
  Alicia and May rushed after. "Is he fucking kidding me?" Alicia launched a tirade at May. "There is no way I will ride a horse. Never!"
  
  They slipped past the animal and quickly asked the driver to lend them his car. Drake stomped on the gas pedal, burning rubber as he pulled away from the curb. Beau pointed to the right.
  
  "Ride it through Central Park. This is 79th Street transverse and leads to Madison Avenue."
  
  "Love this song," Alicia barked. "Where is Tiffany's? I am hungry."
  
  Beau gave her a strange look. "This is not a restaurant, Miles."
  
  "And Madison Avenue was a pop group," Drake said. "Under the leadership of Cheney Coates. As if anyone could ever forget her." He swallowed, suddenly remembering.
  
  Alicia chuckled. "Bullshit. I'm just going to stop trying to lighten the mood. Any reason for this, Drakes? Was she a whore?"
  
  "Hey, hang on!" He directed the speeding car onto 79th Street, which was a single wide lane surrounded by a high wall with overhanging trees. "Pinup maybe. And a wonderful presenter."
  
  "Watch out!"
  
  May's warning saved their car as the Silverado streaked over the inch-high center reserve and attempted to ram them. Drake noticed the face behind the wheel - the last member of the third cell. He stepped on the gas pedal, forcing everyone back to their seats as the other car turned around and gave chase. Suddenly their race through Central Park took on a much more deadly nature.
  
  The driver of the Silverado drove with reckless abandon. Drake slowed down to pass several taxis, but their pursuer took the opportunity to hit them from behind. The F150 jerked and swerved, but then righted itself without any problems. The Silverado hit the taxi, sending it spinning into another roadway where it crashed into a retaining wall. Drake turned sharply left, then right to pass the line of taxis, and then accelerated into an open stretch of road.
  
  The terrorist behind them leaned out of his window with a gun in his hand.
  
  "Get down!" Drake screamed.
  
  Bullets penetrated every surface - car, road, walls and trees. The man was beside himself with anger, excitement and probably hatred too, not caring about the damage he caused. Beau, who was sitting in the back seat of the F150, pulled out a Glock and shot out the rear window. Cold air rushed into the cabin.
  
  A row of buildings appeared to the left, and then several pedestrians strolling along the sidewalk ahead. Drake now saw only the Devil's choice - the accidental death of a passerby or being late to Grand Central Station and facing the consequences.
  
  Eight minutes left.
  
  Turning onto 79th Street, Drake noticed a short tunnel ahead with green branches overhanging it. As they entered the momentary darkness, he slammed on the brake pedal, hoping their pursuer would crash into a wall or at least lose his gun in the chaos. Instead, he drove around them, driving hard, shooting out the side window as he passed.
  
  They all ducked as their own window blew out, the whistle of the bullet almost dying away before they heard it. Now Alicia herself stuck her head out, aimed the gun and fired at the Silverado. Ahead he sped up and then slowed down. Drake quickly closed the gap. Another bridge had appeared and traffic was now steady on either side of the double yellow lines. Drake closed the gap until their own wing almost touched the rear of the other car.
  
  The terrorist turned his body and pointed the pistol over his shoulder.
  
  Alicia fired first, the bullet shattering the back window of the Silverado. The driver must have been startled because his car swerved, nearly driving into oncoming traffic and causing the horns to blast melodiously. Alicia leaned out even further.
  
  "This piece of blonde hair flying around," May said. "Just reminds me of something. What do they call them now? Is this... a collie?"
  
  More shots. The terrorist returned fire. Drake used evasive driving techniques as safely as he could. The traffic ahead had thinned out again, and he took the chance to overtake the Silverado, turning into the oncoming lane of the road. Behind him, May rolled down the window and unloaded the clip into another car. Drake leaned back and studied the view from behind.
  
  "It's still coming."
  
  Suddenly Central Park ended and the busy Fifth Avenue intersection seemed to jump out at them. Cars slowed down, stopped, and pedestrians strolled at intersections and lined the sidewalks. Drake took a quick glance at the yellow-painted brake lights, which were currently green.
  
  Extra-long white buses lined both sides of Fifth Avenue. Drake slammed on the brakes, but the terrorist crashed into their taillights again. Through the handlebars, he felt the rear end jerk, saw the potential for disaster and pulled out of the spin to regain control. The car straightened out through the intersection, the Silverado just an inch behind.
  
  The bus attempted to pull out in front of them, leaving Drake no choice but to drive all the way down its left side and into the middle of the road. Metal scraped and glass shattered across his lap. The Silverado crashed into him next.
  
  "Five minutes," Bo said quietly.
  
  Without wasting any time, he increased his speed. Madison Avenue soon came into view, the gray façade of the Chase Bank and the black J.Crew filling the field of vision ahead.
  
  "Two more," Bo said.
  
  Together, the race cars raced from small gap to small gap, smashing cars sideways and around slower obstacles. Drake constantly pressed the horn, wishing he had some kind of siren, and Alicia shot into the air to force pedestrians and drivers to quickly move away. The NYPD cars were already roaring, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. He had already noticed that the only vehicles that seemed to be treated with respect were the big red fire engines.
  
  "Ahead," Bo said.
  
  "Got it," Drake saw the passage leading to Lexington Avenue and rushed towards it. Starting the engine, he quickly drove the car around the corner. Smoke billowed from the tires, causing people to scream all over the sidewalk. Here on the new road, cars were parked closely on both sides, and the chaos of platforms, vans and one-way streets kept even the best drivers guessing.
  
  "It"s not far," Bo said.
  
  Drake saw his chance ahead as the traffic thinned. "May," he said. "Do you remember Bangkok?"
  
  As smooth as shifting gears in a supercar, Mai inserted a new magazine into her Glock and unbuckled her seatbelt, shifting in her seat. Alicia stared at Drake and Drake stared at the rearview mirror. The Silverado closed in with all its might, trying to ram them as they approached Grand Central Station and the swarming crowd.
  
  Mai sat up in her seat, leaning out of the now broken rear window and starting to push.
  
  Alicia nudged Drake. "Bangkok?"
  
  "It's not what you think."
  
  "Oh, that never happens. You will tell me that what happened in Thailand will continue to happen in Thailand."
  
  Mai slipped through the small gap, tearing her clothes but forcing her body to move on. Drake saw the moment the wind hit her, the sand stinging her eyes. He saw the moment the pursuing terrorist blinked in shock.
  
  The Silverado came close, shockingly close.
  
  Mai jumped onto the back of the truck, legs spread, and raised her weapon. She took aim and then began shooting from the back of the truck, the bullets shattering the windows of another car. Buildings, buses and lampposts passed leisurely. Mai pulled the trigger again and again, oblivious to the wind and the movement of the car, focusing only on the man who would otherwise kill them.
  
  Drake kept the steering wheel as steady as possible, keeping the speed constant. This time, not a single car passed in front of them, as he had prayed for. May stood firmly on her feet, her concentration inevitably focused on one thing at a time. Drake was her guide.
  
  "Now!" - he shouted at the top of his voice.
  
  Alicia turned around like a child who had dropped candy from the back of her seat. "What is she going to do?"
  
  Drake applied the brakes very gently, one millimeter at a time. Mai inserted the second clip and then ran up the bed of the truck, straight to the back door. The Silverado driver's eyes widened even more when he saw a wild ninja running straight towards his speeding car from another!
  
  Mai reached the back door and jumped into the air, swinging her legs and flailing her arms. There was a moment before gravity pulled her down, as she arced gracefully through the thin air, the epitome of stealth, skill and beauty, but then she sank heavily onto the hood of another man's car. She instantly bent over, allowing her legs and knees to take the blow and maintain her balance. Landing on the unyielding metal was not easy, and Mai quickly flew forward towards the jagged windshield.
  
  The driver of the Silverado slammed on the brakes, but still managed to point the gun at her face.
  
  Mai spread her knees as the sudden impact went through her, strengthening her spine and shoulders. Her weapon remained in her hands, already pointed at the terrorist. Two shots and he wheezed, his foot still on the brake pedal, blood soaking the front of his shirt and he slumped forward.
  
  Mai crawled onto the hood of the car, reached inside the windshield and pulled the driver out. There was no way she would allow him the courtesy of restoring his strength. His pain-filled eyes met hers and tried to fixate.
  
  "How...how are you-"
  
  Mai punched him in the face. She then held on as the car crashed into the back of the Drake. The Englishman deliberately slowed down to 'catch' the self-driving car before it turned in some dangerous, random direction.
  
  "So this is what you did in Bangkok?" Alicia asked.
  
  "Something like that".
  
  "And what happened next?"
  
  Drake looked away. "I have no idea, love."
  
  They swung the doors open, double-parking next to the taxi, as close to Grand Central Station as they could get. The civilians backed away, gawking at them. The smart ones turned to run. Dozens more took out their cell phones and began taking photos. Drake jumped out onto the sidewalk and instantly started running.
  
  "Time's up," Beauregard muttered next to him.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY
  
  
  Drake burst into the main hall of the central station. A huge space yawned to the left and right and high above. Shiny surfaces and polished floors shocked the system, departure and arrival boards flickered everywhere, and the influx of people seemed unceasing. Beau reminded them of the name of Cafe é and showed them the floor plan of the terminal.
  
  "The main lobby," Mai said. "Turn right, past the escalators."
  
  Racing, twisting, and performing amazing acrobatic feats just to avoid collision, the team tore through the station. Minutes passed. Coffee shops, Belgian chocolate shops, and bagel stands whizzed by, their mingled aromas making Drake's head spin. They entered the so-called Lexington Passage and began to slow down.
  
  "Like this!"
  
  Alicia ran on, squeezing through the narrow entrance to one of the smallest cafes Drake had ever seen. Almost unconsciously, his mind was calculating tables. Not difficult, there were only three of them.
  
  Alicia pushed the man in the gray coat aside, then fell to her knees next to the black surface. The tabletop was littered with unnecessary rubbish, the chairs were carelessly arranged. Alicia rummaged around below and soon surfaced, holding a white envelope in her hands, her eyes full of hope.
  
  Drake watched from a few steps away, but not the Englishwoman. Instead, he observed the staff and customers, those passing by outside, and one other area in particular.
  
  Door to utility room.
  
  Now it opened, a curious female figure poked her head out. Almost immediately, she made eye contact with the only man looking directly at her: Matt Drake.
  
  NO...
  
  She picked up the portable phone. "I think this is for you," she said with only her lips.
  
  Drake nodded as he continued to observe the entire area. Alicia tore the envelope open and then frowned.
  
  "This can't be true."
  
  Mai widened her eyes. "What? Why not?"
  
  "It says boom!"
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
  
  Drake rushed to the phone and snatched it from the woman. "What do you play?"
  
  Marsh chuckled at the end of the line. "Did you check under the other two tables?"
  
  Then the line went dead. Drake felt everything inside him collapse as his soul and heart froze, but he didn't stop moving. "To the tables!" he screamed and started to run, falling and sliding on his knees under the nearest one.
  
  Alicia screamed at the staff and visitors to get out and evacuate. Bo collapsed under another table. Drake no doubt saw an exact replica of what the Frenchman had noticed - a small explosive device taped to the underside of the table. The size and shape of a water bottle, it was roughly wrapped in old Christmas wrapping paper. Message Ho-ho-ho! Drake didn't go unnoticed.
  
  Alicia sat down next to him. "How do we neutralize the sucker? And, more importantly, can we disarm the sucker?"
  
  "You know what I know, Miles. In the army we used to detonate one bomb after another. Basically, this is the safest way. But this guy knew what he was doing. Well packed in harmless packaging. Do you see the wires? They are all the same color. Detonator cap. Remote fuse. Not difficult, but damn dangerous."
  
  "So build the kit and don"t let that damn blasting cap go off."
  
  "Grow a set? Damn, we're totally on a roll here." Drake looked up and with disbelieving eyes saw a crowd of people pressing their faces to the windows of the cafe. Some even tried to get through the open door. Basic Android phones recorded what could have been the death of their owners in just a few minutes.
  
  "Get out!" - he shouted, and Alicia joined him. "Evacuate this building immediately!"
  
  Finally, the frightened faces turned away and the message began to reach them. Drake remembered the size of the main hall and the mass of people inside and clenched his teeth until the roots hurt.
  
  "How long do you think?" Alicia squatted down next to him again.
  
  "Minutes, if that."
  
  Drake stared at the device. In truth, it didn't look sophisticated, just a simple bomb designed to scare rather than maim. He had seen fireworks bombs of this size and probably with a similarly rudimentary detonation device. His army experience may have faded a bit, but when faced with a red wire-blue wire situation, he was soon back.
  
  Except that all the wires are the same color.
  
  Chaos enveloped everything around his voluntarily created cocoon. Like a treacherous whisper, news of the bomb swept through the great halls, and one man's desire for freedom infected the next and the next, until all but the hardiest-or stupidest-passengers headed for the exit. The noise was deafening, it reached the high rafters and flowed back down the walls. Men and women fell in a hurry, and passers-by helped them up. Some panicked, while others remained calm. Bosses tried to keep their staff in place but were justifiably fighting a losing battle. Crowds poured out of the exits and began to fill 42nd Street.
  
  Drake hesitated, sweat beading on his forehead. One wrong move here could result in the loss of a limb, or more. And worse, it would take him out of the fight to destroy Marsh. If the Pythian can thin them out, then he will have a much better chance of achieving his ultimate goal - no matter how perverse this hell may be.
  
  Beauregard then squatted down next to him. "Are you okay?"
  
  Drake's eyes widened. "What the hell... I mean, aren't you making out with someone else-"
  
  Bo held out another device, which he had already turned off. "It's a simple mechanism and it only took a few seconds. Do you need help?"
  
  Drake stared at the internal mechanisms hanging in front of him, at the slight smugness on the Frenchman's face and said, "Damn. Nobody better tell the Swede that this happened."
  
  He then pulled out the blasting cap.
  
  Everything remains the same. A feeling of relief washed over him and he took a moment to stop and catch his breath. Another crisis resolved, another small victory for the good guys. Then Alicia, without taking her eyes off the cafe counter, said five very distinct words.
  
  "The damn phone is ringing again."
  
  And all around Grand Central Station, all over New York City, in trash cans and under trees - even tied to railings and finally thrown by motorcyclists - bombs began to explode.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
  
  
  Hayden stood in front of a row of television monitors, Kinimaka next to her. Their thoughts of breaking Ramses were temporarily put on hold by the chase through Central Park and then the madness at Grand Central Station. As they watched, Moore walked up to them and began commenting on each monitor, the camera images labeled and able to zoom in to highlight a human hair on a freckled arm. The coverage was not as comprehensive as it should have been, but improved as Drake and his team approached the famous train station. Another monitor showed Ramses and Price in their cells, the former pacing impatiently as if he needed to be in places, the latter sitting depressed as if all he really wanted was the offer of a noose.
  
  Moore's team worked diligently around them, reporting sightings, guesses and asking police officers and agents on the street to visit certain areas. The attacks were foiled in front of Hayden, even while Drake and Beau were defusing bombs on Grand Central. The only way Moore could be absolutely sure that Midtown was taken care of would be to essentially empty the entire site.
  
  "I don"t care if it"s an old deaf granny who just lost her cat," he said. "At least convince them."
  
  "How could cameras get bombs through the metal detectors at Grand Central Station?" Kinimaka asked.
  
  "Plastic explosives?" Moore ventured.
  
  "Don"t you have other measures for this?" Hayden asked.
  
  "Of course, but look around. Ninety percent of our people are looking for a damn nuclear bomb. I have never seen this area so empty."
  
  Hayden wondered how long Marsh had been planning this. And Ramses? The terrorist prince had about five cells in New York, possibly more, and some of them were sleeper cells. Explosives of any kind could be smuggled in at any time and simply buried, hidden in the woods or in a basement for years if necessary. Look at the Russians and the proven story about their missing nuclear suitcases - it was an American who suggested that the number missing was the exact number needed to destroy the United States. It was a Russian defector who confirmed that they were already in America.
  
  She took a step back, trying to take in the whole picture. For most of her adult life, Hayden was a law enforcement officer; she felt like she had witnessed every situation imaginable. But now... this was unprecedented. Drake had already raced from Times Square to Grand Central, saving lives every minute and then losing two. Dahl dismantled Ramses' cameras at every turn. But she was struck by the sheer, terrifying scope of this phenomenon.
  
  And the world got worse. She knew people who no longer bothered to watch the news, people who had deleted apps from their phones because everything they saw was disgusting and they felt like they couldn't do anything. Decisions that were clear and obvious from the very beginning, especially with the emergence of ISIS, were never made, clouded by politics, profit and greed, and an underestimation of the depth of human suffering. What the public wanted now was honesty, a figure they could trust, someone who came with as much transparency as was safe to govern.
  
  Hayden accepted it all. Her feeling of helplessness was similar to the emotions Tyler Webb had been putting her through lately. The feeling that you are being so cleverly persecuted and you are powerless to do anything about it. Now she felt the same emotions, watching Drake and Dahl try to bring New York and the rest of the world back from the brink.
  
  "I will kill Ramses for this," she said.
  
  Kinimaka placed a huge paw on her shoulders. "Let me. I'm much less pretty than you, and I'd be better off in prison."
  
  Moore pointed to a specific screen. "Look over there, guys. They defused the bomb."
  
  Delight shot through Hayden when she saw Matt Drake leaving the cafe &# 233; with a relieved and victorious expression on his face. The assembled team cheered and then suddenly paused as events began to spiral out of control.
  
  On many monitors, Hayden saw trash cans exploding, cars swerving to avoid erupting manhole covers. She saw motorcyclists riding onto the roadway and throwing brick-shaped objects at buildings and windows. A second later there was another explosion. She saw the car lifted several feet off the floor as a bomb exploded underneath it, smoke and flames pouring out from the sides. All around Grand Central Station, trash cans caught fire among fleeing passengers. The goal was terror, not casualties. There were fires on two bridges, causing such heavy traffic jams that even motorcycles could not cross them.
  
  Moore stared, his face relaxing for just a second before he began shouting orders. Hayden tried to maintain her strong point of view and felt Mano's shoulder touch her own.
  
  We will move on.
  
  Operations continued at the operations center, emergency services were dispatched, and law enforcement was redirected to the hardest-hit areas. The fire brigade and sappers were involved beyond all limits. Moore ordered the use of helicopters to patrol the streets. When another small device landed at Macy's, Hayden couldn't bear to look at it anymore.
  
  She turned away, searching through her entire experience for any clue as to what to do next, remembering Hawaii and Washington, D.C. in recent years, concentrating... but then a terrible sound, a terrible lingering noise, brought her attention back to the screens.
  
  "No!"
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  
  
  Hayden broke through the people around her and ran out of the room. Almost growling in anger, she descended the stairs, clenching her fists into hard lumps of flesh and bone. Kinimaka shouted a warning, but Hayden ignored it. She would do this, and the world would be a better, safer place.
  
  Making her way along the corridor that ran underneath the site, she finally reached Ramses' cell. The bastard was still laughing, the sound was nothing more than a terrible growl from a monster. Somehow he knew what was happening. Pre-planning was obvious, but the utter disdain for human well-being was not something she could easily handle.
  
  Hayden opened the door to his room. The guard jumped and then shot outside in response to her order. Hayden walked straight to the iron bars.
  
  "Tell me what's going on. Tell me now and I"ll be gentle with you."
  
  Ramses laughed. "What's happening?" He faked an American accent. "The point is that you people are being brought to your knees. And you will stay there," the large man leaned low to look directly into Hayden"s eyes from a distance of several millimeters. "With his tongue hanging out. You do everything I tell you to do."
  
  Hayden unlocked the cell door. Ramses, without wasting a second, rushed at her and tried to throw her to the floor. The man's hands were handcuffed, but that didn't stop him from using his enormous mass. Hayden deftly dodged and rolled him headfirst into one of the vertical iron bars, his neck snapping back from the impact. She then hit his kidneys and spine hard, causing him to wince and groan.
  
  No more crazy laughter.
  
  Hayden used him like a punching bag, moving around his body and hitting different areas. When Ramses roared and turned around, she counted the first three blows - a bleeding nose, a bruised jaw and throat. Ramses began to choke. Hayden didn't give up, even when Kinimaka approached her and urged her to be a little more careful.
  
  "Stop your fucking bleating, Mano," Hayden snapped at him. "People are dying out there."
  
  Ramses tried to laugh, but the pain in his larynx stopped him. Hayden followed this up with a quick bunny kick. "Laugh now."
  
  Kinimaka dragged her away. Hayden turned towards him, but then a seemingly damaged Ramses lunged at them both. He was a large man, even taller than Kinimaki, their muscle mass was about the same, but the Hawaiian was superior to the terrorist in one important area.
  
  Combat experience.
  
  Ramses collided with Kinimaka and then bounced violently, staggering back into his cell. "What the hell are you made of?" he muttered.
  
  "The material is stronger than you," Kinimaka said, rubbing the impact area.
  
  "We want to know what happens next," Hayden insisted, following Ramses back to his cell. "We want to know about the nuclear bomb. Where is it? Who is in control? What are their orders? And, for God"s sake, what are your true intentions?"
  
  Ramses struggled to remain upright, clearly not wanting to fall to his knees. The tension was felt in every tendon. However, when he finally stood up, his head drooped. Hayden remained as careful as she would be with a wounded snake.
  
  "There's nothing you can do. Ask your man, Price. He already knows this. He knows everything. New York will burn, lady, and my people will dance our victory jig among the smoldering ashes."
  
  Price? Hayden saw betrayal at every turn. Someone was lying, and that made her anger boil even more. Not succumbing to the poison that dripped from the man's lips, she extended her hand to Mano.
  
  "Go get me a stun gun."
  
  "Hayden-"
  
  "Just do it!" She turned around, rage emanating from every pore. "Get me a stun gun and get the fuck out."
  
  In her past, Hayden destroyed relationships in which she considered her partner too weak. Especially the one she shared with Ben Blake, who died at the hands of the Blood King's men just a few months later. Ben, she thought, was too young, inexperienced, somewhat immature, but even with Kinimaka she was now beginning to adjust her point of view. She saw him as weak, lacking, and definitely in need of rebuilding.
  
  "Don't fight me, Mano. Just do it".
  
  A whisper, but it reached the Hawaiian's ears perfectly. The large man ran away, hiding his face and his emotions from her. Hayden turned her gaze back to Ramses.
  
  "Now you are just like me," he said. "I have gained another student."
  
  "You think?" Hayden slammed her knee into the other's stomach, then her elbow slammed mercilessly into the back of his neck. "Would a student beat the crap out of you?"
  
  "If only my hands were free..."
  
  "Really?" Hayden was blind with rage. "Let's see what you can do, shall we?"
  
  As she reached for Ramses' handcuffs, Kinimaka returned, a cigar-shaped stun gun clutched in his clenched fist. He understood her intentions and retreated.
  
  "What?" - she screamed.
  
  "You do what you have to do."
  
  Hayden cursed the man and then cursed even louder in Ramses' face, feeling greatly disappointed that he could not break him.
  
  A low, calm voice cut through her rage: However, perhaps he did give you a clue.
  
  May be.
  
  Hayden pushed Ramses until he fell onto his bunk, a new idea popping into his head. Yes, perhaps there is a way. Glaring at Kinimaka, she walked out of the cell, locked it, and then headed towards the outer door.
  
  "Anything new happening upstairs?"
  
  "More garbage bombs, but now fewer of them. Another motorcyclist, but they grabbed him."
  
  Hayden's thought process became clearer. She walked out into the hallway and then walked to another door. Without stopping, she pushed through the crowd, sure that Robert Price would have heard the noise coming from Ramses' cell. The look in his eyes told her that it was so.
  
  "I don"t know anything," he raged. "Please believe me. If he told you that I knew something, anything, about a nuclear bomb, then he is lying."
  
  Hayden reached for his stun gun. "Who to believe? A madman terrorist or a traitor politician. In fact, let's see what the taser tells us."
  
  "No!" Price raised both hands.
  
  Hayden took aim. "You may not know what's going on in New York, Robert, so I'll tell you everything. Just one time. Terrorist cells control nuclear weapons, which we believe they are capable of detonating at any moment. Now the crazy Pythian thinks he's actually in control of the situation. Small explosions occur throughout Manhattan. Bombs were planted at Central Station. And, Robert, this is not the end."
  
  The ex-Secretary of State gaped, completely unable to utter a word. In her newfound clarity, Hayden was almost convinced that he was telling the truth. But this single sliver of doubt remained, constantly tormenting her like a small child.
  
  This man was a successful politician.
  
  She fired a stun gun. It shot to the side, missing the man by an inch. Price began to tremble in his boots.
  
  "The next blow will be below the belt," Hayden promised.
  
  Then, when Price teared up, when Mano grunted, and she remembered Ramses' demonic laugh, when she thought about all the horror that was now in Manhattan, and about her colleagues in the thick of it, in the heart of Jeopardy, it was Hayden Jay who broke down.
  
  No more. I won't put up with this for another minute.
  
  Grabbing Price, she threw him against the wall, the force of the blow causing him to fall to his knees. Kinimaka picked it up, giving her a questioning look.
  
  "Just get out of my way."
  
  She threw Price again, this time into the outer door. He jumped back, whimpering, falling, and then she grabbed him again, leading him into the corridor and towards Ramses' cell. When Price saw the terrorist locked in his cell, he began to whine and grovel. Hayden pushed him forward.
  
  "Please, please, you can"t do this."
  
  "Actually," Kinimaka said. "This is something we can do."
  
  "Nooo!"
  
  Hayden threw Price onto the bars and unlocked the cell. Ramses did not move, still sitting on his bed and viewing what was happening from under his closed eyelids. Kinimaka pulled out his Glock and took aim at both men as Hayden untangled their bonds.
  
  "One chance," she said. "One prison cell. Two men. The first person who calls me to chat feels better. You understand?"
  
  Price bleated like a half-eaten calf. Ramses still didn't move. For Hayden, the sight of him was unnerving. The sudden change in him was absurd. She walked away and locked the cell, leaving both men together as her phone began to ring and Agent Moore's voice came on the line.
  
  "Come here, Jay. You have to see this."
  
  "What is this?" She ran with Kinimaka, chasing their shadows out of the cell blocks and back up the stairs.
  
  "More bombs," he said sadly. "I sent everyone to clean up the mess. And this last requirement is not what we expected it to be. Oh, and your man Dahl has a lead on cell four. He's chasing it right now."
  
  "Let's hit the road!" Hayden rushed to the station building.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  
  
  Dahl threw himself into the passenger seat and allowed Smith to drive; Kenzie, Lauren and Yorgi are back in the backseat. Even as they made their way back to the station, there were reports of Drake attacking Grand Central Station, but he heard nothing more. Moore had just received another tip from an informant - a fourth terrorist cell was operating out of a luxury apartment building near Central Park, and now that Dahl thought about it, it stands to reason that some of these cells were funded differently than others - it helped them to blend in with the crowd-but Dahl wondered how a bunch of people could so easily exist in a certain society without remembering their brainwashing indoctrination. Brainwashing was a special art, and he doubted that the typical terrorist had mastered it yet.
  
  Don't be so naive.
  
  Moore's agents risked more than just exposure to obtain these clues. The repercussions of this day would reverberate endlessly, and he hoped Homeland knew how it would all blow over. If an undercover agent got burned today, his troubles were just beginning.
  
  Traffic cops, who always dominated the intersections, tried their best to filter traffic, faced with enormous and probably insurmountable problems, but conscious emergency vehicles should have been given priority. Dahl saw several small viewing platforms-almost like mini cherry pickers-where police officers were directing their colleagues from a higher vantage point, and he nodded his thanks as they were let through.
  
  Dahl checked the car's GPS. "Eight minutes," he said. "We are ready?"
  
  "Ready," the whole team returned.
  
  "Lauren, Yorgi, stay with the car this time. We can"t risk you anymore."
  
  "I'm coming," Lauren said. "You need help."
  
  Dahl banished images of the basement and the death of the special forces leader. "We cannot risk unnecessary lives. Lauren, Yorgi, you have your own value in different areas. Just watch the appearance. We need eyes there too."
  
  "You may need my skills," Yorgi said.
  
  "I doubt we'll be jumping on balconies, Yorgi. Or using drainpipes. Just..." He sighed. "Please do as I ask and look at the bloody appearance. Don"t make me turn this into an order."
  
  There was an awkward silence. Each member of the team perceived the events of the previous assault completely differently, but since all this had happened only half an hour ago, most were still in shock. The observations were endless - how close they were to exploding. How a man so selflessly sacrificed himself to save their lives. How cheaply these terrorists treated all forms of life.
  
  Dahl found his thoughts returning to that old saw-how could an adult instill such hateful traits in a younger child? The most innocent mind? How could an adult, responsible person believe that it was right to warp such fragile minds, to change the course of a promising life forever? To replace it with... what?... hatred, inflexibility, fanaticism.
  
  No matter how we look at it, no matter what our views on religion, Dahl thought, the devil really does walk among us.
  
  Smith slammed on the brakes as they approached a high-rise building. It took seconds to get ready and get out of the car, leaving them all defenseless on the sidewalk. Dahl felt uneasy knowing that the fourth cell was almost certainly inside and how competent they seemed. His gaze fell on Lauren and Yorgi.
  
  "What the hell are you doing? Get back in the car."
  
  They approached the doorman, showed their IDs and asked about two apartments on the fourth floor. Both belonged to a young couple who kept to themselves and were always polite. The doorman had never even seen both couples together, but yes, one of the apartments received regular visitors. He thought it was some kind of social evening, but then he was not paid for being too curious.
  
  Dahl gently pushed him aside and headed towards the stairs. The doorman asked if they needed a key.
  
  Dahl smiled softly. "That won't be necessary."
  
  Four floors were overcome easily, and then the three soldiers carefully walked along the corridor. When Dal saw the correct apartment number come into view, his cell phone began to vibrate.
  
  "What?" Smith and Kenzi waited, covering their periphery.
  
  Moore's tired voice filled Dahl's head. "The information is false. Some informant frames the wrong people to get a little revenge. Sorry, I just found out."
  
  "Lies," Dahl exhaled. "Are you kidding me? We stood outside their fucking door with HKs."
  
  "Then leave. The informant loves one of the women. No matter, just get back on the road, Dal. The following information is red hot."
  
  The Swede cursed and called his team back, hid their weapons, and then hurried past the surprised porter. Dahl had actually considered asking the doorman to conduct a quiet evacuation before they went up to the fourth floor-knowing what might happen there-and now wondered how the residents might have reacted after learning his tip was fraudulent.
  
  An interesting social question. What kind of person would complain about being thrown out of his home while the police were searching for terrorists... if that search ended up being based on a lie?
  
  Dahl shrugged. Moore wasn't exactly on his shit list yet, but the man was teetering on rocky ground. "This next clue will work, right?" He spoke into the still open line.
  
  "That's how it should be. The same guy who touched the third camera. Just get to Times Square and fast."
  
  "Is Times Square under threat? What security forces are already in place?"
  
  "All of them".
  
  "Okay, we have ten minutes left."
  
  "Let there be five."
  
  Smith drove like a demon, cutting corners and squeezing, even brushing, between poorly parked cars. They abandoned the car on 50th Street and ran, now against the crowds that were speeding away from Times Square, the cheerful shops of M&M's World, Hershey's Chocolate World and even the Starbucks on the street corner, now undermined by the looming threat. Huge, human-sized billboards illuminated the street with thousands of colorful images, each vying for attention and engaged in a living, vibrating battle. The crew pulled up a forest of scaffolding as almost every other store seemed to be undergoing some kind of renovation. Dal tried to think of a way to keep Lauren and Yorgi safe, but the trip and escape made it nearly impossible. Like it or not, they were all soldiers now, the team strengthened by their presence.
  
  Ahead, the police were tightening a cordon around the square. New Yorkers looked on in disbelief, and visitors were told to return to their hotels.
  
  "It's just a precaution, ma'am," Dahl heard one of the uniformed police say.
  
  And then the world turned to hell again. Four tourists, window shopping around Levis and Bubba Gump, dropped their backpacks, rummaged around inside and pulled out automatic weapons. Dahl ducked behind a street kiosk, unclipping his own weapon.
  
  Gunshots echoed across Times Square. Broken windows and billboards were covered with sand, destroyed, because most of them were now screens, the largest in the world, and the embodiment of capitalism. Mortar rained down onto the sidewalk. Those who remained and the security forces ran for cover. Dahl stuck his head out and fired back; his shots were not targeted, but made the terrorists curse loudly and look for their own cover.
  
  This time straight to you, Dahl thought with gloomy satisfaction. There is no hope for you.
  
  Dahl saw the cage dive behind a parked taxi and noticed a bus abandoned nearby. He'd never been to Times Square before and had only glimpsed it on TV, but seeing such an apparently pedestrian-friendly area so empty was unnerving. More shots rang out as cell members no doubt saw people moving inside stores and office buildings. Dahl quietly went out into the street.
  
  Behind the bus and along the far sidewalk, other security forces were taking their positions. More SWAT troops, black-suited agents, and NYPD cops maneuvered around to a quiet, choreographed rhythm. Dahl signaled for them to line up. What was passed off as a sign here was clearly not translated, because no one paid the slightest attention to the crazy Swede.
  
  "Are we waiting for these three- or four-letter pussies, or are we going to make these motherfuckers burn?" Kensi rubbed against his side.
  
  Dahl turned away from the American agents. "I really like your colorful terminology," he said, creeping into the shadow of the bus. "But economically."
  
  "So you want me here now. I understand."
  
  "I did not say that".
  
  Smith sprawled on the ground, peering under the cars. "I see legs."
  
  "Can you be sure these are the feet of terrorists?" Dahl asked.
  
  "I think so, but it sure as hell isn't as if they were marked."
  
  "They'll be here soon," Kenzi raised her rifle as if it were the sword she craved, and stood behind one of the giant bus wheels. The team took one collective breath.
  
  Dahl looked outside. "I really believe it's that time again."
  
  Kenzi went first, rounding the back of the bus and attacking the yellow taxi. Machine gun fire was heard, but it was directed at windows, bus stops and all other places where, in the opinion of the terrorists, defenseless people could hide. Dahl thanked his lucky stars that no lookout had been posted, knowing that speed was their ally in destroying the cell, which had to be done before they switched to grenades or worse. She and Kensi circled the taxi, looking at the four men, who reacted surprisingly quickly. Instead of swinging their weapons, they simply attacked, slamming into Dahl and Kenzi and knocking them to the ground. Bodies stretched across the road. Dahl caught the descending fist and deflected it, hearing his knuckles hit the asphalt hard. However, the second hand came down, this time with the butt of the rifle raised. Dahl could neither trap it nor look away, so he returned to the only action available to him.
  
  He lowered his forehead and took the blow to his skull.
  
  Blackness writhed before his eyes, pain ricocheted from nerve to nerve, but the Swede did not allow any of this to interfere with his work. The weapon struck and then withdrew, vulnerable. Dahl grabbed him and yanked him towards the man who was holding him. Blood ran down both sides of his face. The man raised his fist again, this time a little more timidly, and Dahl caught it with his own fist and began to squeeze it.
  
  Every fiber of his being, every vein of every joint, tensed.
  
  Bones broke like breaking branches. The terrorist screamed and tried to pull his hand away, but Dahl didn"t want to hear about it. They needed to disable this camera. Fast. Squeezing even tighter, he made sure the man's attention was completely absorbed by the overwhelming pain in his fist, and pulled out his Glock.
  
  One was killed.
  
  The gun fired three bullets before the terrorist's eyes glazed over. Dahl tossed him aside and then rose like an avenging angel, blood pouring from his skull and a look of determination marring his features.
  
  Kenzi was fighting a large man, their guns sandwiched between their bodies and their faces nearly mashed together. Smith came down on the third, forcing the boy to his knees as he struck with near-perfect, precise fury. The final terrorist got the better of Lauren, knocking her to the ground, and was trying to take aim when Yorgi threw himself in front of the barrel.
  
  Dahl caught his breath.
  
  The gun fired. Yorgi collapsed, struck by his body armor. Dahl then saw that the situation was a little different from when he first read it. Yorgi did not jump athletically in front of the bullet, he rammed the terrorist's shooting hand with his entire body.
  
  Different, but still effective.
  
  Dahl rushed to the Russian's aid, hitting the militant under the left arm and lifting his legs off the ground. The Swede built momentum and speed, flexing his muscles, carrying his load with a ferocity born of displeasure. Three feet, then six, and the terrorist was quickly thrown back as he finally slammed his head into the Hard Rock Cafe menu board é. The plastic cracked, soaked in blood, as Dahl's mad impulse cracked his opponent's skull and tore the flesh. Kinimaka may not have liked it, but the Swede used the American icon to neutralize the terrorist.
  
  Karma.
  
  Dahl spun around again, now blood dripping from his ears and chin. Kenzi and her opponent were still locked in mortal combat, but Smith managed to close the gap between himself and the soldier with a few throws. On the final turn he struggled to swing his weapon around, got lucky and ended up with the sharp end pointed straight at Smith.
  
  Dahl roared, rushing forward, but he could do nothing about the shot. In the blink of an eye, the terrorist fired, and the attacker, Smith, received a bullet that stopped him in his tracks, sending him to his knees.
  
  I bring his forehead closer to the line of the next shot.
  
  The terrorist pulled the trigger, but at that moment Dahl appeared - a seething, moving mountain - and pinned the terrorist between him and the wall. Bones broke and grinded against each other, blood gushed out, and the rifle flew to the side with a roar. As the startled Dahl walked toward Smith, he saw and heard the enraged soldier swearing loudly.
  
  Then he's okay.
  
  Saved by the Kevlar vest, Smith was still shot at close range and would have nearly died from the contusion, but their new vanguard body armor softened the blow. Dahl wiped his face, now noting the approach of the special forces team.
  
  Kensi fought her opponent this way and that, the larger man struggling to match her agility and actual muscle. Dahl stepped back with a faint smile on his face.
  
  One of the special forces guys ran up. "Does she need help?"
  
  "No, she's just fooling around. Leave her alone".
  
  Kensi caught the exchange out of the corner of her eye and ground her already clenched teeth. It was clear that the two were equals, but the Swede was testing her, assessing her dedication to the team and even to herself. Was she worthy?
  
  She grabbed the gun and then let go as her opponent jerked back, causing him to lose his balance with a knee to the ribs and an elbow to the nose. Her next strike was a slash to the wrist, followed by a lightning fast grab. As the man struggled and groaned, she bent her wrist back hard, heard a click, and saw the gun fall to the floor. He was still struggling, pulling out the knife and stabbing it into her chest. Kensi squeezed it all in, felt the blade slice through the flesh above her ribs, and spun around, pulling it with her. The knife moved back for a second blow, but this time she was ready. She grabbed the removed arm, spun around underneath it, and twisted it behind the man's back. Ruthlessly she pressed until he too broke and left the terrorist helpless. She quickly ripped two grenades from his belt and then stuffed one of them down the front of his trousers and into his boxer shorts.
  
  Dahl, watching, found that the scream was tearing his throat. "Nooo!"
  
  Kenzi's fingers released the striker.
  
  "We don"t do that, you-"
  
  "What are you going to do now," Kenzi whispered very close, "with broken arms and all?" You won"t hurt anyone now, you idiot?"
  
  Dahl didn't know whether to hold on or dodge, run or dive headlong, grab Kenzi or jump for cover. In the end, the seconds ticked by and nothing exploded except Smith's particularly short fuse.
  
  "Are you kidding me?" he roared. "What the hell-"
  
  "Fake," Kenzi threw the striker at Dahl"s bleeding head. "I thought those perfect eagle eyes would have noticed the problem."
  
  "I didn"t do it." The Swede let out a deep sigh of relief. "Damn, Kenz, you are one world class fucking crazy woman."
  
  "Just give me back my katana. It always calms me down."
  
  "Oh yeah. I bet,"
  
  "And you say this, the Mad Swede."
  
  Dahl bowed his head. Touch. But damn, I think I've met my match.
  
  By this time, SWAT teams and assembled agents were among them, securing the areas around Times Square. The team regrouped and took a few minutes to catch their breath.
  
  "Four cells down," Lauren said. "Only one remains."
  
  "We think," Dahl said. "It"s better not to get ahead of yourself. And remember, this last chamber keeps Marsh safe and probably controls..." He didn't say the word "nuclear bomb" out loud. Not here. This was the heart of Manhattan. Who knew what kind of parabolic microphones might be scattered around?
  
  "Great job, guys," he said simply. "This hellish day is almost over."
  
  But in truth, it has just begun.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  
  
  Julian Marsh believed that, without a doubt, he was the happiest man in the world. Right in front of him lay a loaded, bound nuclear weapon, close enough to touch, to play with on a whim. Curled to his left was a divine, beautiful woman with whom he could also play on a whim. And she, of course, played with him, although a certain area was starting to hurt a little from all the attention. Maybe a little of that whipped cream...
  
  But continuing his previous and most important train of thought - a passive terrorist cell was sitting by the window, and again he was playing with it at his whim. And then there was the American government, chasing its tails all over the city, running scared and blind to play-
  
  "Julian?" Zoe was breathing just a hair's breadth away from his left ear. "Do you want me to go south again?"
  
  "Sure, but don't inhale the bastard like last time. Give him a little break, will you?"
  
  "O, sure".
  
  March let her have her fun and then thought about what would happen next. It was already mid-morning and deadlines were approaching. The time had almost come when he had to unfurl another disposable cell phone and call his homeland with urgent demands. Of course, he knew that there would be no real "hide", at least not with an exchange of five hundred million, but the principle was the same and could be carried out in a similar way. March gave thanks to the gods of sin and iniquity. With these guys on your side, what couldn't be achieved?
  
  Like all good dreams, this one would end eventually, but Marsh decided he would enjoy it while it lasted.
  
  Patting Zoey's head and then standing up, he untied one of his shoelaces and walked over to the window. With two minds there were often two different points of view, but both of Marsh's personalities were true to the scenario. How could any of them lose? He had snatched one of Zoe's condoms and was now trying to slip it onto his hand. He finally gave up and made do with two fingers. Hell, it still satisfied his inner quirkiness.
  
  While Marsh was wondering what to do with the spare lanyard, the cell leader stood up and stared at him, giving him a blank smile. It was an Alligator, or as Marsh privately called it - Alligator - and although it was quiet and obviously slow, there was a real sense of danger about it. Marsh suggested that he was probably one of the vest wearers. Pawn. The same consumable item as prolonged urination. Marsh laughed loudly, breaking eye contact with the Alligator just at the right moment.
  
  Zoe followed in his footsteps, looking out the window.
  
  "Nothing to see," Marsh said. "So that you don"t like studying the lice of humanity."
  
  "Oh, they can be funny at times."
  
  March looked around for his hat, the one he liked to wear at an angle. Of course, it was gone, perhaps even before he got to New York. Last week passed in a blur for him. The alligator approached and politely asked if he needed anything.
  
  "Not at the moment. But I will call them soon and give them the details to transfer the money."
  
  "You will do this?"
  
  "Yes. Didn"t I give you people the route?" The question was rhetorical.
  
  "Oh, this piece of crap. I used it as a fly swatter."
  
  Marsh may have been eccentric, crazy, and driven by bloodlust, but the smaller part of him was also smart, calculating, and fully engaged. That's why he survived as well as he did through the Mexican tunnels. After a moment, he realized that he had misjudged the Alligator and the situation. He was not the main one here - they were.
  
  And it was a moment too late.
  
  Marsh attacked Alligator, knowing exactly where he left the gun, knife and unused stun gun. Expecting success, he was surprised when Gator blocked the blows and returned one of his own. March took it calmly, ignoring the pain, and tried again. He knew Zoey was staring at him, and he wondered why the lazy bitch didn't rush to his aid.
  
  The alligator again parried his blow with ease. Then Marsh heard a noise behind him - the sound of an apartment door opening. He jumped back, surprised when the Alligator let him, and turned around.
  
  A gasp of shock escaped his throat.
  
  Eight men entered the apartment, all dressed in black, all carrying bags, and looking as angry as foxes in a henhouse. Marsh stared and then turned to Gator, his eyes even now not quite believing what they were seeing.
  
  "What's happening?"
  
  "What? Did you think we'd all sit quietly while rich men in tailored suits finance their wars? Well, I've got news for you, big man. We're not waiting for you anymore. We fund our own."
  
  March staggered from the double blow to the face. As he fell backwards, he grabbed Zoe, expecting her to hold him up, and when she didn't, they both fell to the floor. The shock of it all sent his body into overdrive, his sweat glands and nerve endings went into overdrive, and an annoying tic began in the corner of one eye. Took him right back to the bad old days when he was a boy and no one cared about him.
  
  The alligator walked around the apartment, organizing a cell of twelve people. Zoey became as small as possible, practically a piece of furniture, when pistols and other military weapons were discovered - grenades, more than one RPG, the ever-reliable Kalashnikov, tear gas, flashbangs and a variety of steel-tipped hand-held rockets. This was somewhat unnerving.
  
  March cleared his throat, still clinging to the last vestiges of dignity and selfishness that ensured that he was Satan's biggest-horned goat in this room.
  
  "Look," he said. "Get your dirty hands off my nuclear bomb. Do you even know what this is, boy? Alligator. Alligator! We have to meet the deadline."
  
  The leader of the fifth cell finally threw the laptop aside and approached Marsh. Now, without support and truly without gloves, Alligator was a different person. "You think I owe you something ooo?" The last word was a squeal. "My hands are clean! My boots are cool! But they will be covered in blood and ash soooo soon!"
  
  March blinked rapidly. "What the hell are you talking about?"
  
  "There will be no payment. No money left! I work for the great, revered and only Ramses, and they call me the Bomb Maker. But today I will be the initiator. I will give him life!"
  
  March waited for the inevitable squeal at the end, but this time there was none. Alligator had clearly let the onslaught of power go to his head, and Marsh still didn't understand why these people were handling his bomb. "Guys, this is my nuclear bomb. I bought this and brought it to you. We are waiting for a good payment. Now, be good boys and put the nuclear bomb on the table."
  
  It wasn't until Alligator hit him hard enough to draw blood that Marsh began to truly understand that something had gone terribly wrong here. It occurred to him that all of his past actions had led him to this point in his life, every right and wrong, every good and bad word and comment. The sum of all his experiences brought him straight to this room at this time.
  
  "What are you going to do with this bomb?" Horror lowered and thickened his voice, as if he were being pressed through a grater like cheese.
  
  "We are going to detonate your nuclear bomb as soon as we hear from the great Ramses."
  
  March sucked in his breath without breathing. "But it will kill millions."
  
  "And so our war will begin."
  
  "It was about the money," Marsh said. "Pay. A little fun. Keeping the United Donkeys of America chasing their tail. It was about funding, not mass murder."
  
  "Youuuu... u... killed!" Alligator's fanatical tirade escalated up a notch.
  
  "Well, yes, but not that much."
  
  The alligator kicked him until he curled into a motionless ball; my ribs, lungs, spine and legs hurt. "We are only waiting for news from Ramses. Now, somebody pass me the phone."
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  
  
  Inside Grand Central Terminal, the final pieces of Marsh's puzzle began to line up. Drake hadn't realized it before, but this was all part of someone's master plan, someone they thought they had already neutralized. The enemy they didn't count on was time-and how quickly it passed threw their thinking into disarray.
  
  With the precinct declared secure and populated mostly by police officers, Drake and his team were given the opportunity to scrutinize the fourth claim, which they finally found taped to the underside of a café table. A series of numbers written in large font, it was impossible to figure out what it could be unless you managed to squint at the title, which was usually written in the smallest font available.
  
  Nuclear activation codes.
  
  Drake narrowed his eyes in disbelief, losing his balance again, and then blinked at Alicia. "Really? Why would he send us this?"
  
  "I would guess it's the ability to play the game. He's enjoying it, Drake. On the other hand, they may be fake."
  
  "Or acceleration codes," May added.
  
  "Or even," Beau further obscured the topic, "codes that could be used to launch another type of hidden weapon."
  
  Drake looked at the Frenchman for a moment, wondering where he had such perverted thoughts, before calling Moore. "We have a new requirement," he said. "Except it appears to be a set of deactivation codes for nuclear weapons instead."
  
  "Why?" Moore was shocked. "What? This doesn't make any sense. Is this what he told you?"
  
  Drake realized how ridiculous it all sounded. "Sending now." Let the spacesuits sort it all out.
  
  "Fine. We will give them due diligence."
  
  After Drake put the phone in his pocket, Alicia brushed herself off and looked around for a long time. "We're lucky here," she said. "There are no casualties. And no news from March, despite our lateness. So do you think this was the last requirement?"
  
  "I'm not sure how that could be," May said. "He told us he wants money, but he hasn"t told us when or where yet."
  
  "So at least one more," Drake said. "Maybe two. We need to check the weapon and load it again. Either way, with all these mini-bombs exploding all over the city, I think we're a long way from being done with this."
  
  He wondered about the purpose of small bombs. Do not kill or maim. Yes, they had struck terror into the very soul of society, but in light of the nuclear bomb, Julian Marsh, and the cameras they were destroying, he couldn't help but think that perhaps there was another agenda. The secondary bombs were distracting and annoying. The biggest problem was caused by a few people on motorcycles throwing homemade fireworks bombs down Wall Street.
  
  Alicia noticed a kiosk hidden in the far corner. "Sugar mixture," she said. "Does anyone want a candy bar?"
  
  "Get me two Snickers," Drake sighed. "Because sixty-five grams was only for the nineties."
  
  Alicia shook her head. "You and your damn candy bars."
  
  "What's next?" Beau approached, and the Frenchman relieved his body of pain with a few stretches.
  
  "Moore needs to step up his game," Drake said. "Be proactive. I, for one, am not going to dance to Marsh"s tune all day."
  
  "It"s stretched," Mai reminded him. "Most of his agents and cops are policing the streets."
  
  "I know," Drake breathed. "I know damn well."
  
  He also knew there could be no better support for Moore than Hayden and Kinimaka, both with addresses to the President, both having experienced most of what the world could throw at them. In this moment of relative calm, he took stock, thought about their problem, and then found himself worrying about the other team-Dahl's team.
  
  This crazy Swedish bastard was probably fighting off a Marabou bar while watching Alexander Skarsga's most naked moments.
  
  Drake nodded his thanks to Alicia as she returned and handed him two pieces of chocolate. For a moment the team just stood there, thinking, numb. I try not to think about what could happen next. Behind them is a cafe &# 233; stood like an abandoned old business, its windows broken, tables overturned, doors splintered and hanging from their hinges. Even now, teams were carefully combing the area for new devices.
  
  Drake turned to Bo. "You met Marsh, didn't you? Do you believe that he will see this through to the end?"
  
  The Frenchman made an intricate gesture. "Hmm, who knows? The march is strange, seeming stable one moment and crazy the next. Perhaps it was all a sham. Webb didn't trust him, but that's not surprising. I feel that if Webb was still interested in the Pythia case, then Marsh would not be allowed to even pretend to be involved in the case."
  
  "It"s not Marsha we need to worry about," Mai interjected excitedly. "This..."
  
  And suddenly it all made sense.
  
  Drake realized this at the same time, realizing the name of the person she was about to call. His eyes met hers like heat-seeking missiles, but for a moment they could say nothing.
  
  I'm thinking about it. Evaluator. To a terrible end.
  
  "Damn," Drake said. "We were played from the very beginning."
  
  Alicia watched them. "Normally I would say 'get a room', but..."
  
  "He could never get into this country," Mai moaned. "Not without us."
  
  "Now," said Drake. "He's exactly where he wants to be."
  
  And then the phone rang.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake almost dropped his chocolate bar in shock, he was so engrossed in the alternative train of thought. When he looked at the screen and saw an unknown number, a pyrotechnic explosion of conflicting thoughts ricocheted around his head.
  
  What to say?
  
  It must have been Marsh calling from his new disposable cell phone. Should he resist the urge to explain to him that he was being played, that he had simply been fooled in a grand scheme? They wanted the cells and nuclear weapons to remain neutral for as long as possible. Give everyone at least another hour a chance to track it all down. Now though...now the game has changed.
  
  What to do?
  
  "March?" he answered after the fourth ring.
  
  An unfamiliar voice addressed him. "Nooo! It"s Gatorrrr!"
  
  Drake pulled the phone away from his ear, the screeching, pitch rising at the end of each word insulting his eardrums.
  
  "Who is this? Where is Marsh?
  
  "I said - Gatorrrr! The bullshit is already creeping up. Where he should be. But I have one more demand for you, uhhh. One more, and then the bomb will either explode or not. It depends on you!"
  
  "Fuck me." Drake had a hard time concentrating on the words due to the random shouting. "You need to calm down a little, buddy."
  
  "Run, rabbit, run, run, run. Go find the police station on the corner of 3rd and 51st and see what pieces of meat we left for you ooooo. You will understand the final requirement when you get there."
  
  Drake frowned, searching his memory. There is something very familiar about this address...
  
  But the voice again interrupted his train of thoughts. "Now run! Run! Rabbit, run and don't look back! It will explode in a minute or an hour, rrr! And then our war will begin!"
  
  "Marsh only wanted a ransom. The money for the bomb is yours."
  
  "We don"t need your money, yyyy! Do you think there are no organizations-even your own organizations-that are helping us? Do you think there are no rich people helping us? Do you think there are no conspirators out there secretly funding our cause? Ha ha, ha ha ha!"
  
  Drake wanted to reach out and snap the madman's neck, but since he couldn't do that-yet-he did the next best thing.
  
  The call was interrupted.
  
  And finally, his brain processed every bit of information. The others already knew. Their faces were white with fear, their bodies tense with tension.
  
  "This is our site, isn't it?" Drake said. "Where Hayden, Kinimaka and Moore are now."
  
  "And Ramses," Mai said.
  
  If the bomb had exploded at that very moment, the team would not have been able to run faster.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
  
  
  Hayden studied the monitors. With much of the station emptied, and even the agents personally assigned to Moore being sent out onto the streets to help, the local Homeland Security center felt overwhelmed to the point of breaking down. The events unfolding throughout the city took precedence over the reunion of Ramses and Price for the moment, but Hayden noticed the lack of contact between them, and wondered if they both really had nothing to say. Ramses was a knowledgeable man who had all the answers. Price was just another scammer chasing dollars.
  
  Kinimaka helped operate the monitors. Hayden went over what had happened between them earlier, when the Hawaiian had advised against extracting information from both men, and now wondered about her reaction.
  
  Was she right? Was he pathetic?
  
  Something to think about later.
  
  Images flashed before her, all zoomed out on dozens of square screens, in black and white and color, scenes of fender benders and fires, gleaming ambulances and terrified crowds. Panic among New Yorkers was kept to an absolute minimum; although the events of 9-11 were still a fresh horror on their minds and influencing every decision. For so many people who have had a story of surviving 9-11, from those who didn't go to work that day to those who were late or running errands, fear has never left their thoughts. Tourists ran away in horror, often to face the next unexpected blow. The police began clearing the streets in earnest, with little opposition from the ever-irritable locals.
  
  Hayden checked the time...it was barely 11am. It was felt later. The rest of the team was on her mind, her stomach churning with fear that they might lose their lives today. Why the hell do we keep doing this? Day after day, week after week? The odds get less favorable every time we fight.
  
  And Dahl in particular; How did this man stay at this? With a wife and two children, a man must have a work ethic the size of Mount Everest. Her respect for the soldier had never been higher.
  
  Kinimaka tapped one of the monitors. "It could have been bad."
  
  Hayden stared at him. "What is this... oh shit."
  
  Stunned, she watched as Ramses took action, running towards Price and slamming his head into the ground. The terrorist prince then stood over the struggling body and began to kick it mercilessly, each blow eliciting a cry of agony. Hayden hesitated again, and then saw a pool of blood begin to spread across the floor.
  
  "I'm going down."
  
  "I'll go too". Kinimaka began to rise, but Hayden stopped him with a gesture.
  
  "No. You are needed here."
  
  Ignoring the stares, she rushed back to the basement, beckoned to the two guards standing in the hallway, and opened the outer door to Ramses' cell. They rush in together, guns drawn.
  
  Ramses' left foot slammed into Price's cheek, breaking the bone.
  
  "Stop!" Hayden screamed in anger. "You're killing him."
  
  "You don"t care," Ramses used his weapon again, shattering Price"s jaw. "Why should I? You're forcing me to share a cell with this scum. Do you want us to talk? Well, this is how my iron will is carried out. Perhaps now you will find out."
  
  Hayden ran to the bars, inserting the key into the lock. Ramses supported himself, and then began to step on Price's skull and shoulders, as if searching for weak spots and enjoying the process. Price had stopped screaming and could only make low moans.
  
  Hayden opened the door wide, supported by two guards. She attacked without ceremony, hitting Ramses behind the ear with the pistol and pushing him away from Robert Price. She then fell to her knees next to the whining man.
  
  "You are alive?" She certainly didn't want to appear too worried. People like him saw worry as a weakness that could be exploited.
  
  "It hurts?" She pressed herself against Price's ribs.
  
  The squeal told her that "yes, it happened."
  
  "Okay, okay, stop whining. Turn around and let me see you."
  
  Price struggled to roll over, but when he did, Hayden winced at the sight of the mask of blood, broken teeth, and torn lips. She saw that her ear was red and her eye was so swollen that it might never work again. Despite her best wishes, she winced.
  
  "Crap".
  
  She headed towards Ramses. "Dude, I don't even have to ask if you're crazy, do I? Only a madman would do what you do. Cause? Motive? Target? I doubt it even crossed your mind."
  
  She raised the Glock, not really fully ready to fire. The guards next to her covered Ramses in case he attacked her.
  
  "Shoot," said Ramses. "Save yourself from a world full of pain."
  
  "If this were your country, your home, you would kill me right now, wouldn't you? You would end it all."
  
  "No. What's the fun in killing so quickly? First I would destroy your dignity by stripping you and tying your limbs. Then I would break your will using a random method, no matter what seemed right at that moment. Then I would have figured out a way to kill you and bring you back, again and again, finally relenting when you begged me for the hundredth time to end your life."
  
  Hayden watched, seeing the truth in Ramses' eyes and unable to stop himself from trembling. Here was a man who, without a second thought, would detonate a nuclear bomb in New York. Her attention was so absorbed by Ramses, as well as her guards, that they did not react to the shuffling footsteps and ragged breathing that came from behind them.
  
  Ramses's eyes sparkled. Hayden knew they had been deceived. She turned around, but not fast enough. Price may have been Secretary of Defense, but he also had a distinguished military career and was now living out what he remembered of it. He slammed both hands into the guard's outstretched arm, causing his pistol to clatter to the floor, and then slammed his fist into the man's stomach, bending him in half. While doing this, he fell, betting that Hayden and the other guard would not shoot him, betting his position in several ways, and fell on the gun.
  
  And he fired under his armpit, the bullet hitting the stunned guard in the eye. Hayden put aside her emotions and pointed her Glock at Price, but Ramses charged at her like a bull on a tractor, the full force of his body paralyzing, knocking her off her feet. Ramses and Hayden staggered through the cell, giving Price the opportunity to land a clean hit on the second guard.
  
  He took advantage of this, using the confusion to his advantage. The second guard died before the echo of the bullet that killed him. His body hit the ground at Price's feet, watched by the secretary's single functioning eye. Hayden climbed out from under Ramses' huge body, still holding her Glock, wild-eyed, and holding Price at gunpoint.
  
  "Why?"
  
  "I'm happy to die," Price said miserably. "I want to die".
  
  "To help save this piece of crap?" She stumbled across the floor, struggling.
  
  "I have one more play left," Ramses muttered.
  
  Hayden felt the ground tremble beneath her, the walls of the basement trembling and throwing out clouds of mortar. The very bars of the cage began to tremble. Rearranging her hands and knees, she calmed down and looked up and down, left and right. Hayden stared at the lights as they flickered over and over again.
  
  Now what? What the hell is this...
  
  But she already knew.
  
  The site was subject to ground attack.
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  
  
  Hayden gasped as the walls continued to shake. Ramses tried to get up, but the room shook around him. The terrorist fell to his knees. Price watched in awe as the very corner of the room changed, the joints moved and rearranged, the slopes distorted with every second. Hayden avoided a falling piece of mortar when part of the ceiling collapsed. Wires and air ducts hung from the roof, swinging like multi-colored pendulums.
  
  Hayden headed for the cell door, but Ramses was smart enough to block her path. It took a moment before she realized she was still holding the Glock, and by then most of the ceiling was collapsing and the bars themselves were bowing inward, almost collapsing.
  
  "I think... you overdid it," Price said breathlessly.
  
  "This whole damn place is falling apart," Hayden shouted in Ramses" face.
  
  "Not yet".
  
  The terrorist stood up and rushed towards the far wall, clouds of mortar and chunks of concrete and plaster flying and falling all around him. The outer door sagged and then swung open. Hayden grabbed the bar and pulled herself up, catching up with the madman, Price hobbling behind. They had people at the top. Ramses could only go so far.
  
  With that thought, Hayden looked for her phone, but could barely keep up with Ramses. This man was fast, tough and ruthless. He stomped up the stairs, brushing aside one policeman's challenge and throwing him head first at Hayden. She caught the guy, held him, and by that time Ramses was already squeezing through the upper door.
  
  Hayden rushed in hot pursuit. The upper door stood wide open, its glass cracked, its frames splintered. At first, all she could see from the monitor room was Moore, who was rising from the floor and reaching to straighten several warped screens. Others were torn from their moorings, detached from the wall, and crashed upon landing. Kinimaka now stood up with the screen falling from his shoulders, glass and plastic caught in his hair. The other two agents in the room were trying to pull themselves together.
  
  "What hit us?" Moore ran out of the room upon noticing Hayden.
  
  "Where the hell is Ramses?" she screamed. "Didn"t you see him?"
  
  Moore's mouth gaped. "He should be in the cell block."
  
  Kinimaka brushed glass and other debris from his shoulders. "I watched... Then all hell broke loose."
  
  Hayden cursed loudly as she noticed the stairs to her left, and then the balcony ahead that overlooked the main office of the precinct. There was no other way out of the building except to cross it. She ran to the railing, grabbed it and examined the room below. The staff was reduced, as the terrorists had planned, but some jobs on the ground floor were occupied. Both men and women were gathering their belongings, but most were heading towards the main entrance with their weapons drawn, as if expecting an attack. Ramses could not possibly be among them.
  
  Where then?
  
  Expectation. I'm watching. It was not...
  
  "This is not the end!" - she screamed. "Get away from the windows!"
  
  Too late. The Blitzkrieg began with a colossal explosion; the front windows exploded and part of the wall collapsed. Hayden's entire point of view shifted, the roofline falling. Debris exploded throughout the station as the police fell. Some rose to their knees or crawled away. Others were injured or found themselves trapped. The RPG hissed through the broken façade and crashed into the attendant's console, sending plumes of flame, smoke and debris across the nearby area. Hayden then saw running feet as many masked men appeared, all with guns strapped to their shoulders. Spreading out to each side, they took aim at anything that moved, and then, after careful consideration, opened fire. Hayden, Kinimaka and Moore immediately returned fire.
  
  Bullets pierced the destroyed station. Hayden counted eleven people below before the wooden balcony that protected her began to shatter into pieces. The shells went right through. The fragments broke off, turning into dangerous splinters. Hayden fell backwards onto her from behind and then rolled over. Her vest had taken two minor hits, not from bullets, and the intense pain in her lower calf told her that a wooden spike had struck exposed flesh. Kinimaka gasped too, and Moore stood up to take off his jacket and clear the shavings from his shoulder.
  
  Hayden crawled back onto the balcony. Through the gaps, she watched the advance of the assault group and heard guttural grumbling as they called for their leader. Ramses ran like a hunting lion, out of Hayden's sight in less than a second. She squeezed out the chance to shoot, but already knew that the bullet would not fly close.
  
  "Crap!"
  
  Hayden stood up, glared at Kinimaka and ran towards the stairs. They couldn't let the terrorist prince escape. At his word the bomb would have been detonated. Hayden had a feeling he wouldn't wait long.
  
  "Go away, go away!" - she howled at Mano. "We must bring Ramses back immediately!"
  
  
  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  
  
  The intersection just outside the site was usually packed with people, the crossing was clogged with pedestrians, and the roads rumbled to the constant rhythm of passing cars. Tall buildings with many windows usually reflected the sounds of horns honking and laughter between them, indicating an uptick in human interaction, but today the scene was very different.
  
  Smoke swirled across the road and rose into the sky. Shattered windows littered the sidewalks. Muffled voices whispered around the hub as the shell-shocked and wounded came to their senses or came out of hiding. Sirens wailed in the close distance. The 3rd Avenue side of their building looked like a giant mouse mistook it for a piece of gray cheese and took huge bites out of it.
  
  Hayden noticed little of this, running out of the station and then slowing down as she looked around for the escapees. Straight ahead, on 51st Street, they were the only ones running-eleven men dressed in black, with the unmistakable Ramses towering above the rest. Hayden raced through the rubble-strewn intersection, stunned by the silence that surrounded her, the scream of silence and the billowing clouds of dust that tried to blind her. Up above, in the gaps between the roofs of the office buildings-straight concrete columns marking a perpendicular path like lines on a grid-the morning sunlight struggled to compete. The sun rarely appeared on the streets before noon, it reflected from the windows some time earlier and illuminated only the intersections until it rose overhead and could not find its way down between the buildings.
  
  Kinimaka, the faithful old dog, hurried along beside her. "There are only twelve of them," he said. "Moore is monitoring our position. We"ll follow them until we get reinforcements, okay?"
  
  "Ramses," she said. "This is our priority. We will get him back at any cost."
  
  "Hayden," Kinimaka almost collided with a parked van. "You don't think this through. Ramses planned everything. And even if he didn't - even if his location was somehow leaked into the fifth chamber - it doesn't matter now. This is the bomb we have to find."
  
  "Another reason to capture Ramses."
  
  "He will never tell us," Kinimaka said. "But maybe one of his students will do it."
  
  "The longer we can keep Ramses off balance," Hayden said. "The better chance this city has of surviving all this."
  
  They raced along the sidewalk, keeping within the few shadows cast by the high-rise buildings and trying not to make any noise. Ramses was at the center of his pack, giving orders, and now Hayden remembered that back in the market he had called these men his "legionnaires." Each of them was deadly and loyal to their cause, many steps above ordinary mercenaries. At first, twelve people hurried without much thought, putting a little distance between themselves and the site, but after a minute they began to slow down, and two looked back, checking if there were any pursuers.
  
  Hayden opened fire, barking angrily from his Glock. One man fell, and the rest turned around, firing back. The two former CIA agents ducked behind a concrete flowerbed. Hayden peered around its round edge, not wanting to lose sight of her enemy. Ramses was on the verge of a breakdown, covered by his people. Now she saw that Robert Price had been left to his fate, barely able to stand, but still doing well for a beaten, aging man. Her attention turned back to Ramses.
  
  "He's right there, Mano. Let's get this over with. Do you think they will still explode if he dies?"
  
  "Damn, I don't know. Taking him alive would have worked better. Maybe we could hold him ransom."
  
  "Yeah, okay, we have to get close enough first."
  
  The camera zoomed up again, this time covering their escape. Hayden ran from flower bed to flower bed, chasing them down the street. Bullets whizzed between the two groups, shattering windows and hitting parked cars. A line of scattered yellow taxis offered Hayden better cover and a chance to get closer, and she didn't hesitate to take it.
  
  "Let's!"
  
  She got into the first taxi, slid to the side and used another one left on the side of the road to cover herself as she ran to the next one. Windows exploded around her as her jailers tried to remove them, but the cover meant that Ramses' new legionnaires never really knew where they were. Four taxis later and they were forcing the runners to hide, slowing them down.
  
  Kinimaki's earpiece began to crackle. "Help is five minutes away."
  
  But even this was uncertain.
  
  Once again, the cell operated as a compact group. Hayden gave chase, unable to safely close the gap and also forced to conserve ammunition. It became apparent that the cell was also beginning to worry about the possibility of reinforcements arriving as their movements became more frantic, less cautious. Hayden took aim at one of the rear guards and only missed because he walked past the sculptured tree as she fired.
  
  Pure bad luck.
  
  "Mano," she said suddenly. "Have we lost one of them somewhere?"
  
  "Count again."
  
  She could only count ten numbers!
  
  He appeared out of nowhere, rolling out from under a parked car in style. His first blow connected with the back of Kinimaki's knee, causing the big man to bend over. As he kicked, his right hand brought up a small PPK, the size of which made it no less deadly. Hayden tossed Kinimaka aside, her relatively small body was as powerful and energetic as any world class athlete, but even that could only move the big man a little.
  
  The bullet flew between them, stunning, breathtaking, the briefest moment of pure hell, and then the legionnaire moved again. Another blow connected with Hayden's knee, and Mano continued his fall, crashing chest-first into the same parked car their enemy had used for cover. A grunt escaped him as he found himself desperately trying to spin around on his knees.
  
  Hayden felt a twinge of pain in her knee and, more importantly, a sudden loss of balance. She knew more about Ramses' escape and the terrible buffet that followed than about the fighting legionnaire, and every fiber of her being wanted to get this over with quickly. But this man was a fighter, a real fighter, and clearly wanted to survive.
  
  He fired the pistol again. Now Hayden was glad she lost her balance because she wasn't where he expected her to be. The bullet, however, grazed her shoulder. Kinimaka threw himself at the hand with the pistol, burying it under a mountain of muscles.
  
  The legionnaire instantly abandoned him, seeing the futility of fighting the Hawaiian. He then pulled out a terrifying eight-inch blade and lunged at Hayden. She twisted awkwardly, gaining some space to avoid the fatal blow. Kinimaka swung his pistol, but the legionnaire had anticipated this and swung it much faster, the knife severely slashed the Hawaiian on the chest, which became insignificant due to the man's vest, but still threw him onto his haunches.
  
  The exchange gave Hayden the chance she needed. As she pulled out her pistol, she guessed what the legionnaire would do-turn around and throw a knife on the sly-so she stepped to the side, pulling the trigger.
  
  Three bullets tore into the man's chest as the knife bounced off the car door and clattered to the floor, causing no harm.
  
  "Take him Walter," Hayden told Kinimake. "We'll need every bullet."
  
  As she stood up, she saw an unmistakable group of armed men hurrying down the street, a few hundred yards away. It was getting more complicated now - groups of people were appearing and wandering the streets, heading home or checking damage, or even standing in plain sight and clicking on their Android devices - but the sight of Ramses' head appearing every few feet was instantly recognizable.
  
  "Now move," she said, forcing her aching, bruised limbs to work beyond their capacity.
  
  The camera disappeared.
  
  "What the-"
  
  Kinimaka walked around the car, jumping over the hood.
  
  "Big sports store," the Hawaiian said breathlessly. "They dove in."
  
  "End of the road, Prince Ramses," Hayden spat out the last two words with contempt. "Hurry up, Mano. Like I said, we have to keep the bastard busy and take his attention away from this nuclear bomb. Every minute, every second counts."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY
  
  
  Together they walked through the still swinging front doors of the sports store and into its vast, silent interior. Display cases, racks and clothes hangers were everywhere, along every aisle. Mounted on the open-frame ceiling, lighting was provided by glowing tiles. Hayden stared at the reflective white floor and saw dusty footprints leading into the heart of the store. In a hurry, she checked her store and adjusted her vest. The face peeking out from under the clothes rack made her flinch, but the fear etched into its features made her soften.
  
  "Don't worry," she said. "Get down and be quiet."
  
  She didn't need to ask for directions. Although they may have been following muddy tracks, the noise ahead gave away the positions of their targets. Price's constant moaning was an added benefit. Hayden slid under a metal armrest full of leggings and pushed past a bald mannequin in a Nike workout uniform into the area reserved for sports equipment. Barbell racks, weight trays, trampolines and treadmills lined up in even rows. Just moving to another section, there was a terrorist group.
  
  One man saw her, raised the alarm and opened fire. Hayden ran hard and at an angle, hearing the bullet bounce off the rower's metal arm just inches to her left. Kinimaka jumped to the side, landing heavily on the conveyor section of the treadmill and rolling through the gap. Hayden returned the compliment to the legionnaire by making a hole in the shelf of sneakers above his head.
  
  The man slowly stepped back as his colleagues dispersed. Hayden tossed the pink duffel bag into the air to check their numbers and grimaced as four separate shots hit it hard.
  
  "Perhaps covering Ramses" escape," Kinimaka breathed.
  
  "If we ever needed Torsten Dahl," Hayden breathed.
  
  "You want me to try crazy mode?"
  
  Hayden couldn't suppress his laughter. "I think it's more of a lifestyle choice than a gear change," she said.
  
  "Whatever it is," Kinimaka said. "Let's hurry up."
  
  Hayden beat him to the punch, jumping out of cover and quickly opening fire. One of the figures wheezed and fell to the side, the rest ducked down. Hayden attacked them, leaving obstacles in their path, but closing the gap as quickly as she could. The legionnaires retreated, firing high, and disappeared behind a ceiling-high rack of sneakers of every brand and color available. Hayden and Kinimaka sat down on the other side, stopping for a second.
  
  "Ready?" - I asked. Hayden sighed as he freed the fallen cell member from his weapon.
  
  "Go," Kinimaka said.
  
  As they rose, a burst of machine gun fire slightly crushed the training rack above their heads. Pieces of metal and cardboard, canvas and plastic rained down on them. Hayden climbed to the edge even as the entire structure swayed.
  
  "Oh..." Kinimaka began.
  
  "Crap!" Hayden finished and jumped.
  
  The entire top half of the wide counter collapsed, torn into pieces, and fell on top of them. A huge, overhanging wall of shelves, it tossed aside metal struts, cardboard boxes, and piles of new canvas shoes as they arrived. Kinimaka raised his hand as if to defend himself from the building and continued to move confidently, but due to his mass he fell behind the fleeing Hayden. As she rolled away from the falling mass, her dragging leg catching on a metal support, Kinimaka buried his head under his arms and braced himself as she fell on top of him.
  
  Hayden finished the throw with the gun in her hand and looked back. "Mano!"
  
  But her problems were just beginning.
  
  Four legionnaires attacked her, kicking away the pistol and beating her body with the butts of their rifles. Hayden covered himself and then rolled some more. A rack of basketballs toppled over, sending orange balls flying in all directions. Hayden looked over her shoulder, saw shadows moving, and looked around for her Glock.
  
  A shot rang out. She heard a bullet hit something near her head.
  
  "Stop right here," said the voice.
  
  Hayden froze and looked up as the shadows of Ramses' men descended upon her.
  
  "Now you are with us."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  
  
  Drake burst into the ruined area, Alicia by his side. The first movement they saw was from Moore as he turned around on the upstairs balcony and pointed a gun at them. After half a minute, relief showed on his face.
  
  "Finally," he breathed. "I think you guys got here first."
  
  "We got a little advance warning," Drake said. "Some clown named Alligator?"
  
  Moore looked puzzled and beckoned them upstairs. "I've never heard of him. Is he the leader of the fifth cell?"
  
  "We think so, yes. He's a fucking wazzok with an ass full of crap, but now he's in charge of this nuclear bomb."
  
  Moore watched with his mouth open.
  
  Alicia translated. "Alligator sounds crazier than Julian Marsh after ten gallons of coffee, and I would have said that was impossible until I heard what he had to say. So, where is Hayden and what happened here?"
  
  Moore laid it all out for them, commenting on the fight between Ramses and Price and then the escape. Drake shook his head at the state of the station and the inadequate distribution of agents.
  
  "Could he have planned this? Coming all the way from that damn castle in Peru? Even when we were exploring the bazaar?"
  
  Mai looked skeptical. "Sounds a little far-fetched even for one of your theories."
  
  "And it doesn"t matter," Alicia said. "Really? I mean, who cares? We must stop gassing ourselves and start searching."
  
  "This time," May said. "I agree with Taz. Perhaps her last lover did knock some sense into her." She cast a graceful glance at Bo.
  
  Drake cringed as Moore looked at him, his eyes now even wider. The Home Office agent stared at the four of them.
  
  "Sounds like a great party, guys."
  
  Drake shrugged it off. "Where did they go? Hayden and Kinimaka?"
  
  Moore pointed. "51st. Followed Ramses, his eleven followers and that idiot Price into the smoke. I lost sight of them after just a few minutes."
  
  Alicia pointed to a row of screens. "Can you find them?"
  
  "Most of the channels are disabled. The screens are destroyed. We would be hard-pressed to find Battery Park right now."
  
  Drake walked over to the broken balcony railing and looked around the station and the street outside. It was a strange world that lay before him, at odds with the city he imagined, back on its heels, at least for today. He knew only one way to help these people get better.
  
  Keep them safe.
  
  "Do you have any other news?" Moore asked. "I believe you were talking to Marsh and this Alligator guy."
  
  "Just what we told you," Alicia said. "Have you checked the deactivation codes?"
  
  Moore pointed to a blinking icon that had just started flashing on one of the surviving screens. "Let's watch".
  
  Drake returned as Beau headed to the water cooler to get a drink. Moore read the email out loud, quickly getting to the point and confirming the authenticity of the deactivation codes.
  
  "So," Moore read carefully. "The codes are actually kosher. I have to say this is amazing. Do you think Marsh knew he was going to be usurped?"
  
  "There could be any number of reasons," Drake said. "Safety for yourself. Balancing on the brink. The simple fact is that the man is six rounds short of a full clip. If that Alligator didn't sound so pretentious, I'd actually feel safer right now."
  
  "Whappie?"
  
  "Nuts?" Drake tried. "I don't know. Hayden speaks your language better than I do."
  
  "English". Moore nodded. "Our language is English."
  
  "If you say so. But this is a good thing, guys. Genuine deactivation codes are a good thing."
  
  "Do you understand that we could have contacted them anyway once the scientists determined the origin of the nuclear charge?" Beau said as he came back and took a sip from the plastic cup.
  
  "Um, yeah, but it hasn't happened yet. And as far as we know, they changed the codes or added a new trigger."
  
  Beau accepted this with a slight nod.
  
  Drake looked at his watch. They had been at the station for almost ten minutes, and there was not a word from Hayden or Dahl. Today ten minutes felt like an eternity.
  
  "I'm calling Hayden." He took out his mobile phone.
  
  "Don't worry," Mai said. "Isn"t this Kinimaka?"
  
  Drake turned sharply to where she pointed. The unmistakable figure of Mano Kinimaki hobbled steadily down the street, bent over, clearly in pain, but stubbornly trotted towards the station. Drake swallowed a dozen questions and instead rushed straight to the person who could answer them. Once outside, the team caught Mano at a rubble-filled intersection.
  
  "What's up, buddy?"
  
  The Hawaiian's relief at meeting them was overshadowed by some terrible mental pain lurking just below the surface. "They have Hayden," he whispered. "We took down three of them, but didn't get close to Ramses or Price. And then they ambushed us at the end. Took me out of the game, and by the time I got out from under a ton of rubble, Hayden was gone."
  
  "How do you know they got her?" Beau asked. "Perhaps she is still stalking?"
  
  "My arms and legs may have been injured," Kinimaka said. "But my ears heard just fine. They disarmed her and dragged her away. The last thing they said was..." Kinimaka swallowed with a heavy heart, unable to continue.
  
  Drake caught the man's gaze. "We will save her. We always do this."
  
  Kinimaka winced. "Not always".
  
  "What did they tell her?" Alicia insisted.
  
  Kinimaka looked up at the sky, as if seeking inspiration from the sunlight. "They said they would give her a closer look at this nuclear bomb. They said they were going to strap it to her back."
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  
  
  Thorsten Dahl left several crews to clean up the area around Times Square and took his team deep into the shadows created by a narrow alley. It was quiet and carefree, the perfect place to make an important phone call. He called Hayden first, but when she didn't answer, he tried to contact Drake.
  
  "The distance is here. What's the latest news?
  
  "We're in shit, buddy-"
  
  "Up to your balls again?" Dahl interrupted. "What's new?"
  
  "Not up to my neck this time. Those crazy bastards broke, or were broken, out of their cells. Ramses and Price are no more. The fifth cell consists - or was - of twelve people. Mano says they have three."
  
  Dahl caught the intonation. "Mano speaking?"
  
  "Yeah, buddy. They grabbed Hayden. They took her with them."
  
  Dahl closed his eyes.
  
  "But we still have some time." Drake tried the positive side. "They wouldn"t have taken it at all if they wanted to blow it up immediately."
  
  The Yorkies were right, Dahl had to admit. He listened as Drake continued to explain that Marsh was now removed from his role as the Prince of Darkness and temporarily replaced by one called Alligator. Homeland was just able to identify this man as an American supporter.
  
  "Really?" Dahl said. "For what?"
  
  "Pretty much anything that could cause anarchy," Drake said. "He"s a mercenary, only this time he lost his temper."
  
  "I thought Ramses always ran his business 'in the house'."
  
  "The alligator is a native of New York. He could provide invaluable logistics knowledge to the operation."
  
  "Yes, that makes sense." Dahl sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "So what's next? Do we have Hayden"s coordinates?"
  
  "They took her camera. They must have taken at least some of her clothes because the tag sewn into her shirt says she's under the table at the Chipotle Mexican Grill, which we just confirmed is bullshit. The security cameras are working, but the receivers on our side were mostly knocked out as a result of the attack on the site. They are piecing together everything they can. And they simply don't have enough manpower. Things could go really bad from here, mate."
  
  "Could?" Dahl repeated. "I"d say we"re past the bad and heading down the street of the bad, wouldn"t we?"
  
  Drake paused for a moment, then said, "We hope they continue to make demands," he said. "Each new requirement gives us more time."
  
  Dahl didn't need to say that they hadn't made any progress yet. The fact was self-evident. Here they depended on Homeland to discover the location of the nuclear bomb, running around like forewarned Christmas turkeys, only for Moore to pinpoint the location, but the whole enterprise failed.
  
  "All we did was neutralize a few consumables," he said. "We're not even close to Ramses's actual plan, and especially his endgame."
  
  "Why don"t you guys go down to the station? We might as well be together when the next lead comes along."
  
  "Yes, we will do it." Dahl waved to the rest of his team and determined the right direction to lead them to 3rd Avenue. "Hi, how is Mano holding up?"
  
  "The guy was hit hard against a wall with shelves. Do not ask. But he"s eager to fight, just waiting for someone to give him a target."
  
  Dahl started running when they finished the conversation. Kensi stopped next to him and nodded. "Bad move?"
  
  "Given our situation, I suppose it could have been worse, but, yes, it was a bad choice. They kidnapped Hayden. Took her to where the bomb is."
  
  "Well, that's great! I mean, don"t all of you guys have hidden beacons?"
  
  "We do. And they threw it away along with her clothes."
  
  "The Mossad got under your skin," Kensi said quietly. "Good for them, but not for me. Made me feel like I belonged."
  
  "It would be". Dahl nodded. "We all need to feel that we are in control of our own destiny, and that every decision is essentially free. This is not manipulation."
  
  "These days," Kensi"s fingers curled and then clenched into fists, "you manipulate me at your peril," she then gave him a small smile. "Except for you, my friend, you can manipulate me anytime and anywhere you want."
  
  Dahl looked away. Bridget McKenzie was unstoppable. The woman knew that he was a married man, a father, and yet she still gave in to temptation. Of course, one way or another, she wouldn't stay here long.
  
  Problem solved.
  
  Smith and Lauren also jogged together, exchanging quiet comments. Yorgi brought up the rear, tired and strewn with debris, but loping with playful determination. Dahl knew that this was his first real experience of frantic, haphazard combat, and he thought he handled it well. The streets flashed by and then they turned left onto 3rd Avenue, heading towards the intersection with 51st.
  
  It was a strange few minutes for Dahl. Some areas of the city were unscathed, and while many shops remained open and people walked inside with a sense of trepidation, others were deserted, almost devoid of life. Several streets were cordoned off with riot police vehicles and four-wheel drive army vehicles scattered throughout. Some areas cowered in shame at the presence of the looters. For the most part, the people he saw did not understand what to do, so he added his voice to what he believed to be the authorities and invited them to take refuge wherever they could.
  
  And then they arrived at the site where Drake and the others were waiting, hoping, and planning to rescue Hayden Jay.
  
  Only a few hours have passed since the beginning of this day. And now they were desperately looking for a way to find a nuclear bomb. Dahl knew that there would be no turning back; he could not run away or hide in bunkers. The SPEAR team was in it until the end. If the city dies today, it won't be for lack of heroes trying to save it.
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  
  
  Hayden remained silent as Ramses directed action and reaction, reminding his men who was in charge, testing their absolute loyalty. After dragging her away from the sporting goods store, they forced her to run among them on 3rd Avenue, then took time to find and throw away her cell phone and rip off her bulletproof vest. Ramses seemed to have some knowledge about tracking devices and their locations and ordered his men to remove her shirt. The small device was quickly found and discarded, after which the group continued their run along what appeared to be a completely random route.
  
  Hayden got the impression that this was not the case at all.
  
  It took a while. The group shed their larger weapons and black outerwear, revealing their normal tourist uniform underneath. Suddenly they were bright, harmless, part of hundreds of anxious crowds roaming the city streets. Police and army patrols lined some of the routes, but the cameras simply turned down one dark alley and then another until they were clear. Hayden was given a spare jacket to wear. At some point, they climbed onto pre-prepared motorcycles and slowly rode out of downtown Manhattan.
  
  But not too far. Hayden wished with all her might that she could get the message to someone-anyone-now that she knew the location of the bomb. It didn't matter that they could kill her - all that mattered was that these fanatics were stopped.
  
  The bikes rolled part way down the alley, and then ten people-the eight remaining legionnaires, Ramses and Price-followed each other through a rusty metal side door. Hayden found herself in the middle of them, a prize of war, and although she already knew her fate, she tried to catch every glance, every change of direction and every whispered word.
  
  Beyond the broken outer door, a stinking inner hallway led to a concrete staircase. Here one of the men turned towards Hayden and held his knife to her throat.
  
  "Silence," said Ramses, without turning around. "I would prefer not to kill you for now."
  
  They climbed four floors and then stopped just for a moment in front of the apartment door. When it opened, the group crowded inside, running out of the hallway as fast as they could. Ramses stopped in the center of the room, arms outstretched.
  
  "And here we are," he said. "With a million endings and at least one beginning. The inhabitants of this city will leave this life without knowing that this is the beginning of our new path, our holy war. This-"
  
  "Really?" A dry voice interrupted the tirade. "Part of me wants to believe you, Ramses, but the other part, the worse part, thinks you"re full of it."
  
  Hayden got her first good look at Julian Marsh. The Pythian looked strange, distorted, as if part of him had folded into another. He wore clothes that would never fit, no matter the year or current trend. One eye was blackened, the other was wide open and unblinking, while one shoe fell off. To his right sat a striking brunette who Hayden didn't recognize, but from the way they were pressed against each other, it was clear that they were connected in more ways than one.
  
  So, not an ally.
  
  Hayden watched with disdain as Ramses reacted to March's taunt. "You knew?" - asked the terrorist prince. "That we deceived you before we even met you. Before we even knew the name of the fool who would carry our eternal flame into the heart of America. Even your own, Tyler Webb, betrayed you."
  
  "Fuck Webb," Marsh said. "And off you go."
  
  Ramses turned away laughing. "Let's go back to what I was saying. Even the people who work here hate this city. It's too expensive, too many tourists. Ordinary men and women cannot afford to live here and struggle to get to work. Can you imagine the bitterness that grows against the system and the people who continue to support it? Tolls are charged on bridges and tunnels. You are nothing if you don't have money. Greed, greed, greed is everywhere. And it makes me sick."
  
  Hayden was silent, still calculating her next move, still watching Marsh's reaction.
  
  Ramses took a step to the side. "And Alligator, my old friend. Nice to see you again."
  
  Hayden watched as the man named Alligator hugged his boss. Trying to remain small, quiet and perhaps unnoticed, she calculated how many steps it would take to get to the door. Too much for now. Wait, just wait.
  
  But how long could she afford it? Despite Ramses' words, she wondered if he even wanted to avoid a nuclear explosion. The good news was that the authorities had closed the airspace, so the man was in no hurry.
  
  Robert Price threw himself into a chair with a groan. He asked the nearest legionnaire for a bottle of aspirin, but was pointedly ignored. Marsh narrowed his eyes at the Minister of Defense.
  
  "Do I know you?"
  
  Price snuggled deeper into his pillow.
  
  Hayden glanced around the rest of the room, only now noticing the dining table that stood by the far curtained window.
  
  Damn, what is this...?
  
  It was smaller than she had imagined. The backpack was larger than the standard model, too large to fit in the overhead compartment of an airplane, but would not look too awkward on the back of a larger person.
  
  "I sold it to you, March," said Ramses. "With hopes that you will bring this to New York. For this I will be forever grateful. Consider it a gift when I tell you that you and your friend will be allowed to feel the all-consuming fire. This is the best I can offer you, and much better than a knife across your throat."
  
  Hayden memorized the nuclear bomb - its size, shape and the appearance of the backpack - in case she might need it. There was no way she should have died here today.
  
  Ramesses then turned to his men. "Get her ready," he said. "And don"t spare the American bitch an ounce of pain."
  
  Hayden knew it was coming. They had failed to tie her hands on the way here, and now she took full advantage of that. So many things depended on her right then - the fate of the city, the nation, much of the civilized world. The vase to her right came in handy, its neck the perfect width for her hand and just the right weight to do some damage. It shattered on the temple of the nearest man, jagged pieces falling to the floor. As he raised his hand, Hayden grabbed the gun, but upon seeing it wrapped securely around his shoulder, she immediately gave in, instead using her grip on the barrel to throw him even more off-balance. The weapons were aimed, but Hayden ignored them all. It was now purely a Last Chance Saloon... no more fighting for her life - more like a fight for the survival of the town. And didn't they just smuggle her here undercover? This told her that firearms would be frowned upon.
  
  The alligator approached her from the side, but Ramses held him back. Another interesting discovery. The alligator was important to Ramses. The next moment, she was consumed, unable to focus beyond the arms and legs that were striking her. I fend off one or two blows, but there was always another. These aren't TV villains - politely waiting for one to get hit so the other can intervene. No, these surrounded her and attacked her all at once, so no matter how many she stopped and hit, two more were hitting her. Pain exploded in more places than she could count, but she took advantage of her stumble to pick up a jagged piece of the vase and slash the two men across the face and arms. They retreated, bleeding. She rolled onto a pair of legs, sending their owner tumbling. She tried to throw a heavy mug at the window, thinking it would attract attention, but the damn thing flew about half a meter from the window.
  
  What would Drake do?
  
  She knew it. Exactly this. He will fight until his very last breath. Through the forest of legs she searched for a weapon. Her eyes met the eyes of March and the woman, but they only clung to each other even tighter, finding solace in the strange communication. Hayden kicked and twisted, cheering for every barely suppressed scream, then found the couch behind her. Using this as a fulcrum, she forced herself to her feet.
  
  A fist slammed into her face and the stars exploded. Hayden shook her head, clearing away the blood, and struck back, causing her opponent to fall. Another fist hit her on the side of the head, and then the man grabbed her around the waist, knocking her off her feet and placing her back on the couch. Hayden threw him over his back using his own momentum. In a second she was back on her feet, head down, throwing punches to the ribs, neck, groin and knees, throwing blow after blow, kick after blow.
  
  She saw Ramses step towards them. "Eight people!" - he shouted. "Eight men and one little girl. Where is your pride?
  
  "In the same place as their eggs," Hayden said breathlessly, inflicting damage on them, feeling tired, pain from numerous blows, fighting rage subsiding. This wouldn't last forever, and she had no hope of escaping.
  
  But she never stopped trying. Never gave up. Life was a daily battle, whether it was literal or not. As the power drained from her strikes and the energy drained from her limbs, Hayden still struck, although her strikes were no longer enough.
  
  The men lifted her to her feet and dragged her across the room. She felt some strength return to her and ran her boot across her shin, causing her to squeal. The arms tightened around her muscles, pushing her toward the far window.
  
  Ramses stood over the table on which lay the nuclear briefcase.
  
  "So small," he said thoughtfully. "So inappropriate. And yet so memorable. Do you agree?"
  
  Hayden spat blood from her mouth. "I agree that you are the crazy work of the century."
  
  Ramses gave her a puzzled look. "You are doing? You realize it's Julian Marsh and Zoe Shears from The Pythians hugging down there, don't you? And their leader - Webb - where is he? Off to scour the world for an ancient archaeological treasure, I guess. I am following the long-dead trail of a long-dead aristocrat. Follows his own crazy footsteps while the world burns. I don"t come close to the crazy job of the century, Miss Jay."
  
  And although Hayden internally admitted that he was right about something, she remained silent. At the end of the day, a chamber with felt should be waiting for them all.
  
  "So what"s next, you"re interested in knowing?" Ramses asked her, smiling. "Well, not that much, to be honest. We are all where we want to be. You're with a nuclear bomb. I'm with Alligator, my bomb expert. My people are on my side. Nuclear bomb? It is almost ready to... - he paused - to become one with the world. Should we say...an hour from now?"
  
  Hayden's eyes betrayed her.
  
  "Oh haha. Now you're wondering. Is this too much time for you? So ten minutes?"
  
  "No," Hayden breathed. "You can not. Please. There must be something you want. Something we can agree on."
  
  Ramses stared at her as if, against his will, he suddenly pitied her. "The sum of everything I want is in this room. Destruction of the so-called First World."
  
  "How do you make a deal with people who only want to kill you or die trying?" Hayden said out loud. "Or stop them without resorting to bloodshed yourself. The Ultimate Dilemma for the New World."
  
  Ramses laughed. "You people are so stupid." He laughed. "The answer is: 'You must not'. Kill us or worship us. Stop us or watch us cross your borders. That is your only dilemma."
  
  Hayden struggled again as the men pulled off her new shirt and then positioned the bomb so it was strapped to the front of her. It was Alligator who came forward and unbuckled the backpack and disconnected some wires from the inside. They had to be attached to a timer mechanism, Hayden was sure. Even such crazy terrorists would not risk disconnecting real explosive devices.
  
  She hoped.
  
  The alligator pulled the wires and then looked at Ramses, waiting for permission to continue. The giant nodded. The men grabbed Hayden's arms and pushed her forward across the table, bending her body until the nuclear bomb pressed against her stomach. They then held her in place while Alligator wrapped the wires first around her back and chest, then down between her legs and finally up until they met at the bottom of her back. Hayden felt every pull on the wires, every movement of the backpack. Finally, they used medium-strength belts and duct tape to ensure that the nuclear bomb was firmly stuck to her body and that it was wrapped around it. Hayden tested her bonds and found that she could barely move.
  
  Ramses stood back to admire the Alligator's handiwork. "Perfect," he said. "The American devil has taken an ideal position to destroy his country. It is a fitting sanctuary, as is this sinful city, for the rest of them. Now, Alligator, set the timer and give us enough time to go to the zoo."
  
  Hayden gasped at the table, first shocked and then confused by the terrorist's words. "Please. You can't do this. You can not. We know where you are and what you plan to do. We can always find you, Ramses."
  
  "You mean your friends!" The alligator screeched in her ear, causing her to jump and shake the nuke. "Englishman... Khmannnn! Don't worry. You will see him again. Marsh did have some fun with him, mmm, but we will too!"
  
  Ramses leaned close to her other ear. "I remember you all from the bazaar. I believe you destroyed it, ruining my reputation for at least two years. I know that you all attacked my castle, killed my bodyguard Akatash, killed my legionnaires and took me away in chains. For America. Country of fools. Mr. Price over there tells me that you are all part of the team, but not only that. You call yourself family. Well, isn"t it fitting that you"re all together at the very end?"
  
  "Damn," Hayden breathed into the top of his backpack. "You. Asshole."
  
  "Oh no. It's you and your family who really screwed up. Just remember - Ramses did it. And that even this is not my endgame. My reliability is even more impressive. But know that I will be somewhere safe, laughing, while America and the rest of its Western cronies implode."
  
  He bent over so that his body crushed both her and the contents of the backpacks. "Now it's time for your last visit to the zoo. I'll give Matt Drake the honor of finding you," he whispered. "When the bomb goes off."
  
  Hayden heard the words, the implications hidden within them, but found herself wondering what sure-fire action would be more impressive than what he had already planned.
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  
  
  Hayden slipped and ran into the back of a small truck. The legionnaires laid her, still tied to the bomb, behind them at their feet as they occupied the benches on either side. The hardest part of the whole trip was getting her out of the apartment building. The legionnaires wasted no time trying to disguise her; they pushed her where they wanted and went with their weapons at the ready. Anyone who sees them will be killed. Luckily for them, most people seemed to heed the warnings and stayed home in front of their TVs or laptops. Ramses made sure Hayden saw the truck pull up to the side of the road next to a dark alley, grinning the whole time.
  
  Black with special forces markings.
  
  Who would stop them? Interrogate them? Perhaps over time. But that was the whole point of everything that had happened so far. The speed and execution of every part of the plan tested America's response to its limits. The reactions were expected, and the real problem was that the terrorists simply didn't care. Their only goal was the death of the nation.
  
  They used 57th Street to head east, avoiding patrols and cordons where they could. There were rubble, the odd abandoned car and groups of onlookers, but the Alligator himself was a native New Yorker and knew all the quieter, seemingly barren routes. The city's power supply system helped, allowing the driver to easily return to the pre-planned route. They acted slowly, cautiously, knowing that the Americans were still reacting, still waiting, and only after several hours did they realize that the bomb might already be there.
  
  Hayden knew that even now White House officials would recommend caution, completely unable to accept that their boundaries had been violated. There would be others trying to take advantage of the situation. Let's get rid of Dodge even more and screw the taxpayers. However, she knew Coburn and hoped that his closest advisers were as reliable and savvy as he was.
  
  The journey left her with bruises. The legionnaires supported her with their feet. Sudden stops and large potholes made her feel nauseous. The backpack moved under her, its hard insides always unnerving. Hayden knew that this was what Ramses wanted-for her final moments to be filled with terror as the timer ticked down.
  
  Less than half an hour passed. The roads were quiet, if not empty. Hayden couldn't say for sure. In another new twist to his plan, Ramses ordered Gator to tie Marsh and Shears to the bomb, along with Hayden. The two complained, fought, and even started screaming, so Alligator taped their mouths and noses shut, sat there until they calmed down, and then let their nostrils suck in some air. Marsh and Shears then began to cry almost in unison. Perhaps they harbored dreams of liberation. Marsh squealed like a newborn, and Shears sniffed like a boy with man flu. As punishment for both of them - and, unfortunately, for Hayden too - Ramses had them tied naked to a nuclear bomb, which caused all sorts of problems, contortions, and more sniffling. Hayden took it well, imagining the Lovecraftian horror they might now resemble and wondering how the hell they were going to get through the zoo.
  
  "We'll finish inside," the Alligator looked critically at the mass. "Five minutes maximum."
  
  Hayden noticed that the bomb maker spoke well when dealing with his boss. Perhaps anxiety caused his voice to suddenly rise. Maybe excitement. She turned her attention when the truck stopped and the driver idled the engine for a few minutes. Ramses got out of the taxi, and Hayden suggested that they might be at the entrance to the zoo.
  
  Last chance.
  
  She struggled desperately, trying to sway from side to side and scrape the duct tape off her mouth. Marsh and Shears groaned, and the legionnaires stepped on her with their boots, making it difficult to move, but Hayden resisted. All it took was a strange rumble, an inappropriate wobble, and the flags would be raised.
  
  One of the legionnaires cursed and jumped over her, pinning her even further against the nuclear charge and the back of the vehicle. She moaned into the duct tape. His arms wrapped around her body, preventing her from moving, and by the time Ramses returned, she couldn't breathe.
  
  With a slight roar from the engine, the truck moved forward again. The car drove slowly, and the legionnaire left. Hayden took a deep breath, cursing her luck and the faces of everyone around her. The vehicle soon stopped and the driver turned off the engine. There was silence as Ramses, now dressed in a rudimentary special forces uniform, poked his head into the back seat.
  
  "Goal achieved," he said dispassionately. "Wait for my signal and be ready to carry them between you."
  
  Helpless, Hayden could only breathe as five legionnaires positioned themselves around the bizarre bundle and prepared to lift it. Ramses knocked on the door, everything was clear, and one man opened it. The legionnaires then lifted the bundle into the air, carried it out of the van and led it along a tree-lined path. Hayden blinked as daylight hit her eyes, then caught a glimpse of where she was.
  
  A wooden canopy supported by thick brick pillars stretched overhead, surrounded by greenery. A well-appointed and paved suntrap, it was currently deserted, as Hayden had expected the rest of the zoo to be. A few intrepid tourists may have taken advantage of the sparsely populated attractions, but Hayden doubted the zoo would be allowed to admit anyone for the next few hours. Most likely, Ramses convinced the zoo security that special forces were there to ensure complete security of the territory. They were carried along a path lined with arches and hanging greenery until they were stopped by a side door. The alligator gained entry by force, and then they found themselves inside a high-ceilinged room consisting of wooden paths, bridges and many trees that helped cope with the humid atmosphere.
  
  "Tropical zone," Ramses nodded. "Now, Alligator, take the package and put it further into the underbrush. We don't need early chance observations."
  
  Hayden and the rest of her precarious company ended up on the wooden floor. The alligator adjusted a few straps, added more duct tape for stability, and then fiddled with a roll of extra wire until he announced that the detonator was securely wrapped around the prisoners.
  
  "And the rotary switch?" Ramses asked.
  
  "Are you sure you want to add this?" Alligator asked. "Marsh and Shears may start this prematurely."
  
  Ramses nodded thoughtfully to the man. "You are right". He squatted down next to the package, the backpack laying on the floor, Hayden tied directly on top, and then Marsh and Zoey on top of her. Ramses' eyes were level with Julian Marsh's head.
  
  "We'll add a sensitivity switch," he said quietly. "A rotating device that, if you are lifted or made any large movements, causes the bomb to detonate. I advise you to stay put and wait for Miss J's teammates to arrive. Don't worry, it won't last long."
  
  His words sent shivers down Hayden's body. "How long?" she managed to exhale.
  
  "The timer will be set for one hour," Ramses said. "Just enough time to allow Alligator and I to get to safety. My men will be left with the bomb, one last surprise for your friends if they manage to find you."
  
  If?
  
  Ramses stood up, taking one last look at the package he had prepared, at the human flesh and the firestorm underneath, at the fearful expressions on their faces and the power he showed over them all.
  
  Hayden closed her own eyes, now unable to move, the terrible pressure pressing her chest into an inexorable bomb and making it difficult to breathe. These might be her last moments and there was nothing she could do after hearing Alligator gloat about setting the sensitivity switch, but she'd be damned if she was going to spend them in the Tropical Zone of New York's Central Park Zoo. Instead, she would be transported back to the best times of her life, to the Manos and their time in Hawaii, to the trails of Diamond Head, the surf of North Beach and the volcanic mountains of Maui. Restaurant on an active volcano. A place above the clouds. Red dirt behind the roads. The flickering lights along Kapiolani and then the beach at the end of all beaches, foaming under the spreading red lights of dusk and carefree, the only real place in the world where she could escape all the stresses and worries of life.
  
  Hayden went there now, with the clock ticking.
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  
  
  Drake waited at the police station, feeling completely helpless as they hung on to every tip, every sighting, every slight hint about Ramses, Hayden, or the nuclear bomb. The truth was that New York was too big to cover in a matter of hours, and the phones were ringing off the hook. Its inhabitants were too numerous and its visitors too numerous. It might take the army ten minutes to reach the White House, but despite all the guards and security measures, how long would it take to search this relatively small place? Now, Drake thought, take this scenario to New York and what do you get? It was a rare incident where security forces captured terrorists who actually carried out their atrocity. In the real world, terrorists were pursued and tracked down after the riots.
  
  Dahl finally arrived, looking disheveled and world-weary, with the rest of the SPEAR team behind him. Kenzi inexplicably began looking around and asked where the evidence storage facility was. Dahl simply rolled his eyes at her and said, "Let her go, or she will never be satisfied." The rest of the team crowded around and listened to what Drake had to say, which, other than being worried about Hayden, wasn't much.
  
  Moore simplified the matter. "People know about the terrorist threat to the city. We cannot evacuate, although we do not stop those who are trying to leave. What happens if the bomb does explode? I don"t know, but it"s not for us to think about mutual accusations now. Our systems are down, but other agencies and sites have access to other channels. We compare them as we speak. Most systems are running. The streets of New York are quiet but still busy compared to most cities. Roads too."
  
  "But nothing yet?" Smith asked in surprise.
  
  Moore sighed. "My friend, we answer hundreds of calls per minute. We deal with every psycho, every prankster, and every downright scared good citizen in town. The airspace is closed to everyone except us. We were going to turn off the Wi-Fi, the Internet and even the phone lines, but understand that we are just as likely to take a break from this avenue as we are from a street cop, an FBI agent or, more likely, a member of the public."
  
  "Under cover?" Dahl asked.
  
  "As far as we know, there is not a single cell left. We can only assume that the cell now protecting Ramses was recruited nationally and locally. We don't believe our undercover agents can help, but they are exploring all possible options."
  
  "So where does this leave us?" Lauren asked. "We can't find the camera, Ramses, Price or Hayden. We haven't found a nuclear bomb," she studied each face, still at heart a civilian raised on syndicated shows where all the puzzle pieces lined up into the final act.
  
  "Tipping is what usually does it," Moore said. "Someone sees something and causes it. Do you know what they call the hot tip series here? Two tickets to heaven, after the old Eddie Money song."
  
  "So, are we waiting for the call?"
  
  Drake led Lauren out onto the balcony. The scene below was frantic, with the few cops and agents still alive struggling with shell shock as they picked their way through rubble and broken glass, answering calls and pounding keys, some with bloody bandages wrapped around their arms and heads, others with their feet up, grimacing in pain.
  
  "We have to go down there," Lauren said. "Help them."
  
  Drake nodded. "They're fighting a losing battle and it's not even a hub anymore. These guys simply refused to leave. This means more to them than a trip to the hospital. This is what good cops do and the public rarely sees it. The press brings out only bad news again and again, coloring the general opinion. I say we are going to help them too."
  
  They headed towards the elevator and then Drake turned around, surprised to see the entire team behind him. "What?" - he asked. "I have no money".
  
  Alicia smiled wearily. Even Beau managed a smile. The SPEAR team had been through a lot themselves today, but were still strong, ready for more. Drake saw many bruises and other wounds that were well hidden.
  
  "Why don't you guys recharge? And take extra ammo with you. When we finally get around to ending this, we're going to have a tough time."
  
  "I"ll figure it out," Kinimaka said. "It will provide a distraction."
  
  "And I will help," said Yorgi. "I have a hard time even understanding Drake"s accent, so it would be lost with an American accent."
  
  Dahl laughed as he joined Drake at the elevator. "My Russian friend, you have it completely backwards."
  
  Drake punched the Swede, causing more bruises, and took the elevator down to the first floor. The SPEAR team then intervened where they could, answering new calls and recording information, interviewing residents and asking questions, and diverting calls that had nothing to do with the emergency to other assigned stations. And although they knew they were needed and helped, none of them were happy with it simply because Hayden was still missing and Ramses remained at large. So far he has defeated them.
  
  What other tricks did he have up his sleeve?
  
  Drake forwarded a call about a missing relative and sent another regarding uneven pavement. The switchboard remained active, and Moore was still counting on the tip, his ticket to heaven. But it soon became clear to Drake that time was running out faster than milk spilling from a broken container. The only thing that kept him going was that he expected Ramses to call at least once. This man was still showing himself. Drake doubted he would have pressed the button without at least trying to be a little more theatrical.
  
  The police ran the station, but the team helped by sitting at tables and passing messages. Dahl went to make coffee. Drake joined him in front of the kettle, feeling extremely helpless and out of place as they waited for information.
  
  "Let's talk about the first one," Drake said. "Has this ever happened to you before?"
  
  "No. I understand how Ramses managed to hide all these years. And I'm guessing the device isn't producing a radiation signature because they haven't detected it yet. The man who repackaged that bomb definitely knew what he was doing. My guess is ex-US military."
  
  "But why? There are many people who can shield radiation."
  
  "This applies to other things too. Local knowledge. The secret team he assembled. Mark my words, old Drake, they're former SEALs. Special operation."
  
  Drake poured water while Dahl spooned in granules. "Make it strong. In fact, do you even know what it is? Has "Instant" reached the North Pole yet?
  
  Dahl sighed. "Instant coffee is the work of the devil. And I've never been to the North Pole."
  
  Alicia slipped through the open door of the room. "What was it? Heard something about the pole and just knew my name was on it."
  
  Drake couldn't hide his smile. "How are you doing, Alicia?"
  
  "Legs ache. My head hurts. Heart ache. Other than that I'm just fine."
  
  "I mean-"
  
  The call of the X-Ambassadors drowned out his next words, which came from the speaker of his cell phone. Still holding the kettle, he brought the device to his chin.
  
  "Hello?"
  
  "Do you remember me?"
  
  Drake put the kettle on with such force that the recently boiled water splashed onto his hand. He never noticed.
  
  "Where are you, bastard?"
  
  "Now. Shouldn't your first question be "where are the nuclear weapons" or "how soon will I explode"? A deeply surprised roar ran through the line.
  
  "Ramses," Drake said, remembering to turn on speakerphone. "Why not get straight to the point?"
  
  "Oh, what's so funny about that? And you don't tell me what to do. I am a prince, owner of kingdoms. I have ruled for many years and will rule for many more. Long after you become crispy. Think about it".
  
  "So do you have any more hoops we can jump through?"
  
  "It wasn't me. It was Julian Marsh. This man is crazy to say the least, so I put him in touch with your agent Jay."
  
  Drake shuddered, glancing at Dahl. "She is all right?"
  
  "For now. Although he looks a little stiff and painful. She tries her best to remain completely still."
  
  A feeling of foreboding twisted in Drake's stomach. "And why is this?"
  
  "So that, of course, it doesn"t damage the motion sensor."
  
  My God, Drake thought. "You bastard. Did you tie her to a bomb?"
  
  "She's the bomb, my friend."
  
  "Where is it?"
  
  "We'll get there. But since you and your friends are enjoying a good run, and since you're already warmed up, I figured why not give you a chance? I hope you like riddles."
  
  "This is madness. You're crazy, playing with so many lives. Puzzles? Solve it for me, asshole. Who"s going to pee on your body when I set it on fire?"
  
  Ramses was silent for a moment, seeming to think. "So the gloves are really off. This is good. I really have places to go, to attend meetings, to influence nations. So listen-"
  
  "I really hope you"ll be there waiting," Drake interrupted, quickly fishing out "When we get there."
  
  "Unfortunately no. Here we say goodbye. As you probably know, I'm using you to make my escape. So, as you people say - thank you for this."
  
  "Ugh-"
  
  "Yes Yes. Fuck me, my parents and all my brothers. But it"s you and this city that will end up screwed. And I, who will continue. So time now becomes an issue. Are you ready to beg for your chance, little Englishman?"
  
  Drake found his professionalism knowing that this was their only option. "Tell me".
  
  "My antiseptic will cleanse the world of infection in the West. From rainforest to rainforest, this is part of the canopy floor. That's all ".
  
  Drake made a grimace. "And it's all?"
  
  "Yes, and since everything you do in the so-called civilized world is measured in minutes, hours, I will set the timer for sixty minutes. Nice, famous round number for you."
  
  "How do we disarm this?" Drake hoped Marsh hadn't mentioned deactivation codes.
  
  "Oh damn, you don"t know? Then just remember this - a nuclear bomb, especially a suitcase nuclear bomb, is a precise and perfectly balanced mechanism. Everything is miniaturized and more precise, as I'm sure you'll appreciate. This will require... sophistication."
  
  "Sophistication?"
  
  "Sophistication. Watch this".
  
  With these words, Ramses disconnected the call, leaving the line dead. Drake rushed back to the office and screamed at the entire station to stop. His words, his tone of voice, made heads, eyes and bodies turn towards him. Phones were put into stands, calls were ignored, and conversations were stopped.
  
  Moore looked at Drakes' face, then said, "Turn off your phones."
  
  "I have it," Drake shouted. "But we have to make some sense..." He repeated the riddle word for word. "Hurry up," he said. "Ramses gave us sixty minutes."
  
  Moore leaned over the rickety balcony, joined by Kinimaka and Yorgi. Everyone else turned to face him. When his words began to reach the people, they began to scream.
  
  "Well, antiseptic is a bomb. It is obvious ".
  
  "And he intends to blow it up," someone whispered. "It's not a bluff."
  
  "From rainforest to rainforest?" Mai said. "I don't understand".
  
  Drake wrapped it around his head. "This is a message for us," he said. "It all started in the Amazon rainforest. We first saw him at the market. But I don't understand how it works for New York."
  
  "But other?" Smith said. "Part of the floor under the canopy? I don't-"
  
  "This is another rainforest reference," Moore shouted down. "Isn"t canopy what they call solid tree cover? The floor is covered with underbrush."
  
  Drake was already there. "This is true. But if you accept this, then he tells us that the bomb is hidden in the rainforest. In New York," He winced. "Doesn't make sense."
  
  Silence reigned at the station, the kind of silence that can stun a person to the point of helplessness or electrify him to the point of brilliance.
  
  Drake had never been more acutely aware of the passage of time, every second filled with the fateful ringing of the Doomsday bell.
  
  "But New York does have a rainforest," Moore finally said. "At the Central Park Zoo. It"s small, called "Tropical Zone," but it"s a mini version of the real thing."
  
  "Under the canopy?" Dahl pressed.
  
  "Yes, there are trees there."
  
  Drake hesitated for another second, painfully aware that even this could cost them many lives. "Anything else? Any other suggestions?
  
  Only silence and blank looks greeted his question.
  
  "Then we're all in," he said. "No compromises. No jokes. It's time to put an end to this mythical bastard. Just like we did last time."
  
  Kinimaka and Yorgi rushed to the stairs.
  
  Drake led the entire team into the fear-filled streets of New York.
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  
  
  Following Moore's instructions, the ten-man team wasted even more precious minutes by turning into an alley to commandeer a couple of police cars. The call had been made by the time they got there, and the cops were waiting, their efforts to clear the streets beginning to bear fruit. Smith sat down at one wheel, Dahl at the other, the cars turned on their sirens and flashing lights and rushed around the corner of 3rd Avenue, burning rubber, straight to the zoo. Buildings and frightened faces rushed by at forty, then fifty miles an hour. Smith tossed the abandoned taxi aside, hitting the front of it, sending it straight. There was only one police cordon on their way, and they had already received orders to let them through. They raced through a hastily cleared intersection, approaching sixty.
  
  Drake almost ignored the new call on his cell phone, thinking it might be Ramses calling back to gloat. But then he thought: even this might give us some clues.
  
  "What?" - he barked briefly.
  
  "Drake? This is President Coburn. Do you have a minute?"
  
  The Yorkshireman jumped in surprise, then checked his GPS. "Four minutes, sir."
  
  "Then listen. I know I don't need to tell you how bad things will be if this bomb is allowed to explode. Retribution is inevitable. And we don"t even know the true nationality or political leanings of this character Ramses. One of the big problems that arises is that another character - Alligator - has visited Russia four times this year."
  
  Drake's mouth turned to sand. "Russia?"
  
  "Yes. This is not decisive, but..."
  
  Drake knew exactly what that pause meant. Nothing should have been decisive in a world manipulated by news channels and social media. "If this information gets out-"
  
  "Yes. We are looking at a high level event."
  
  Drake, of course, didn't want to know what that meant. He knew that there were people in the wider world currently, extremely powerful people, who had the means to survive a nuclear war, and they often imagined what it would be like if they could live in an entirely new, barely inhabited world. Some of these people were already leaders.
  
  "Defuse the bomb if necessary, Drake. I was told that NEST is on its way, but will arrive after you. As the others. All. This is our new darkest hour."
  
  "We will stop this, sir. This city will live to see tomorrow."
  
  When Drake ended the call, Alicia put her hand on his shoulder. "So," she said. "When Moore said it was a Rainforest and a mini rainforest, did he mean there would be snakes there too?"
  
  Drake covered her hand with his. "There are always snakes, Alicia."
  
  Mai coughed. "Some are bigger than others."
  
  Smith turned their car around the traffic jam, passed a gleaming ambulance with its doors open and paramedics working on the people involved in the incident, and once again put his foot on the gas pedal.
  
  "Did you find what you were looking for, Mai?" Alicia said evenly and politely. "When did you leave the team behind?"
  
  It all happened so long ago, but Drake vividly remembered Mai Kitano leaving, her head filled with guilt for the deaths she had unintentionally caused. Since that one incident during the search for her parents-the murder of a yakuza money launderer-much has changed.
  
  "My parents are safe now," Mai said. "Like Grace. I defeated the clan. Chica. Give. I found a lot of what I was looking for."
  
  "So why did you come back?"
  
  Drake found his eyes firmly glued to the road and his ears pressed to the back seat. It was an unusual time to discuss consequences and challenge decisions, but it was pretty typical for Alicia, and it might be their last chance to make things right.
  
  "Why did I come back?" - What? - May repeated blithely. "Because I care. I care about this team."
  
  Alicia whistled. "Good answer. This is the only reason?"
  
  "You're asking if I'm back for Drake. If only I had expected the two of you to build some new understanding. If I had thought for even a second that he would have moved on. Even if he could give me a second chance. Well, the answer is simple - I don"t know."
  
  "Third chance," Alicia pointed out. "If he were stupid enough to bring you back, this would be your third chance."
  
  Drake saw the entrance to the zoo approaching and felt the growing tension in the backseat, the sharp and unreliable emotions raging within him. For all this they needed a room, preferably with soft upholstery.
  
  "Wrap it up, guys," he said. "We are here".
  
  "It's not done yet, Sprite. This Alicia is a new model. She decided not to run off into the sunset anymore. Now we stand, we learn and we get through this."
  
  "I see it and admire it," Mai said. "I really like the new you, Alicia, despite what you may think."
  
  Drake turned away, filled with mutual respect and completely confused as to how this scenario might ultimately play out. But it was time to put it all away now, put it on the shelf, because they were fast approaching another Armageddon, soldiers, saviors and heroes until the very end.
  
  And if they were watching, perhaps playing chess, even God and the Devil would lose their breath.
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  
  
  Smith squealed his tires on the final turn and then stomped on the brake pedal with a heavy foot. Drake opened the door before the car stopped and swung his legs out. Mai was already out the back door, Alicia a step behind. Smith nodded to the waiting cops.
  
  "They said you need to know the fastest way to the Tropical Zone?" One of the policemen asked. "Well, follow this path straight down." He pointed. "It will be on the left."
  
  "Thank you". Smith took the guide map and showed it to the others. Dahl ran up at a jog.
  
  "We are ready?"
  
  "The way we can be," Alicia said. "Oh look," she pointed to the map. "They call the gift shop on site a zoo."
  
  "Then let's go."
  
  Drake entered the zoo with his senses heightened, expecting the worst and knowing that Ramses had more than one nasty trick up his sleeve that had nothing to do with him. The group spread out and thinned out, already moving faster than they should have and without due caution, but knowing that every second that passed was a new death knell. Drake paid attention to the signs and soon saw the Tropical Zone ahead. As they approached, the landscape around them began to move.
  
  Eight people rushed out of hiding, drawing knives as they were ordered to make the rescuers' final battle painful and extremely bloody. Drake dove under the swing and threw its owner over his back, then met the next attack head-on. Bo and May have come to the fore, their fighting skills are needed today.
  
  All eight attackers were wearing body armor and masks, and they fought as competently as Drake had expected. Ramses never chose from the bottom of the pile. Mai parried a quick jab, tried to break her arm, but found it twisted, her own balance thrown off. The next blow missed her shoulder, absorbed by her own vest, but giving her a moment's pause. Beau walked among them all, a veritable shadow of death. Ramses' legionnaires retreated or jumped to the side to avoid the Frenchman.
  
  Drake leaned back against the barrier, raising his hands. The fence behind him cracked as his opponent kicked with both feet from the ground. Both men rolled onto another path, struggling as they rolled. The Englishman struck fist after fist at the legionnaire's head, but succeeded only in hitting the hand raised in defense. He lifted his body to where he wanted it, rose to his knees, and slammed his fist down. The knife slid up and pierced his ribs, still hurting despite his defenses. Drake doubled his attack.
  
  Close combat at the entrance to the Tropical Zone has intensified. May and Bo found the faces of their opponents. Blood splattered all over the group. Legionnaires fell with broken limbs and concussions, and the main offender was Mano Kinimaka. The huge Hawaiian crushed his attackers with a bulldozer, as if he was trying to defy the waves themselves, smash them to pieces. If a legionary stood in his way, Kinimaka struck mercilessly, a superhuman midfielder, an indestructible plow. His path was completely wrong, so that both Alicia and Smith were on the verge of diving out of his way. The legionnaires landed next to them, grunting, but they were easy to finish off.
  
  Dahl exchanged blows from hand to hand with some skill. The knife strikes were struck hard and fast, first low, then high, then to the chest and face; the Swede blocked them all with lightning-fast reflexes and hard-earned skill. His opponent did not give up, clinical in his performance, quickly sensing that he had met his equal and needed to make a difference.
  
  Dahl stepped aside as the legionnaire used his legs and elbows as a continuation of the knife attacks. The first elbow hit him on the temple, heightening his awareness and helping him anticipate a myriad of attacks. He fell to one knee, striking under his armpit directly into the pit and nerve cluster there, causing the legionnaire to drop his blade in agony. However, in the end, it was the pugnacious Kinimaka who knocked the fighter down, cleanly charging muscles, breaking bones and tearing tendons. Mano had blackened bruises along his jawline and cheekbones and walked with a limp, but nothing could stop him. Dahl imagined that he would crash through the side of the building like the Hawaiian Hulk if the door was locked.
  
  Kenzi found it easier to flit around the edges of the fight, damaging whoever she could and lamenting the fact that she still didn't have her katana. Dahl knew that she had a learned special skill and could attack one legionnaire after another, killing each one with one blow, saving the team's precious time. But the day was almost over.
  
  Anyway.
  
  Drake found his Flurry fist deflecting the blow. He fell to his side as a legionnaire caught his wrist and twisted it. Pain distorted his features. He rolled with an abnormal tilt, released the pressure and found himself face to face with his opponent.
  
  "Why?" he asked.
  
  "Just here to slow you down," the legionnaire grinned. "Tick tock. Tick tock."
  
  Drake pushed off hard, now on his feet. "You will die too."
  
  "We are all going to die, fool."
  
  Faced with such fanaticism, Drake struck without mercy, breaking the man's nose and jaw, as well as his ribs. These people knew exactly what they were doing, and yet they continued to fight. Not a single man among them deserved another sigh.
  
  Gasping, the legionnaire pointed his knife at Drake. The Yorkshireman caught it, twisted it and turned it over so that the blade entered the other man's skull to the hilt. Before the body hit the grass, Drake joined the main fight.
  
  It was a strange and crazy battle. Blow after blow and defense after defense, endless rotation into position. The blood was wiped from the eyes, elbows and knuckles were eliminated in the middle of the bout, and even one dislocated shoulder was returned to its place thanks to Smith's own weight. It was raw, as real as it gets.
  
  And then Kinimaka went around it all, striking, rushing in, destroying wherever he could. At least three of the fallen, broken legionnaires were his doing. Beau took out two more, and then May and Alicia worked together to finish off the last one. As he fell, they came face to face, fists raised, battle rage and bloodlust flaring between them, flashing like lasers in their eyes, but it was Beau who separated them.
  
  "Bomb," he said.
  
  And then, suddenly, all faces turned to Drake.
  
  "How long do we have left?" Dahl asked.
  
  Drake didn't even know. The battle took away all the remaining concentration from me. Now he looked down, afraid of what he would see, pulled back his sleeve and looked at his watch.
  
  "We haven't even seen the bomb yet," Kensi said.
  
  "Fifteen minutes," Drake said.
  
  And then shots rang out.
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  
  
  Kensi felt an impact like a missile strike. It knocked her off her feet, hit her in the lungs, and momentarily took all consciousness from her mind. Drake saw the bullet hit and fell to his knees, preventing his inevitable fall. She never saw this coming, but neither did anyone else. Smith also took a hit. Fortunately, both bullets hit the vests.
  
  Thorsten Dahl was the quickest to react, still with the words "fifteen minutes" bombarding his brain. As the two legionnaires rose from the ground, the bullets fired quickly, and now, with better aim, he attacked them, arms outstretched, roaring like a train carrying lost souls from the blood-soaked depths of Hell. They hesitated in surprise, and then the Swede beat them, one with each hand, and threw them both back against the wall of the wooden hut.
  
  The structure broke apart around the people, wooden planks breaking, splintering and tumbling through the air. The men fell on their backs among its contents, which proved most useful to the mad Swede.
  
  It was a work shed, a place full of tools. While the legionnaires struggled to raise their weapons, one groaning and another spitting out teeth, Dahl raised a well-practiced sledgehammer. The fallen people saw him coming out of the corner of their eyes and froze, disbelief deprived them of courage.
  
  Bo walked up to him and saw their reaction. "Finish them. Remember who they are."
  
  Kinimaka also paused, laughing at the plot, as if he wanted to trample them into dust. "They shot Kensi. And Smith."
  
  "I know," Dahl said, throwing away the sledgehammer and leaning on its handle. "I know it".
  
  Both men took the pause as a sign of weakness and reached for their weapons. Dahl flew into the air while simultaneously lifting the sledgehammer, and brought it down as his body descended. One blow struck the legionnaire in the center of his forehead, and he still had enough strength and skill left to turn, raise the shaft and crush the other man's temple. When he finished, he rose to his knees, gritting his teeth, and threw the sledgehammer over his shoulder.
  
  Then the other legionnaire sat up, groaning, head lolling to one side as if in agony, and picking up the pistol he held in his shaking hands. In that split second, Kensi reacted faster than anyone and put herself at great personal risk. Without pausing, she shook off her previous bruises, blocked the man's aim, and lunged at him. The pistol she held in her hand was launched like a brick, end by end, until it hit him in the center of his face. He fired, falling backwards, the bullet passing over his head. Once she reached him, Kenzi retrieved her weapon, but not before emptying it into his chest.
  
  "How long?" Dahl was breathing heavily, rushing towards the door that led to the Tropical Zone.
  
  Drake rushed past.
  
  "Seven minutes."
  
  This is not enough to disarm unfamiliar nuclear weapons.
  
  
  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  
  
  Six minutes.
  
  Drake rushed into the Tropical Zone, screaming until his throat hurt, desperately trying to locate the bomb. The low cry that was the answer did not come from Hayden, but he followed it as best he could. Veins bulged all over his forehead. His hands clenched into fists from tension. As the entire team entered the building, facing winding wooden walkways and tree-lined habitats, they spread out to take advantage of their numbers.
  
  "Crap!" Kinimaka was crying, the stress was almost destroying him now. "Hayden!"
  
  Another muffled scream. Drake threw up his hands in extreme frustration, unable to determine the exact location. Seconds passed. A brightly colored parrot charged at them, causing Alicia to take a step back. Drake couldn't help but look at his watch again.
  
  Five minutes.
  
  The White House would now radiate such anxiety that it would be washed right off Capitol Hill. The approaching NEST team, bomb squad, cops, agents and firefighters who were aware would either run until their legs gave out or fall to their knees, scanning the sky and praying for their lives. If any world leaders had been informed, they too would have been on their feet, looking at their watches and preparing a few proposals.
  
  The world held power.
  
  Drake winced in relief upon hearing Mai's scream, then took a few more seconds to find its source. The team came together as one, but what they discovered was beyond their expectations. Yorgi stood behind him next to Lauren; Bo and Kenzi tried to figure it out from afar, while the rest of the team either fell to their knees or crawled alongside the mass.
  
  Drake's eyes widened. The first thing he saw was the body of a naked woman, wrapped in duct tape and blue wire, lying spread out about two meters from the ground. Still confused, he saw that underneath the soles of her feet was another pair of feet that belonged to a man, judging by the hairy legs that were attached to them.
  
  Hayden is the bomb, Ramses told him.
  
  But... what the hell...
  
  Beneath the naked man he now saw boots that he recognized. Hayden seemed to be at the bottom of the pile.
  
  Then where the hell is the nuclear bomb?
  
  Alicia looked up from her seat next to the unknown woman. "Listen carefully. Zoey says that the bomb is secured under Hayden, at the bottom of this feature. He is armed, has a fairly reliable motion sensor and is protected by a backpack. Wires wrapped around their bodies are attached to a bloody trigger." She shook her head. "I don't see a way out. It's time for some bright ideas, guys."
  
  Drake stared at the bodies, an endless trail of wires, still the same blue color. His first reaction was to agree.
  
  "Does it have a collapsing outline?" Kinimaka asked.
  
  "My best guess is 'no,'" Dahl said. "It would be too risky because the people associated with it could change. A collapsing circuit-a weapon-preventing device-would detect Hayden's movement, assume someone- then touches the bomb, and boom."
  
  "Do not say that". Alicia cringed.
  
  Drake fell to his knees near where he assumed Hayden's head was. "Then, by the same principle, the motion detector would be quite loose. Again, to allow the prisoners to move a little."
  
  "Yes".
  
  His head ached from the stress overload. "We have deactivation codes," he said.
  
  "Which could still be fake. And to make matters worse, we have to enter them on a keypad attached to the trigger under Hayden."
  
  "You guys better hurry," Kensi said quietly. "We have three minutes left."
  
  Drake rubbed his head furiously. Now was not the time to entertain doubts. He exchanged a glance with Dahl.
  
  What's next, my friend? Have we finally come to the end of the road?
  
  Julian Marsh spoke. "I saw them arm him," he said. "I can defuse it. This should never have happened. Money was the only goal... Not this crap about the death of millions, the end of the world."
  
  "Webb knew," Lauren said. "Your boss. He knew all along."
  
  Marsh just coughed. "Just get me out of here."
  
  Drake didn't move. To find the bomb, they would have to turn over a human pile. They didn't have time to cut all the tape. But there was always a faster way to defuse the bomb. They didn't show it on TV because it was hardly suitable for edge-of-view viewing.
  
  You didn't cut the wire. You just pulled them all out.
  
  But it was as risky as cutting the wrong wire. He knelt down until his eyes were level with Marsh's.
  
  "Julian. Do you want to die?"
  
  "No!"
  
  "I don"t see any other way," he breathed. "Guys, let's move them."
  
  Leading the team, he slowly, deliberately, turned over the pile of bodies until Hayden's stomach lifted off the floor and a backpack was discovered. Moans escaped Zoey, Marsh, and even Hayden as they all rolled onto their sides, and Kinimaka urged them all to stay still. Despite Zoe's claims, no one knew how sensitive the motion detector actually was, although it seemed obvious that if it had been running that long, it wasn't set to anything close to a trigger. Indeed, it had to be programmed to be nearly impenetrable to ensure Drake's arrival before it exploded.
  
  The wires needed to be disconnected from Marsh's body and removed from Zoe's limbs, a messy job that the team barely noticed. The ones wrapped around Hayden's body came off easily as they were in the way of her clothing. Now obeying the instructions and still held down by the duct tape, Marsh raised his arms so that they wrapped around Hayden's right side and hovered over the backpack. The Pythian flexed his fingers.
  
  "Pins and needles."
  
  Mai placed her hands on her backpack, on top of the nuclear bomb. With deft fingers she undid the buckles and pulled back the top flap. Then, using great and deft strength, she grabbed the edges of the backpack and pulled the bomb, along with its metal casing, straight out.
  
  A black shell surrounded him. Mai tossed her backpack aside and very slowly rotated the bomb, sweating profusely as the seconds ticked by. Hayden's eyes sparkled as she looked at the bomb, and Kinimaka was already kneeling next to her, squeezing her hand.
  
  A countdown panel came into view, attached with four screws to the outside of the bomb. Blue wires snaked beneath him into the heart of absolute disaster. Marsh stared at the wires, four of them, intertwined and wound together.
  
  "Take off the panel. I need to see who is who."
  
  Drake bit his tongue as he glanced at his watch.
  
  Seconds left.
  
  Fifty nine, fifty eight...
  
  Smith fell to his knees next to them, the soldier already drawing his utility blade. Taking everyone's lives into his own hands, he took responsibility for eliminating shortcomings. One scratch, one stubborn thread, one lack of concentration, and they would either waste time or cause a horrific explosion. Drake closed his eyes for a moment as the man worked. Behind him, Dal was breathing heavily, and even Kensi fidgeted.
  
  As Smith worked on the last screw, Alicia suddenly screamed. The whole group trembled, their hearts jumped to their mouths.
  
  Drake turned around sharply. "What is this?"
  
  "Snake! I saw a snake! It was a big yellow bastard."
  
  Smith growled angrily as he lifted the record and carefully removed the countdown panel with its flashing red dial. "Which wire?"
  
  They had thirty-seven seconds left.
  
  March crept closer, his eyes scanning the tangled tangle of blue wires, searching for the spot where he remembered Alligator turning on the device.
  
  "I don't see it! I don"t fucking see it!"
  
  "That"s all," Drake threw him aside. "I'm pulling out all the wires!"
  
  "No," Dahl landed heavily next to him. "If you do this, this bomb will explode."
  
  "Then what should we do, Torsten? What should we do?"
  
  Twenty nine... twenty eight... twenty seven...
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY
  
  
  Drake's memory rushed to the forefront. Ramses deliberately told him that Hayden was the bomb. But what the hell did that really mean?
  
  Looking now, he saw three wires wrapped around it. Which one triggered it? Dahl pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket.
  
  "Codes," he said. "Now there is no other way."
  
  "Let Marsh try again. Ramses made special mention of Hayden."
  
  "We use codes."
  
  "They can be damn fake! Their own trigger!"
  
  March was already looking at Hayden's body. Drake climbed over it and caught Kinimaki's attention. "Turn her over."
  
  Hayden helped as best she could, the muscles and tendons were no doubt screaming in pain, but they were getting no relief. The clock was ticking. The bomb was nearing completion. And the world waited.
  
  Marsh leaned down, following the wires around her body as Drake lifted one arm, then a leg, and finally unbuckled her belt where the two wires crossed. When he saw the knotted pair pass through her lap again, he pointed at Kinimaka. "Like this".
  
  Suffering from a nightmare game of Twister, Hayden watched as Marsh traced each wire's path back to the timer.
  
  "For sure," he said, squinting hard, one eye wide open, the other closed. "It"s the one on the right."
  
  Drake glared at the nuclear briefcase. Kensi joined him and Dahl on the floor right next to him. "To blow this thing up requires a special configuration of parts and mechanisms. It's... so delicate. Do we really trust the person who brought this into the country at this point?"
  
  Drake took the deepest breath of his life.
  
  "No choice".
  
  He pulled the wire.
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  
  
  Drake pulled quickly, and the wire was torn from his hand, exposing the copper end. On a knife edge, everyone present leaned forward to check the countdown.
  
  Twelve... eleven... ten...
  
  "He's still armed!" Alicia was crying.
  
  Drake fell onto his back, stunned, still holding the wire as if he could even now ignite a spark and destroy the bomb. "This... this..."
  
  "Still ticking!" Alicia was crying.
  
  Dahl dove, pushing the Yorkshireman away with a palm to his forehead. "I think," he said. "We"ll be lucky if we have time now."
  
  Eight...
  
  Zoe started crying. Marsh cried, apologizing for every mistake he had ever made. Hayden and Kinimaka watched the team work emotionlessly, clasping their white hands, admitting there was nothing they could do. Smith released the knife and looked at Lauren, reaching out trembling fingers to touch her. Yorgi sank to the ground. Drake looked at Alicia, and Alicia stared at May, unable to take her eyes off. Bo stood between them, his expression clearing as he watched Dahl work.
  
  The Swede entered deactivation codes into the panel. Each of them is registered with an audio signal. There were only seconds left before he entered the final number.
  
  Five...
  
  Dahl pressed the "Enter" button and stopped breathing.
  
  But the clock was still ticking.
  
  Three two one...
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  At the last second, Thorsten Dahl did not despair. He didn't give up or turn away to die. He had a family to return to - a wife and two children - and nothing would stop him from ensuring their safety tonight.
  
  There was always a Plan B. Drake taught him that.
  
  He was ready.
  
  Madness mode kicked in, a calculated madness took hold of him, giving him strength beyond normal. For the last hour he had listened as one man or another trampled on the perfect, precise and error-free equipment that made up the nuclear briefcase. He heard how accurate it all was.
  
  Well, what if it was a little Dahl crazy. How would that work?
  
  When the display showed one, the Swede was already holding a sledgehammer in his hand. He brought it down with his last breath, his last movement, swinging with all his might. The sledgehammer slammed into the heart of the nuclear bomb, and even in that endless second he saw Drake's horror, Alicia's agreement. And then he didn't see anything anymore.
  
  The clock was ticking
  
  Zero.
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  
  
  Time has not stopped for anyone, and especially not at this decisive hour.
  
  Drake saw Dahl stretched out over the bomb, as if he could protect his friends and the whole world from a terrible fire. He saw the bent metal frame, dented innards surrounding the sledgehammer; and then he saw the countdown timer.
  
  Stuck at zero.
  
  "Oh, damn," he said in the most cordial manner possible. "Oh my gosh."
  
  One by one, the team realized. Drake breathed in a breath of fresh air that he never expected to taste again. He crawled up to Dahl and slapped the Swede on his broad back. "Good guy," he said. "Hit it with a big hammer. Why didn"t I think of that?"
  
  "Being a Yorkshireman," Dahl spoke into the heart of the bomb. "I wondered this too."
  
  Drake pulled him back. "Listen," he said. "This thing is stuck, right? Possibly broken inside. But what will stop it from starting again?"
  
  "We," said a voice from behind.
  
  Drake turned around and saw the NEST and bomb squad approaching them with backpacks and open laptops in their hands. "You guys are late," he gasped.
  
  "Yeah dude. That's usually the case."
  
  Kinimaka, Yorgi and Lauren began to untangle Hayden from the bizarre web she shared with Zoe Shears and Julian Marsh. The two Pythias were covered as much as possible, but did not seem too concerned about their nakedness.
  
  "I helped," Marsh repeated over and over. "Don"t forget to tell them I helped."
  
  Hayden found herself on her knees, rolling each limb to restore circulation and rubbing the areas where joint pain had accumulated. Kinimaka gave her his jacket, which she gratefully accepted.
  
  Alicia grabbed Drake by the shoulders, tears in her eyes. "We are alive!" - she screamed.
  
  And then she pulled him closer, finding his lips with her lips, kissing him as hard as she could. Drake pulled away at first, but then realized that he was exactly where he wanted to be. He kissed her back. Her tongue darted out and found him, and their tension eased.
  
  "This is where we"ve been going for a long time," Smith said. Sorry, May."
  
  "Oh man, I miss my wife," Dahl said.
  
  Bo stared at him, his face as stone as granite but otherwise unreadable.
  
  Mai squeezed out a weak smile. "If the roles were reversed, Alicia would now be muttering something about joining in."
  
  "Do not be shy". Alicia pulled away from Drake with a throaty laugh. "I've never kissed a movie star before."
  
  Smith blushed at the mention of old times. "Ah, now I've come to terms with the fact that May isn't really the great Maggie Q. Sorry about it ".
  
  "I'm better than Maggie Q," Mai smiled.
  
  Smith sagged, his legs gave way. Lauren extended her hand to support him.
  
  Alicia cocked her head to the side. "Oh wait, I kissed a movie star. Some kind of Jack. Or was that his screen name? Oh, two actually. Or maybe three..."
  
  Kensi moved among them. "Nice kiss," she said. "You've never kissed me like that."
  
  "It"s only because you"re a bitch."
  
  "Oh thanks".
  
  "Wait," Drake said. "Did you kiss Kensi? When?"
  
  "It"s an old story," Alicia said. "I barely remember."
  
  He made it a point to attract all her attention with his eyes. "So it was a 'glad we're alive' kiss? Or something more?
  
  "What do you think?" Alicia looked wary.
  
  "I think I'd like you to do it again."
  
  "OK..."
  
  "Later".
  
  "Certainly. Because we have work to do."
  
  Drake now looked at Hayden, the leader of their team. "Ramses and the Alligator are still out there," he said. "We can't let them escape."
  
  "Um, excuse me?" - said one of the guys from the sapper team.
  
  Hayden looked at Marsh and Shears. "You two can earn extra points if you have information."
  
  "Ramses hardly spoke to me," Shears said. "And Alligator was the biggest crazy person I've ever met. I wish I knew where they were."
  
  Drake stared at him. "The alligator was the biggest madman-"
  
  "I'm sorry. Guys?" the leader of the NEST said.
  
  March's eyes flashed. "Ramses is a bug," he said. "I should have stepped on it when I had the chance. All this money is gone. Power, prestige - disappeared. What should I do?"
  
  "I hope I rot in prison," Smith said. "In the company of a murderer."
  
  "Listen!" - people shouted from the NEST.
  
  Hayden looked at them, then at Dahl. Drake looked over Alicia's shoulder. The leader of Team NEST was on his feet and his face was pale, the color of absolute fear.
  
  "This bomb is useless."
  
  "What?"
  
  "There are no electric detonators. The lenses cracked, I think possibly from being hit with a hammer. But uranium? Although we may find traces that tell us it was once here, it... it's missing."
  
  "No". Drake felt his muscles tremble. "No way, you can't tell me this. Are you saying that bomb was a fucking fake?"
  
  "No," the leader said, tapping on his laptop. "I'm telling you it's not that bomb. It was deactivated by removing all the parts that make it work. So, this is a fake. This man-Ramses-probably has the real one."
  
  The team didn't hesitate for a second.
  
  Hayden reached for the phone and dialed Moore's number. Drake shouted that she should call the helicopters.
  
  "How much do we need?"
  
  "Fill the fucking skies," he said.
  
  Without complaint, they lifted their aching bodies and walked briskly towards the door. Hayden spoke quickly as she ran, showing no physical effects from her treatment. These were the mental effects that had the power to scar her forever.
  
  "Moore, the bomb in Central Park is fake. Cleaned, closed. We think the innards and detonators were removed and then inserted into another device."
  
  Drake heard Moore sigh from three feet away.
  
  "And we thought the nightmare was over."
  
  "This was Ramses' plan from the very beginning." Hayden tore the outer door off its hinges without breaking stride. "Now he explodes in his own time and escapes. Are there any helicopters flying out of New York?"
  
  "Military. Police. Special operation, I guess."
  
  "Start with this. He's got a plan, Moore, and we believe Alligator is a former commando. What do CCTV cameras look like?"
  
  "We collect every face, every figure. We've been on the edge for hours. If Ramses runs through the city, we will catch him."
  
  Drake jumped over the trash can, Dahl was next to him. Helicopters rumbled overhead, two of them landed on the road at the entrance to the zoo. Looking up, Drake saw behind the rotating rotors of office buildings, where among the white blinds many faces pressed against the windows. Social media would explode today, and if it continued, the results would be zero. In truth, it probably hampered their efforts.
  
  Hayden rushed to the nearest helicopter, stopping just outside the rotor wash. "This time," she told Moore. "Ramses will not show off. It was all a distraction to help him survive. It's about his reputation - the Crown Prince of Terror regains his status and makes history. He brings nuclear weapons to New York, detonates them, and escapes with impunity. If you let him go now, Moore, you'll never see him again. And the game will be over."
  
  "I know that, Agent Jay. I know it".
  
  Drake hovered over Hayden's shoulder, listening, while the rest of the team twitched irritably nearby. Dahl studied the surrounding area, choosing the best ambush spots, and then checked each one with his field glasses. Strange, but at least it kept him busy. Drake elbowed him.
  
  "Where is the sleigh?"
  
  "Left it behind." Dahl actually looked a little unhappy. "It's a damn good weapon."
  
  Kensi intervened. "I reminded him that I still didn't have my favorite weapon. If he gets the sledgehammer, I have to get the katana."
  
  Drake watched the Swede. "Sounds like a deal."
  
  "Oh come on, stop giving her a reason. Where would I even get a katana here?"
  
  A voice said, "They're not far from Staten Island, Hayden."
  
  Drake's head turned so quickly that he winced. "What was it?"
  
  Hayden asked Moore to repeat himself and then turned to the team. "We have a target, guys. A civilian called, as Moore predicted, and confirmed with a camera. Move your butts!"
  
  Keeping their heads down, the team ran across the sidewalk onto a clear, barricaded road, jumped through the open doors of the helicopter and strapped themselves into the seats. The two birds take to the air, the rotors cutting leaves from nearby trees and scattering debris across the street. Drake pulled out pistols and a rifle, a military blade and a stun gun, checking that everything was in working order and fully prepared. Dahl checked the communiqué.
  
  The pilot cleared the rooftops and then turned sharply south, increasing his speed. Alicia checked her own weapons, discarding the one she had taken from the legionnaire and keeping the other for herself. Kinimaka stole glances at Hayden, which she tried to ignore, still receiving information from Moore and his agents. Beau went quiet, huddled in the corner as he had been since Drake and Alicia kissed. For her part, Mai sat serenely, her Japanese features impenetrable, firmly focused on her goal. The rest of the team double-checked everything, everyone except Kenzie, who complained about the helicopter ride, the biting wind, the smell of sweat, and the fact that she had ever seen the SPEAR team.
  
  "No one asked you to stay with us," Alicia said quietly.
  
  "What else could I do? Run away like a scared church mouse?"
  
  "So this is to prove that you are brave?"
  
  Kenzi's eyes sparkled. "I don't want to see Armageddon. And you?"
  
  "I've already seen this. Ben Affleck is surprisingly gay, and Bruce Willis is more shocking than a damn asteroid. But damn, are you trying to tell us that you actually have a heart?"
  
  Kensi stared out the window.
  
  "The archaeological artifact thief has a heart. Who would have known?
  
  "I'm just trying to get back to my business in the Middle East. One. Helping you fools will go a long way towards achieving this. Fuck your damn heart."
  
  The helicopter flew over the rooftops of Manhattan as Hayden received clarification that Ramses and Gator had not yet left the island, as they had been spotted near the Staten Island Ferry.
  
  "The bits that get lost in translation could kill us all," Hayden sighed, and Drake admitted it was true. From the smallest quarrel in the schoolyard to the war between presidents and prime ministers, nuance was everything.
  
  Their destination grew closer as buildings flashed past. The pilot dove between two skyscrapers to maintain speed as he headed toward his target. Drake carried himself with grim purpose. The swirling gray waters of the bay lay ahead. Below they could see a group of landing helicopters, all fighting for position.
  
  "Like this!" Hayden was crying.
  
  But the pilot was already descending sharply, causing the helicopter to struggle to land to take prime position in front of a row of flower pots and a bus stop. Drake felt his stomach churn through his mouth. Hayden screamed into her cell.
  
  "Of course the terminal is closed," she said. "If Ramses is here, what does he hope to achieve?"
  
  "There should be a fence behind you and a row of cars parked under the trees. The cops have a woman there who was the last person to see him."
  
  "Great. So now we-"
  
  "Wait!" Alicia's ears picked up the sounds before anyone else's. "I hear shooting."
  
  "Go."
  
  Getting out of the car, the team headed to the terminal, running along the building. Drake noticed that around the wide curve of the main entrance, a long concrete ramp led to the docking area. The shots came from there, fired across open space, not muffled, as if by walls.
  
  "Back there," he said. "It"s coming from the slipway."
  
  Helicopters filled the sky behind them. In their path lay the groaning body of a policeman, but he waved his hand for them to move forward, showing no signs of injury. More shots rang out in the air. The team drew their weapons, ran in tandem and searched the area ahead. Another policeman knelt in front of them, head down, holding his hand.
  
  "It's okay," he said. "Go. Just a wound in the flesh. We need you guys. They... they are leaving."
  
  "Not today," Hayden said and ran past.
  
  Drake noticed the end of the slipway and the projections to the left of it - all concrete slipways used for ferries. Waves splashed at their base. "Can you hear that?" he said as the shooting started again. "Ramses acquired an automatic platoon."
  
  Lauren was the only one who shook her head. "Which of them?"
  
  "More rounds per minute than an AK. Clip from six hundred to eight hundred rounds. Replaceable barrels in case it gets too hot. Not exactly accurate, but damn scary."
  
  "I hope that bastard melts in his hands," Alicia said.
  
  A group of cops knelt in front, constantly ducking for cover as SAW spat out its bullets. A line of bullets flashed overhead. Two policemen returned fire, aiming at the far end of the slipway where the ferry was moored.
  
  "Don't tell me..." Dahl said.
  
  "We think he's boarding the ferry right there with one of the maintenance tickets," one of the cops said. "Two boys. One was aiming at us, the other was starting the boat."
  
  "He can't escape like that," Hayden protested. "It's... it's... game over." Her eyes sparkled with horror.
  
  "For him," Alicia said smugly.
  
  "No, no," Hayden whispered. "For us. We got it all wrong. Ramses literally goes out with a bang. I seal his legacy. Guys, he's going to detonate this nuclear bomb."
  
  "When?"
  
  "I don't know. Best guess? He's heading to Liberty Island and the statue, and he's going to post it all over social media. Oh God, oh God, imagine-" she choked. "I can"t... I just can"t..."
  
  Kinimaka jerked her to her feet, the large man growling with purpose. "We won't let this happen. We have to do something. Now."
  
  And Drake saw the flash of the SAW about fifty feet away, the lethality of its shots, the only thing standing between them and Ramses, and the nuclear bomb.
  
  "Who wants to live forever, right?"
  
  "No," Alicia said quietly. "It would always be boring as hell."
  
  And Dahl took one last look at the team. "I"ll take the lead."
  
  In that last split second, New York's heroes prepared; a team of SPEARERS, and then every policeman and agent within earshot. Everyone rose to their feet, faced the spitting weapon, and made the final choice of their lives.
  
  Dahl started it. "Attack!"
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  
  
  Drake ran in the middle of his friends, exactly where he wanted to be, raising his gun and firing hard. Bullets are fired from each running gun at a speed of two thousand five hundred feet per second, multiple explosions echoing through the stocks. Windows shattered all over the ferry.
  
  In a matter of seconds, they cut the gap in half, continuing to fire intensely. The SAW user immediately changed his settings, shocked by the brutality of the attack. It's not that he stopped shooting; his bullets traced a trail on the stocks and went out to sea as he quite possibly staggered back. Drake brought the telescopic sight to his eyes, put his finger on the trigger and made out the features of the man holding the SAW.
  
  "This is the Alligator," Hayden said over the communicator. "Don't miss."
  
  SAW turned around, heading back towards them, still spitting lead. Drake imagined that the keg must now be so hot that it would melt, but not fast enough. A bullet hit the cop in the bulletproof vest, and then a second one broke the other's arm. At this moment, their hearts were ready to jump out of their chests, but they did not stop the attack or reduce the shooting. The lower back of the ferry had fallen off, shattered, the open back so perforated it resembled a cheese grater. The alligator swung the SAW hard, trying to compensate. Bullets pierced the space above their heads.
  
  The dull sound of the ferry's engine turned into a slow roar, and that changed everything. The alligator jumped on board, continuing to fire wildly. The water began to churn from behind, and the ship tilted forward. Drake saw they were still twenty feet from the back, saw her turn left and to the side, and knew they would never make it in time.
  
  Screaming as he fell, he fell onto his side, stopping abruptly. Dahl fell nearby. Hayden rolled, all of which made the Alligator's aim even more difficult, but the man didn't seem to care. His figure could be seen retreating, heading deeper into the ferry.
  
  Drake signaled to Hayden, and Hayden called for the helicopters.
  
  The black birds rushed towards the slipway, descended sharply and hovered three feet above the ground as the crew of the SPEAR climbed aboard. As the cops and agents saluted, a new bond was formed that would never be broken, they saluted back as best they could, then the helicopters practically took off into the air. The pilots pushed the cars to the limit, chasing the seething ferry and soon ending up overhead. It was a sight Drake could never have imagined: birds hanging like deadly black predators in the skies of New York, the famous skyline as a backdrop, preparing to take off on the Staten Island ferry.
  
  "Hit them hard," Hayden said into the helicopter's radio. "And fast".
  
  Descending, two helicopters rushed towards the stern of the ferry. Almost immediately, the restless Alligator stuck his head out of the side window and fired a furious volley. Its third burst crashed into the outer skin of the helicopters, penetrating some parts and bouncing off others. Helicopters fell from the sky like boulders. Dahl broke down the door and returned fire, the bullets missed hopelessly.
  
  "Shoots like he's fucking," Drake grumbled. "Never hits the right target."
  
  "Back off". Dahl gave up trying to hit the Alligator and braced himself for the oncoming blow.
  
  Three seconds later it happened, only it was not a blow, but just a sudden stop. The first helicopter hovered over the upper deck of the ferry, while the second hovered near the port side, the remaining members of the SPIR crew were on board. They quickly left, boots clattering on the deck and gathering in groups. The helicopters then rose to join their counterparts in the air tracking the ferry.
  
  Hayden found himself face to face with the team for a few seconds. "We know where he is. Engine room. Let's end this now."
  
  They ran, adrenaline pumping beyond all measure, and then the Alligator clearly changed tactics on the deck below.
  
  The RPG whistled through the air, collided with the helicopter and exploded. The bird lost control, metal scattered in all directions, fire engulfed the black hull, and it fell exhausted onto the upper deck of the ferry.
  
  To the command "running SPEAR".
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
  
  
  Drake heard a change in the sound of the helicopter's engine and knew without checking that the car was speeding towards them. If that weren't enough, the lengthening, predatory shadow spreading across the deck was right on target.
  
  Run or die.
  
  He slammed his shoulder into the outer door, tearing the entire frame off its hinges and falling into the space beyond. Bodies rushed after him, rolling, stretching, climbing and pushing. The helicopter landed heavily, the rotors came off, and the metal body disintegrated. Everything from shrapnel to arm-length spears cut through the air, cutting it into pieces. The ferry rocked and groaned, the water foamed left and right.
  
  The fireball shot towards the other helicopters, who immediately took evasive action, sheer luck preventing them from colliding. Streams of fire licked the upper deck, causing new fires, charring the paintwork and metal pillars, and melting the paint. The rotor bent as it hit the post to Drake's right, bouncing toward the floor with all its momentum suddenly stopped. Other flying shells smashed the windows and pierced the frame, and one terrible spike went right through the side of the boat and went out to sea. Drake felt the touch of flames as the heat passed through him, looked under his shoulder and saw the entire team lying prone, even Smith lying on top of Lauren. The explosion passed and they watched the uprising and then Alligator took things to the level of complete insanity.
  
  Madness.
  
  The next RPG went right through the boat itself, leaving the missile launcher and smashing the decks as it flew. An explosion rang out as a shell tore through the deck, sending more gouts of fire and deadly debris their way. Drake groaned as shrapnel pierced his head and shoulder, relieved that the pain showed him that he was still alive. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he checked out the new surroundings ahead.
  
  There was a ragged hole in the deck. There were piles of wood everywhere. Smoke and fire streamed through the once closed middle-upper-deck.
  
  "The way is clear," he said.
  
  "Only for you!" Lauren almost screamed.
  
  "Then stay," Kenzi spat, tugging on Dahl"s shoulder. "Are you all right, Thorst?"
  
  "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Let me go".
  
  Drake walked at a half-hearted pace, more cautious than he could remember in his entire life. The group behind him huddled together, knowing exactly where he was going. At the last moment, as he expected, Dal appeared right at his shoulder.
  
  "Are we doing this, mate?"
  
  "We're damn right."
  
  And they jumped down through a new hole, feet first and eyes searching for enemies. They crashed hard into the lower deck, rolled, untouched, and rose with their guns trained.
  
  "Purely!" Drake was crying.
  
  Their boots hit the hard deck behind them.
  
  Kensi came last, and Drake saw, first, that she had taken off her heavy inner jacket and, second, that she had wrapped it around the base of the three-foot split section of the helicopter's rotor. Her face was smug as she turned to the Swede.
  
  "Now," she said, "I have my weapon."
  
  "May the gods help us."
  
  They rushed onto the ship as one, taking on Ramses and Gator in battle. The ferry picked up speed with every moment that passed. Liberty Island also grew, looming larger and larger on the horizon.
  
  "Doesn"t the maniac understand that he won"t get to the statue?" Kinimaka was breathing heavily.
  
  "Don"t say that," Hayden snapped back. "Don't say that."
  
  "Oh yes, I understand."
  
  "They won"t sink this ferry," Dahl assured them. "The bay isn"t deep enough to absorb... well, you know what."
  
  On the next deck down they finally found their prey. The alligator guarded the door while Ramses operated the ferry. In keeping with his already established penchant for madness, the bomb maker has released an RPG he has prepared for just such a moment. Drake couldn't help but gasp and yell for everyone to take cover, and then the missile streaked through the center of the ferry at head height, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake, driven by the Alligator's maniacal laughter.
  
  "Do you like it sooooo much? Did you catch that? We are already dying!"
  
  Drake looked up to find Alligator almost above him, running after the rocket, carrying his rocket launcher with him. The rocket itself flew through the ferry and exited the rear, exploding in the air. The alligator swung the rocket launcher at Drake's head.
  
  The Yorkshireman ducked as Ramesses finally turned, his hand casually resting on the steering wheel.
  
  "You're already late," he said.
  
  Drake struck Alligator in the stomach, but he jumped back, still swinging his bulky weapon. To be fair, it delayed the team an extra moment. No one wanted to get hit by such a meaty stick, but there was a lot of space inside the ferry, which gave Dahl and the others greater maneuverability. The alligator growled and turned around, then ran straight towards Ramses, the terrorist prince, who was now holding a semi-automatic pistol. Drake noticed a backpack strapped to the Alligator's back.
  
  "You are only delaying the inevitable," Ramses intoned.
  
  With one hand spraying steam from the inside, with the other he changed course slightly, aiming for Liberty Island.
  
  "Have you ever worried about how to live?" Drake said from behind the counter. "Bazaar? Lock? An elaborate escape plan? What the hell was all that?"
  
  "Ah, the bazaar was just - how should I put it - a takeaway sale? Getting rid of all my worldly goods. The castle is a farewell and means the end. After all, you took me straight to New York. And the escape plan is, yes, a little complicated, I admit that. But do you see now? You're already late. The clock is ticking."
  
  Drake didn't know exactly what Ramses meant, but the implication was clear. Coming out of cover, he showered the wheelhouse with bullets and ran after them, his team close by. No more talking; this was his endgame. Ramses staggered back, blood gushed from his shoulder like a fountain. The alligator screamed as the bullets entered its body. The glass covered both terrorists in jagged splashes.
  
  Drake smashed the door and then slipped, bouncing off the frame and skidding to a stop, cursing his luck. Dahl jumped over him, Kenzi was next to him. The two entered the wheelhouse and raised their weapons to kill. Ramses met them with all the strength of a seven-foot, muscle-bound madman, grinning like a wild dog; he rushed in and tried to scatter them around.
  
  Dahl did not tolerate any of this, resisting brute force and taking all the blows. Kensi danced around them both, striking at Ramses' flanks like a dangerous wolf. The radical prince beat up the Swede. The shoulder barge made Dahl shudder. Incredibly strong hands grabbed the Swede by the throat and began to squeeze. Raising his hands, Dahl loosened his grip halfway and then took one himself; both men rocked and squeezed each other until neither could breathe. Ramses turned Dahl around and slammed him back into the wall, but the Swede's only reaction was a wide smile.
  
  Kensi jumped into the air, raising her elbow, which she brought down with crushing force, directly onto Ramses' bleeding bullet wound. Never expecting that one punch would end such a fight, she then stabbed the man's throat even as he screamed, causing his eyes to bulge.
  
  Then Ramses staggered away, covered in blood, vomiting. Dahl let him go, sensing the end. The terrorist's eyes locked onto the Swede's, and there were no signs of defeat in them.
  
  "I will take this moment as a moment of victory," he croaked. "And crush the heart of capitalism."
  
  He extended his hand as if he wanted to touch the Alligator.
  
  Dahl fired back. The bullet hit Ramses in the stomach, throwing him back.
  
  The alligator jumped and fell on Ramses.
  
  The Terrorist Prince managed to grab the backpack strapped to the back of the falling Alligator, his outstretched hand clutching the exposed blue wire as they both collapsed.
  
  Kenzi rushed forward, aiming for the hand holding the wire with the only weapon she had handy, the best weapon she had, a crude katana. Her blade quickly slashed, cutting off Ramses' arm at the shoulder, causing the terrorist to express an expression of extreme surprise.
  
  The hand hit the floor at the same time as the Alligator, but the fingers were still clutching the now open end of the blue wire.
  
  "Trouble-free," Ramses coughed. "You were right to attack me like that. The clock wasn't ticking. But..." A spasm twisted him, blood quickly flowed from his stomach, arm and left shoulder.
  
  "This... is happening... now."
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
  
  
  Drake crawled across the floor, rolling the Alligator onto his stomach as the madman chuckled into the bloody deck. Dahl fell next to him, pain, horror and foreboding were written on his face. The strap was fastened, but Drake instantly undid it, and then freed the metal case from the rough material.
  
  The countdown timer stood in front of them, its flashing red numbers as menacing and terrible as the blood that spread across the floor beneath their knees.
  
  "Forty minutes," Hayden spoke first, her voice muffled. "Don't play with it, Drake. Disarm this thing right now."
  
  Drake was already turning the bomb, just like last time. Kinimaka handed him an open utility knife, which he took apart piece by piece, moving carefully, wary of the many booby traps that a bomb maker like Gator might unleash. As he moved the device away from the mad terrorist, he glanced at Alicia.
  
  "Say no more," she said, grabbing the man under the arms and dragging him away. There would be no mercy for such a murderer.
  
  With a steady hand, he removed the front panel of the bomb. Attached to it were coiled blue wires that stretched alarmingly.
  
  "This is not a homemade bomb," Dahl whispered. "Be careful".
  
  Drake paused to glare at his friend. "Do you want to do this?"
  
  "And be responsible for launching it? Not really. No."
  
  Drake bit his bottom lip, fully aware of all the factors involved. The flashing countdown was a constant reminder of how little time they had left.
  
  Hayden called Moore. Kinimaka called the sappers. Someone else called NEST. When Drake took a look at the device, every aspect was considered and information quickly poured out.
  
  "Pull the wires again," Dahl suggested.
  
  "Too risky."
  
  "I'm guessing there's no motion sensor this time, judging by the way the Alligator was running."
  
  "Right. And we can"t reuse your sledgehammer idea."
  
  "Collapsed circuit?"
  
  "That's the problem. They were already using something new - fail-safe wire. And this bastard is real. If I get involved in this, it might work."
  
  The alligator made unearthly noises from the next room while Alicia worked. It didn't take long before she poked her head through the broken door. "He says the bomb actually has an anti-tamper switch." She shrugged. "But then I think he would have done it."
  
  "There"s no time," Dahl said. "There"s no damn time for this."
  
  Drake glanced at the timer. They already had thirty-five minutes left. He sat back on his haunches. "Damn, we can't take that risk. How soon will the bomb squad arrive here?"
  
  "Five minutes maximum," Kinimaka said as helicopters hit the ferry decks wherever they could. Others hovered slightly higher when rescuers jumped. "But what if they can"t disarm him?"
  
  "How about we throw it into the bay?" Lauren suggested.
  
  "It's a good idea, but it's too small," Hayden had already asked Moore. "The polluted water would saturate the city."
  
  Drake rocked back and forth, contemplating madness, and then caught Dahl's eye. The Swede had the same idea, he knew. Thanks to their gaze, they communicated directly and easily.
  
  We can do it. This is the only way.
  
  We would be blind. The outcome is unknown. Once started, there is no going back. We'd go on a one-way trip.
  
  So what the hell are you waiting for? Get up, motherfucker.
  
  Drake responded to the challenge in Dahl's eyes and straightened up. Taking a deep breath, he strapped on his rifle, holstered his pistols, and pulled the nuclear bomb from his backpack. Hayden stared at him with wide eyes, a penetrating frown.
  
  "What the hell are you doing?"
  
  "You know exactly what we're doing."
  
  "Safe distances may not be the same. For you, I mean."
  
  "Then they won"t do it." Drake shrugged. "But we all know there is only one way to save this city."
  
  Drake picked up the nuclear bomb and Dahl walked ahead. Alicia stopped him for another precious moment.
  
  "You leave after just one kiss? Don"t let this be the shortest relationship of my life."
  
  "I"m surprised you didn"t have shorter ones."
  
  "I'm deliberately discounting a guy who I decided I liked, who I fucked and then got bored of after about eight minutes."
  
  "Oh good. See you in a few then."
  
  Alicia held him with her eyes alone, keeping the rest of her body absolutely still. "Come back soon".
  
  Hayden squeezed between Drake and Dahl, talking quickly, relaying information from Moore and keeping an eye on those who could provide first aid.
  
  "They say the bomb's payload is between five and eight kilotons. Considering its volume, weight and the speed at which it will sink..." She paused. "Safe depth is one thousand eight hundred feet..."
  
  Drake obeyed, but headed up the nearby stairs to the upper deck. "We need the fastest helicopter you have," he told the approaching pilot. "No shit. No whining. Just give us the damn keys."
  
  "We are not-"
  
  Hayden interrupted. "Yes, eighteen hundred feet, to neutralize all this radiation, according to NEST command. Damn, you need to be eighty miles offshore."
  
  Drake felt the metal body of the bomb slide slightly through the sweat coating his fingers. "In thirty minutes? This won't happen. What else do you have?"
  
  Hayden turned pale. "Nothing, Drake. They have nothing."
  
  "Now this sledgehammer is starting to look good," Dahl commented.
  
  Drake saw Alicia rush past, heading to the top deck and looking out to sea. What was she looking for there, outside?
  
  The pilot approached, the Bluetooth device blinking at the base of his helmet. "We have the fastest damn helicopter in the army," he drawled. "Bell SuperCobra. Two hundred miles an hour if you push her."
  
  Drake turned to Hayden. "Will this work?"
  
  "I think yes". She did some mental arithmetic calculations in her head. "Wait, this can"t be true."
  
  Drake grabbed onto the nuclear bomb, the red numbers still flashing, Dahl by his side. "Let's!"
  
  "Eighty miles," she said as she ran. "Yes, you can do it. But that will only leave you... three minutes to get the hell out of there. You will not escape the blast zone!"
  
  Drake approached the Super Cobra without slowing down, looking at the sleek gray shapes, turrets, tri-barrel cannons, missile bays and Hellfire launchers.
  
  "Enough," he said.
  
  "Drake," Hayden stopped him. "Even if you drop a nuclear bomb safely, the explosion will destroy you."
  
  "Then stop wasting our time," said the Yorkshireman. "Unless you or Moore or whoever else in your head knows another way?"
  
  Hayden listened to the data, advice and intelligence that Moore constantly relayed. Drake felt the ferry rocking on the choppy waves, saw the skyline of Manhattan at close range, even made out the ant-like bustle of people already returning to their lives. Military vessels, speedboats and helicopters were everywhere, piloted by many who would give their lives to save this day.
  
  But it all came down to just two.
  
  Drake and Dahl boarded the Super Cobra, receiving a crash course in controls from the departing pilot.
  
  "Have a nice trip," he said as he left. "And good luck".
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
  
  
  Drake handed the nuclear bomb to Dahl with a small smile on his face. "Thought you might want to do the honors, mate."
  
  The Swede picked up the bomb and climbed into the back of the helicopter. "I'm not sure I can trust you to drive in a straight line."
  
  "This is not a car. And I truly believe that we have already established that I can drive better than you."
  
  "Why is this? I don't remember it that way."
  
  "I am English. You are not like that."
  
  "And what exactly does nationality have to do with this?" Dahl slid into a chair.
  
  "Pedigree," Drake said. "Stuart. Hamilton. Hunting. Button. Hill. And much more. Sweden came closest to winning Formula 1 when Finland took first place."
  
  Dahl laughed, buckled up and, placing the black metal case on his knees, closed the door. "Don't talk so loud, Drake. The bomb may be equipped with a 'bullshit' sensor."
  
  "Then we"re already screwed."
  
  Pulling the gear stick, he lifted the helicopter away from the ferry, after making sure that the sky above was clear. Sunlight flashed from behind and bounced off the millions of reflective surfaces of the city, giving him a small reminder of why they were doing this. The faces looked up to him from below deck, many of them his friends and family, his teammates. Kenzi and Mai stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces expressionless, but it was the Israeli who finally made him smile.
  
  She tapped her watch and said with just her lips: Move the fuck further.
  
  Alicia was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Beau. Drake sent a military helicopter low over the waves on a direct course across the Atlantic. Winds crossed their path, and sunlight flickered on every rolling swell. Horizons stretched out in all directions, arches of light blue skies rivaling the awe-inspiring expanses of the seas. The epic horizon behind them disappeared as the minutes and seconds slowly approached zero.
  
  "Fifteen minutes," Dahl said.
  
  Drake looked at the odometer. "Right on schedule."
  
  "How much time will we have left?"
  
  "Three minutes," Drake raised his hand. "Plus or minus."
  
  "How much is this in miles?"
  
  "At two hundred miles an hour? About seven."
  
  Dahl showed hope on his face. "Not bad".
  
  "In an ideal world," Drake shrugged. "Does not include turning maneuvers, acceleration, shark attack. Whatever the hell else they threw at us there."
  
  "Does this thing have an inflatable?" Dahl looked around, his fingers tightly grasping the nuclear bomb.
  
  "If it happens, I don"t know where." Drake looked at his watch.
  
  Twelve minutes until the explosion.
  
  "Be ready".
  
  "Always like this."
  
  "I bet you didn"t expect to be doing this when you woke up today."
  
  "What? Drop a nuclear bomb into the Atlantic Ocean to save New York? Or talk to you face to face while in a Marine helicopter?"
  
  "Well, both."
  
  "The first part came to my mind."
  
  Drake shook his head, unable to hide his smile. "Of course it happened. You are Thorsten Dahl, the great hero."
  
  The Swede loosened his grip on the nuclear bomb for just a second to put his hand on Drake's shoulder. "And you are Drake, Matt Drake, the most caring person I have ever known. It doesn't matter how hard you try to hide it."
  
  "Are you ready to drop this nuclear bomb?"
  
  "Of course it is, you idiot from the North."
  
  Drake forced the helicopter to dive, nose-first into the gray swell. Dahl swung the back door open, turning around to get a better position. A stream of air rushed through the Super Cobra. Drake tightened his grip on the control lever and pressed on the pedals, continuing to fall rapidly. Dahl moved the nuclear bomb for the last time. The waves rose, collided and sent chaotic splashes towards them, flashing with white foam, permeated with diamond sparkles of sunlight. Tensing every muscle, Drake finally pulled himself up hard, straightening his halo and turning his head to watch Dal throw the metal-cased weapon of ultimate destruction out the door.
  
  It fell into the waves, a spinning bomb that entered the water easily due to the low altitude at which it was released, another sure-fire way to ensure that the tamper-proof sensor remained neutral. Drake instantly pulled them away from the collision, riding the waves so low that they overwhelmed his skid, wasting no time in gaining altitude and giving the helicopter less room to fall in case of disaster.
  
  Dahl checked his own watch.
  
  Two minutes.
  
  "Put your leg down."
  
  Drake almost reiterated that he wasn't actually driving the car, but instead focused on getting the bird as fast as it could, knowing the Swede was just taking the pressure off. Now it all came down to seconds-the time before the nuclear explosion, the miles they were removed from the blast radius, the length of their lives.
  
  "Eighteen seconds," Dahl said.
  
  Drake prepared for hell. "It was nice, mate."
  
  Ten... nine...
  
  "See you soon, Yorkie."
  
  Six... five... four...
  
  "Not if I see your stupid-"
  
  Zero.
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
  
  
  Drake and Dahl saw nothing of the initial underwater explosion, but the huge wall of water that erupted from the sea behind them was enough to make their hearts flutter. A liquid mushroom cloud rising thousands of feet into the air, eclipsing everything else, rushing towards the atmosphere as if trying to drown out the sun itself. A dome of spray rose, a precursor to shock waves, a spherical cloud, high surface waves and a base wave that would rise to a height of over five hundred meters.
  
  The blast wave could not be stopped, it was a man-made force of nature, energetic decomposition. It hit the back of the helicopter like a hammer blow, giving Drake the impression that he was being pushed by the hand of an evil giant. Almost immediately, the helicopter dived, rose, and then turned to the side. Drake's head hit the metal. Dahl clung on like a rag doll being thrown around by a vicious dog.
  
  The helicopter shook and rolled, it was shaken by an endless explosion, a dynamic wave. It spun again and again, its propellers slowed, its body swayed. Behind him, a huge curtain of water continued to rise, driven by a titanic force. Drake struggled to remain conscious, relinquishing all control over his destiny and simply trying to hold on, to remain alert and whole.
  
  Time was no longer of the essence, and they could heel and kick for hours within the blast wave, but it was only when it swept past and they found themselves riding its wave that the true consequences of its destructive power became clear.
  
  The helicopter, almost upside down, rushed towards the Atlantic.
  
  Losing control, Drake prepared for impact, knowing that even if they survived the disaster, they had no life raft, no life jackets, and no hope of rescue. Somehow maintaining enough awareness to hang on for dear life, he watched as they plunged into the ocean.
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
  
  
  Alicia saw Drake make the connection in his head about three seconds after her. Dahl too. The guys were slow, but she would never tell. It was much better to keep some things in reserve. As the others understood, and Hayden turned to Moore and his government cronies for advice, Alicia was struck with the fateful knowledge that the law of safe distances would cause them all to suffer greatly over the next half hour. While Drake worked to commandeer the helicopter, Alicia turned her gaze and her attention elsewhere.
  
  The helicopter would crash, she knew that, so the obvious choice of tracking it with another bird made no sense. But if his helicopter was flying at two hundred miles an hour...
  
  Alicia took Beau aside, explained her plan, and then found a soldier who introduced them to a U.S. Coast Guard representative.
  
  "What is your fastest ship?"
  
  By the time Drake pulled away, Alicia was below deck and jumping aboard a hastily converted Defender-class cutter, reaching speeds of over eighty miles per hour. As one of the sheepish crew testified, they made some changes that may or may not have increased the boat's speed to over one hundred. When Alicia told them in just a few short words what she wanted to do, every man present insisted on staying and helping.
  
  A few minutes later, the Defender roared away, cutting through the waves with its rigid hull, trying to close the gap between the inevitable explosion and the time of their arrival.
  
  As Alicia told them, "We're heading towards a nuclear explosion, guys. Hold on to your plums."
  
  And whether they realized it or not, the crew was pushing maximum speed out of the boat. Riding the waves and challenging them, the Defender class boat gave everything she had. Alicia, white-knuckled and white-faced, clutched the railing inside the salon, watching through the windows. GPS plotted the helicopter's course by recording its transponder signal. The ship's crew constantly took into account the time difference, saying that they had closed the gap to twenty minutes, then to eighteen.
  
  Seventeen.
  
  Still too long. Alicia grabbed the rail and flinched when Beau grabbed her shoulder.
  
  "It will work," he said. "We will save this day."
  
  The boat raced as fast as it could, chasing the speeding helicopter, both of them strangely chasing the approaching explosion that had not yet occurred. The horizon was an ever-changing line, never straight. The team sweated, struggled, and delved into the depths of their knowledge. The boat was entering uncharted territory, the engines were so powerful that they seemed alive.
  
  When the captain turned to Alicia, she could already see a spiral cloud on the horizon, not too far away, but much further than Drake and Dahl's helicopter. The accelerating Defender streaked over one large splash of water, saw the approaching blast wave, struck it and broke through, shaking every bolt that held its structure. In the distance a huge ring of white water could be seen, the sight took even Alicia"s breath away for a second.
  
  But only for a second.
  
  "Move," she breathed, aware that Drake and Dal were now almost certainly crashing into hostile waters. "Move, move, move!"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  It took another thirteen minutes to reach the crash site. Alicia was ready, with a life jacket strapped to her body and another in her hand. Bo was next to her with more than half a dozen crew members, scanning the waters with his eyes. The first debris they found was a floating piece of a propeller blade, the second was a full-length skid. After this, those parts that did not sink appeared more often, passing by in a cluster.
  
  But neither Drake nor Dahl.
  
  Alicia looked out at the waves, standing in the bright sun but living in the darkest hell. If fate determined that these two heroes could save New York and survive the explosion, only to be lost in the Atlantic, she wasn't sure she could handle it. Minutes passed. The wreckage floated past. No one said a word or moved an inch. They will stay until nightfall if necessary.
  
  The radio was constantly crackling. Hayden's questioning voice. Then Moore and Smith are on the other line. Even Kensi spoke up. Moments passed in slow motion of turmoil and growing horror. The longer this went on...
  
  Beau stood on his tiptoes, noticing something rising up the side of the wave. He pointed this out and voiced the question. Then Alicia saw it too, a strange black mass moving slowly.
  
  "If it's the Kraken," she basically whispered, without even realizing what she said. "I'm leaving here."
  
  The captain steered the boat in that direction, helping the form focus. It took a few minutes and drifted a bit, but when Alicia squinted, she saw that it was two bodies, tied together to keep them from blurring, and tied to the still floating pilot's seat. The battle between stepping on the water and diving seemed to be leaning towards the latter, so Alicia urged the Protector to hurry up.
  
  And he jumped overboard.
  
  Swimming steadily, she grabbed hold of the bouncing mass and rocked it, trying to make sense of it. Someone's face turned.
  
  "Dal. Are you all right? Where's Drake?
  
  "Holding on to my coattails. As always."
  
  As the current turned Dahl around in the water, a second face became visible, leaning against the back of the other's jacket.
  
  "Well, you two are damn comfortable together," Alicia fake-protested. "No wonder you didn"t call for help. Shall we give you another ten minutes or so?"
  
  Drake's trembling hand rose from the water. "Not even alone. It seems to me that I have swallowed half the bloody ocean."
  
  "And I think we're going to go down," Dahl breathed, moments before the pilot's seat slid back and his head disappeared under the water.
  
  The Coast Guard cutter came as close as it dared. "Everything is alright with them?" voices shouted.
  
  Alicia waved. "Everything is alright with them. The bastards are just fooling around."
  
  Then Drake also slipped under the water.
  
  "Mmm," Alicia stared at him. "In fact..."
  
  
  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
  
  
  Subsequently, the world adjusted, shocked by the horror of what happened, but, unfortunately, also got used to it. As the United States detailed back in the 1960s, it was only a matter of time before some terrorist detonated a nuclear bomb in one of the world's largest cities. They even developed a document and a response to it - national response scenario number one.
  
  If a more wounded, bruised, aching and complaining group of people had gathered to discuss the consequences and gloss over New York's failings, it would never have been acknowledged. However, this team, SPIR and several others, were contacted by the President, the Director of Homeland Security and the Mayor of New York.
  
  Alicia was always going to complain about it. "And all I really wanted was a call from Lawrence."
  
  "Fishburne?" Drake asked.
  
  "Do not be silly. Jennifer, of course."
  
  "Could she steal you from me?"
  
  Alicia laughed. "In the blink of an eye."
  
  "Well, it's always nice to know whose side you're on."
  
  "If you want, I could write you a list of the top contenders."
  
  Drake waved his hand, still trying to recover from the kiss they shared. This happened right after a moment of great stress, a celebration of life, but it stirred up emotions in him, old emotions that he thought had long died. As things stood right now, there were many other things to think about - Mai and Bo chief among them.
  
  But life didn't slow down just for you, he thought. Although many expected this, and excellent chances mostly came only once. To miss them usually meant a lifetime of regret, never to know. A missed chance is never a missed chance.
  
  It's better to try and fail than never try at all.
  
  Alicia was as complex as a solar system, but even she was navigable. He turned off his thoughts for a moment, still physically and mentally weak from all the stress of this day and, in fact, the last few weeks. His friends sat around him, enjoying a meal in one of the best Italian restaurants in New York. Agent Moore rented the entire premises at Homeland's expense, as a token of gratitude to the team, and locked them inside.
  
  "Whatever happens," he said. "I don"t want you people to rush to prevent this."
  
  Drake appreciated it.
  
  And the team appreciated the wonderful food, the relaxed atmosphere and the long break after so much stress. The seats were plush, the room was warm, and the staff was barely noticeable. Dahl was dressed in a white shirt and black pants, almost unrecognizable to Drake, who was used to seeing him in combat gear. But then he was dressed similarly, replacing the trousers with trusty Levi's jeans.
  
  "It doesn't look like Bond," Dahl noted.
  
  "I'm not James Bond."
  
  "Then stop overthinking and trying to appear more sophisticated every time Alicia walks by. She already knows you're just a Yorkshire dv-"
  
  "I think it's time for you to go on vacation, mate. If you can't decide where to go, I'd be happy to invite you next week." He raised his fist.
  
  "And here is my gratitude for saving your life."
  
  "I don"t remember this. And if I don"t remember it, then it never happened."
  
  "Very similar to when you grew up."
  
  Bo and May sat next to each other, the Frenchman enjoying his meal and talking when spoken to; the Japanese woman looked out of place, caught between two worlds. Drake wondered what she really wanted and where her true place was. At some moments he saw a fire in her that encouraged her to fight for him, at others - doubt that forced her to remain silent, plunging into herself. Of course, the four of them couldn't solve anything in a day, but he saw something approaching, clouding the horizon ahead.
  
  Very similar to the nuclear explosion he witnessed yesterday.
  
  Smith and Lauren were now one. Perhaps they were spurred on by Drake and Alicia's kiss, or perhaps their brush with annihilation. Either way, they didn't waste another day thinking about it. Hayden and Kinimaka sat together, and Drake wondered if he saw something more than the meter of space between them, something more meaningful. It had more to do with body language than anything else, but he was mentally exhausted at the time and chalked it up to fatigue.
  
  "To tomorrow," he raised his glass, "and to the next battle."
  
  The drinks were drained and the meal continued. It was after the main course had been eaten and most were leaning back in their chairs, deep in contented slumber, that Kenzi decided to speak to the whole group.
  
  "What"s wrong with me?" - she asked. "Is my fate really so uncertain?"
  
  Hayden shifted, the mantle of leadership enveloping her again. "Well, I'll be honest with you, which I'm sure you'll appreciate. There's nothing I'd like more than to keep you out of a jail cell, Kensi, but I have to say-I can't imagine that happening."
  
  "I could leave."
  
  "I couldn't stop you," Hayden admitted. "And I wouldn"t want to. But the crimes you committed in the Middle East," she made a grimace, "have, to say the least, upset a lot of powerful people." Some of them are American."
  
  "Most likely the same men and women for whom I purchased other items."
  
  "Good point. But it did not help ".
  
  "Then I will join your team. Start with a clean slate. Run next to the blonde gazelle, whose name is Torsten Dahl. I"m yours now, Hayden, if you give me a chance to work off my debt."
  
  The SPEAR team leader blinked rapidly as Kenzi's sincere statement dawned on her. Drake choked on water for the second time in two days. "I never thought of Dal as a gazelle. Even more-"
  
  "Don't say that," the Swede warned, looking slightly embarrassed.
  
  Alicia watched the Israeli carefully. "I'm not sure I want to work with this bitch."
  
  "Oh, I'll be good to you, Miles. Keep yourself on your toes. I could teach you how to throw a punch that actually hurts."
  
  "I might also have to stay with you for now," Bo spoke up. "With Tyler Webb in the wind and Tomb Raider, there's nowhere else I could be."
  
  "Thanks," Drake grumbled. "We will think about it and send you a very short reply letter."
  
  "Good people are always welcome on this team," Hayden told him. "As long as they play well with the rest of us. I am confident that Beau will be a great addition."
  
  "Well, I for one know he has a big advantage," Alicia said thoughtfully. "Although I'm not sure it would play well with the team."
  
  Some laughed, some didn't. The night waxed and waned, and yet the soldiers who saved New York depressurized in good company and amid good stories. The city itself celebrated with them, although most of its inhabitants never knew why. A feeling of carnival permeated the air. In the darkness and then at sunrise, life continued.
  
  As the new day dawned, the team went their separate ways, returning to their hotel rooms and agreeing to meet in the afternoon.
  
  "Ready to fight another time?" Dahl yawned to Drake as they walked out into the fresh, new morning.
  
  "Next to you?" Drake thought about making fun of the Swede and then remembered everything they had been through. Not just today, but since the day they met.
  
  "Always," he said.
  
  
  END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  David Leadbeater
  Odin's Bones
  
  
  DEDICATION
  
  
  I would like to dedicate this book to my daughter,
  
  Kira,
  
  promises to keep
  
  and many more miles ahead...
  
  And to everyone who has ever supported me in my writing.
  
  
  Part 1
  I never wanted to start a war...
  
  
  ONE
  
  
  
  YORK, England
  
  
  The darkness exploded.
  
  "This is it". Matt Drake glanced at the viewfinder and tried to ignore the spectacle and capture the image as the outlandishly dressed model stalked down the catwalk towards him.
  
  Not easy. But he was a professional, or at least he tried to be. No one ever said the transition from SAS soldier to civilian would be easy, and he had struggled for the past seven years, but the photo seemed to strike the right chord within him.
  
  Especially tonight. The first model waved and smiled slightly haughtily, then smoothly walked away to the sound of music and cheers. Drake continued to click the camera when Ben, his twenty-year-old lodger, began screaming in his ear.
  
  "The program says it was Milla Yankovic. I think I've heard of her! I quote: 'chic designer model Freya'. Wow, is that Bridget Hall? It's hard to tell under all that Viking gear."
  
  Drake ignored the comment and continued his game, partly because he wasn't sure his young friend was pulling his string, so to speak. He captured vivid images of the cat's gait and the scattered play of light in the crowd. The models were dressed in Viking costumes, complete with swords and shields, helmets and horns - retro costumes designed by world-renowned designer Abel Frey, who in honor of the evening complemented the new season's fashion with a Scandinavian battle suit.
  
  Drake turned his attention to the head of the cat walk and the object of today's celebration - a recently discovered relic, ambitiously named 'Shield of Odin'. The newly discovered shield, which has received widespread acclaim throughout the world, has already been hailed as the greatest find in Norse mythology and actually dates back to long before the beginning of Viking history.
  
  Strange, the experts said.
  
  The mystery that followed was huge and intriguing and attracted the attention of the whole world. The Shield's value only increased when scientists joined the publicity circus after an unclassified element was discovered in its composition.
  
  Nerds hungry for their fifteen minutes of fame, the cynical side of his personality spoke up. He shook it off. No matter how much he fought it, the cynicism that had become part of him when he was widowed blossomed like a poisonous rose whenever he let his guard down.
  
  Ben tugged at Drake's hand, abruptly turning his artistic composition into a shot of the full moon.
  
  "Oops". He laughed. "Sorry, Matt. It's pretty tasty. Apart from the music... it's crap. They could hire my band for a few hundred pounds. Can you believe York managed to get his hands on something as amazing as this?"
  
  Drake waved his camera in the air. "Honestly? No." He knew the City of York Council with their corrupt ideas. The future is in the past, so they say. "But look, York is paying your landlord a few quid to photograph models, not the sky at night in September. And your band is crap. So, cool down."
  
  Ben rolled his eyes. "Shit? The Wall of Sleep is even now considering uh... numerous proposals, my friend."
  
  "Just trying to focus on good models." Drake was actually focused on the Shield, illuminated by the lights of the cat's walk. It consisted of two circles, the inner one was covered with what looked like ancient animal images, and the outer one was a mixture of animal symbols.
  
  Very mystical, he thought. Great for cured fruits and nuts.
  
  "Cute," he whispered as a model walked by, and he caught the contrast of youth and age on digital film.
  
  The cat run was quickly installed next to York's famous Jorvik Center - a Viking history museum - after the Swedish Museum of National Antiquities provided a short loan for early September. The event's importance grew exponentially when superstar designer Abel Frey offered to sponsor a cat-walking event to celebrate the exhibition's opening.
  
  Another model paced the makeshift tiles with the expression of a cat looking for its nightly bowl of cream. You idiot, cynicism has risen again. This was the fucking paradigm of a star who was destined to appear on a future reality TV "celebrity" program and be tweeted about on Twitter and Facebook by a million beer-drinking, ten-a-day smoking idiots.
  
  Drake blinked. She was still someone's daughter...
  
  The spotlights rotated and streaked across the night sky. The bright light reflected from storefront to storefront, ruining what little artistic aura Drake had managed to create. The distracting dance music of Cascada assaulted his ears. Lord, he thought. In Bosnia the feelings were easier than in this.
  
  The crowd grew. Despite his work, he took a moment to look at the faces around him. Couples and families. Straight and gay designers hoping to catch a glimpse of their idol. People in fancy dress, adding to the carnival atmosphere. He smiled. Admittedly, the urge to be on guard was dulled these days-the Army's combat readiness had passed-but he still felt some of the old sensations. In a twisted sense, they had gained strength since Alison, his wife, had died two years earlier after leaving him, angry, heartbroken, declaring that he might have left the SAS, but the SAS had never will leave him. What the hell did that even mean?
  
  Time has barely touched the pain.
  
  Why did she crash? Was it a bad reflection on the road? Bad judgment? Tears in her eyes? Deliberate? An answer that would forever elude him; a terrible truth he will never know.
  
  An ancient imperative brought Drake back to the present. Something was remembered from his army days - a distant knock-knock, long forgotten... now old memories... knock....
  
  Drake shook off the fog and focused on the cat walk show. Two models staged a mock battle under Odin's shield: nothing spectacular, just promotional material. The crowd cheered, television cameras whirred, and Drake clicked like a dervish.
  
  And then he frowned. He lowered the camera. His soldier mind, sluggish but not decayed, caught that distant knock, knock again, and wondered why the hell two army helicopters were approaching the scene.
  
  "Ben," he said carefully, asking the only question that came to mind, "during your research, did you hear about any unexpected guests tonight?"
  
  "Wow. I didn't think you noticed. Well, they were tweeting that Kate Moss might make an appearance."
  
  "Kate Moss?"
  
  Two helicopters, a sound that a trained ear can unmistakably recognize. And not just helicopters. These were Apache attack helicopters.
  
  Then all hell broke loose.
  
  The helicopters flew overhead, made a circle and began to hover in unison. The crowd cheered enthusiastically, expecting something special. All eyes and cameras turned to the night sky.
  
  Ben exclaimed, "Wow..." But then his cell phone rang. His parents and sister called constantly, and he, a family guy with a heart of gold, always answered.
  
  Drake is used to short family breaks. He carefully examined the helicopter positions, the fully loaded missile bays, the 30mm chain gun apparently located under the forward fuselage of the aircraft, and assessed the situation. Crap...
  
  Potential for complete chaos. The enthusiastic crowd was packed into a small square surrounded by shops with three narrow exits. Ben and he had only one choice if... when... the stampede began.
  
  Head straight for a cat walk.
  
  Without warning, dozens of ropes slid off the second helicopter, which Drake now realized must be an Apache hybrid: a machine modified to accommodate multiple crew members.
  
  Masked men descended the swaying rows, disappearing behind the cat's gait. Drake noticed the guns strapped to their chests as a wary silence began to spread through the crowd. The last voices were children's voices asking why, but soon even they died down.
  
  The lead Apache then fired a Hellfire missile at one of the empty magazines. There was a hissing sound, like a million gallons of steam escaping, then a roar like two dinosaurs meeting. Fire, glass and brick fragments scattered high across the area.
  
  Ben dropped his cell phone in shock and ran after it. Drake heard the screams rise like a tidal wave and felt mob instinct take over the crowd. Without thinking for a second, he grabbed Ben and threw him over the railing, then jumped over himself. They landed next to the cat's path.
  
  The sound of an Apache chain gun rang out, deep and deadly, its shots flying over the crowd but still causing pure panic.
  
  "Ben! Stay close to me." Drake raced around the bottom of the cat track. Several models leaned over to help. Drake rose to his feet and looked back at the seething mass of people running in panic towards the exits. Dozens of people climbed the catwalk, helped by models and staff. Frightened screams pierced the air, causing panic to spread. The fire illuminated the darkness, and the heavy clatter of helicopter rotors drowned out most of the noise.
  
  The chain gun rang again, sending heavy lead into the air with a nightmarish sound that no civilian should ever hear anywhere.
  
  Drake turned. The models cowered behind him. Odin's shield was in front of him. Obeying an impulse, he risked taking a few photographs just at the moment when soldiers in bulletproof jackets appeared from behind the scenes. Drake's first concern was to position himself between Ben, the models, and the soldiers, but he kept clicking, narrowing his viewfinder....
  
  With his other hand he pushed his young tenant further away.
  
  "Hey!"
  
  One of the soldiers stared at him and waved his machine gun threateningly. Drake suppressed a feeling of disbelief. This kind of thing didn't happen in York, in this world. York was home to tourists, ice cream lovers and American day trippers. It was a lion that was never allowed to roar, even when Rome ruled. But it was safe, and it was prudent. This was the place Drake chose to escape from the damn SAS in the first place.
  
  To be with my wife. To avoid... crap!
  
  The soldier suddenly appeared in his face. "Give me that!" he shouted with a German accent. "Give it to me!"
  
  The soldier rushed to the camera. Drake slashed at his forearm and twisted his machine gun. The soldier's face lit up with surprise. Drake quietly handed the camera to Ben in a move that would have made any New York head waiter proud. I heard him running away at a fast pace.
  
  Drake pointed the machine gun at the floor as three more soldiers advanced towards him.
  
  "You!" One of the soldiers raised his weapon. Drake half-closed his eyes, but then heard a hoarse cry.
  
  "Wait! Minimal losses, idiot. Do you really want to shoot someone in cold blood on national television?"
  
  The new soldier nodded to Drake. "Give me the camera." There was a lazy nasal quality to his German accent.
  
  Drake thought of a plan B and let the gun clatter to the floor. "I do not have them".
  
  The commander nodded to his subordinates. "Check him out."
  
  "There was someone else there..." the first soldier raised his gun, looking confused. "He... he left."
  
  The commander stepped right into Drake's face. "Bad move."
  
  The barrel pressed against his forehead. His vision was filled with angry Germans and flying spittle. "Check him out!"
  
  While they searched him, he observed the organized theft of Odin's Shield led by a newly arrived masked man dressed in a white suit. He waved his hand somewhat demonstratively and scratched his head, but said nothing. Once the Shield was safely hidden, the man waved the radio in Drake's direction, clearly attracting the commander's attention.
  
  The commander put his radio to his ear, but Drake did not take his eyes off the man in white.
  
  "to Paris," the man said with only his lips. "Tomorrow at six."
  
  The SAS training, Drake reflected, was still useful.
  
  The commander said, "Yes." Once again he found himself in Drake's face, waving his credit cards and photographer's IDs. "Lucky nutcracker," he drawled lazily. "The boss says the losses are minimal, that's why you're alive. "But," he waved Drake"s wallet, "we have your address, and if you spill the beans," he added, flashing a smile colder than a polar bear"s scrotum, "trouble will find you."
  
  
  TWO
  
  
  
  YORK, England
  
  
  Later, at home, Drake treated Ben to decaf filter coffee and joined him to watch the coverage of the night's events.
  
  Odin's Shield was stolen because the city of York was simply not prepared for such a brutal attack. The real miracle was that no one died. The burning helicopters were found miles away, abandoned where three highways converged, their occupants long gone.
  
  "Ruin' up Frey's show," Ben said, half seriously. "The models are already packed and gone."
  
  "Damn, I changed the bedding too. Well, I'm sure Frey, Prada and Gucci will survive."
  
  "The Wall of Sleep would play through it all."
  
  "Started in the family movie Titanic again?"
  
  "That reminds me-they cut my dad off in midstream."
  
  Drake filled his mug. "Don't worry. He"ll call back in about three minutes or so."
  
  "Are you kidding me, Krusty?"
  
  Drake shook his head and laughed. "No. You're just too young to understand."
  
  Ben had been living with Drake for about nine months. In just a few months, they went from strangers to good friends. Drake subsidized Ben's rent in exchange for his knowledge of photography - the young man was on his way to graduating - and Ben helped by sharing everything. He was the kind of guy who didn't hide his feelings, perhaps a sign of innocence, but also worthy admiration.
  
  Ben put down his mug. "Good night, buddy. I think I'll go call my sister."
  
  "Night".
  
  The door closed and Drake stared blankly at Sky News for a moment. When the image of Odin's shield appeared, he returned to the present.
  
  He took the camera that gave him his livelihood, stuck the memory card in his pocket, intending to review the pictures tomorrow, and then headed to the whirring computer. Changing his mind, he stopped to double-check the doors and windows. This house was heavily protected many years ago when he was still serving in the army. He liked to believe in the basic good of every human being, but the war taught you one thing - never trust in anything blindly. Always have a plan and a backup option - Plan B.
  
  Seven years had passed, and now he knew that the soldier's mentality would never leave him.
  
  He Googled 'Odin' and 'Shield of Odin'. Outside the house, the wind rose, rushing across the eaves and howling like an investment banker whose bonus was capped at four million. He soon realized that the Shield was big news. It was a major archaeological find, the largest throughout Iceland's history. Some Indiana Jones types went off the beaten path to explore an ancient ice stream. A few days later, they excavated the Shield, but then one of Iceland's largest volcanoes began to rumble, and further exploration had to be put on hold.
  
  The same volcano, Drake mused, that had recently sent a cloud of ash across Europe, disrupting air traffic and people's holidays.
  
  Drake sipped his coffee and listened to the howl of the wind. The mantel clock struck midnight. A glance at the vast amount of information provided by the Internet told him that Ben would make more sense of it than he could. Ben was like any student - able to quickly understand the mess that appeared along with technology. He read that Odin's shield was decorated with many intricate designs, all of which were studied by cellar experts, and that J.R.R. Tolkien based his wandering wizard Gandalf on Odin.
  
  Random stuff. The symbols or hieroglyphs that surrounded the outside of the shield were believed to be an ancient form of Odin's Curse:
  
  
  Heaven and Hell are just temporary ignorance,
  
  It is the Immortal Soul that leans towards Right or Wrong.
  
  
  There was no script to explain the curse, but everyone still believed in its authenticity. At least this was attributed to the Vikings, and not Odin.
  
  Drake sat back in his chair and ran through the night's events.
  
  One thing called to him, but at the same time made him think. The guy in white mouthed: "to Paris, tomorrow at six." If Drake goes down this path, he could endanger Ben"s life, not to mention his own.
  
  A civilian would have ignored this. The soldier would reason that they had already been threatened, that their lives were already in danger, and that any information was good information.
  
  He Googled: One + Paris.
  
  One bold entry caught his eye.
  
  Odin's horse, Sleipnir, was exhibited in the Louvre.
  
  Odin's horse? Drake scratched the back of his head. For God, this guy was laying claim to some very material things. Drake opened the Louvre home page. It seemed that a sculpture of the legendary horse Odin was discovered many years ago in the mountains of Norway. More stories followed. Drake soon became so carried away by the many stories about Odin that he almost forgot that He was actually the Viking God, just a myth.
  
  Louvre? Drake chewed it up. He finished his coffee, feeling tired, and moved away from the computer.
  
  The next moment he was already asleep.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  He woke up to the sound of a croaking frog. His little sentry. The enemy might have been expecting an alarm or the appearance of a dog, but he would never have suspected the little green ornament perched next to the wheelie bin, and Drake was trained to be a light sleeper.
  
  He fell asleep at the computer desk with his head in his hands; Now he instantly woke up and slipped into the dark corridor. The back door rattled. The glass broke. Only a few seconds had passed since the frog croaked.
  
  They were inside.
  
  Drake bent down below eye level and saw two men enter, holding machine guns competently, but a little sloppily. Their movements were clean, but not graceful.
  
  No problem.
  
  Drake waited in the shadows, hoping the old soldier in him wouldn't let him down.
  
  Two people entered, the advance group. This showed that someone knew what they were doing. Drake's complete strategy for this situation had been planned many years ago, when the soldier's mentality was still strong and experimental, and he had simply never had to change it. Now it was reoriented in his mind. When the first soldier's muzzle poked out of the kitchen, Drake grabbed it, yanked it towards him, then turned it back. At the same time, he stepped towards his opponent and spun around, effectively snatching the gun away and ending up behind the man.
  
  The second soldier was taken by surprise. That was all it took. Drake fired without a millisecond's pause, then turned and shot the first soldier before the second could fall to his knees.
  
  Run! he thought. Speed was everything now.
  
  He ran up the stairs, shouting Ben's name, then fired a burst of machine gun fire over his shoulder. He reached the landing, shouted again, then ran into Ben's door. It burst. Ben stood in his boxer shorts, cell phone in hand, genuine horror written on his face.
  
  "Don't worry," Drake winked. "Trust me. This is my other job."
  
  To his credit, Ben didn't ask questions. Drake concentrated with all his might. He disabled the home's original attic hatch and then installed a second one in that room. After that, he reinforced the bedroom door. It wouldn't stop a determined enemy, but it would certainly slow him down.
  
  It's all part of the plan.
  
  He bolted the door, making sure the built-in timbers were secured to the reinforced frame, then lowered the ladder into the attic. Ben shot first, Drake a second later. The loft space was large and carpeted. Ben just stood there, his mouth agape. Large custom bookcases filled the entire east-west wall space, overflowing with CDs and old cassette cases.
  
  "Is this all yours, Matt?"
  
  Drake didn't answer. He walked over to a pile of boxes that concealed a door high enough to crawl through; a door that led to the roof.
  
  Drake turned the box over on the carpet. The fully packed backpack, which he had secured on his shoulders, fell out.
  
  "Cloth?" Ben whispered.
  
  He patted the backpack. "I got them."
  
  When Ben looked blank, Drake realized how scared he was. He realized that he had too easily turned back into that SAS guy. "Cloth. Cell phones. Money. Passports. I-pad. Identification".
  
  Didn't mention the gun. Bullets. Knife...
  
  "Who does this, Matt?"
  
  There was a crash from below. Their unknown enemy knocks on Ben's bedroom door, perhaps now realizing that they underestimated Drake.
  
  "It's time to go".
  
  Ben turned without any expression and crawled out into the windswept night. Drake dove after him and, taking one last look at the walls lined with CDs and tapes, slammed the door.
  
  He adjusted the roof as best he could without attracting people's attention. Under the pretext of installing a new gutter, he installed a three-foot wide walkway that ran the entire length of his roof. The problem would be on his neighbor's side.
  
  The wind tugged at them with impatient fingers as they crossed the precarious roof. Ben walked carefully, his bare feet slipping and shaking on the concrete tiles. Drake held his hand tightly, wishing they had time to find his sneakers.
  
  Then a strong gust of wind howled over the chimney, hit Ben square in the face and sent him stumbling over the edge. Drake pulled away forcefully, heard a cry of pain, but did not loosen his grip. A second later he reined in his friend.
  
  "Not far," he whispered. "Almost there, buddy."
  
  Drake could see that Ben was terrified. His gaze darted between the attic door and the edge of the roof, then to the garden and back. Panic contorted his features. His breathing quickened; they would never have done it at this rate.
  
  Drake stole a glance at the door, gathered his courage and turned his back to it. If anyone had passed, they would have seen him first. He grabbed Ben by the shoulders and met his gaze.
  
  "Ben, you have to trust me. Trust me. I promise I will help you get through this."
  
  Ben's eyes focused and he nodded, still scared but putting his life in Drake's hands. He turned and stepped forward carefully. Drake noticed that blood was dripping from his legs, flowing into the ditch. They crossed the neighbor's roof, went down into his greenhouse and slid to the ground. Ben slipped and fell halfway, but Drake was there first and cushioned most of his fall.
  
  They were on solid ground then. The light was on in the next room, but there was no one around. They probably heard machine gun fire. I hope the police are on their way.
  
  Drake hugged Ben tightly and said, "Fantastic stuff. Keep up the good work and I'll get you a new climbing frame. Now let's go."
  
  It was a running joke. Whenever they needed a pick-me-up, Ben would make a speech to Drake about his age, and Drake would make fun of Ben's youth. Friendly rivalry.
  
  Ben snorted. "Who the hell is up there?"
  
  Drake looked at the attic and its secret door. No one has pulled anything out of there yet.
  
  "Germans".
  
  "Huh? Like the World War II German bridge over the River Kwai?"
  
  "I think it was the Japanese. And no, I don"t think it"s anything like the WWII Germans."
  
  They were already at the back of the neighbor's garden. They ducked through the hedge and squeezed through the dummy section of fencing that Drake had constructed during one of the annual Swift celebrations.
  
  We go straight out onto a busy street.
  
  Directly opposite the taxi rank.
  
  Drake walked toward the waiting cars with murder on his mind. His soldierly insight showed itself again. Like Mickey Rourke, like Kylie, like Hawaii Five-O... It was just dormant, waiting for the right time to make its magnificent comeback.
  
  He was sure that the only way to protect the two of them was to get to the bad guy first.
  
  
  THREE
  
  
  
  PARIS, FRANCE
  
  
  The flight to Charles De Gaulle landed just after 9am that day. Drake and Ben landed with nothing but a backpack and a few items from its original contents. They were wearing new clothes, new mobile phones were ready. The I-pad was charged. Most of the cash was missing - it was spent on transport. The weapon was discarded as soon as Drake determined its purpose.
  
  During the flight, Drake brought Ben up to date on all things German and the Vikings and asked him to help with research. Ben's sarcastic comment was, "Bang bang, that's my degree."
  
  Drake approved of this attitude. The Griffins didn't break, thank God.
  
  They walked out of the airport into the cold Parisian drizzle. Ben found a taxi and waved the guidebook he had bought at him. Once they were inside, he said, "Umm... Rue... Croix? Hotel opposite the Louvre?"
  
  The taxi started moving, driven by a man whose face showed that nothing was moving him. The hotel, when he arrived forty minutes later, was refreshingly atypical for Paris. There was a large lobby, elevators that could accommodate more than one person, and several corridors with rooms.
  
  Before they checked in, Drake used the ATM in the lobby to withdraw the remaining money - about five hundred euros. Ben frowned, but Drake reassured him with a wink. He knew what his smart friend was thinking.
  
  Electronic surveillance and money trails.
  
  He paid for one room with a credit card and then purchased the room across the street with cash. Once upstairs, they both entered the "cash" room and Drake set up surveillance.
  
  "This is our chance to kill several birds with one stone," he said, watching Ben glance around the room with a critical eye.
  
  "A?" - I asked.
  
  "We see how good they are. If they come soon, that's good, and probably trouble. If they don't, well, that's important to know, too. And you have a chance to pull out your new toy."
  
  Ben turned on the I-pad. "Is this really going to happen today at six?"
  
  "It's an educated guess." Drake sighed. "But it fits with the few facts we know."
  
  "Hmm, then step aside, Krusty..." Ben demonstratively cracked his fingers. His confidence shone now that he was helping rather than being rescued, but he had never been an 'action' guy then. Rather, the type of personality identified by his name or nickname - mostly Blakey - is never dynamic enough to deserve that surname.
  
  Drake stared through the peephole. "The longer it will take," he muttered. "The more chances we have."
  
  It didn't take long. While Ben was tapping away on his I-pad, Drake saw half a dozen big guys gathered at the door across the street. The lock was broken and the room was broken into. Thirty seconds later the team reappeared, looked around angrily, and dispersed.
  
  Drake clenched his jaw.
  
  Ben said. "This is really interesting, Matt. It is believed that there are actually nine pieces of Odin's remains scattered around the world. A shield is one thing, a horse is another. I never knew this."
  
  Drake barely heard him. He destroyed his brain. This is where they had problems.
  
  Without saying a word, he stepped away from the door and dialed a number on his cell phone. Almost immediately the call was answered.
  
  "Yes?"
  
  "This is Drake."
  
  "I'm shocked. Long time no see, buddy."
  
  "I know".
  
  "I always knew you would call."
  
  "Not what you think, Wells. I need something."
  
  "Of course you know. Tell me about Mai."
  
  Damn. Wells was testing him with something only he could know. The problem was that Mai had been their old flame since their downtime in Thailand, before he married Alison - and even Ben didn't need to hear those dirty details.
  
  "The middle name is Sheeran. Location - Phuket. Type - hmm... exotic..."
  
  Ben's ears twitched. Drake read it in his body language as clearly as he could read a politician's lie. The open mouth was a clue...
  
  Drake could almost hear the laughter in Wells' voice. "Exotic? Is this the best you can do?"
  
  "At the moment, yes."
  
  "Is there someone there?"
  
  "Really like".
  
  "Gotcha. Okay, buddy, what do you want?"
  
  "I need the truth, Wells. I need raw information that is not allowed to be broadcast on the news or on the Internet. That Odin's shield was stolen. About the Germans who stole it. Especially the Germans. Real SAS information. I need to know what's really going on, buddy, not a public leak."
  
  "Are you in trouble?"
  
  "Huge." You don't lie to your commander, former or not.
  
  "Help is needed?"
  
  "Not yet".
  
  "You earned your hand, Drake. Just say the word and the SAS are yours."
  
  "I will do".
  
  "Fine. Give me some. And by the way, are you still telling yourself that you were just plain old SAS?"
  
  Drake hesitated. The term "good old SAS" shouldn't even exist. "It"s an acceptable term for explanation, that"s all."
  
  Drake passed out. Asking his former commander for help was not easy, but Ben's safety overrode any sense of pride. He checked the peephole again, saw an empty hallway, and then walked over and sat down next to Ben.
  
  "You say nine parts of Odin? What the hell does that mean?
  
  Ben quickly left his group's Facebook page, muttering that they had two new friend requests, making their total number of seventeen.
  
  He studied Drake for a moment. "So you're a former SAS captain and tape fanatic. It's weird, mate, if you don't mind me saying."
  
  "Focus, Ben. What do you have?"
  
  "Well... I'm following the trail of these nine parts of Odin. It seems that nine is a special number in Norse mythology. One was self-crucified on something called the World Tree, nine days and nine nights, fasting, with a spear in his side, just like Jesus Christ, and many years before Jesus. This is a real thing, Matt. Real scientists have cataloged it. It may even be the story that inspired the story of Jesus Christ. There are nine parts of Odin. The spear is the third piece and is connected to the World Tree, although I can't find any mention of its location. The legendary location of the Tree is in Sweden. A place called Apsalla."
  
  "Slow down, slow down. Does it say anything about Odin"s shield or his horse?"
  
  Ben shrugged. "Only that the Shield was one of the greatest archaeological finds of all time. And that along its edge there are words: Heaven and Hell are just temporary ignorance. It is the Immortal Soul that leans towards Right or Wrong. It is obvious that this is Odin's curse, but no one in living memory has ever been able to understand what it aims at."
  
  "Maybe it's one of those curses where you just have to be there," Drake smiled.
  
  Ben ignored him. "It says here that the Horse is a sculpture. Another sculpture, "The Wolves of Odin", is currently on display in New York."
  
  "His wolves? Now?" Drake's brain was starting to fry.
  
  "He rode two wolves into battle. Obviously."
  
  Drake frowned. "Are all nine parts accounted for?"
  
  Ben shook his head. "A few are missing, but..."
  
  Drake paused. "What?" - I asked.
  
  "Well, it sounds stupid, but there are pieces of a legend here that is taking shape. Something about all the pieces of Odin coming together and starting a chain reaction that will lead to the end of the world."
  
  "Standard stuff," Drake said. "All of these ancient gods have some sort of 'end of the world' fable associated with them."
  
  Ben nodded and looked at his watch. "Right. Look. We Internet wizards need food," he thought for a second. "And I think, I feel like new lyrics from the band are coming soon. Croissants and Brie for brunch?"
  
  "When in Paris..."
  
  Drake opened the door a crack, looked around, then motioned for Ben to come out. He saw the smile on his friend's face, but also read the terrible tension in his eyes. Ben hid it well, but he floundered badly.
  
  Drake returned to the room and put all their things into a backpack. As he secured the heavy belt, he heard Ben say a muffled hello and felt his heart stop in fear for only the second time in his life.
  
  The first was when Alison left him, citing that irreconcilable difference - you're more of a soldier than a damn boot camp.
  
  That night. As the endless rain filled his eyes with tears like never before.
  
  He ran towards the door, every muscle in his body tense and ready, then saw an elderly couple struggling down the hallway.
  
  And Ben noticed the absolute terror that filled Drake's eyes before the ex-soldier had a chance to disguise it. Stupid mistake.
  
  "Don't worry". Ben said with a pale smile. "I'm fine".
  
  Drake took a shaky breath and led them down the stairs, always on guard. He checked the lobby, saw no threat, and went outside.
  
  Where was the nearest restaurant? He made a guess and headed towards the Louvre.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  A fat man from Munich with the skills of a neurosurgeon saw them immediately. He checked his photographic likeness and within two heartbeats recognized the well-built, capable Yorkshireman and his long-haired, idiotic friend and locked them in the crosshairs.
  
  He changed his position, not liking the high vantage point or the white splinters that dug into his fleshy limbs.
  
  He whispered into the shoulder microphone: "I"m holding them by a thread."
  
  The response was surprisingly immediate. "Kill them now."
  
  
  FOUR
  
  
  
  PARIS, FRANCE
  
  
  Three bullets were fired in quick succession.
  
  The first bullet deflected off the metal door frame next to Drake's head, then ricocheted down the street, striking an elderly woman in the arm. She twisted and fell, spraying blood in the air in the form of a question mark.
  
  The second blow made the hairs on Ben's head stand on end.
  
  The third hit the concrete where he stood a nanosecond after Drake roughly grabbed him by the waist. The bullet bounced off the pavement and shattered the hotel window behind them.
  
  Drake rolled and roughly walked Ben behind a row of parked cars. "I'm holding you". He whispered furiously. "Just keep going." Crouching, he risked a look out the car window and saw movement on the roof just as the window shattered.
  
  "Shitty shooting!" His Yorkshire accent and army slang made his voice huskier as the adrenaline built up. He scanned the area. The civilians were running, screaming, causing all sorts of distractions, but the problem was that the shooter knew exactly where they were.
  
  And he wouldn't be alone.
  
  Even now, Drake recognized the three guys he had seen earlier during the lockpicking, who got out of the dark Mondeo and purposefully walked towards them.
  
  "Time to move."
  
  Drake led them in two cars to where he had already noticed a young woman crying hysterically in her car. To her surprise, he opened her door a crack and felt a quick rush of guilt at the sight of her frightened expression.
  
  He kept an impassive expression on his face. "Out."
  
  Still no shots fired. The woman crawled out, fear freezing her muscles, turning them into dead slabs. Ben slid in, keeping his body weight as low as possible. Drake hurried after him and then turned the key.
  
  Taking a breath, he put the car in reverse and then pulled forward out of the parking space. The rubber was smoldering across the road after them.
  
  Ben shouted: "Rue Richelieu!"
  
  Drake swerved, waiting for the bullet, heard the metallic sound as it bounced off the engine, then hit the accelerator. They passed the surprised burglars on the sidewalk and saw them rush back to their car.
  
  Drake spun the wheel to the right, then to the left, and then to the left again.
  
  "Rue Saint-Honoré." Ben shouted, craning his neck to see the name of the road.
  
  They joined the flow of traffic. Drake hurried as fast as he could, weaving the car-which, to his delight, turned out to be a Mini Cooper-in and out of alleys and keeping a close eye on the rear view.
  
  The rooftop shooter had long since disappeared, but the Mondeo was back there, not far behind.
  
  He turned right and then right again, getting lucky at the traffic lights. The Louvre Museum, taken from the left. It was no use: the roads were too crowded, the traffic lights were too frequent. They needed to get away from the center of Paris.
  
  "Rue De Rivoli!"
  
  Drake frowned sternly at Ben. "Why the hell do you keep shouting street names?"
  
  Ben stared at him. "I don't know! They... they show it on TV! It helps?"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  "No!" - he shouted back, over the roar of the engine as he sped along the slippery road away from the Rue de Rivoli.
  
  The bullet ricocheted off the boot. Drake saw a passerby collapse in agony. It was bad; it was serious. These people were arrogant and powerful enough to not care who they hurt, and could obviously live with the consequences.
  
  Why were the nine parts of Odin so important to them?
  
  The bullets penetrated concrete and metal and left patterns around the Mini.
  
  At that moment, Ben's cell phone rang. He performed a complex shoulder twisting maneuver to get it out of the pocket. "Mother?"
  
  "Oh my God!" Drake cursed quietly.
  
  "I'm fine, ta. You? Like Dad?"
  
  The Mondeo has made its way into the Mini's boot. Blinding headlights filled the view from behind, along with the faces of three jeering Germans. The bastards loved it.
  
  Ben nodded. "And little sister?"
  
  Drake watched as the Germans pounded the dashboard with their guns in frenzied excitement.
  
  "No. Nothing special. Um...what's that noise?" He made a pause. "Oh... Xbox."
  
  Drake pressed the accelerator to the floor. The engine responded quickly. The tires squealed even at sixty miles an hour.
  
  The next shot shattered the rear window. Ben descended into the front climbing area without waiting for an invitation. Drake allowed himself a moment of assessment, then steered the Mini onto the empty sidewalk in front of a long line of parked cars.
  
  Passengers in the Mondeo fired recklessly, with bullets smashing into the windows of parked cars, hitting the Mini and bouncing off it. Within seconds, he slammed on the brakes, spun around with a squeal, threw the little car 180 degrees, then sped back the way they had come.
  
  It took precious seconds for the Mondeo's passengers to realize what had happened. The 180-degree turn was careless and dangerous, and took out two parked cars with a terrible crunch. Where in the name of all that is holy were the police?
  
  Now there is no choice. Drake drove around as many corners as he could. "Be ready, Ben. We're going to run."
  
  If Ben hadn't been there, he would have stood and fought, but his friend's safety was the priority. And getting lost was a smart move now.
  
  "Okay mom, see you later." Ben closed his cell phone and shrugged. "Parents".
  
  Drake pulled the Mini back up to the curb and braked suddenly halfway across the manicured lawn. Before the car stopped, they opened the doors wide and jumped out, heading towards the nearby streets. They mingled with the homegrown Parisians before the Mondeo even came into sight.
  
  Ben managed to croak something and blinked at Drake. "My hero".
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  They hid in a small internet cafe next to a place called Harry's New York Bar. This was the wisest move for Drake. Inconspicuous and cheap, it was a place where they could continue their research and decide what to do about the imminent invasion of the Louvre without worry or interruption.
  
  Drake prepared muffins and coffee while Ben logged in. Drake hasn't suffered any injury yet, but he guessed Ben must be a little worried. The soldier in him had no idea how to handle him. The friend knew they had to talk. So he pushed food and drink towards the young man, settled into a cozy booth and held his gaze.
  
  "How are you doing with all this crap?"
  
  "I don't know". Ben told the truth. "I haven"t had time to realize it yet."
  
  Drake nodded. "This is fine. Well, when you do that..." he pointed to the computer. "What do you have?"
  
  "I went back to the same website as before. Amazing archaeological find... nine fragments... yada, yada, yada... oh yeah - I read about Odin's spectacular 'end of the world' conspiracy theory."
  
  "And I said..."
  
  "It was bullshit. But not necessarily, Matt. Listen to this. As I said, there is a legend and it has been translated into many languages. Not only Scandinavian ones. It seems quite universal, which is highly unusual for peasants who study this kind of thing. It is said here that if the nine pieces of Odin are ever collected during Ragnarok, they will open the way to the Tomb of the Gods. And if this tomb is ever desecrated... well, brimstone and all Hell unleashed is just the beginning of our problems. Notice I said Gods?"
  
  Drake frowned. "No. How can there be a tomb of the Gods here? They never existed. Ragnarok never existed. It was just a Norwegian place for Armageddon."
  
  "Exactly. And what if it really existed?"
  
  "So imagine the value of a find like this."
  
  "Tomb of the Gods? It would be beyond everything. Atlantis. Camelot. Eden. They would be nothing compared to this. So you're saying that Odin's Shield is just the beginning?"
  
  Ben bit off the top of his muffin. "I guess we'll see. There are still eight pieces to go to, so if they start disappearing," he paused. "You know, Karin is the brains of the family, and sis would like to figure out all this Internet crap. It"s all in pieces."
  
  "Ben, I feel quite guilty involving you. And I promise nothing will happen to you, but I can't involve anyone else in this. Drake frowned. "I wonder why the damn Germans started doing this now. No doubt the other eight parts have existed for some time."
  
  "Fewer analogies with football. And they have it. Maybe there was something special about the Shield? Something about that made everything else worthwhile."
  
  Drake remembered taking close-up pictures of the Shield, but they could put that investigation on hold for later. He tapped the screen. "It says here that Odin's Horse sculpture was found in a Viking longboat, which is actually the main exhibit of the Louvre. Most people wouldn't even notice the Horse sculpture itself while walking through the Louvre."
  
  "Longboat," Ben read aloud. "It"s a mystery in itself - it"s built from timbers that predate known Viking history."
  
  "Just like the Shield," Drake exclaimed.
  
  "Found in Denmark," Ben read further. "And see here," he pointed to the screen, "this focuses on the other parts of Odin that I mentioned earlier? The Wolves are in New York, and the best guess is that the Spear is in Uppsala, Sweden, having fallen from Odin's body as he descended from the World Tree."
  
  "So that's five." Drake leaned back in his comfortable chair and took a sip of his coffee. Around them, the internet café hummed with low-key activity. The sidewalks outside were filled with people zigzagging their way through life.
  
  Ben was born with a mouth of steel and drank half of his hot coffee in one gulp. "There's something else here," he rapped. "God, I don't know. It looks complicated. About something called Volva. What does Seer mean? "
  
  "Maybe they named the car after her."
  
  "Funny. No, it seems Odin had a special Velva. Wait - this may take a while."
  
  Drake was so busy switching his attention between Ben, the computer, the flow of information, and the busy sidewalk outside that he didn't notice the woman approaching until she was standing right next to their table.
  
  Before he could move, she raised her hand.
  
  "Don't get up, boys," she said in an American accent. "We need to talk".
  
  
  FIVE
  
  
  
  PARIS, FRANCE
  
  
  Kennedy Moore spent some time assessing the couple.
  
  At first she thought it was harmless. After a while, after analyzing the young man's fearful but determined body language and the older dude's watchful demeanor, she came to the conclusion that trouble, circumstance, and the Devil had drawn the two into an unholy trinity of danger.
  
  She wasn't a police officer here. But she was a cop in New York, and it wasn't easy growing up on this relatively small island with its big concrete towers. You had a cop's eye before you knew it was your destiny to join the NYPD. Later you honed and re-calculated, but you always had those eyes. That tough, calculating look.
  
  Even on vacation, she thought bitterly.
  
  After an hour of sipping coffee and aimlessly surfing, she couldn't help herself. She might have been on vacation-which sounded better to her than a forced vacation-but that didn't mean the cop in her had simply given up any faster than the Brit had given up his virtue on his first night in Vegas.
  
  She sidled up to their table. Forced vacation, she thought again. This put her illustrious NYPD career into perspective.
  
  The older guy quickly assessed her, raising his antennae. He assessed her faster than a US Marine would assess a Bangkok brothel.
  
  "Don't get up, boys," she said disarmingly. "We need to talk".
  
  "American?" said the older guy with a hint of surprise. "What do you want?"
  
  She ignored him. "Are you okay, baby?" She flashed her shield. "I am a policeman. Now you will be honest with me."
  
  The older guy immediately clicked and smiled with relief, which was strange. The other blinked in confusion.
  
  "A?" - I asked.
  
  The police officer at Kennedy pressed the issue. "Are you here of your own free will?" It was all she could think about to be near them.
  
  The young guy looked sad. "Well, sightseeing is good, but rough sex is not much fun."
  
  The older guy looked surprisingly grateful. "Trust me. There are no problems here. It's good to see that some in the law enforcement community still respect this work. I'm Matt Drake."
  
  He extended his hand.
  
  Kennedy ignored this, still not convinced. Her mind latched on to that phrase, still respecting the work, and scrolled through last month. They stopped where they always stopped. In Caleb. Over his cruel victims. For his unconditional release.
  
  If only.
  
  "Well...thanks, I guess."
  
  "So, you're a cop from New York? " The young man complemented the nuance with raised eyebrows, which he directed at the older man.
  
  "Damn cunning." Matt Drake laughed lightly. He seemed confident, and although he sat at ease, Kennedy could tell he had the competence to react in a second. And the way he constantly scanned his surroundings made her think of a policeman. Or the army.
  
  She nodded, wondering if she should invite herself to sit down.
  
  Drake pointed to an empty seat while leaving him a clear exit. "And polite too. I heard that New Yorkers were the most confident people in the world."
  
  "Matt!" The guy frowned.
  
  "If by overconfidence you mean selfish and arrogant, I"ve heard that too." Kennedy slid into the booth, feeling a little awkward. "Then I came to Paris and met the French."
  
  "On holiday?"
  
  "That's what they told me."
  
  The guy did not insist, he simply extended his hand again. "I'm still Matt Drake. And this is my lodger, Ben."
  
  "Hi, I'm Kennedy. I overheard what you were saying, at least the headlines, I'm afraid. This is what amazed me. And what about the Wolves in New York?" She raised her eyebrows, imitating Ben.
  
  "One". Drake studied her carefully, waiting for a reaction. "Do you know anything about him?"
  
  "He was Thor's father, wasn't he? You know, in the Marvel comics."
  
  "He"s all over the news." Ben nodded at the computer.
  
  "I've been trying to stay out of the headlines lately." Kennedy's words came quickly, tense with pain and disappointment. A moment passed before she could continue. "So, not much. Just enough."
  
  "Sounds like you made a few."
  
  "More than good for my career." She returned and then looked out through the dirty windows of the cafe onto the street.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake followed her gaze, wondering if he should push her, and his eyes met those of one of the previous burglars who was looking through the glass.
  
  "Shit. These guys are more persistent than an Indian call center."
  
  The guy's face lit up with recognition when Drake moved, but now Drake decided he didn't need to fuck anymore. The gloves were truly off and the SAS captain returned. He moved quickly, grabbed one of the chairs and threw it out the window with a terrible crash. The German flew back, collapsing on the pavement like dead meat.
  
  Drake waved Ben aside. "Come with us or not," he shouted to Kennedy as he ran. "But stay out of my way."
  
  He quickly walked to the door, opened it and stopped in case there was gunfire. Shocked Parisians stood around. Tourists ran away in all directions. Drake cast a searching glance along the street.
  
  "Suicide". He dove back.
  
  "Back door". He patted Ben on the shoulder and they headed towards the counter. Kennedy had yet to move, but it didn't take the analytical mind of a police officer to realize that these people were in real trouble.
  
  "I'll cover you."
  
  Drake walked past the frightened salesman into a dark hallway lined with boxes of coffee, sugar, and stir sticks. At the end there was a fire escape. Drake hit the bar, then cautiously looked outside. The afternoon sun burned my eyes, but the coast was clear. Which to him meant that there was only one enemy out there somewhere.
  
  Drake motioned for the others to wait, then walked purposefully towards the waiting German. He did not dodge the man's blow, but took it hard into the solar plexus without flinching. The shock on his opponent's face brought him instant gratification.
  
  "Pussies aim for the plexus." He whispered. Experience had taught him that a trained man would strike one of the obvious pressure points on the body and pause for effect, so Drake shared the pain - as he had been endlessly taught - and pushed through it. He broke the guy's nose, shattered his jaw and nearly snapped his neck with two blows, and then left him sprawled on the sidewalk without breaking stride. He waved the others forward.
  
  They left the cafe and looked around.
  
  Kennedy said, "My hotel is three blocks from here."
  
  Drake nodded. "Damn cool. Go."
  
  
  SIX
  
  
  
  PARIS, FRANCE
  
  
  A minute later Ben said, "Wait."
  
  "Don't say you need to go to the bathroom, buddy, or we'll have to buy you diapers."
  
  Kennedy hid his grin as Ben blushed.
  
  "I know it's time for you to take a nap, old man, but it's almost time... um... to visit the Louvre."
  
  Damn, Drake lost track of time. "Bullshit".
  
  "In the Louvre?"
  
  "About the turn." Drake waved to a passing taxi. "Kennedy, I"ll explain."
  
  "You feel better. I have already been to the Louvre today."
  
  "Not for this..." Ben muttered as they got into the taxi. Drake said the magic word and the car sped off. The journey was undertaken in silence and lasted ten minutes through streets clogged with traffic. The sidewalks were no better when the three of them tried to make their way to the museum in hot pursuit.
  
  As they walked, Ben brought Kennedy up to date. "Someone found Odin's shield in Iceland. Someone stole them from the York exhibition, completely ruining Frey's amazing cat walk show."
  
  "Frey?"
  
  "Fashion designer. Aren't you from New York?"
  
  "I'm from New York, but I'm not a big fashion person. And I"m not a big fan of being blindly drawn into some kind of conflict. I really don't need any more problems right now."
  
  Drake almost said "there's a door" but stopped himself at the last second. A policeman could be useful tonight for many reasons, especially from the States. As they approached the glass pyramid that marked the entrance to the Louvre, he said, "Kennedy, these people tried to kill us at least three times. I am responsible for making sure this doesn't happen. Now we need more information about what the hell is going on here, and for some reason they are interested in what Ben found out is called the 'Nine Pieces of Odin'. We really don"t know why, but here," he pointed behind the glass pyramid, "is the second part."
  
  "They're going to steal it tonight," Ben said, then added, "Probably."
  
  "And what is this New York angle?"
  
  "There's another piece of Odin on display there. Wolves. At the Natural History Museum."
  
  Drake studied the map. "It seems that the Louvre doesn't usually display Viking collections. This is also on lease, like the one in York. It says here that the most interesting thing is the Viking longboat, one of the finest ever discovered, and its notorious notoriety."
  
  "What does it mean?" Kennedy stood at the top of the stairs like a reed against a storm as many pairs of feet stomped around her.
  
  "An anomaly represented by her age. This predates Viking history."
  
  "Well, that's interesting."
  
  "I know. They're on display on the bottom floor of the Denon wing, next to some Egyptian... Optic... Ptolemaic... bullshit. .bullshit...never mind. Here's the thing."
  
  Wide, polished corridors sparkled around them as they blended into the crowd. Locals and tourists of all ages filled the grand old space and brought it to life throughout the day. One could only guess at its tomb-like, eerie nature during the night.
  
  At that moment, there was a deafening roar, as if a concrete wall was collapsing. They all stopped. Drake turned to Ben.
  
  "Wait here, Ben. Give us half an hour. We will find you." He paused, then added, "If they evacuate, then wait as close to the glass pyramid as possible."
  
  He didn't wait for an answer. Ben was fully aware of the danger. Drake watched as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number on speed dial. It would be mom, or dad, or sister. He motioned to Kennedy and they carefully descended the spiral staircase to the lower floor. As they headed towards the hall that housed the Viking exhibition, people started running out. A thick cloud swirled behind them.
  
  "Run!" The guy who looked like a Hollister model screamed. "There are guys with guns inside!"
  
  Drake stopped at the door and risked a look inside. He was met with complete chaos. A scene from a Michael Bay action movie, only weirder. He counted eight guys in camouflage uniforms, with face masks and machine guns, climbing into the largest Viking longboat he had ever seen. Behind them, in an act of incredible recklessness, a smoking hole had been blasted into the wall of the museum.
  
  These guys were crazy. What gave them their edge was that they had a shocking directness of fanaticism. Blowing up building entrances and firing rockets into crowds seemed to be their norm. It's no wonder they chased Ben and him all over Paris earlier. Car chases were probably just their pre-bedtime entertainment.
  
  Kennedy put his hand on his shoulder and looked around. "God".
  
  "Proves that we are on the right track. Now we just need to get closer to their commander."
  
  "I'm not going anywhere near any of these idiots. " She swore in a surprisingly good English accent.
  
  "Cute. But I have to find a way to take us off their shit list."
  
  Drake noticed more civilians running towards the exit. The Germans didn"t even watch them, they simply confidently carried out their plan.
  
  "Let's". Drake slipped through the doorframe into the room. They used the perimeter exhibits for cover and made their way as close to the hearing as was safe.
  
  "Beat dikh!" someone shouted insistently.
  
  "Something about 'rush'. Drake said. "The bloody bastards will have to act quickly. The Louvre must be high on the list of French responses."
  
  One of the Germans shouted something else and picked up a stone slab the size of a dinner tray. They looked heavy. The soldier called two others to help unload it from the longboat.
  
  "Clearly not SAS," Drake commented.
  
  "Or American," Kennedy noted. "I used to have a Marine guy who could stick this trinket under his foreskin."
  
  Drake choked slightly. "Good picture. Thanks for your input. Look." He nodded towards the opening in the wall where a masked man dressed all in white had just appeared.
  
  "The same guy who robbed the Shield in York. Probably."
  
  The man briefly examined the sculpture, then nodded approvingly and turned to his Commander. "It's time to..."
  
  Shooting rang out outside. The Germans froze for a second, apparently staring at each other in confusion. Then the room was riddled with bullets and everyone dove for cover.
  
  More masked men appeared at the recently blown-up entrance. A new force, dressed differently than the Germans.
  
  Drake thought: French police?
  
  "Canadians!" One of the Germans shouted contemptuously. "Kill! Kill!"
  
  Drake covered his ears as a dozen machine guns opened fire simultaneously. Bullets ricocheted off a human body, off a wooden exhibit, off a plaster wall. The glass shattered, and priceless exhibits were torn to shreds and fell to the floor with a crash. Kennedy swore loudly, which Drake began to realize was not exactly "fresh ground" for her. "Where are the fucking French, damn it!"
  
  Drake felt dizzy. Canadians? What kind of twisted hell are they in here?
  
  The exhibit next to them shattered into a thousand pieces. Glass and pieces of wood rained down on their backs. Drake began to crawl back, dragging Kennedy with him. The longboat was riddled with lead. By this time the Canadians had advanced into the room and several Germans lay dead or twitching. As Drake watched, one of the Canadians shot the German at point-blank range in the head, smashing his brains across a 3,000-year-old Egyptian terracotta vase.
  
  "There is no love lost between mad relic hunters." Drake winced. "And all the time I spent playing Tomb Raider, that never happened."
  
  "Yes," Kennedy shook shards of glass from her hair. "But if you actually played the game, instead of staring at her ass for seventeen hours, you might actually know what's going on."
  
  "Ben's forte. Not mine. Playing a game, that is." He risked a glance up.
  
  One of the Germans tried to escape. He ran straight towards Drake without noticing him, then jumped in surprise when his path was blocked. "Bewegen!" He raised his pistol.
  
  "Yes, yours too." Drake raised his hands.
  
  The man's finger tensed on the trigger.
  
  Kennedy made a sudden movement to the side, causing the German's attention to waver. Drake approached and elbowed him in the face. The fist swung at Drake's head, but he stepped aside, simultaneously kicking the soldier in the knee. The scream barely covered the sound of breaking bone. Drake was on him in a second, knees pressing hard on his heaving chest. With a quick movement, he tore off the soldier's mask.
  
  And he grunted. "Uh. I don't know what I really expected."
  
  Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Solid facial features. Confused facial expression.
  
  "Later". Drake knocked him unconscious with a chokehold, trusting Kennedy to keep an eye on his comrades. When Drake looked up, the battle continued. At that moment, another German walked around the falling exhibit. Drake shouldered him aside and Kennedy kneed him in the solar plexus. This man gave up faster than the new boy band on X Factor.
  
  Now one of the Canadians was dragging the sculpture of Odin away from the dead and bloody fingers of his enemy. Another German flanked him and attacked him from the side, but the Canadian was good, twisting and landing three killing blows, then throwing the limp body over his shoulder and knocking him to the ground. The Canadian fired three times at close range for greater conviction, and then continued to drag the sculpture towards the exit. Even Drake was impressed. When the Canadian reached his comrades, they screamed and opened fire on them before retreating through the still smoking wreckage.
  
  "Upsalla!" The first-class Canadian began to cry and raised his fist at the surviving Germans. Drake captured the arrogance, defiance and excitement in that single word. Surprisingly, the voice is female.
  
  The woman then paused and removed her mask in a gesture of absolute contempt. "Upsalla!" She cried again at the Germans. "Be there!"
  
  Drake would have staggered had he not already been on his knees. He thought he had been hit by a bullet, such was the shock. He recognized this so-called Canadian. He knew her well. It was Alicia Miles, a Londoner who used to be his equal at SRT.
  
  A secret company within SAS.
  
  Wells' previous comment brought up old memories that should remain buried deeper than a politician's spending history. You were more than the SAS. Why do you want to forget it?
  
  Because of what we did.
  
  Alicia Miles was one of the best soldiers he had ever seen. Women in special forces would have to be better than men to get half as far as they did. And Alicia rose straight to the top.
  
  What was she doing to be involved in all this, and sound like a bigot, which he knew she definitely wasn't? There was only one thing that motivated Alicia: money.
  
  Maybe that's why she worked for the Canadians?
  
  Drake began to crawl towards the actual exit of the room. "So instead of erasing us from the kill list and exposing our enemies," he panted, "now we have more enemies, and we have achieved nothing except making ourselves even more confused."
  
  Kennedy, crawling behind him, added: "My life... in two damn words."
  
  
  SEVEN
  
  
  
  PARIS, FRANCE
  
  
  Kennedy's hotel room was slightly better than the one in which Drake and Ben spent a couple of hours.
  
  "Thought all you cops were broke," Drake grumbled, checking the entry and exit points.
  
  "We are. But when your vacation time is virtually non-existent for ten years, then I guess your checking account starts to fill up."
  
  "Is this a laptop?" Ben reached him before the rhetorical question was answered. They found him hiding near the glass pyramid after they left the museum, acting like two more scared tourists, too scared to remember any details.
  
  "Why don"t we tell the French what we know?" Kennedy asked as Ben opened the laptop.
  
  "Because they're French," Drake said with a laugh, then turned serious when no one joined. He sat on the edge of Kennedy's bed, watching his friend work. "Sorry. The French won't know anything. Going through this with them now will slow us down. And I think time is an issue. We should contact the Swedes."
  
  "Do you know anyone in the Swedish secret service?" Kennedy raised an eyebrow at him.
  
  "No. However, I need to call my old commander."
  
  "When did you leave SAS?"
  
  "You never left the SAS." When Ben looked up, he added, "Metaphorically."
  
  "Three heads must be better than two." Ben looked at Kennedy for a second. "What if you"re still in business?"
  
  A slight nod. Kennedy's hair fell into her eyes and she took a minute to push it back. "I understand that there are nine parts of Odin, so my first question is why? The second question is what is it?"
  
  "We were just figuring it out in the cafe." Ben tapped furiously on the keyboard. "There is a legend, which Mr. Krusty disproves here, which claims that there is a real Tomb of the Gods - literally, the place where all the ancient Gods are buried. And this is not just an old legend; a number of scientists have discussed it, and many papers have been published over the years. The problem is," Ben said, rubbing his eyes, "it's hard to read. Scientists are not famous for their prosaic language."
  
  "Prosaic? " Kennedy repeated with a smile. "Are you going to college?"
  
  "He's the lead vocalist in the band," Drake deadpanned.
  
  Kennedy raised an eyebrow. "So you have the Tomb of Gods that never existed. OK. So what?"
  
  "If it is ever desecrated, the world will drown in fire...etc. and so on."
  
  "I understand. What about nine parts?
  
  "Well, being gathered at the time of Ragnarok, they show the way to the grave."
  
  "Where is Ragnarok?"
  
  Drake kicked the carpet. "Another red herring. This is not the place. In reality it is a series of events, a great battle, a world purified by a stream of fire. Natural disasters. Pretty much Armageddon."
  
  Kennedy frowned. "So even the die-hard Vikings were afraid of the apocalypse."
  
  Looking down, Drake noticed a fresh but badly wrinkled copy of USA Today on the floor. It was wrapped around the headline - 'RELEASED SERIAL KILLER DEMANDS TWO MORE'.
  
  Unpleasant, but not that unusual for the front page of a newspaper. What made him take another look, as if his eyes were burned, was the photo of Kennedy in a police uniform in the text. And a smaller headline next to her photo - Cop breaks down - goes AWOL.
  
  He linked the headlines to the nearly empty bottle of vodka on the dressing table, the painkillers on the bedside table, the lack of luggage, tourist maps, souvenirs and itinerary.
  
  Crap.
  
  Kennedy said: "So these Germans and Canadians want to find this non-existent grave, maybe for glory? For the wealth it might bring? And to do this they must collect the nine pieces of Odin in a place that is not a place. It's right?"
  
  Ben grimaced. "Well, a song isn"t a song until it"s pressed onto vinyl," as my father used to say. In English, we still have a lot of work to do."
  
  "It's a stretch. "
  
  "It's more like it." Ben turned the laptop screen around. "The nine figures of Odin are the Eyes, Wolves, Valkyries, Horse, Shield and Spear."
  
  Drake counted. "There are only six of them, baby."
  
  "Two eyes. Two wolves. Two Valkyries. Yeah."
  
  "Which one is in Apsalla?" Drake winked at Kennedy.
  
  Ben scrolled for a moment, then said, "It says here that the Spear pierced Odin's side as he fasted while hanging on the World Tree, revealing all his many secrets to his Volva - his Seer. Listen to another quote: "Next to the Temple at Upsalla there is a very large tree with widely spread branches, which are always green both in winter and in summer. What kind of tree this is, no one knows, since no other like it has ever been found. It is hundreds of years old. . The World Tree is - or was - in Uppsala and is central to Norse mythology. It says that there are nine worlds around the World Tree. Yada... yada. Oh, another reference - the 'sacred tree in Uppsala. One visited there often, next to a huge ash called Ygdrassil, which the locals consider sacred. But now it's gone.'
  
  He read further: 'Scandinavian chroniclers have long considered Gamla Upsalla one of the oldest and most important sites in the history of Northern Europe.'
  
  "And it's all there," Kennedy said. "Where anyone could find it."
  
  "Well," Ben said, "it all needs to be tied together. Don't underestimate my abilities miss, I'm good at what I do."
  
  Drake nodded in acknowledgement. "It is true, believe me. He's been helping me navigate my way through my photography career for the past six months."
  
  "You need to piece together a lot of different poems and historical sagas. The saga is a Viking poem of high adventure. There is also something called the Poetic Edda, written by the descendants of people who knew people who knew the chroniclers of the time. There's a lot of information there."
  
  "And we don"t know anything about the Germans. Not to mention the Canadians. Or why Alicia Miles-" Drake"s cell phone rang. "Sorry... huh?"
  
  "I".
  
  "Hello, Wells."
  
  "Get on it, Drake." Wells took a breath. "The SGG is the Swedish Special Forces and elements of the Swedish Army have been withdrawn from all over the world."
  
  Drake was speechless for a moment. "Are you kidding?"
  
  "I'm not kidding about work, Drake. Only women."
  
  "Has this ever happened before?"
  
  "As far as I remember, no."
  
  "Do they indicate the reason?"
  
  "The usual nonsense, I'm afraid. Nothing concrete."
  
  "Anything else?"
  
  There was a sigh. "Drake, you really owe me some May stories, buddy. Is Ben still there?"
  
  "Yes, and do you remember Alicia Miles?"
  
  "Jesus. Who wouldn't? Is she with you?
  
  "Not really. I just came across her at the Louvre about an hour ago."
  
  Ten seconds of silence, then: "Was she part of this? Impossible." She would never betray her own people."
  
  "We were never 'her own', or so it seems."
  
  "Look, Drake, are you saying she helped rob the museum?"
  
  "That's me, sir. It's me. Drake walked to the window and stared at the car lights flashing below. "It's hard to digest, isn't it? She may have made money with her new calling."
  
  Behind him, he could hear Ben and Kennedy taking notes on the well-known and unknown locations of the Nine Pieces of Odin.
  
  Wells was breathing heavily. "Alicia fucking Miles! Riding with the enemy? Never. No way, Drake."
  
  "I saw her face, sir. It was her."
  
  "Jesus in a stroller. What's your plan?"
  
  Drake closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm not part of the team anymore, Wells. I don't have a plan, damn it. I shouldn't have needed a plan."
  
  "I know. I'll get a team together, buddy, and start exploring it from this end. The way things are going, we may want to develop some big strategies. Stay in touch ".
  
  The line went dead. Drake turned. Both Ben and Kennedy stared at him. "Don't worry," he said. "I'm not going crazy. What do you have?"
  
  Kennedy used a spoon to break up several sheets of paper, which she had covered in police shorthand. "Spear - Upsalla. Wolves - New York. After that, not the slightest clue."
  
  "We don"t all talk like we were born with silver spoons up our asses," Drake snapped before he could stop himself. "OK OK. We can only deal with what we know."
  
  Kennedy gave him a strange smile. "I like your style".
  
  "What we do know," Ben repeated, "is that Apsalla will be next."
  
  "The question is," muttered Drake, "can my Gold Card handle this?"
  
  
  EIGHT
  
  
  
  UPSALLA, SWEDEN
  
  
  During the flight to Stockholm, Drake decided to take advantage of Kennedy.
  
  After a series of furious handshakes between Drake and Ben, the New York cop ended up sitting by the window with Drake next to her. This way there is less chance of escape.
  
  "So," he said as the plane finally leveled off and Ben opened Kennedy's laptop. "I sense a certain atmosphere. I don't mind my own business, Kennedy, I just have a rule. I need to know about the people I work with."
  
  "I should have known... you always have to pay for a window seat, right? Tell me first how this vibe worked with Alicia Miles?"
  
  "Pretty good," Drake admitted.
  
  "Can it. What do you want to know?"
  
  "If it's a personal problem, no damn thing. If this is a job, a quick overview."
  
  "What if it"s both?"
  
  "Crap. I don't want to pry into other people's business, I really don't, but I have to put Ben first. I promised him that we would get through this, and I would say the same to you. We received orders to kill us. The only thing you're not stupid about is Kennedy, so you know I have to be able to trust you to work with me on this."
  
  The flight attendant leaned over, offering a paper cup that said 'We Proudly Brew Starbucks Coffee.'
  
  "Caffeine". Kennedy accepted this with obvious glee. She reached out, touching Drake's cheek in the process. He noticed that she was wearing her third nondescript pantsuit since he had met her. This told him that she was a woman who was being given attention for the wrong reasons; a woman who dressed modestly to fit in where she seriously wanted to belong.
  
  Drake grabbed one for himself. Kennedy drank for a minute, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in a gentle gesture that caught Drake's attention. Then she turned to him.
  
  "None of your damn business, really, but I... I finished off a dirty cop. Forensic expert. They caught him pocketing a handful of dollars at the crime scene and told I.A. about it. As a result, he received a stretch mark. Some years."
  
  "There is nothing wrong. Did his colleagues shit on you?"
  
  "Dude, damn, I can handle this. I've been taking this since I was five years old. What's wrong, what's pounding my brain like a fucking drill, is the reality you don't think about - that every one of this thieving bastard's previous deeds is then called into question. Every. Lonely. One."
  
  "Officially? By whom?"
  
  "Shit-eating lawyers. Shit-eating politicians. Future mayors. Fame-obsessed advertisers too blinded by their own ignorance to know right from wrong. Bureaucrats."
  
  "It is not your fault".
  
  "Oh yeah! Tell that to the families of the worst serial killer New York State has ever known. Tell it to thirteen mothers and thirteen fathers, all knowing every grisly detail about how Thomas Caleb killed their little daughters, because they were present throughout his entire trial in court."
  
  Drake clenched his fists in anger. "Are they going to release this guy?"
  
  Kennedy's eyes were empty pits. "They released him two months ago. Since then he has killed again and has now disappeared."
  
  "No".
  
  "It"s all on me."
  
  "No, that's not true. It's in the system."
  
  "I am the system. I work for the system. This is my life".
  
  "So they sent you on vacation?"
  
  Kennedy wiped her eyes. "Forced leave. My mind is no longer... what it was. The job requires clarity every minute of every day. A clarity that I simply cannot achieve anymore."
  
  She put her rude attitude on full display. "And what? Are you happy now? Can you work with me now?"
  
  But Drake didn't answer. He knew her pain.
  
  They heard the captain's voice explaining that they were thirty minutes from their destination.
  
  Ben said: "Crazy. I just read that Odin's Valkyries are part of a private collection, location unknown." He took out a notepad. "I'm going to start writing this shit down."
  
  Drake barely heard any of it. Kennedy's story was tragic, and not the one he needed to hear. He buried his doubts and, without hesitation, covered her trembling hand with his.
  
  "We need your help with this," he whispered, so Ben wouldn't hear and question him later. "I believe. Good support is essential in any operation."
  
  Kennedy couldn't speak, but her short smile spoke volumes.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  A plane and fast train later and they were approaching Apsalla. Drake tried to shake off the travel fatigue clouding his brain.
  
  Outside, the afternoon cold brought him to his senses. They stopped a taxi and climbed inside. Ben cleared the fog of fatigue by saying:
  
  Gamla Uppsalla. This is old Upsalla. This place," he pointed to Uppsalla as a whole, "was built after the cathedral in Gamla Uppsalla burned down a long time ago. This is essentially the new Uppsalla, although it is hundreds of years old."
  
  "Wow," Kennedy said. "How old does that make old Upsalla?"
  
  "Exactly."
  
  The taxi did not move. The driver is now half turned around. "Mounds?"
  
  "Will you forgive me?" Kennedy's voice sounded offended.
  
  "Do you see the mounds? Royal burial mounds?" The stuttering English didn't help.
  
  "Yes". Ben nodded. "Royal burial mounds. It's in the right place."
  
  They ended up going on a mini tour of Uppsalla. Playing tourist, Drake couldn't accept the circuitous route. On the other hand, the Saab was comfortable and the city was impressive. In those days Apsalla was a university town and the roads were clogged with bicycles. At one point, their talkative but hard-to-decipher driver explained that the bike won't stop for you on the road. It would take you down without a second thought.
  
  "Accidents". He pointed his hands at the flowers decorating the sidewalks. "Lots of accidents."
  
  Old buildings floated by on both sides. Eventually the city relented and the countryside began to creep into the landscape.
  
  "Okay, so Gamla Apsalla is a small village now, but in the early commercials it was a big village," Ben said from memory. "Important kings were buried there. And Odin lived there for a while."
  
  "This is where he hanged himself," Drake recalled of the legend.
  
  "Yes. He sacrificed himself on the World Tree while his Seer watched and listened to every secret he had ever kept. She must have meant a lot to him." He frowned, thinking: They must have been incredibly close.
  
  "This all sounds like a Christian confession," Drake ventured.
  
  "But Odin didn"t die here?" Kennedy asked.
  
  "No. He died at Ragnarok along with his sons Thor and Frey."
  
  The taxi circled a wide parking area before stopping. To the right, a well-worn dirt path led through sparse trees. "To the mounds," said their driver.
  
  They thanked him and stepped out of the Saab into bright sunshine and a fresh breeze. Drake's idea was to scout the surrounding area and the village itself to see if anything had jumped out of the woodwork. After all, when so many international assholes are putting their well-indulged egos behind what can only be described as global freedom for all, something has to stand out.
  
  Beyond the trees, the landscape became an open field, broken only by dozens of small mounds and three large mounds that lay straight ahead. Beyond this, in the distance, they noticed a light roof and another building to the right of it, which marked the beginning of the village.
  
  Kennedy paused. "There are no trees anywhere, guys."
  
  Ben was engrossed in his notebook. "They're not going to put up a sign now, are they?"
  
  "Do you have an idea?" Drake watched the wide open fields for any sign of activity.
  
  "I remember reading that there were once up to three thousand mounds here. Today there are several hundred of them. Do you know what it means?"
  
  "They didn"t build them very well?" Kennedy smiled. Drake was relieved that she seemed completely focused on the job at hand.
  
  "In ancient times there was a lot of underground activity. And then these three 'royal' mounds. In the nineteenth century they were named after three legendary kings of the House of Yngling - Aun, Adil and Egil - one of the most famous royal families of Scandinavia. But..." he paused, enjoying himself, "it also states that in the earliest mythology and folklore, burial mounds already existed - and that they were an ancient tribute to the earliest - the original - three Kings - or Gods as we know them Now. This is Freyr, Thor and Odin."
  
  "There's random input here," Kennedy said. "But have you noticed how many references to biblical stories we keep getting from all these ancient stories."
  
  "This is Sagi. " Ben corrected her. "Poetry. Academic doodles. Something that may be important - there are dozens of references attached to the mounds to the Swedish word falla, and the manga fallor - not sure what that means. And, Kennedy, didn"t I read somewhere that the story of Christ was very similar to the story involving Zeus?"
  
  Drake nodded. "And the Egyptian god Horus was another forerunner. Both were Gods who supposedly never existed." Drake nodded toward the three royal mounds that stood out against the flat landscape. "Frey, Thor and Odin, right? So who is who then, Blakey? A?"
  
  "I have no idea, buddy."
  
  "Don't worry, munchkin. We can torture information out of these villagers if necessary."
  
  They walked past the mounds, playing the role of three tired tourists as a diversion. The sun was beating down on their heads, and Drake saw Kennedy break her sunglasses.
  
  He shook his head. Americans.
  
  Then Ben's phone rang. Kennedy shook her head, already overwhelmed by the frequency of family contact. Drake just grinned.
  
  "Karin," Ben said happily. "How is my older sister doing?"
  
  Kennedy patted Drake on the shoulder. "Lead singer in the group?" - she asked.
  
  Drake shrugged. "Heart of gold, that's all. He would do anything for you without complaint. How many friends or colleagues like this do you have?"
  
  The village of Gamla Uppsalla was picturesque and clean, with several streets lined with landlocked, high-roofed buildings that were hundreds of years old, well preserved, and sparsely populated. A random villager looked at them with curiosity.
  
  Drake headed towards the church. "The local vicars are always helpful."
  
  When they approached the porch, an old man in church robes almost knocked them off their feet. He stopped in surprise.
  
  "Hello. Kan jag hjalpa dig?"
  
  "Not sure about that, mate." Drake put on his best smile. "But which of these mounds over there belongs to Odin?"
  
  "In English?" The priest spoke well about the world, but struggled to understand. "Vad? What? One?"
  
  Ben stepped forward and called the vicar's attention to the royal mounds. "One?"
  
  "You see." The old man nodded. "Yes. Hm. Storsta..." He struggled to find the word. "Big ones."
  
  "The biggest?" Ben spread his arms wide.
  
  Drake smiled at him, impressed.
  
  "Figures." Kennedy started to turn away, but Ben had one last question.
  
  "Falla?" He said with only his lips in surprise, looking at the vicar, and shrugged his shoulders exaggeratedly. "Or manga fallor?"
  
  It took a while, but the answer, when it came, chilled Drake to the bone.
  
  "Traps... a lot of traps."
  
  
  NINE
  
  
  
  GAMLA UPSALLA, SWEDEN
  
  
  Drake followed Ben and Kennedy to the largest of the royal mounds, fiddling with the straps on his backpack so he could explore the area in peace. The only cover was about a mile behind the smallest mound, and for a second he thought he saw movement there. Fast movement. But further study revealed nothing more.
  
  They stopped at the foot of Odin's mound. Ben took a breath. "The last one to reach the top will get some shit on my Facebook page!" - he shouted, setting off in a hurry. Drake followed more calmly and smiled at Kennedy, who was walking a little faster than him.
  
  Deep down, he began to become more and more agitated. He didn't like it. They were hopelessly naked. Any number of powerful rifles could follow them, keeping them at gunpoint, simply awaiting orders. The wind whistled loudly and beat on the ears, increasing the feeling of insecurity.
  
  It took about twenty minutes to climb to the top of the grassy hill. When Drake got there, Ben was already sitting on the grass.
  
  "Where's the picnic basket, Krusty?"
  
  "Left this in your stroller." He looked around. From up here, the view was breathtaking: endless green rolling fields, hills and streams everywhere, and purple mountains in the distance. They could see the village of Gamla Uppsalla, which extended to the borders of the city of New Uppsalla.
  
  Kennedy stated the obvious. "So I'm just going to say something that's been bothering me for a while now. If this is Odin's Mound, and the World Tree is hidden in it - which would be a damning discovery - why hasn't anyone found it before? Why should we look for it now?"
  
  "It's simple". Ben was tidying up his unruly curls. "Nobody thought to look before. Until the Shield was discovered a month ago, it was all dusty legend. Myth. And it was not easy to connect the Spear with the World Tree, which is now almost universally called Yggdrasil, and then with the brief nine days of Odin"s stay there."
  
  And-" Drake chimed in, "that tree won't be easy to find if it exists. They wouldn't want some old bastard to stumble across this."
  
  Now Drake's cell phone rang. He looked at Ben with mock seriousness as he pulled it out of his backpack. "Jesus. I'm starting to feel like you."
  
  "Wells?"
  
  "A team of ten people is at your disposal. Just say the word."
  
  Drake swallowed his surprise. "Ten people. This is a big team." A ten-person SAS team could dispatch the President in his Oval Office and still find time to appear in Lady Gaga's new video before heading home for tea.
  
  "Big stakes, I hear. The situation is getting worse every hour."
  
  "This is true?"
  
  "Governments never change, Drake. They started slowly and then tried to bulldoze their way through, but were afraid to finish. If it's any consolation, this is not the biggest thing happening in the world at the moment."
  
  Wells' statement was designed to be treated like a lion treats a zebra, and Drake did not disappoint. "Like what?"
  
  "NASA scientists have just confirmed the existence of a new supervolcano. And..." Wells actually seemed alarmed: "It"s active."
  
  "What?"
  
  "Slightly active. Slightly. But think about it, the first thing you imagine when you mention a supervolcano is...
  
  "...the end of the planet," Drake finished, his throat suddenly dry. It was a coincidence that Drake had now heard this phrase twice in as many days. He watched Ben and Kennedy circle the embankment, kicking the grass, and felt a deep-rooted fear the likes of which he had never felt.
  
  "Where is it?" he asked.
  
  Wells laughed. "Not far, Drake. Not far from where they found your Shield. This is in Iceland."
  
  Drake was about to bite a second time when Ben shouted, "Found something!" in a high-pitched voice that showed his naivety as it spread throughout.
  
  "I have to go". Drake ran towards Ben, casting the spell as best he could. Kennedy also looked around, but the only thing they could see was in the village.
  
  "Keep it down, buddy. What do you have?"
  
  "These". Ben knelt down and brushed away the tangled grass to reveal a stone slab about the size of a piece of A4 paper. "They line the entire perimeter of the mound, every few feet, in rows from the top to about halfway down the base. There must be hundreds of them."
  
  Drake took a closer look. The surface of the stone was badly damaged by the weather, but was partially protected by overgrown grass. There were some markings on their surface.
  
  "Runic inscriptions, I think they're called," Ben said. "Viking Symbols"
  
  "How the hell do you know?"
  
  He grinned. "On the plane, I checked the shield markings. They are alike. Just ask Google."
  
  "The kid says there are hundreds of them," Kennedy drawled, looking up and down the steep, grassy slope. "So what? Does not help."
  
  "The kid says it might work," Ben said. "We need to find runes related to what we are looking for. Rune representing a spear. Rune representing a tree. And the rune for -"
  
  "One," Kennedy finished.
  
  Drake had an idea. "I bet we can use line of sight. We all need to see each other to know it worked, right?"
  
  "Soldier logic," Kennedy laughed. "But I think it"s worth a try."
  
  Drake was eager to ask her about the cop's logic, but time was slipping away. Other factions advanced and were surprisingly absent, even now. They all began to clear the grass from each stone, scurrying around the green hill. At first it was a thankless task. Drake made out symbols that looked like shields, crossbows, a donkey, a longboat, then a spear!
  
  "There is one". His deep voice carried to the other two, but no further. He sat down with his backpack and laid out the supplies they had bought during the taxi ride through Apsalla. Torches, a large flashlight, matches, water, a couple of knives that he told Ben were for clearing debris. He got a look back, I'm not so damn gullible, but their need was more pressing than Ben's concern right now.
  
  "Tree". Kennedy fell to her knees, scratching at the stone.
  
  It took Ben another ten tense minutes to find something. He paused, then repeated his recent steps. "Remember what I said about Tolkien basing Gandalf on Odin?" He tapped the stone with his foot. "Well, this is Gandalf. He even has a staff. Hey!"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake watched him carefully. He heard a grinding sound, as if heavy shutters were opening with a grinding sound.
  
  "Did you cause it by stepping on a rock?" - He asked carefully.
  
  "I think yes".
  
  They all looked at each other, their expressions changing from excitement to worry to fear, and then, as one, they stepped forward.
  
  Drake's stone gave way slightly. He heard the same grinding sound. The ground in front of the stone sank, and then the depression ran around the embankment like a turbocharged snake.
  
  Ben shouted, "There"s something here."
  
  Drake and Kennedy walked across the sunken land to where he stood. He squatted down, peering into a crack in the ground. "Some kind of tunnel."
  
  Drake waved a torch. "It's time to grow a pair, people," he said. "Follow me".
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The moment they were out of sight, two radically different forces began to mobilize. The Germans, who had hitherto been content to lie low in the sleepy town of Gamla Apsalla, prepared themselves and began to follow in Drake's footsteps.
  
  Another squad, a contingent of the Swedish Army's elite troops-the Sarskilda Skyddsgrupen, or SSG-continued to observe the Germans and discussed the strange complication proposed by the three civilians who had just descended into the pit.
  
  They must be fully questioned. By any means necessary.
  
  That is, if they survived what was about to happen.
  
  
  TEN
  
  
  
  WORLD TREE PIT, SWEDEN
  
  
  Drake leaned over. The dark passage had started out as a crawl space and was now less than six feet high. The ceiling was made of rock and dirt and was riddled with large, hanging loops of overgrown grass that they had to cut out of the way.
  
  It's like walking into a jungle, Drake thought. Only underground.
  
  He noticed that some of the stronger vines had already been cut down. A wave of anxiety ran through him.
  
  They came to an area where the roots were so dense that they had to crawl again. The battle was hard and dirty, but Drake put elbow before elbow, knee before knee, and urged the others to follow him. When at some point even persuasion did not help Ben, Drake turned to bullying.
  
  "At least the temperature is dropping," Kennedy muttered. "We must be going down."
  
  Drake refrained from the standard soldier's response, his gaze suddenly caught by something revealed in the light of his torch.
  
  "Look at it".
  
  Runes carved on the wall. Strange symbols that reminded Drake of those that adorned Odin's shield. Ben's strangled voice echoed down the hallway.
  
  "Scandinavian runes. A good omen."
  
  Drake turned his light away from them with regret. If only they could read them. The SAS, he thought briefly, would have more resources. Maybe it was time to bring them here.
  
  Another fifty feet and he was dripping with sweat. He heard Kennedy breathing heavily and cursing that she was wearing her best pantsuit. He hadn't heard anything from Ben at all.
  
  "Are you okay, Ben? Is your hair tangled on a root?"
  
  "Ha, damn it, ha. Carry on, asshole."
  
  Drake continued to crawl through the mud. "One thing that bothers me," he gasped between breaths, "is that there are "many traps." The Egyptians built elaborate traps to protect their treasures. Why not the Norwegians?"
  
  "I can't imagine the Viking thinking too hard about the trap," Kennedy huffed in response.
  
  "I don"t know," Ben shouted down the line. "But the Vikings also had great thinkers, you know. Just like the Greeks and Romans. Not all of them were barbarians."
  
  A few turns and the passage began to widen. Another ten feet and the roof above them disappeared. At this moment they stretched and took a break. Drake's torch illuminated the passage ahead. When he pointed it at Kennedy and Ben, he laughed.
  
  "Damn, you two look like you just came back from the grave!"
  
  "And I guess you're used to this crap?" Kennedy waved his hand. "Being SAS and all that?"
  
  Not SAS, Drake couldn't shake the poisoned words. "They used to be." He said and walked forward faster now.
  
  Another sharp turn, and Drake felt the breeze on his face. A feeling of dizziness struck him like a sudden clap of thunder, and a second passed before he realized that he was standing on a ledge with a cavernous cliff below him.
  
  An incredible sight met his eyes.
  
  He stopped so suddenly that Kennedy and Ben crashed into him. Then they also saw this sight.
  
  "OMFG." Ben dictated the title of the signature track the Wall of Sleep.
  
  The World Tree stood before them in all its glory. It was never above the ground. The tree was upside down, its strong roots extending into the mountain of earth above them, held firmly by age and the surrounding rock formations, its branches were golden brown, its leaves a perennial green, its trunk stretching a hundred feet down into the depths of a giant pit.
  
  Their path turned into a narrow staircase carved into the rock walls.
  
  "Traps," Ben breathed. "Don't forget about the traps."
  
  "To hell with the traps," Kennedy voiced Drake"s very thought. "Where the hell is the light coming from?"
  
  Ben looked around. "It's orange."
  
  "Glow sticks," Drake said. "Christ. This place has been prepared."
  
  During his SAS days they sent people to prepare an area like this; team to assess the threat and neutralize or catalog it before returning to base.
  
  "We don't have much time," he said. His faith in Kennedy had just increased. "Let's".
  
  They walked down the worn and crumbling steps, the sudden drop always to their right. Ten feet down and the stairs began to tilt sharply. Drake stopped when a three-foot gap opened. Nothing spectacular, but enough to give him pause-as the gaping hole below became even more obvious.
  
  "Crap".
  
  He jumped. The stone staircase was about three feet wide, easy to navigate, terrifying when any wrong step meant certain death.
  
  He landed true and immediately turned around, feeling that Ben would be on the verge of tears. "Don't worry," he ignored Kennedy and focused on his friend. "Trust me, Ben. Ben. I'll catch you."
  
  He saw the faith in Ben's eyes. Absolute, childlike trust. It was time to earn it again, and when Ben jumped and then staggered, Drake supported him with a hand on his elbow.
  
  Drake winked. "Easy, huh?"
  
  Kennedy jumped. Drake watched carefully, pretending not to notice. She landed without any problems, saw his concern and frowned.
  
  "That's three feet, Drake. Not the Grand Canyon."
  
  Drake winked at Ben. "Ready, buddy?"
  
  Another twenty feet, and the next opening in the stairs was wider, thirty feet this time, and blocked by a thick wooden plank that swayed as Drake walked along it. Kennedy followed, and then poor Ben, forced by Drake to look up, to look ahead rather than down, to study the destination rather than his feet. The young man was shaking by the time he reached solid ground, and Drake called for a brief break.
  
  When they stopped, Drake saw that the World Tree spread out here so widely that its thick branches almost touched the stairs. Ben reverently reached out to stroke the limb, which trembled under his touch.
  
  "This... this is overwhelming," he breathed.
  
  Kennedy used this time to style her hair and examine the entrance above it. "So far everything is clear," she said. "I have to say that as it stands, it sure as hell wasn"t the Germans who prepared this place. They would have looted it and burned it to the ground with flamethrowers."
  
  A few more breaks and they dropped fifty feet, almost halfway. Drake finally allowed himself to think that the ancient Vikings were not the equals of the Egyptians after all, and gaps was the best they could do as he stepped onto the stone staircase, which was in fact an elaborate section of hemp, twine and pigment . He fell, saw the endless fall and caught himself by the tips of his fingers.
  
  Kennedy pulled him upstairs. "Ass swaying in the wind, SAS guy?"
  
  He crawled back onto solid ground and stretched his bruised fingers. "Thank you".
  
  They moved more cautiously, now more than halfway through. Beyond the empty space to their right, a massive tree stood forever, untouched by the breeze and sunlight, a forgotten wonder of times gone by.
  
  They passed on more and more Viking symbols. Ben guessed strange. "It's like the original graffiti wall," he said. "People would just cut out their names and leave messages-early versions of 'John was here!'
  
  "Perhaps the creators of the cave," Kennedy said.
  
  Drake tried to take another step, clinging to the cold stone wall, and a deep, grinding roar echoed through the cave. A river of debris fell from above.
  
  "Run!" - Drake shouted. "Now!"
  
  They rushed down the stairs, ignoring the other traps. A giant boulder fell from above with a mighty crash, breaking off older rocks as it crashed down. Drake covered Ben's body with his own as a boulder crashed through the stairs they were standing on, taking about twenty feet of precious steps with it.
  
  Kennedy brushed the stone chips off her shoulder and looked at Drake with a dry smile. "Thank you".
  
  "Hey, I knew the woman who saved the SAS guy's ass could outrun a simple boulder. "
  
  "It's funny, man. So funny."
  
  But it wasn't over yet. There was a sharp ringing sound, and the thin but strong string broke on the step separating Ben and Kennedy.
  
  "Fuuuck!" Kennedy screamed. The piece of string came out with such force that it could have easily separated her ankle from the rest of her body.
  
  Another click two steps down. Drake danced on the spot. "Shit!"
  
  Another roar from above meant the next fall of the stone.
  
  "It's a repeating trap," Ben told them. "The same thing keeps happening over and over again. We need to get to this section."
  
  Drake couldn't tell which steps were confusing and which weren't, so he trusted luck and speed. They ran headlong down about thirty steps, trying to stay in the air as long as possible. The walls of the stairs crumbled as they crossed the ancient path, going into the depths of the rocky cave.
  
  The sound of debris falling to the bottom began to get louder.
  
  Their flight was followed by the crack of stiff string.
  
  Drake stepped onto another false staircase, but his momentum carried him across the short void. Kennedy leapt over him, graceful as a gazelle in full flight, but Ben fell behind her, now sliding into the abyss.
  
  "Legs!" Drake screamed, then fell backwards into the void, becoming the ground. Relief washed away the tension from his brain as Kennedy pulled his feet back into place. He felt Ben hit his body and then fall onto his chest. Drake directed the guy's momentum with his hands, then additionally pushed him onto the solid ground.
  
  He sat down quickly, with a crunch.
  
  "Keep going!"
  
  The air was filled with pieces of stone. One bounced off Kennedy's head, leaving a cut and a fountain of blood. Another hit Drake in the ankle. The agony made him grit his teeth and spurred him to run faster.
  
  Bullets pierced the wall above their heads. Drake crouched down and glanced briefly at the entrance.
  
  I saw a familiar force gathered there. Germans.
  
  Now they were running at full speed, beyond recklessness. It took Drake precious seconds to jump to the back. As another volley of bullets pierced the rock next to his head, he dove forward, bounced off the steps, made a full circle, clasping his hands, and stood up to his full height without losing an ounce of momentum.
  
  Ah, the good old days are back.
  
  More bullets. Then the others collapsed in front of him. Terror tore a hole in his heart until he realized that they had simply reached the bottom of the cave while running and, unprepared, crashed straight into the ground.
  
  Drake slowed down. The bottom of the cave was a thick mess of stone, dust and wood debris. When they rose up, Kennedy and Ben were a sight to behold. Not only are they covered in dirt, but they are now covered in caked-on dust and leaf mold.
  
  "Ah, for my trusty camera," he intoned. "Years of blackmail are facing me."
  
  Drake took the glow stick and hugged the curve of the cave that was running away from the armed men. It took five minutes to reach the outer boundaries of the tree. They were constantly in the shadow of his imposing stillness.
  
  Drake patted Ben on the shoulder. "Better than any Friday night sesh, eh mate?"
  
  Kennedy looked at the young guy with new eyes. "Do you have any fans? Does your group have fans? We'll have this conversation very soon, bro. Trust in it".
  
  "Only two-" Ben began to stutter as they rounded part of the final bend, and then fell silent in shock.
  
  They all stopped.
  
  Ancient dreams of amazement appeared before them, leaving them speechless, practically turning off their brains for about half a minute.
  
  "Now this... this..."
  
  "Stunning," Drake breathed.
  
  A row of the largest Viking longboats they had ever imagined stretched away from them in single file, standing end to end as if stuck in the middle of an archaic traffic jam. Their sides were decorated with silver and gold, their sails were decorated with silk and precious stones.
  
  "Longboats," Kennedy said stupidly.
  
  "Long-distance ships." Ben still had enough sense to correct her. "Damn, these things were considered the greatest treasures of their time. It must be... what? Is there twenty here?"
  
  "Pretty cool," Drake said. "But this is the Spear we came for. Any ideas?"
  
  Ben was now looking at the World Tree. "Oh my God, guys. You can imagine? One was hanging on that tree. Fucking One."
  
  "So now you believe in Gods, hmm? Fan?" Kennedy moved his side towards Ben a little cheekily, causing him to blush.
  
  Drake climbed onto a narrow ledge that ran the entire length of the tail of the long ship. The stone seemed strong. He grabbed the wooden edge and leaned over. "These things are filled with loot. It"s safe to say that no one has ever been here before today."
  
  He studied the line of ships again. A display of unimaginable wealth, but where was the real treasure? At the end? End of the rainbow? The walls of the cave were decorated with ancient drawings. He saw the image of Odin hanging on the World Tree and a woman kneeling before him.
  
  "What is this talking about?" He beckoned Ben towards him. "Come on, hurry up. Those sneaky bastards don't shove sausages down their throats up there. Let's move."
  
  He pointed to the rough swirl of text beneath the figure of a pleading woman. Ben shook his head. "But technology will find a way. " He clicked on his trusty I-phone, which luckily turned out to have no signal down here.
  
  Drake took a moment to turn on Kennedy. "My only idea is to follow these longboats," he said. "Does it suit you?"
  
  "As a fan of the football team said, I"m in the game, guys. Show the way."
  
  He moved forward, knowing that if this super tunnel came to a dead end, they would be trapped. The Germans would have held on tightly by the tail, rather than resting on their laurels. Drake divided the thought into parts, focusing on a ledge that was carved into the rock. From time to time they came across another glow stick. Drake disguised them or moved them to create a darker environment in preparation for the fight ahead. He constantly searched among the long ships and finally saw a narrow path winding between them.
  
  Plan b.
  
  Two, four, and then ten long ships passed by. Drake's legs began to ache from the effort with which he negotiated the narrow path.
  
  The faint sound of a falling boulder and then a louder scream echoed through the giant cave, the meaning of which was obvious. Without making a sound, they leaned even harder towards their task.
  
  Drake finally came to the end of the row. He counted twenty-three ships, each untouched and laden with booty. As they approached the back of the tunnel, darkness began to deepen.
  
  "I don't think they ever went that far," Kennedy noted.
  
  Drake rummaged around for a large lantern. "Risky," he said. "But we need to know."
  
  He turned it on and moved the beam from side to side. The passage narrowed sharply until it became a simple archway ahead.
  
  And behind the arch there was a single staircase.
  
  Ben suddenly suppressed a scream, then said in a theatrical whisper, "They're on the ledge!"
  
  This was it. Drake took action. "We are divided," he said. "I'll go to the stairs. You two go down there to the ships and go back the way we came."
  
  Kennedy began to protest, but Drake shook his head. "No. Do it. Ben needs protection, I don't. And we need the Spear."
  
  "And when will we reach the end of the ships?"
  
  "I'll be back by then."
  
  Drake jumped back without another word, jumping off the ledge and heading towards the blind staircase. He looked back once and saw shadows approaching along the ledge. Ben followed Kennedy down the rubble-strewn slope to the base of the last Viking ship. Drake said a prayer of hope and ran up the stairs as fast as he could, jumping two steps at a time.
  
  Come on. He climbed until his calves hurt and his lungs burned. But then he went wide. Behind them flowed a wide stream with a furious current, and further still rose an altar of rough-hewn stone, almost like an archaic barbecue.
  
  But what caught Drake's attention was a massive symbol engraved on the wall behind the altar. Three triangles overlapping one another. Some mineral inside the carving caught the artificial light and sparkled like sequins on a black dress.
  
  There's no time to waste. He forded the stream, gasping for air as the icy water rose to his thighs. As he approached the altar, he saw an object lying on its surface. A short, pointy artifact, not surprising or impressive. In fact, worldly...
  
  ... Odin's spear.
  
  The object that pierced the side of God.
  
  A wave of excitement and foreboding passed through him. This was the event that made it all real. So far it's been a lot of guesswork, just smart guesswork. But beyond that moment, it was frighteningly real.
  
  Terrifyingly real. They stood before the countdown to the end of the world.
  
  
  ELEVEN
  
  
  
  WORLD TREE PIT, SWEDEN
  
  
  Drake didn't stand on ceremony. He grabbed the Spear and headed back the way he came. Through the icy stream, down the crumbling stairs. He turned off the flashlight halfway and slowed down as pitch darkness enveloped him.
  
  Faint rays of light illuminated the entrance below.
  
  He kept walking. It wasn't over yet. He had long ago learned that more often than not, a man who thought too long in battle never made it home.
  
  He stopped dead on the last step, then crept into the deeper darkness of the passage. The Germans were already close, almost at the end of the ledge, but their flashlights at such a distance would have singled him out only as another shadow. He jumped over the passage, pressed himself against the wall and headed towards the slope that led to the base of the Viking ships.
  
  A male voice barked, "Look at this! Keep your eyes peeled, Stevie Wonder!" The voice surprised him; it had the deep accent of the American South.
  
  Damn it. The eagle-eyed bastard saw him - or at least a moving shadow - something he didn't think possible in this darkness. He ran faster. A shot rang out, hitting the stone next to where he had just been.
  
  A dark figure leaned over the ledge - probably an American. "There is a path down there among the ships. Move your dicks before I shove them down your lazy throats."
  
  Crap. The Yankees saw the hidden path.
  
  Stern, arrogant, arrogant. One of the Germans said, "Fuck you, Milo," and then yelped as he was roughly dragged down the slope.
  
  Drake thanked his lucky stars. In a second it was on the man, shattering his vocal cords and snapping his neck with an audible crunch before anyone else could follow.
  
  Drake picked up the German's pistol - a Heckler and Koch MG4 - and fired several shots. One man's head exploded.
  
  Oh yes, he thought. Still shoots better with a pistol than with a camera.
  
  "Canadians!" followed by a simultaneous series of hisses.
  
  Drake smiled at the furious whisper. Let them think so.
  
  Having no more fun, he ran down the path as fast as he dared. Ben and Kennedy were ahead and needed his protection. He vowed to get them out of here alive, and he wouldn't let them down.
  
  Behind him, the Germans carefully descended the slope. He fired a few shots to keep them occupied and began counting the ships.
  
  Four, six, eleven.
  
  The trail became precarious, but finally leveled out. At one point it thinned so much that anyone over fifteen stone would probably have broken a rib squeezing between the logs, but it widened again when he counted the sixteenth ship.
  
  The vessels towered above him, ancient, frightening, smelling of old bark and mold. A fleeting movement caught his attention and he looked to his left to see a figure that could only be that newbie Milo running back along the narrow ledge that most people could barely walk on. Drake didn't even have time to shoot - the American was moving so fast.
  
  Damn it! Why did he have to be so good? The only person Drake knew-besides himself-who could accomplish such a feat was Alicia Miles.
  
  I found myself in the middle of an upcoming gladiatorial contest here...
  
  He leapt forward, now past the ships, using his momentum to jump from step to step, running almost freely from random mounds to deep crevasses and jumping at angles from sand walls. Even using the ships' flexible timbers to gain momentum between jumps.
  
  "Wait!"
  
  A disembodied voice came from somewhere ahead. He paused when he saw Kennedy's blurry figure, relieved to hear that American twang. "Follow me," he shouted, knowing he couldn't let Milo beat him to the end of the aisle. They could be pressed for hours.
  
  He charged past the last ship at breakneck speed, Ben and Kennedy falling behind him, just as Milo jumped off a ledge and cut off the front of the same ship. Drake grabbed him around the waist, making sure he landed hard on his sternum.
  
  He spent a second throwing the gun at Kennedy.
  
  While the gun was still in flight, Milo hit the scissors and freed himself, flipping over onto his hands and abruptly facing him.
  
  He growled, "Matt Drake, the one. Was looking forward to this, mate."
  
  He threw punches and elbows. Drake took several blows to his arms, wincing as he retreated. This guy knew him, but who the hell was he? An old faceless enemy? A shadow-ghost from the SAS's dark past? Milo was close and happy to stay there. Out of his peripheral vision, Drake noticed the knife on the American's belt, just waiting to be distracted.
  
  He received a brutal kick to his own instep.
  
  Behind him, he could hear the first clumsy movements of the advancing German troops. They were only a few ships away.
  
  Ben and Kennedy watched in amazement. Kennedy raised his gun.
  
  Drake feinted one way, then turned the other, avoiding Milo's brutal kick to the leg. Kennedy fired, kicking up dirt inches from Milo's foot.
  
  Drake grinned and walked away, pretending to pet the dog. "Stay," he said mockingly. "That"s a good boy."
  
  Kennedy fired another warning shot. Drake turned and ran past them, grabbing Ben's arm and tugging as the young man automatically turned toward the collapsing stairs.
  
  "No!" - Drake shouted. "They will take us out one by one."
  
  Ben looked stunned. "Where else?"
  
  Drake shrugged disarmingly. "What did you think?"
  
  He headed straight towards the World Tree.
  
  
  TWELVE
  
  
  
  WORLD TREE, SWEDEN
  
  
  And they rose. Drake bet that the World Tree was so old and strong that its branches must have been numerous and strong. Once you accepted that you were climbing a tree that was literally upside down, physics hardly mattered at all.
  
  "Just like being a boy again," Drake encouraged Ben, urging him faster without causing him to panic. "Shouldn't be a problem for you, Blakey. Are you okay, Kennedy?
  
  The New Yorker was the last to climb, holding the gun pointed below her. Luckily, the vast symmetry of the branches and leaves of the World Tree hid their progress.
  
  "I"ve climbed a few stalks in my time," she said lightheartedly.
  
  Ben laughed. Good sign. Drake silently thanked Kennedy, starting to feel even better that she was there.
  
  Damn it, he thought. He almost added: on this mission. We'll return to the old dialect in less than a week.
  
  Drake climbed from branch to branch, higher and higher, sitting or standing astride one branch and at the same time reaching for the next. Progress was rapid, which meant their upper body strength lasted longer than expected. However, about halfway through, Drake noticed that Ben was getting weaker.
  
  "Is Tweenie getting tired?" - he asked and saw an immediate redoubling of efforts. From time to time Kennedy fired a bullet through the branches. Twice they managed to see a stone staircase rising next to them, but they saw no sign of their pursuers.
  
  Voices echo to them. "The Englishman is Matt Drake." The former SAS soldier once heard a voice distorted with a strong German accent, which, as his sixth sense told him, must belong to a man in white. The man he has seen twice before accepts the stolen artifacts.
  
  Another time he heard, "SRT is being eliminated." The drawling voice was Milo's, revealing his past, revealing a unit they had kept secret even within the SAS. Who in the name of all that is holy was this guy?
  
  The shots split heavy branches. Drake paused to adjust the backpack with the moving treasures inside, then noticed the wide branch he was aiming for. One that reached almost to the place on the stairs where they had rested earlier.
  
  "Over there," he pointed to Ben. "Ride the branch and move... fast!"
  
  They would be naked for about two minutes. Minus surprise and reaction time, which still left over a minute of extreme danger.
  
  Ben was the first to leave the shelter, Drake and Kennedy a second later, all jumping on their hands and squatting along the branch towards the stairs. When they were spotted, Kennedy bought them precious seconds by firing a burst of lead, punching holes in at least one hapless tomb raider.
  
  And now they saw that Milo had indeed sent the command to run up the stairs. Five men. And the team was fast. They will reach the end of the branch before Ben!
  
  Crap! They didn't stand a chance.
  
  Ben also saw this and trembled. Drake shouted in his ear: "Never give up! Never!"
  
  Kennedy pulled the trigger again. Two men fell: one flew into the hole, the other grabbed his side and screamed. She squeezed it again, and then Drake heard the magazine run out.
  
  Two Germans remained, but now stood facing them, holding their weapons at the ready. Drake made a stern face. They lost the race.
  
  "Shoot them!" Milo's voice echoed. "We'll look in the scraps down here."
  
  "Nein!" The strong German accent began again. "Der Spear! "Der Spear!"
  
  The barrels of the pistols did not waver. One of the Germans taunted: "Crawl, little doves. Come here."
  
  Ben moved slowly. Drake could see his shoulders shaking. "Trust me," he whispered in his friend"s ear and tensed every muscle. He would jump as soon as Ben reached the end of the branch, his only game was to attack and use his skill set.
  
  "I still have the knife," Kennedy muttered.
  
  Drake nodded.
  
  Ben reached the end of the branch. The Germans waited calmly.
  
  Drake began to rise.
  
  Then, as if in a fog, the Germans flew to the side, as if they had been hit by a torpedo. Their bodies, torn and bloody, pushed off the wall and, wet, rolled down into the pit like a cart.
  
  A few meters above the branch, where the stairs curved, stood a huge group of men with heavy weapons. One of them was holding a still smoking AK-5 assault rifle.
  
  "Swede," Drake recognized the weapon as one commonly used by the Swedish military.
  
  Louder, he said, "Damn timing."
  
  
  THIRTEEN
  
  
  
  MILITARY BASE, SWEDEN
  
  
  The room they found themselves in-a spartan twelve-by-twelve room with a table and an ice-rimmed window-took Drake back several years.
  
  "Relax," he tapped Ben's white knuckles. "This place is a standard military bunker. I've seen worse hotel rooms, buddy, trust me."
  
  "I've been in worse apartments." Kennedy seemed at ease, training a police officer on the job.
  
  "The other guy"s bones?" Drake raised an eyebrow.
  
  "Certainly. Why?"
  
  "Oh, nothing." Drake counted to ten on his fingers, then looked down as if about to start working with his toes.
  
  Ben forced a weak smile.
  
  "Look, Ben, I admit it wasn't easy at first, but you saw how that Swedish guy made calls. We are fine. Anyway, we need to chat a little. We're exhausted."
  
  The door opened and their owner, a well-built Swede with blond hair and a hard-as-nails gaze that would make even Shrek turn white, hobbled across the concrete floor. Once they were captured and Drake carefully explained who they were and what they were doing, the man introduced himself as Thorsten Dahl and then walked to the far side of his helicopter to make some calls.
  
  "Matt Drake," he said. "Kennedy Moore. And Ben Blake. The Swedish government has no claims against you..."
  
  Drake was alarmed by the accent, which was not Swedish at all. "You go to one of those shiny ass schools, Dal? Eton or something like that?"
  
  "Shiny ass?"
  
  "Schools that promote their officers through pedigree, money and upbringing. At the same time, you went to skills, dexterity and enthusiasm."
  
  "I suppose so." Dahl's tone was even.
  
  "Great. Well... if that's all..."
  
  Dahl raised his hand while Ben gave Drake an offended look. "Stop being a scapegoat, Matt. Just because you're a rough Yorkshire peasant doesn't mean everyone else is a royal descendant, does it?"
  
  Drake stared at his tenant in shock. Kennedy made the 'drop it' motion. Then it occurred to him that Ben had found something in this mission that really hooked him, and he wanted more.
  
  Dahl said: "I would appreciate the sharing of knowledge, friends. I really would like to."
  
  Drake was all for sharing, but as they say, knowledge is power, and he was trying to figure out a way to get support from the Swedish government here.
  
  Ben was already preparing for his story about the Nine Pieces of Odin and the Tomb of the Gods when Drake interrupted him.
  
  "Look," he said. "Me and this guy, and now maybe Gronk, are eight-inch headlines on some kill list..."
  
  "I'm not a gronk, you English asshole." Kennedy half rose to her feet.
  
  "I'm impressed you know this word." Drake lowered his eyes. "Sorry. It's jargon. It never leaves you." He remembered Alison's parting words: you will always be SAS.
  
  He studied his hands, still covered in scars from his fight with Milo and climbing the World Tree, and thought about his quick and correct reactions over the past few days.
  
  How right she was.
  
  "What is gronk?" - Ben was surprised.
  
  Dahl sat down on a hard metal chair and stomped his heavy boots on the table. "A woman who...uh...'enjoys the company of military personnel." - he answered diplomatically.
  
  "My own description would be a little rougher," Drake glanced at Ben, then said, "Kill list. The Germans want us dead for crimes not committed. How can you help, Dahl?"
  
  The Swede did not answer for a while, he simply looked out the icy window at the snow-covered landscape and beyond, at the crumbling rocks that rose alone against the backdrop of the raging ocean.
  
  Kennedy said, "Dal, I'm a cop. I didn't know these two until a couple of days ago, but they have kind hearts. Trust them."
  
  Dahl nodded. "Your reputation precedes you, Drake. The good and the bad about it. We'll help you, but first-" he nodded at Ben. "Continue".
  
  Ben continued as if he had never been interrupted. Drake stole a glance at Kennedy and saw her smile. He looked away, shocked for two reasons. Firstly, Dahl's reference to his reputation, and secondly, Kennedy's sincere endorsement.
  
  Ben finished. Dahl said: "The Germans are a new organization in all this, which did not come to our attention until that incident in York."
  
  "New?" Drake said. "They are good. And very well organized; controlled by fear and iron discipline. And they have a major trump card in a guy named Milo - American Special Forces, apparently. Check the title."
  
  "We will do. The good news is that we do have information on Canadians."
  
  "Are you keeping an eye on it?"
  
  "Yes, but biased, inexperienced and lonely," Dahl cast a furtive glance towards Kennedy. "The Swedish government's relationship with your new Obama regime is not what I would call first class. "
  
  "Sorry about that," Kennedy faked a smile, then pointedly looked around. "Listen, dude, if we're going to be here for a while, do you think we could get something to eat?"
  
  "Already being prepared by our sous chef," Dahl put on a fake smile in response. "But seriously, there will be burgers and chips soon."
  
  Drake's mouth watered. He couldn't remember the last time he ate.
  
  "I'll tell you what I can. The Canadians began life as a secret cult dedicated to the Viking - Eric the Red. Don't laugh, these things really exist. These people use cosplay to reenact events, battles and even sea voyages on a regular basis."
  
  "There's no real harm in it," Ben sounded a little defensive. Drake saved this wonderful nugget for later.
  
  "Not at all, Mr. Blake. Cosplay is common, enjoyed by many people at conventions around the world, and has become more common over the years. But the real damage begins when a billionaire businessman becomes the modern-day leader of this cult and then throws millions of dollars into the ring."
  
  "It becomes such carefree fun-"
  
  "Obsession". Dahl finished when the door opened. Drake groaned as the standard burger and chips dish was placed in front of him. The smell of onions was divine to his hungry stomach.
  
  Dahl continued as they ate: "A Canadian businessman named Colby Taylor dedicated his life to the famous Viking, Erik the Red, who, as I'm sure you know, landed in Canada shortly after the discovery of Greenland. From this research a manic fascination with Norse mythology was born. Research, excavations, discoveries. Endless search. This man acquired his own library and tried to buy up all existing Scandinavian texts."
  
  "It"s a crazy job," Kennedy said.
  
  "Agree. But a "nut" who funds his own "security forces" - read that as an army. And he remains private enough to stay under the radar of most people. His name has come up again and again over the years in connection with the Nine Fragments of Odin, so naturally Swedish intelligence has always flagged him as a 'person of interest'.
  
  "He stole the Horse," said Drake. "You know this, don't you?"
  
  Dahl's wide eyes indicated that he did not do this. "Now we know."
  
  "You can"t get him arrested?" Kennedy asked. "On suspicion of theft or something like that?"
  
  "Imagine him as one of your... gangsters. Your Mafia or Triad leaders. He"s untouchable-the man at the top-for now."
  
  Drake liked the implied sentiment. He told Dahl about Alicia Miles' involvement and told Dahl as much backstory as he was allowed to reveal.
  
  "So," he said when he finished. "Are we useful or what?"
  
  "Not bad," Dahl admitted as the door opened again and an older man with a surprisingly thick mane of long hair and a bushy beard walked in. To Drake he seemed like a modern, aging Viking.
  
  Dahl nodded. "Oh, I was waiting for you, professor. Let me introduce Professor Roland Parnevik," he smiled. "Our expert on Norse mythology."
  
  Drake nodded, then saw Ben sizing up the new man as if he were a love rival. Now he understood why Ben secretly loved this mission. He patted his young friend on the shoulder.
  
  "Well, our family guy here may not be a professor, but he sure knows his way around the Internet-sort of modern medicine versus the old stuff, huh?"
  
  "Or the best of both worlds," Kennedy pointed with her fork at both sides in question.
  
  Drake's cynical side calculated that Kennedy Moore could direct this mission in a way that would save his career. Surprisingly, the softer side loved watching the corners of her mouth turn up when she smiled.
  
  The boy stumbled into the room, clutching an armful of scrolls and balancing several notebooks on top of the pile. He looked around, stared at Dahl as if he couldn't remember the soldier's name, then dumped his burden on the table.
  
  "It's there," he said, pointing at one of the scrolls. "The same one. The legend is real... just like I told you months ago."
  
  Dahl pulled out the indicated scroll with a flourish. "You were with us for a week, professor. Just a week."
  
  "Are you... are you sure?"
  
  "Oh, I'm sure." Dahl's tone conveyed an incredible amount of patience.
  
  Another soldier entered the door. "Sir. "This one," he nodded towards Ben, "was ringing continuously. Hela tiden...mmm...non-stop." A smirk followed. "This is his mother."
  
  Ben jumped up a second later and pressed the speed dial button. Drake smiled fondly, while Kennedy looked mischievous. "God, I can think of so many ways to corrupt this boy."
  
  Dahl began to read from the scroll:
  
  "I heard that he died in Ragnarok, completely consumed by his fate. By the wolf-man Fenrir - once turned by the moon.
  
  And later Thor and Loki lay cold next to him. Great gods among countless gods, our rocks against the tide.
  
  Nine fragments were scattered to the wind along the paths of the One True Volva. Don't bring these parts to Ragnarok or risk the end of the world.
  
  Forever you will fear this, listen to me, sons of men, for to desecrate the tomb of the Gods is to begin the Day of Reckoning."
  
  Dahl shrugged. "And so on. And so on. And so on. I already got the gist of it from my mother's boy over there, the professor. It seems that the Web is indeed more powerful than the Scroll. And faster."
  
  "Do you have? Well, as I said... Months, Torsten, months. And I was ignored for years. Even institutionalized. The tomb has always been there, you know, it didn't just materialize last month. Agnetha gave me this scroll thirty years ago, and where are we now? Hm? Are we somewhere?
  
  Dahl tried his best to remain calm. Drake intervened. "You are talking about Ragnarok, Professor Parnevik. A place that doesn't exist."
  
  "Not anymore, sir. But someday - yes. This definitely existed at one time. Otherwise, where did Odin, Thor and all the other Gods die?"
  
  "Do you believe they existed then?"
  
  "Of course!" The guy practically shouted.
  
  Dahl's voice became quieter. "For now," he said, "we suspend disbelief."
  
  Ben returned to the table, putting his cell phone in his pocket. "So you know about the Valkyries?" he asked mysteriously, looking slyly at Drake and Kennedy. "Do you know why they are the jewel in Odin's crown?"
  
  Dahl just looked annoyed. The guy blinked and hesitated. "This... this... gem in... this... what?"
  
  
  FOURTEEN
  
  
  
  MILITARY BASE, SWEDEN
  
  
  Ben smiled as the room became quiet. "This is our ticket of entry," he said. "And my guarantee of respect. In Norse mythology it is said time and time again that Valkyries "go to the realms of the Gods." Look - it's there."
  
  Kennedy tapped her fork on her plate. "What does it mean?"
  
  "They show the way," Ben said. "You can collect the nine pieces of Odin during Ragnarok for an entire month, but it is the Valkyries who show the way to the tomb of the gods."
  
  Drake frowned. "And you kept it to yourself, right?"
  
  "Nobody knows where the Valkyries are, Matt. They are in a private collection, only God knows where. Wolves in New York are the last pieces we have a location for."
  
  Dahl smiled when Parnevik practically attacked his scrolls. White tubes flew everywhere amid the storm of muttering. "Valkyries. Valkyries. There is no. There - maybe. Ah, here we go. Hm."
  
  Drake caught Dahl's attention. "And the theory of the Apocalypse? Hellfire on Earth and all living things destroyed, etc. and so on."
  
  "I could tell you a similar legend for almost every God in the pantheon. Shiva. Zeus. Set. But, Drake, if the Canadians find this tomb, they will desecrate it, regardless of other consequences."
  
  Drake returned to the crazy Germans. "Like our new friends," he nodded and smiled slightly at Dahl. "I have no choice..."
  
  "Balls against the wall." Dahl finished a little military mantra and they looked at each other.
  
  Ben leaned across the table to get Dahl's attention. "Sorry, buddy, but we're wasting our time here. Give me the laptop. Let me go surfing. Or better yet, send us on our way to the Big Apple and we'll surf in the air."
  
  Kennedy nodded. "He is right. I can help. The next logical target is the National History Museum, and let's face it, the US is not ready."
  
  "It"s a familiar story," Dahl said. "Mobilization has already begun." He looked at Ben intently. "Are you offering to help, young man?"
  
  Ben opened his mouth, but then paused, as if sensing the importance of his answer. "Well, we're still on the kill list, right? And The Wall of Sleep is on hiatus this month."
  
  "Mom has a curfew for our young student?" Drake pushed.
  
  "Wall of- ?" Dahl frowned. "Is this a sleep deprivation training class?"
  
  "Doesn't matter. Look what I've discovered so far. And Matt's SAS. Kennedy is a New York cop. We are practically a perfect team!"
  
  Dahl's eyes narrowed, as if weighing his decision. He silently slid Drake's cell phone across the table and pointed at the screen. "Where did you photograph the runes in this picture?"
  
  "In the Pit. Next to the long ships was a wall with hundreds of carvings. This woman," he tapped the screen, "knelt next to Odin when he suffered on the World Tree. Can you translate the inscription?"
  
  "About Yes. It says here - Odin and Velva - Heidi are entrusted with the secrets of God. The Professor is now investigating this...." Dahl looked at Parnevik as he tried to collect all his scrolls at once.
  
  "God's secrets" The guy turned around as if a hellhound had landed on his back. "Or the secrets of the gods. Can you hear the nuance? Understand? Let me through." He turned to the empty doorway and disappeared.
  
  "We will take you," Dahl told them. "But know this. Negotiations with your government have not yet begun. Hopefully this will be taken care of during our flight. But now we're heading to New York with a dozen Special Forces soldiers and no security clearance. We are taking the weapons to the National History Museum." He made a pause. "Still want to come?"
  
  "SAS will help," Drake said. "They have a team standing by."
  
  "I think I'll try to contact the site captain, see if we can get some wheels greased." The grim change in Kennedy's demeanor at the thought of returning home was evident. Drake immediately promised himself that he would help her if he could.
  
  Trust me, he wanted to say. I'll help you get through this. But the words died in his throat.
  
  Ben flexed his fingers. "Just give me an I-pad or something. Faster."
  
  
  FIFTEEN
  
  
  
  AIR SPACE
  
  
  Their plane was equipped with a device called picocell, a cell phone tower that allows all cell phones to be used on planes. Necessary for the government's military, but doubly necessary for Ben Blake.
  
  "Hey sis, I have a job for you. Do not ask. Listen, Karin, listen! I need information about the National History Museum. Exhibits, Viking things. Blueprints. Staff. Especially the bosses. And..." his voice dropped a few octaves, "... phone numbers."
  
  Drake heard a few moments of silence, then: "Yes, the one in New York! How many of them are there?... Oh... really? Well, okay, little sister. I'll transfer you some money to cover this. Love you".
  
  When his friend hung up, Drake asked, "Is she still out of work?"
  
  "Sits at home all day, buddy. Works as the 'last guy' in a dubious bar. The miracle of old Labor politics."
  
  Karin struggled for seven years to obtain a degree in computer programming. When the Labor government collapsed at the end of Blair's reign, she left Nottingham University - a confident, highly skilled worker - only to discover that no one wanted her. A recession has set in.
  
  Exit University Row - turn left into landfill, turn right into pregnancy and government assistance. Continue straight down the road of broken dreams.
  
  Karin lived in a flat near the center of Nottingham. Drug addicts and alcoholics rented properties around it. She rarely left the house during the day and took a reliable taxi to the bar where she worked the eight to midnight shift. The most terrifying moments of her life were when she returned to her apartment, the darkness, old sweat and other unpleasant odors surrounding her, a walking crime just waiting to happen.
  
  In a land of the damned and ignored, the man who lives in the shadows is king.
  
  "Do you really need her for this?" Asked Dahl, who was sitting on the other side of the plane. "Or..."
  
  "Look, this isn't charity, mate. I have to focus on things about Odin. Karin can take up museum work. It makes complete sense."
  
  Drake made his own speed dial call. "Let him work, Dal. Trust me. We're here to help."
  
  Wells responded immediately. "Catching zeds, Drake? What the hell is going on?"
  
  Drake brought him up to date.
  
  "Well, here is a nugget of pure gold. We checked in with Alicia Miles. You know what it is, Matt. You will never truly leave the SAS," he paused. "Last known address: Munich, Hildegardstrasse 111."
  
  "Germany? But she was with the Canadians."
  
  "Yeah. That's not all. She lived in Munich with her boyfriend - a certain Milo Noxon - a rather unpleasant citizen of Las Vegas, USA. And he's a former Marine intelligence officer. The best the Yankees have to offer."
  
  Drake thought for a moment. "That's how he knew me back then, through Miles. The question is, did she switch sides to annoy him or to help him?"
  
  "The answer is unknown. Maybe you could ask her."
  
  "I will try. Look, we're holding on by the balls here, Wells. Think you could contact your old buddies in the States? Dahl has already contacted the FBI, but they are playing for time. We are seven hours into the flight... and approaching blindly."
  
  "Do you trust them? These turnips? Do you want our guys to clean up the inevitable cluster fucking?"
  
  "They are Swedes. And yes, I trust them. And yes, I want our guys to participate."
  
  "It's clear". Wells interrupted the connection.
  
  Drake looked around. The plane was small but roomy. Eleven Special Forces Marines sat in the back, lounging, dozing and generally heckling each other in Swedish. Dahl was constantly talking on the phone across the aisle as the professor unfolded scroll after scroll before him, placing each one carefully on the back of his seat, going over the ancient differences between fact and fiction.
  
  To his left, Kennedy, again dressed in her shapeless number one pantsuit, made her first call. "Is Captain Lipkind there?... ah, tell him it"s Kennedy Moore."
  
  Ten seconds passed, then: "No. Tell him he can't call me back. This is important. Tell him it's about national security, if you want, just call him."
  
  Another ten seconds, then: "Moore!" Drake heard barking even from where he was sitting. "Can"t this wait?"
  
  "Listen to me, captain, a situation has arisen. First, consult with Officer Swain from the FBI. I'm here with Torsten Dahl from the Swedish SGG and an SAS officer. The National History Museum is under direct threat. Check the details and call me back immediately. I need your help."
  
  Kennedy closed the phone and took a deep breath. "Bang - and my pension goes away."
  
  Drake looked at his watch. Six hours until landing.
  
  Ben's cell phone chirped and he grabbed it. "Sister?"
  
  Professor Parnevik leaned across the aisle, grabbing the fallen scroll with his sinewy hand. "The kid knows his Valkyries." He said, addressing no one in particular. "But where are they? And the Eyes - yes, I will find the Eyes."
  
  Ben spoke. "Great point, Karin. Email me the drawings of the museum and allocate this room for me. Then send the curator's information in a separate letter. Hey little sister, say hi to mom and dad. Love you".
  
  Ben resumed his clicking, then began taking some more notes. "Got the number of the museum curator," he shouted. "Dal? Do you want me to scare the crap out of him?"
  
  Drake broke into an incredulous smile as the Swedish intelligence officer frantically waved his hands No! without missing a single vowel. It was nice to see Ben showing such confidence. The geek moved back a little to give the person in some room the opportunity to breathe.
  
  Kennedy's phone burst into song. She quickly opened it, but not before treating the entire plane to a piece of a rather reckless game of Goin' Down.
  
  Ben nodded in time. "Cute. Our next cover version for sure."
  
  "Moore." Kennedy put her phone on speaker.
  
  "What the hell is going on? Half a dozen assholes blocked my way and then told me, not very politely, to keep my nose out of the ditch where it belonged. Something made all the big dogs bark, Moore, and I bet it's you." He paused, then said thoughtfully, "Not the first time, I guess."
  
  Kennedy gave him a shortened version, which ended with a plane full of Swedish Marines and an unknown SAS crew en route, now a five-hour flight from US soil.
  
  Drake felt awe. Five hours.
  
  At this moment Dahl shouted: "New information! I just heard that Canadians weren't even in Sweden. It seems they sacrificed the World Tree and Spear to focus on the Valkyries." He nodded his thanks in Ben's direction, pointedly excluding the grimacing professor. "But... they returned empty-handed. This private collector must be a real recluse... Or..." Drake shrugged, "he could be a criminal.
  
  "Good offer. Men are where it gets ugly anyway. The Canadians are preparing to strike the museum early this morning New York time."
  
  Kennedy's face took on a murderous expression as she listened to her boss and Dahl at the same time. "They're using the date," she suddenly hissed to both parties when it dawned on her. "These absolute bastards - and the Germans, no doubt - are hiding their real intentions behind the fucking date."
  
  Ben looked up. "I lost track."
  
  Drake echoed him. "What date?"
  
  "When we land in New York," Dahl explained, "it will be around eight in the morning on September 11th."
  
  
  SIXTEEN
  
  
  
  AIR SPACE
  
  
  Four hours left. The plane continued to hum in the cloudy sky.
  
  Dahl said, "I'll try the FBI again. But it's strange. I can't pass this level of verification. It's a damn stone wall. Ben - call the supervisor. Drake is your old boss. The clock is ticking, men, and we are nowhere. This hour demands progress. Go."
  
  Kennedy pleaded with her boss: "Shit on Thomas Caleb, Lipkind," she said. "This has nothing to do with him or my damn career. I'm telling you what the FBI, CIA, and all the other three-letter idiots don't know. I'm asking..." she paused, "I guess I'm asking you to trust me."
  
  "Three-letter assholes," Ben grumbled. "Brilliantly".
  
  Drake wanted to approach Kennedy Moore and offer some words of encouragement. The civilian in him wanted to hug her, but the soldier forced him to stay away.
  
  But the civilian population began to win this battle. Previously, he had used the word "gronk" to "tame" her, to fight back the growing spark of feeling he recognized, but it didn't work.
  
  Wells answered his call. "Speak now".
  
  "Listening to Taylor again? Look where we are, buddy? Have you convinced us to enter US airspace yet?"
  
  "Well... yes... and no. I'm dealing with reams of bureaucratic red tape, Drake, and it doesn't fit in my lap-" He waited a moment, then chuckled in disappointment. "That was a May reference, mate. Try to keep up."
  
  Drake smiled involuntarily. "Damn you, Wells. Listen, get your act together for this mission - help us - and I'll tell you about the dirtiest club in Hong Kong that Mai has ever worked undercover at, called Spinning Top.
  
  "Fuck me, that sounds intriguing. You're on it, buddy. Look, we are on our way, everything is ready according to all the rules, and my people across the pond have no problems with this."
  
  Drake felt a 'but'. "Yes?"
  
  "Someone in power is denying landing privileges and no one has ever heard of your plane, and that, my friend, smacks of internal corruption."
  
  Drake heard him. "Okay, keep me posted." A gentle press of the button ended the call.
  
  He heard Kennedy say, "Low is ideal, Captain. I overhear conversations here that talk about a conspiracy. Be... be careful, Lipkind."
  
  She closed her phone. "Well, he's prickly, but he takes me at my word. He sends as many black and white characters onto the stage as possible, with restraint. And he knows someone in the local Homeland Security office," she said, smoothing out her soft blouse. "The beans are spilling."
  
  God, Drake thought. There's a shitload of firepower heading into this museum. Enough to start a damn war. He didn't say anything out loud, but looked at his watch.
  
  Three hours left.
  
  Ben was still involved with the curator: "Look, we're not talking about a major renovation here, just moving the exhibition. I don't need to tell you how big the museum is, sir. Just move it and everything will be fine. Yes... SGG... Swedish Special Forces. The FBI is being informed because we speak...no ! Don't wait for them to call. You can't afford to hesitate."
  
  Fifteen seconds of silence, then: "Have you never heard of SGG? Well, Google it!" Ben pointed at his phone in despair. "He's stalling," Ben said. "I just know it. He spoke evasively, as if he couldn"t come up with enough excuses."
  
  "Another red tape." Drake pointed at Dahl. "This is quickly becoming an outbreak."
  
  There was a heavy silence, then Dahl's mobile phone rang. "Oh my God," he said in response. "Den Statsminister."
  
  Drake made a face at Kennedy and Ben. "Prime Minister".
  
  Several respectful, yet frank, words were spoken that deepened Drake's respect for Thorsten Dahl. The special forces officer told his boss what happened. Drake was grimly convinced that he would end up liking this guy.
  
  Dahl ended the call and then took a moment to collect his thoughts. Finally he looked up and turned to the plane.
  
  "Directly from a member of the president"s cabinet, his closest advisers," Dahl told them. "This flight will not be allowed to land."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Three hours left.
  
  "They wouldn't inform the president," Dahl said. "Washington, D.C. and Capitol Hill are deep in this, my friends. The State Minister says that now it has become global, a conspiracy on an international scale, and no one knows who is supporting whom. This alone," he said, frowning, "speaks of the seriousness of our mission."
  
  "Screw the cluster," Drake said. "This is what we used to call a massive failure."
  
  Ben, meanwhile, again tried to contact the curator of the National History Museum. All he got was a voicemail. "Wrong," he said. "He should have checked something by now." Ben's nimble fingers immediately began flying over the virtual keyboard.
  
  "I have an idea," he said loudly. "I pray to God that I"m wrong."
  
  Wells then called back, explaining that his SAS team had made a secret landing at an abandoned airfield in New Jersey. The team headed to downtown New York, traveling by any means necessary.
  
  Drake checked the time. Two hours before landing.
  
  And then Ben shouted: "Hit the mark!" Everyone jumped. Even the Swedish marines gave him their full attention.
  
  "It's here!" - he shouted. "Scattered all over the internet if you have time to look." He pointed angrily at the screen.
  
  "Colby Taylor," he said. "The Canadian billionaire is the largest contributor to the National History Museum and one of New York's largest financiers. I bet he made a few calls?"
  
  Dahl winced. "This is our barrier," he groaned. "The man they are talking about owns more people than the mafia." For the first time, the Swedish officer seemed to slouch in his chair.
  
  Kennedy could not hide his hatred. "The moneybags' suits win again," she hissed. "I bet that bastard is also a banker."
  
  "Maybe, maybe not," Drake said. "I always have a plan B."
  
  One hour left.
  
  
  SEVENTEEN
  
  
  
  New York, USA
  
  
  The Port Authority of New York Police Department is perhaps best known for its humiliating bravery and casualties during the events of 9/11. What it is less known for is its covert handling of most SAS flights departing from Europe. Although there is no dedicated team to oversee this element of their work, the intercontinental staff involved are such a small minority that over the years many have become close friends.
  
  Drake made another call. "It's going to be hot tonight," he told CAPD inspector Jack Schwartz. "Did you miss me, buddy?"
  
  "God, Drake was... what? Two years?"
  
  "Three. New Year's Eve, '07."
  
  "Is your wife okay?"
  
  "Alison and I broke up, mate. Is this enough to define my identity?"
  
  "I thought you left the service."
  
  "I did. Wells called me back for the last job. Did he call you?"
  
  "He did. He said that you promised him to wait a little."
  
  "Did he do it now? Schwartz, listen to me. This is your call. You have to know that this shit is going to fly out to the fans and that our entry will eventually lead to you. I'm sure by then we will all be heroes and this will be considered an auspicious deed, but..."
  
  "Wells brought me up to speed," Schwartz said, but Drake heard a hint of concern. "Don't worry, buddy. I still have enough strength to get permission to land."
  
  Their plane invaded US airspace.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The plane landed in poor daylight and taxied directly to the small terminal building. The minute the door opened slightly, twelve fully loaded members of the Swedish SGG jogged down the rickety metal stairs and loaded into three waiting cars. Drake, Ben, Kennedy and the Professor followed him, Ben almost peed himself when he saw their transport.
  
  "They look like humvees!"
  
  A minute later, the cars raced down the empty runway, picking up speed toward a hidden ramp at the rear of the nondescript airfield that, after a few turns, emerged onto an inconspicuous country road that connected to one of Manhattan's main tributaries.
  
  New York spread out before them in all its splendor. Modern skyscrapers, old bridges, classical architecture. Their convoy took a shortcut straight to the city center, taking risks using every tricky shortcut their local drivers knew. Horns blared, curses filled the air, curbs and trash cans were cut. At one point, a one-way street was involved, cutting their journey by seven minutes and causing three fender failures.
  
  Inside the cars the action was almost as hectic. Dahl finally received a call from the Swedish Prime Minister, who had finally won the FBI's good will and permission to enter the museum if they got there first.
  
  Dahl turned to their driver. "Faster!"
  
  Ben handed Dahl a map of the museum showing the location of the Wolves.
  
  More information has leaked. The black and white people have arrived. Rapid response teams have been notified.
  
  Drake reached Wells. "Sitch?"
  
  "We're outside. The police cavalry arrived two minutes ago. You?"
  
  "Twenty steps away. Shout to us if anything happens." Something caught his attention and he focused for a moment on something outside the window. A strong feeling of déj à vu sent shivers down his ribs when he saw a huge billboard announcing the arrival of fashion designer Abel Frey in New York with his amazing cat-walking show.
  
  This is crazy, Drake thought. Really crazy.
  
  Ben woke up his sister in the UK and, still breathless from the sight of their transport, managed to enroll her in Project Valkyrie - as he called it. "Saves time," he told Dahl. "She can continue her research while we're out there saving these wolves. Don"t worry, she thinks it"s because I want to photograph them for my degree."
  
  "Are you lying to your sister?" Drake frowned.
  
  "He's growing up." Kennedy patted Blake's hand. "Give the child some space."
  
  Drake's cell phone chirped. He didn't need to check the caller ID to know it was Wells. "Don't tell me, buddy. Canadians?
  
  Wells laughed quietly. "You wish."
  
  "A?" - I asked.
  
  "Both Canadians and Germans using different routes. This war is about to begin without you."
  
  Dahl said: "The SWAT team is three minutes away. The frequency is 68."
  
  Drake looked out the wide window. "We are here".
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  "Central Park West Entrance," Ben said as they got out of their cars. "Leads to the only two staircases that go up from the lower level all the way to the fourth floor."
  
  Kennedy stepped out into the morning heat. "Which floor do the wolves live on?"
  
  "Fourth".
  
  "Figures." Kennedy shrugged and patted her stomach. "Knew I would end up regretting these holiday cakes."
  
  Drake stayed behind as the Swedish soldiers ran as fast as they could down the steps of the museum. Once there, they began to remove their weapons. Dahl stopped them in the shadow of a high entrance, the team flanked by round columns.
  
  "Twitters are on. "
  
  A dozen "Checks!" sounded. "We go first," he glared at Drake. "You follow. Grab it."
  
  He handed Drake two cylindrical objects the size of lighters and two headphones. Drake turned the cylindrical trunks 68 and waited until both began to emit green light from their bases. He gave one to Kennedy and kept the other for himself.
  
  "Twitters," he said to blank stares. "This is the new friendly fire assistance. All friendly matches are tuned to the same frequency. Look at a colleague and there's an annoying chirping sound in your ear, look at a bad guy and you can't hear anything..." He put on his earpiece. "I know it's not reliable, but it helps in situations where you have a lot to do. Like this."
  
  Ben said, "What if the frequency collides with another one?"
  
  "It will not happen. This is the latest Bluetooth technology - frequency adaptive spread spectrum. The devices 'hop' through seventy-nine randomly selected frequencies in pre-assigned bands - together. Has a range of approximately two hundred feet."
  
  "Cool," Ben said. "Where are mine?"
  
  "You and the professor will spend some time in Central Park," Drake told him. "Tourist stuff. Chill mate, this is going to be unpleasant."
  
  Without another word, Drake turned to follow the last Swedish soldier through the high archway and into the dark interior of the museum. Kennedy watched closely.
  
  "A gun would be nice," she muttered.
  
  "Americans," Drake intoned, but then quickly smiled. "Relax. The Swedes must destroy the Canadians, and doubly quickly."
  
  They reached a huge Y-shaped staircase, dominated by arched windows and a vaulted ceiling, and hurried upstairs without stopping. Normally this staircase would be filled with wide-eyed tourists, but today the whole place was eerily quiet.
  
  Drake paced himself and remained vigilant. Dozens of dangerous people were rushing through this huge old space right now. It was only a matter of time before they got together.
  
  They ran up, their boots echoing loudly off the high walls, static coming from their throat microphones, resonating with the natural acoustics of the building. Drake concentrated hard, remembering his training, but tried to keep a close eye on Kennedy without letting it show. The civilian and the soldier continued to conflict within him.
  
  Approaching the third floor, Dahl made a 'forward-slow' gesture. Kennedy moved closer to Drake. "Where are your SAS buddies?"
  
  "Staying away," Drake said. "After all, we don"t want to commit unnecessary killings now, do we?"
  
  Kennedy suppressed a chuckle. "You're a comedian, Drake. A real funny guy."
  
  "You should see me on a date."
  
  Kennedy missed the shot, then said, "Don"t think I"ll agree." Her right hand habitually reached out to smooth the front of her blouse.
  
  "Don"t think I asked."
  
  They began to climb the last stairs. As the leading soldier approached the final bend, a shot rang out and a piece of plaster exploded inches from his head.
  
  "Get down!"
  
  A hail of shots pierced the walls. Dahl crawled forward on his stomach, making a series of movements with his arms.
  
  Drake said, "The scarecrow method."
  
  One soldier fired a quick volley to keep his enemy busy. Another took off his helmet, hooked his rifle to his belt and slowly moved it forward into the line of fire. They heard a faint rustle of movement. The third soldier jumped out from cover under the stairs and hit the sentry between the eyes. The man fell dead before he could shoot.
  
  "Cute," Drake liked the well-planned moves.
  
  They walked up the stairs, weapons drawn, and fanned out around the arched entrance to the fourth floor, then cautiously peered into the room beyond.
  
  Drake read the signs. This was the hall of lizard dinosaurs. Lord, he thought. Wasn't that where the damn Tyrannosaurus was kept?
  
  He glanced furtively into the room. Several professional looking guys in civilian clothes looked busy, all of them armed with some kind of heavy machine gun, most likely a Mac-10 'spray and pray'. However, the Tyrannosaurus stood before him, towering in nightmarish majesty, the enduring embodiment of a nightmare even millions of years after its disappearance.
  
  And right past him - deftly slipping past his jaws - walked Alicia Miles, another deadly predator. She shouted in her signature manner: "Watch the time, boys! One slip here and I will personally take all of you buggers out of the game! Hurry up!"
  
  "Now there"s a lady there," Kennedy whispered mockingly from a millimeter away. Drake felt her discreet scent of perfume and light breathing. "Old friend, Drake?"
  
  "Taught her everything she knows," he said. "Literally, at first. Then she walked past me. Weird ninja-Shaolin shit. And she was never a lady, that's for sure."
  
  "There are four on the left," the soldier reported. "Five on the right. Plus a woman. Odin's exhibit must be in the back of the room, perhaps in a separate alcove, I don't know."
  
  Dahl took a breath. "Time to move."
  
  
  EIGHTEEN
  
  
  
  NEW YORK NATIONAL HISTORY MUSEUM
  
  
  The Swedes jump out of cover, firing accurately. Four Canadians fell, then another, three of them crashing into a glass exhibit, which in turn toppled over and crashed to the floor with a noise like an explosion.
  
  The remaining Canadians turned and opened fire on the spot. The two Swedes screamed. One fell and blood flowed from a wound on his head. The other collapsed in a writhing heap, clutching his thigh.
  
  Drake slid into the room across the polished floor and crawled behind a massive glass display displaying giant armadillos. Once he was sure Kennedy was safe, he raised his head to look through the glass.
  
  I saw Alicia kill two fleeing Swedes with two perfect shots.
  
  Four more Canadians appeared from behind the Tyrannosaurus. They must have been in the alcove where the Wolves were displayed. They had strange leather belts strapped to their bodies and heavy-duty backpacks on their backs.
  
  And also Mac-10. They filled the room with bullets.
  
  The Swedes dived for cover. Drake fell to the floor, making sure to wrap his arm around Kennedy's head to keep it as low as possible. The glass above him shattered, shards of glass scattered around and rained down on them. Armadillo fossils and replicas burst and disintegrated around them.
  
  "Clean up real quick, okay?" Kennedy muttered. "Yes, that's right."
  
  Drake shook himself, throwing shards of glass everywhere, and checked the outside side wall of the museum. A Canadian fell there and Drake immediately tagged him.
  
  "Already doing this."
  
  Using the broken display as cover, he approached the lying guy. He reached for the machine gun, but the man's eyes suddenly opened wide!
  
  "Jesus!" Drake's heart beat faster than Noah's hands as he built the Ark.
  
  The man groaned, his eyes widening in pain. Drake quickly came to his senses, took the weapon away and clubbed him into oblivion. "Bloody Zombie."
  
  He spun around on one knee, ready to strike, but the Canadians retreated behind the T. rex's ribbed belly. Damn it! If only they hadn't recently changed his posture, causing him to walk less upright than before. All he could see were a few severed legs.
  
  Kennedy moved towards him, sliding to stand next to him.
  
  "Nice slide," he said, swaying left and right, trying to see what the Canadians were up to.
  
  Finally, he saw movement between the three broken ribs and gasped in disbelief. "They have Wolves," he exhaled. "And they break them to pieces!"
  
  Kennedy shook her head. "No. They break them into pieces," she pointed out. "Look. Look at the backpacks. Nobody said all parts of Odin had to be whole, did they?"
  
  "And it"s easier to take them out in parts," Drake nodded.
  
  He was about to move on to the cover of the next exhibit when all hell broke loose. From the far corner of the room, through a door marked 'Vertebrate Origins', a dozen screaming banshees burst in. They hooted, they shot wildly, they laughed like fans overdosing on multi-double Yeager on spring break.
  
  "The Germans are here." Drake said dryly before falling to the floor.
  
  The Tyrannosaurus shook wildly as the lead projectile pierced right through it. His head hung, his teeth ground, as if the violence around him had angered him enough to bring him back to life. The Canadian flew back in a cloud of gore. Blood splattered all over the dinosaur's jaw. The Swedish soldier lost his arm up to the elbow and was running around screaming.
  
  The Germans burst in, going crazy.
  
  From behind the window closest to Drake came the familiar boom-boom-boom of helicopter rotor blades.
  
  Not again!
  
  Out of his peripheral vision, Drake noticed a group of special forces figures dressed in dark sneaking towards him. When Drake looked in that direction, the tweeters in his ears went crazy.
  
  Good guys.
  
  The Canadians went for it, causing chaos. They burst out from under the T. rex's giant belly, firing furiously. Drake grabbed Kennedy by the shoulder.
  
  "Move!" They were on the line of flight. He pushed Kennedy away just as Alicia Miles came into view. Drake raised his weapon, then saw the massive German Milo approaching from the left.
  
  In one shared second of pause, all three lowered their weapons.
  
  Alicia looked surprised. "I knew you'd get into this, Drake, you old bastard!"
  
  Milo stopped dead in his tracks. Drake looked from one to the other. "I should have stayed in Sweden, dog"s breath." Drake tried to egg the big guy on. "Miss your bitch, huh?"
  
  The bullets pierced the air around them without penetrating their tense cocoon.
  
  "Your time will come," Milo whispered hoarsely. "Like your little guy there, and his sister. And Parnevik"s bones."
  
  And then the world returned, and Drake instinctively ducked a millisecond after seeing Alicia inexplicably fall to the ground.
  
  An RPG rocket pierced the T-Rex's belly, sending bone knives flying in all directions. He rushed across the hall, right through one of the side windows. After a heavy pause, there was a giant explosion that shook the room, followed by the agonizing sound of collapsing metal and squealing joints.
  
  Metal death crashed into the wall of the National History Museum.
  
  Drake was sprawled on top of Kennedy as the helicopter's momentum caused it to crash into the wall of the museum, causing a collapse of heavy debris. The nose broke right through, throwing debris forward in undulating heaps. The cockpit then crashed almost vertically into the collapsing wall, and the pilot was seen jerking the gear stick in a frantic panic before being smeared like a fly across his own windshield.
  
  Then the propeller blades hit... and came off!
  
  The flying metal spears created a kill zone inside the room. The six-foot spike made a buzzing sound as it flew towards Drake and Kennedy. The former SAS soldier lay as flat as possible and then felt the top of his ear being cut off before the scythe sliced off a chunk of Kennedy's scalp and plunged three feet into the farthest wall.
  
  He lay stunned for a moment, then suddenly turned his head. The helicopter stalled and lost speed. The next moment he slid down the side of the museum, like Wile E. Coyote sliding down the side of the mountain he had just collided with.
  
  Drake counted down four seconds before there was a deafening crunch of heavy metal. He took a moment to look around the room. The Canadians did not break stride, even though one of their own was cut to pieces by a rotor blade. They reached the side of the room, four guys with heavy backpacks, as well as Alicia and one cover fighter. They were turning around what looked like descending units.
  
  Horror was written on the faces of the Germans, not covered with masks. Drake didn't notice the man in white and wondered if this mission was too risky for him. He saw special forces rapidly approaching them; the Swedes surrendered power when the Americans arrived.
  
  Canadians saved themselves with the Wolves! Drake tried to rise, but found it difficult to raise his body, greatly shaken by the near miss and the surprising scene.
  
  Kennedy helped by elbowing him hard before wriggling out from under him, sitting up and wiping the blood from her head.
  
  "Pervert". - she muttered in mock anger.
  
  Drake pressed his hand to his ear to stop the bleeding. As he watched, three of the five remaining Swedish special forces attempted to fight off the Canadians as the first used his launcher to jump out of a destroyed window.
  
  But Alicia turned around, a playful smile on her face, and Drake inwardly cringed. She leaped forward and swept through them, a black widow of brutal execution, bending highly skilled soldiers in such a way that she broke their bones with unrivaled ease, and it took her less than twelve seconds to destroy the team.
  
  By that time, three Canadians had silently and skillfully jumped out of the building.
  
  The remaining Canadian soldier opened fire from cover.
  
  The New York SWAT team charged the Germans, pushing them to the back of the room, leaving all but three of them where they stood. The remaining three, including Milo, dropped their weapons and ran.
  
  Drake winced as the Tyrannosaurus finally gave up the ghost and collapsed in a pile of old bones and dust.
  
  Kennedy cursed as the fourth Canadian jumped, quickly followed by Alicia. The last soldier was shot in the skull as he prepared to jump. He fell back into the room and lay sprawled among the burning rubble, just another casualty of the madman's war and his race to the apocalypse.
  
  
  NINETEEN
  
  
  
  NEW YORK
  
  
  Almost immediately, Drake's mind began to evaluate and analyze. Milo made some conclusions about Ben and Professor Parnevik.
  
  He fished out his cell phone and checked it for damage before pressing speed dial.
  
  The phone rang and rang. Ben wouldn't have left it that long, not Ben...
  
  His heart sank. He tried to protect Ben, promised the guy that he would be okay. If anything...
  
  The voice answered: "Yes?" Whisper.
  
  "Ben? Are you okay? Why are you whispering?"
  
  "Matt, thank God. My dad called me, I went away to talk, then I looked back and saw these two thugs beating the professor. I ran towards them and they drove off on motorcycles with a few others."
  
  "Did they take the professor?"
  
  "Sorry, buddy. I would help him if I could. Damn my father!"
  
  "No! Drake's heart was still recovering. "It's not your fault, Blakey. Not at all. Did these bikers have big backpacks strapped to their backs?"
  
  "Some did."
  
  "OK. Stay there."
  
  Drake took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. Canadians would hurry up. Ben dodged the nasty blow, thanks to his father, but the Professor was in deep shit. "Their plan was to escape from here on the waiting bicycles," he told Kennedy, then looked around the trashed room. "We need to find Dahl. We have a problem."
  
  "Only one?"
  
  Drake surveyed the destruction they had caused in the museum. "This thing just exploded big time."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake left the museum surrounded by government personnel. They were setting up a staging post at the west entrance of Central Park, which he deliberately ignored when he noticed Ben sitting on the bench across from him. The child cried uncontrollably. Now what? Kennedy ran along the grass strip next to him.
  
  "This is Karin," Ben"s eyes were as crowded as Niagara Falls. "I emailed her to ask how she was getting on with Valkyries and got... got this MPEG in... in response."
  
  He turned his laptop around so they could see. A tiny video file appeared on the screen, playing on repeat. The clip lasted about thirty seconds.
  
  The black-and-white freeze frame showed blurry images of Ben's sister, Karin, hanging limply in the arms of two burly, masked men. Dark stains that could only be blood were smeared around her forehead and mouth. The third man raised his face to the camera, shouting in a thick German accent.
  
  "She resisted, the little minx, but rest assured we will be teaching her how stupid this is over the next few weeks!" The man shook his finger, saliva spraying from his mouth. "Stop helping them, little boy. Stop attacking them.... issss.... If you do that, you will get her back safe and sound" - an unpleasant laugh. "More or less".
  
  The fragment began to repeat itself.
  
  "She"s a second Dan," Ben babbled. "Wants to open his own martial arts school. I didn"t think anyone could b-b-beat her, my-my older sister."
  
  Drake hugged Ben as his young friend broke down. His gaze, noticed by Kennedy but not intended for him, was full of hatred on the battlefield.
  
  
  TWENTY
  
  
  
  NEW YORK
  
  
  Abel Frey, world-famous fashion designer, multimillionaire and owner of the infamous 24-hour party Chateau-La Verein, sat backstage at Madison Square Garden and watched his minions scurry around like the free-loading parasites they truly were.
  
  During solstice or down periods, he provided them within the confines of his sprawling Alpine home-everyone from world-famous models, right down to lighting crews and security personnel-the parties didn't stop for weeks on end. But as the tour went on and Frey's name was in the spotlight, they fussed and fretted and catered to his every whim.
  
  The scene was taking shape. The cat run was half completed. His lighting designer worked with The Garden team to come up with a mutually respectful magic plan: a synchronized lighting and sound schedule for the two-hour show.
  
  Frey intended to hate it and make the bastards sweat and start over.
  
  Supermodels walked back and forth in various stages of undress. Backstage at a fashion show was the opposite of a stage show-you needed less material, not more-and these models-at least the ones who lived with him at La Vereina-knew that he'd seen it all before anyway.
  
  He encouraged exhibitionism. In truth, he demanded it. Fear curbed them, these brutes. Fear, greed and gluttony, and all the other wonderful common sins that chained ordinary men and women to those with power and wealth - from Victoria's Secret candy salesmen to Eastern European ice sculptures and the rest of his lucky servants - every single one of them whining bloodsuckers.
  
  Frey saw Milo penetrate the nuptial bodies. I saw how models shied away from the cruel rude man. I smiled inwardly at their obvious story.
  
  Milo didn't look happy. "Back there!" He nodded towards Frey's makeshift mobile office.
  
  Frey's face hardened when they were alone. "What's happened?"
  
  "What didn"t happen? We lost the helicopter. I creaked out of there with two guys. They had SWAT, SGG, that bastard Drake and some other bitch. It was hell out there, man." Milo's American intonations literally hurt Frey's more cultured ears. The beast had just called him "man".
  
  "Splinter?"
  
  "Lost to that bareback whore, Miles." Milo grinned.
  
  "Did Canadians get it?" Frey gripped the arms of his chair in anger, causing them to distort.
  
  Milo pretended not to notice, betraying his inner anxiety. Frey's selfishness swelled his chest. "Fucking useless bastards!" He screamed so loudly that Milo flinched. "You useless bastards lost to a bunch of fucking horsemen!"
  
  Saliva flew from Frey's lips, splattering the table separating them. "Do you know how long I've been waiting for this moment? This time? And you?"
  
  Unable to control himself, he hit the American commando in the face. Milo turned his head sharply and his cheeks turned red, but he didn't react in any other way.
  
  Frey forced a supreme cocoon of calm to envelop him. "My life," he said with the greatest effort that he knew only men of high birth could make, "has been dedicated-nay, dedicated-to the search for this Tomb... this Tomb of the Gods. I will transport them - piece by piece - to my castle. "I am the ruler," he said, waving his hand towards the door, "and I don"t mean the ruler of these idiots. I can get five supermodels to fuck my shortest security guard just because I had an idea. I can make a good man fight to the death in my battle arena, but that does not make me a ruler. You understand?"
  
  Frey's voice oozed intellectual superiority. Milo nodded, but his eyes were empty. Frey took this as stupidity. He sighed.
  
  "Well, what else do you have for me?"
  
  "This". Milo stood up and tapped on the keyboard of Frey's laptop for a few seconds. A live broadcast has appeared, focusing on the area near the National History Museum.
  
  "We have people posing as television crews. They had their eyes on Drake, a woman and a boy - Ben Blake. That also leaves SPECIAL and all the rest of the SGG, and look, I believe this," he tapped the screen lightly, leaving behind unwanted stains of sweat and God knows what else, "this is the SAS team."
  
  "You believe..." Frey said. "Are you trying to tell me that we now have a multiracial race on our hands? And we no longer have the greatest resources." He sighed. "Not that it's helped us so far."
  
  Milo shared a secret smile with his boss. "You know it is."
  
  "Yes. Your girlfriend. She is our best asset and her time is approaching. Well, let's hope she remembers who she reports to."
  
  "It's more about the money that she'll remember," Milo said with great insight.
  
  Frey's eyes lit up and a lecherous twinkle appeared in his eyes. "Hm. I won't forget this."
  
  "We also have Ben Blake's sister. Apparently a wild cat."
  
  "Fine. Send her to the Castle. We'll be back there soon." He made a pause. "Wait... Wait... That woman is with Drake. Who is she?"
  
  Milo studied his face and shrugged. "I have no idea".
  
  "Well, find out!"
  
  Milo called the TV crew. "Use facial recognition software on Drake's woman," he growled.
  
  Four minutes of silence later, he received an answer. "Kennedy Moore," he told Frey. "New York Cop"
  
  "Yes. YES. I never forget debauchery. Step aside, Milo. Let me work."
  
  Frey Googled the title and followed several links. In less than ten minutes he knew everything, and his smile became wide and even more perverted. The germs of a great idea grew in his mind after puberty.
  
  "Kennedy Moore," he couldn"t resist explaining to the infantryman, "was one of the best in New York. She is currently on forced leave. She arrested the dirty cop and sent him to jail. His conviction led to the release of some of the people he helped convict, something to do with the broken chain of evidence." Frey paused. "What kind of backward country would implement a system like this, Milo?"
  
  "USA," His thug knew what was expected of him.
  
  "Well, a wonderful lawyer secured the release of a man named Thomas Caleb, "the worst serial killer in the history of the Northern United States," as it says here. My, my. It's deliciously disgusting. Listen!
  
  'Caleb opens his victim's eyes, using a stapler to shoot clips through the eyelid and forehead, then forces live insects down their throats, forcing them to chew and swallow until they choke to death.' Frey looked at Milo with wide eyes. "I would say a bit like eating at McDonald's."
  
  Milo didn't smile. "He is a murderer of innocents," he said. "Comedy doesn"t go well with murder."
  
  Frey smiled at him. "You killed innocents, didn't you?"
  
  "Only while doing my job. I'm a soldier."
  
  "Hmm, well, it's a fine line, right? Doesn't matter. Let's return to the current work. This Caleb has killed two more innocents since his release. I would say a clear result of ethical doctrine and a set of moral values, eh, Milo? In any case, this Caleb has now disappeared."
  
  Milo's head jerked towards the laptop screen, towards Kennedy Moore. "Two more?"
  
  Now Frey laughed. "Ha, ha. You're not so stupid that you don't understand this, are you? Imagine her grief. Imagine her agony!"
  
  Milo caught on and, despite himself, bared his teeth like a polar bear tearing apart its first catch of the day.
  
  "I have a plan". Frey giggled with delight. "Oh shit... I have a plan."
  
  
  TWENTY ONE
  
  
  
  NEW YORK
  
  
  The mobile headquarters was in chaos. Drake, Kennedy, and Ben followed Thorsten Dahl and the enraged Special Forces commander up the steps and past the commotion. They walked through two compartments before stopping in the relative silence provided by the alcove at the end of the metal shed.
  
  "We got a call," the special forces commander threw away his weapon in anger. "We got the damn call and fifteen minutes later three of my men are dead! What the...?"
  
  "Only three?" Dahl asked. "We lost six. Respect requires that we take the time..."
  
  "Fuck respect," the SWAT guy was furious. "You're trespassing on my territory, you English asshole. You are as bad as the damn terrorists!"
  
  Drake raised his hand. "Actually, I'm an English asshole. This idiot is Swedish."
  
  The American looked puzzled. Drake tightened his grip on Ben's shoulders. He felt the guy trembling. "We helped," he told the special forces guy. "They helped. It could have been a lot worse."
  
  And then, as fate brought down its ironic hammer, there was the shocking sound of bullets raining down on the headquarters. Everyone fell to the floor. A metallic sound bounced off the eastern wall. Before the shooting ended, the special forces commander stood up. "It's bulletproof," he said with a little embarrassment.
  
  "We need to go," Drake looked for Kennedy, but could not find her.
  
  "In the line of fire?" the special forces guy said. "Who the hell are you?"
  
  "It's not the company or the bullets that worries me," Drake said. "This is a rocket-propelled grenade that may soon follow."
  
  Prudence dictated evacuation. Drake came out just in time to see the black and whites running screaming in the direction the bullets had come from.
  
  He looked around again for Kennedy, but she seemed to have disappeared.
  
  Then suddenly a new face appeared among them. The Bureau Chief, judging by his three-star insignia and, as if that weren't enough, pushing past him, was a man wearing the rare five stars of a police commissioner. Drake knew immediately that this was the guy they should talk to. Police commissioners were involved in the fight against terrorism.
  
  The special forces commander's radio shouted: "All clear. There is a remote controlled weapon here on the roof. This is a red herring."
  
  "Bastards!" Drake thought that the Canadians and Germans were moving further and further with their prisoners.
  
  Thorsten Dahl addressed the newcomer. "You really should talk to my Minister of State."
  
  "The job is done," said the commissioner. "You're getting out of here."
  
  "No, wait," Drake began, physically restraining Ben from rushing forward. "You do not understand...."
  
  "No, no," said the commissioner through clenched teeth. "I don't know. And I mean you're leaving here, heading to Washington, DC. Capitol Hill wants a piece of you guys, and I hope they take it in big chunks. "
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The flight lasted ninety minutes. Drake was worried about Kennedy's mysterious disappearance until she reappeared just as the plane was about to take off.
  
  She came running down the aisle, out of breath.
  
  "I thought we lost you," Drake said. He felt enormous relief, but tried to keep it light-hearted.
  
  Kennedy didn't answer. Instead, she sat down on the window seat, away from the conversation. Drake stood up to investigate, but stopped when she pulled away from him, her face as white as alabaster.
  
  Where was she and what happened there?
  
  No calls or emails were allowed during the flight. No television. They flew in silence; several guards watched them without interfering.
  
  Drake could let it flow over him. SAS training required hours, days and months of waiting. For the preparation of. For observation. For him, an hour could fly by in a millisecond. At one point they were offered alcohol in these little plastic bottles and Drake hesitated for more than a moment.
  
  The whiskey sparkled, an amber amulet of disaster, his weapon of choice the last time things got difficult-when Alison left. He remembered the pain, the despair, and yet his gaze lingered on him.
  
  "Not here, thanks." Ben was alert enough to send his mistress away. "We're Mountain Dew guys. Bring it."
  
  Ben even tried to get Drake out of this state by pretending to be a geek. He leaned out into the aisle, watching as the presenter, swaying, returned to her place. "In the jargon of our American brothers, I would have gotten into it!"
  
  His face turned red as his hostess looked back at him in surprise. After a second she said, "This is not Hooters air, baby."
  
  Ben sank back into his chair. "Crap".
  
  Drake shook his head. "Your health, buddy. Your constant humiliation serves as a happy reminder that I was never your age."
  
  "Bullshit".
  
  "Seriously-thank you."
  
  "Don't worry".
  
  "And Karin - she'll be fine. I promise."
  
  "How can you promise that, Matt?"
  
  Drake paused. What was expressed was his innate commitment to helping those in need, not the clear judgment of a soldier.
  
  "They won't hurt her yet," he said. "And very soon we will have more help than you can imagine."
  
  "How do you know they won"t hurt her?"
  
  Drake sighed. "Okay, okay, that's an educated guess. If they wanted her dead, they would have killed her right away, right? No pampering. But they didn't. So..."
  
  "Yes?"
  
  "The Germans need her for something. They will keep her alive." Drake knew they could take her to a separate interrogation or something even more conventional - to a dictator-like boss who liked to dominate every event. Over the years, Drake fell in love with this type of tyrant. Their authoritarianism always gave the good guys a second chance.
  
  Ben forced a forced smile. Drake felt the plane begin to descend and began to review the facts in his head. With his small team falling apart, he had to step up and protect them even more.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Within two minutes of leaving the plane, Drake, Ben, Kennedy and Dahl were ushered through several doors, up a quiet escalator, down a plush hallway lined with thick blue panels, and finally through a heavy door that Drake noticed had been thoughtfully locked behind them.
  
  They found themselves in a first-class, first-class lounge, empty except for themselves and eight others: five armed guards and three suits-two women and an older man.
  
  The man stepped forward. "Jonathan Gates," he said quietly. "Minister of Defense."
  
  Drake felt a sudden rush of panic. God, this guy was mega-powerful, maybe fifth or sixth in line for the presidency. He sighed and stepped forward, noting the advancing movements of the guards, then spread his arms.
  
  "All the friends are here," he said. "At least... I think so."
  
  "I believe you are right." The Minister of Defense stepped forward and extended his hand. "To save time, I was already up to date. The United States is willing and able to help. I am here to... facilitate... this assistance."
  
  One of the women offered everyone a drink. She had black hair, a piercing gaze, and was in her mid-fifties, with worry lines thick enough to hide state secrets and a manner of ignoring guards that spoke of her discomfort with them.
  
  The drinks melted the ice a bit. Drake and Ben remained near Gates, sipping diet drinks. Kennedy walked to the window, swirling her wine and looking out at the taxiing planes, seemingly lost in thought. Thorsten Dahl sank into a comfortable chair with Evian, his body language chosen to be non-threatening.
  
  "My sister," Ben spoke. "Can you help her?"
  
  "The CIA has contacted Interpol, but we don"t have any leads on the Germans yet." After a moment, noting Ben's distress and the effort it took him to reach out to a member of Congress, the secretary added: "We're trying, son. We will find them."
  
  "My parents don"t know yet." Ben involuntarily looked down at his mobile phone. "But it won"t take long-"
  
  Now another woman stepped forward - a cheerful, confident, much younger individual, in every way reminiscent of the future former Mrs. Secretary of State, a real predator or, as Drake told himself, a political version of Alicia Miles.
  
  "My country is nothing short of unrealistic, Mr. Dahl, Mr. Drake. We know we're way behind on this, and we know what the stakes are. Your SAS team has been cleared for operation. SGG too. We have a Delta team ready to help. Just add up the numbers..." She wiggled her fingers. "Coordinates".
  
  "And Professor Parnevik?" Dahl spoke for the first time. "What news about Canadians?"
  
  "Warrants are being issued," the secretary said a little stiffly. "This is a diplomatic situation-"
  
  "No!" Drake shouted, then exhaled to calm himself down. "No, sir. This is the wrong approach. This thing launched... what?... three days ago? Time is everything here, especially now. The next few days," he said, "are where we win or lose."
  
  Secretary Gates gave him a surprised look. "I hear you still have some of the soldier in you, Drake. But not because of this reaction."
  
  "I switch between soldier and civilian when it suits," Drake shrugged. "The benefits of being a former soldier."
  
  "Yeah. Well, if it makes you feel better, warrants won't help. Colby Taylor disappeared from his Canadian mansion along with most of his employees. My guess is that he had been planning this for a long time and switched to some pre-arranged contingencies. Essentially - he"s off the grid."
  
  Drake closed his eyes. "Any good news?"
  
  A young woman spoke. "Well, we offer you all the resources of the Library of Congress to help your research." Her eyes sparkled. "The largest library in the world. Thirty-two million books. Rare prints. And the World Digital Library."
  
  Ben looked at her as if she had just agreed to enter a Princess Leia cosplay contest. "All the resources? So - theoretically - you could figure out which German is obsessed with Norse mythology? You might find texts about Odin and this tomb of the Gods. Stuff that"s not on the internet?"
  
  "You could, with just the touch of a button," the woman said. "And, failing that, we have some very old librarians."
  
  Ben's eyes lit up with hope as he looked at Matt. "Take us there."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The Library of Congress was open to them in the very early hours of Sunday morning. The lights on, the staff attentive, the world's largest library certainly impressed. At first, the architecture and feel of the place reminded Drake of a museum, but as he looked at the rows of bookcases and circular reading balconies, he soon felt the respectful atmosphere of ancient knowledge, and his mood changed to match his surroundings.
  
  While Drake spent some time wandering the corridors, Ben wasted no time in diving into research. He sneaked onto the balcony, loaded up the laptop and sent their Swedish special forces commander on a quest to find coffee and cookies.
  
  "Nice place," Drake said as he circled around. "I feel like Nicolas Cage could pop out any minute."
  
  Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know where to start," he admitted. "My head is a barn, buddy."
  
  Thorsten Dahl tapped on the railings that surrounded the balcony. "Start with what you know," he said in that studied Oxford tone. "Start with a legend."
  
  "Right. Well, we know this poem. It pretty much says that whoever desecrates the tomb of the Gods will bring hellfire down upon the Earth. And it's fire, literally. Our planet will burn. We also know that this legend has unique historical parallels with other related legends written about other Gods."
  
  "What we don"t know," Dahl said, "is why? Or how?"
  
  "Fire," Drake said sharply. "The guy just said that."
  
  Ben closed his eyes. Dahl turned to Drake with a tight smile. "It's called brainstorming," he said. "Analyzing facts often helps reveal the truth. I meant how a catastrophe occurs. Please either help or leave."
  
  Drake sipped his coffee and remained silent. Both of these guys lost people and deserved space. He walked up to the railing and looked back, his eyes darting around the round room, noting the positions of the staff and American agents. Kennedy sat two floors below, furiously tapping away at her laptop, isolated by her own... what? Drake thought. Guilt? Fear? Depression? He knew all about it, and he wasn't going to start preaching.
  
  "The legend," said Ben, "indicates that one desecration of Odin"s grave will begin the flow of rivers of fire. I would say this is as important to know as anything else here."
  
  Drake frowned as his recent memories surfaced. Rivers of fire? He saw it.
  
  But where?
  
  "Why did you say it like that?" he asked. "Rivers of Fire?"
  
  "Don't know. Maybe because I'm tired of saying 'hellfire is erupting' and 'the end is near'. I feel like a Hollywood movie trailer."
  
  "So you went after the rivers of fire?" Dahl raised an eyebrow. "Like lava?"
  
  "No, wait," Drake snapped his fingers. "Yes! Supervolcano! In... in Iceland, right?" He looked at the Swede for confirmation.
  
  "Look, just because I'm Scandinavian doesn't mean I'm"
  
  "Yes". At that moment, the Junior Assistant Secretary of Defense materialized from behind a nearby bookcase. "On the southeast side of Iceland. The whole world knows about this. After reading the new government study, I think this is the seventh existing supervolcano."
  
  "The most famous one is in Yellowstone Park," Ben said.
  
  "But does the Supervolcano pose such a threat?" Drake asked. "Or is this another Hollywood myth?"
  
  Both Ben and the assistant secretary nodded. "The term 'species extinction' is not excessive in this context," the aide said. "Research tells us that two previous supervolcanic eruptions coincide with the two largest mass extinction events that have ever occurred on our planet. Second, of course, are dinosaurs."
  
  "How much of a coincidence?" Drake asked.
  
  "So close that if it happened once, you would be surprised by it. But twice? Let's..."
  
  "Crap".
  
  Ben raised his hands in the air. "Look, we're getting sidetracked here. What we need is to load Odin with crap." He highlighted several titles on the screen. "This, this and wow ¸ definitely this. Voluspa - where Odin talks about his meetings with the Seer."
  
  "Visits?" Drake made a grimace. "Viking porn, huh?"
  
  The assistant leaned over Ben and pressed a few buttons, entered a password and typed a line. Her pantsuit was the opposite of Kennedy's suit, tastefully designed to highlight her figure rather than hide it. Ben's eyes widened, his problems forgotten for a moment.
  
  Drake mouthed, "Wasted talent."
  
  Ben gave him the middle finger just as the assistant stood up. Fortunately, she didn't see him. "They will be brought to you within five minutes," she said.
  
  "Thank you, miss." Drake hesitated. "Sorry, I don"t know your name."
  
  "Call me Hayden," she said.
  
  The books were placed next to Ben a few minutes later, and he immediately chose the one called Voluspa. He flipped through the pages like a man possessed; like an animal smelling blood. Dahl chose another volume, Drake - the third. Hayden sat next to Ben, studying the text with him.
  
  And then Ben shouted "Eureka! I have it!" Missing link. It's Heidi! Damn Heidi! This book follows, and I quote, "the journeys of Odin"s favorite seer, Heidi."
  
  "Like in a children's book?" Dahl obviously remembered his school days.
  
  Drake just looked confused. "A? I'm more of a Heidi Klum type of guy."
  
  "Yes, a children's book! I believe that the legend of Heidi and the story of her travels must have evolved over the years from a Norse saga into a Norse myth, and then a writer from Switzerland decided to use the tale as the basis for a children's book."
  
  "Well, what does it say?" Drake felt his heart beat faster.
  
  Ben read for a second. "Oh, that says a lot," he continued hastily. "That pretty damn well says it all."
  
  
  TWENTY TWO
  
  
  
  WASHINGTON, DC
  
  
  Kennedy Moore sat staring at her computer screen, seeing nothing, and thinking about how when you grind life under your thumb, it's essentially just a tennis ball being manipulated by a master. A small turn back changed your destiny, some unexpected turn sent you into a spiral of self-destruction, then a few days of fast-paced action brought you back into the game.
  
  She felt energized on the way to New York, even better after the museum madness. She was pleased with herself and maybe even a little pleased with Matt Drake.
  
  How perverse, she told herself. But then, didn't someone once say that from great difficulties comes great progress? Something like that.
  
  The Professor was then kidnapped. Ben Blake's sister has been kidnapped. And Kennedy walked resolutely towards this mobile headquarters, head straight and once again completely immersed in the game, her thoughts focused on making sense of the confusion.
  
  Then, as she began to walk up the steps, Lipkind materialized from the crowd and stopped her abruptly.
  
  "Captain?"
  
  "Hi Moore. We need to talk ".
  
  "Come inside," Kennedy waved towards the headquarters, "we could use your help."
  
  "Uh, uh. No. It's not because of the museum, Moore. The cruiser is in that direction."
  
  He moved through the crowd, his tense back now looking at her like a silent accusation. Kennedy had to hurry to catch up.
  
  "What... what happened, captain?"
  
  "Get in."
  
  The cruiser was empty except for the two of them. The street noise has dimmed, the world-shaking events outside are now locked away further than the virtue of a party-going socialite.
  
  Kennedy half turned in her seat to face Lipkind. "Don't tell me...please don't tell me..." A lump in his throat made Lipkind lose his stern expression, telling her everything before the words left his lips.
  
  But they fell, and every word was a drop of poison in her already blackened soul.
  
  "Caleb struck again. We had a month's delay - then yesterday afternoon we got a call. The girl... ahh... the girl from Nevada," his voice became hoarse. "New in town. Student."
  
  "No. Please..."
  
  "I wanted you to know now, before you hear any rat shit."
  
  "No".
  
  "I'm sorry, Moore."
  
  "I want to come back. Let me go back, Lipkind. Let me in. "
  
  "I'm sorry".
  
  "I can help you. This is my job. My life."
  
  Lipkind was biting his lower lip, a sure sign of stress. "Not yet. Even if I wanted to, the authorities would not approve. You know it."
  
  "Should I? Since when can I know the thoughts of politicians? Everyone in politics is a bastard, Lipkind, and since when did they start doing the right thing? "
  
  "You caught me," Lipkind"s growl betrayed his heart. "But orders, as they say, are orders. And mine were not changed."
  
  "Lipkind, this... is ruining me."
  
  He swallowed dryly. "Give it time. Will you come back".
  
  "It's not me I care about, damn it! These are his fucking victims! Their families!"
  
  "I think so too, Moore. Trust me."
  
  After a moment she asked, "Where?" It was all she could do, all she could ask for, all she could think about.
  
  "Moore. Here you won't have to pay any penance. It"s not your fault that this psycho is a fucking psycho."
  
  "Where?" - I asked.
  
  Lipkind knew what she needed and told her the place.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Open construction site. Three blocks south of Ground Zero. The developer is called Silke Holdings.
  
  Kennedy found the crime scene within twenty minutes, noticed the fluttering tape on the fourth floor of the open building and sent a taxi. She stood in front of the building, looking up with soulless eyes. The place was deserted-still an active crime scene-but it was late Saturday and the incident happened more than 24 hours ago.
  
  Kennedy kicked the debris, then walked out onto the construction site. She walked up the open concrete staircase up the side of the building to the fourth floor and onto a concrete slab.
  
  A strong wind tugged at her loose blouse. If her hair had not been combed back with a strong ribbon, it would have flown about like something possessed. Three views of New York opened up before her, causing her to feel dizzy - a condition that she had had all her life, but, oddly enough, was remembered only now.
  
  And yet she climbed Yggdrasil, the World Tree.
  
  Then no dizziness.
  
  It reminded her of the Odin case and Matt Drake in particular. She wanted to go back to this, to him, but she wasn't sure she had the courage.
  
  She ventured across the dusty slab, avoiding piles of rubble and contractors' tools. The wind tugged at her sleeves and pants, causing them to swell due to excess material. She stopped not far from where Lipkind had described the location of the body. Contrary to popular television, the bodies are not marked with chalk - they are photographed, then their exact location is measured from various fixed points.
  
  Either way, she just needed to be there. Bend over, fall on your knees, close your eyes and pray.
  
  And it all rushed back. Like the devil falling from heaven. Like the creation of an archangel, everything flashed through her mind. The moment she saw Chuck Walker pocketing a ton of dirty money. The sound of the judge's gavel declaring his guilt. The dead looks from her co-workers, the obscene drawings that began to appear on her locker, attached to the hood of her car, attached to the door of her apartment.
  
  The letter she received from the serial killer, in which he thanked her for all her help.
  
  She needed to repent for another murder that she helped Thomas Caleb commit.
  
  She needed to ask forgiveness from the dead and the mourning.
  
  
  TWENTY THREE
  
  
  
  WASHINGTON, DC
  
  
  "This thing is more revealing than Britney," Ben hurried his words, holding back his excitement. "It says here- 'While he is on the World Tree, Volva reveals to Odin that she knows many of his secrets. That he sacrificed himself on Yggdrasil in pursuit of knowledge. That he fasted for nine days and nine nights for the same purpose. She tells him that she knows where his eyes are hidden and how he gave them away in exchange for even more knowledge."
  
  "One Wise One," Dahl interrupted. "Parnevik said that he was always considered the wisest of all the Gods."
  
  Drake muttered, "It"s never wise to tell your secrets to a woman."
  
  Ben rolled his eyes at him. "Odin fasted on the World Tree for nine days and nine nights with a spear piercing his side, like Christ on the cross. Heidi says that in his delirium, Odin told her where his companions were hidden. And where was his shield hidden? And that his spear should remain there. And that he wanted her to scatter his companions - his Parts - and put his body in the tomb."
  
  Ben grinned at Drake, eyes wide. "I may not have finished my quest for the legendary clitoris, my friend, but my work here is complete."
  
  Ben then remembered where he was and the woman who was standing next to him. He grabbed the bridge of his nose. "Damn and bullshit."
  
  Dahl didn't blink an eye. "As far as I know - and this only applies to what I bothered to listen to during Parnevik"s lecture - the Volvas, like the Egyptian pharaohs, were always buried in the richest graves, next to which there were many valuable things. Horses, carts, gifts from distant lands."
  
  Hayden seemed to be hiding a grin. "If we follow your whole story logically, Mr. Blake, then I believe Heidi's so-called journeys are actually an explanation of where all the pieces of Odin were scattered... or hidden."
  
  "Call me... Ben. Yes, Ben. And yes, you are right. Certainly."
  
  Drake helped his friend get out. "Not that it matters now. All the pieces were found, except for the Valkyries and..." he paused.
  
  "Eyes." Ben said with a tense smile. "If we can find the Eyes, we can stop this and get some bargaining chips for Karin."
  
  Drake, Dahl and Hayden remained silent. Drake finally said, "The Valkyries must be out there somewhere too, Blakey. Can you find out where they were found? There must be some old newspaper report or something."
  
  "Heidi came up with the legend of Ragnarok," Ben was still thinking, immersed in his research. "Odin must have trained her before he died in Ragnarok."
  
  Drake nodded his head and sent Dahl and Hayden aside. "Valkyries," he told them. "Do you remember the complete lack of information and therefore the possible criminal aspect? Is there a chance that Interpol could team up with the CIA and give him a chance?"
  
  "I'll go authorize it now," Hayden said. "And I will continue the investigation that our IT specialists carried out against the Germans. As your sweet little friend almost says - the electronic traces should lead us to them."
  
  "Cute?" Drake smiled at her. "He's more than that. Immerse yourself in photography. Vocalist in the group. A family man, and..." he shrugged, "yes... my friend."
  
  She leaned closer, said, "He can take my picture any time," then laughed lightly and walked away. Drake followed her, both puzzled and pleasantly surprised. He was wrong about her. God, she was harder to read than Kennedy.
  
  Drake prided himself on his ability to read people. Did he slip? Had his years of civil service made him soft?
  
  A voice spoke into his ear, making his heart jump. "What is this?" - I asked.
  
  Kennedy!
  
  "Shit!" He jumped and tried to disguise his small jump in the air as the usual stretching of his limbs.
  
  The New York cop read it like a book. "I've heard that the SAS have never been ambushed in enemy territory. I guess you were never part of this team, huh?"
  
  "What is what?" Ben asked absentmindedly, answering her question.
  
  "This?" Kennedy leaned forward and tapped the side of the monitor, pointing to a tiny icon hidden among the jumble of symbols in the manuscript.
  
  Ben frowned. "Don't know. Looks like the icon in the picture."
  
  When Kennedy straightened up, her hair came free from its ties and fell over her shoulders. Drake watched as they cascaded down to the small of his back.
  
  "Wow. That's too much hair."
  
  "You can do it, freak."
  
  Ben double-clicked the image icon. The screen turned to text, its bold title catching your eye. Odin and the Seer, lined up during Ragnarok. And underneath that are a few old lines of explanatory text.
  
  This painting, painted by Lorenzo Bacche in 1795 and confiscated from the private collection of John Dillinger in 1934, is believed to be based on an older image and shows the companions of the Norse god Odin arranged in a special order at the site where Odin died - the mythical battlefield of Ragnarok . His beloved Seer looks at this and cries.
  
  Without saying a word, Ben pressed again and the picture materialized in front of them.
  
  "My God!" Ben muttered. "Great job."
  
  Kennedy said, "This is a plan... of how to arrange the pieces."
  
  
  TWENTY FOUR
  
  
  
  WASHINGTON, DC
  
  
  "Let's make some copies." The ever-cautious Drake snapped a few quick pictures with his phone. Ben taught him to always keep a good, working camera handy, and this was an unexpected loss of money. "All we need now are the Valkyries, the Eyes and the map of Ragnarok." He stopped abruptly, pricked by a shard of memory.
  
  Ben asked, "What?"
  
  "Not sure. Crap. Memory. Maybe something we've seen in the last few days, but we've seen so much that I can't narrow it down."
  
  Dahl said, "Well, Drake. Perhaps you were right. Perhaps the modern Dillinger has his own interesting private collection."
  
  "Look here," Ben continued reading. "It says here that this painting is unique, a fact that was not realized until the early 1960s, after which it was included in an exhibition on Norse mythology and sent on a short world tour. After this, and due to waning interest, the painting was locked in a museum vault and... well, forgotten about. Up to this day".
  
  "Good job we brought a policeman with us." Drake tried to boost Kennedy's self-esteem, still not sure where her head was after New York.
  
  Kennedy started to tie her hair back, then hesitated. After a moment, she put her hands in her pockets, as if trying to trap them. Drake patted her on the shoulder. "So, how about you go get this painting and bring it here. There may be something there that we don't see in the photo. My old buddy Dahl and I are going to check out the shady side of art collecting. Shake some trees." He paused, grinning. "More trees."
  
  Kennedy groaned before walking away.
  
  Dahl stared at him with narrowed eyes. "So. Where should we start?
  
  "We'll start with the Valkyries," Drake said. "Once our friendly munchkin tells us where and when they were found, we can try to track them down."
  
  "Detective work?" Dahl asked. "But you just sent away our best detective."
  
  "Right now she needs a distraction physically, not mentally. She's pretty shabby."
  
  Ben spoke. "Good guess, Matt. The Valkyries were discovered among other great treasures in the tomb of the Viking seer, Volva, in 1945 in Sweden."
  
  "Heidi"s grave?" Drake took a chance.
  
  "It had to be. Damn good way to hide one of the pieces. Ask your minions to bury it with you after you die."
  
  "Transfer this article to another computer." Drake and Dahl sat next to each other, looking awkward.
  
  Drake knew the clock was still ticking. For Karin. For Parnevik. For their enemies and for the whole world. He pounded the machine furiously, going through the museum's archives and trying to figure out when the Valkyries disappeared from inventory.
  
  "Do you suspect that someone is working from the inside?" Dahl immediately understood where he was going.
  
  "Best guess is an underpaid museum security guard or a trapped curator... something like that. They would have waited until the Valkyries were possibly demoted to the vault and then quietly dispatched them. Nobody realizes this for years, if at all."
  
  "Or robbery," Dahl shrugged. "Jesus, man, we have over sixty years to figure this out." He touched the wedding ring he had put on again since they entered the Library. Drake stopped for a second. "Wife?"
  
  "And children".
  
  "Do you miss them?"
  
  "Every second".
  
  "Fine. Maybe you're not quite the jerk I thought you were."
  
  "Fuck you, Drake."
  
  "More like it. I don't see any robberies. But look here - the Valkyries went on tour in 1991 as part of a public relations campaign for the Swedish Heritage Foundation. By 1992 they were missing from the Museum's catalogue. What does that tell you?"
  
  Dahl pursed his lips. "That someone associated with the tour decided to steal them?"
  
  "Or... someone who watched them on tour decided!"
  
  "Okay, that's more likely." Dahl's head shook. "So where did the tour go?" His fingers tapped the screen four times. "England. NEW YORK. Hawaii. Australia."
  
  "That really narrows it down," Drake said sarcastically. "Crap".
  
  "No, wait," Dahl exclaimed. "This is true. The Valkyrie kidnapping should have gone smoothly, right? Well planned, well executed. Ideal. It still smacks of involvement in a crime."
  
  "If you were a little smarter, you would..."
  
  "Listen! In the early 90s, the Serbian mafia began to dig its claws into the underbelly of Sweden. Extortion-related crimes have doubled in less than a decade, and there are now dozens of organized gangs operating across the country. Some call themselves Bandidos. Others, like the Hells Angels, are just biker gangs."
  
  "Are you saying that the Serbian mafia has Valkyries?"
  
  "No. I'm saying they planned to steal them and then sell them for money. They're the only ones with the connections to pull this off. These people do everything, not just extortion. International smuggling would not be beyond them."
  
  "OK. So how do we find out who they sold them to?"
  
  Dahl picked up his phone. "We don't do that. But at least three of the senior ringleaders are now behind bars near Oslo." He walked away to make a call.
  
  Drake rubbed his eyes and leaned back. He looked at the clock and was shocked to see that it was almost 6 am. When was the last time they slept? He looked around when Hayden returned.
  
  The pretty assistant secretary of defense looked depressed. "Sorry guys. No luck with the Germans."
  
  Ben's head whipped around, the tension showing. "No one?"
  
  "Not yet. I'm really sorry."
  
  "But how? This guy must be somewhere." Tears filled his eyes and he fixed them on Drake. "Is not it?"
  
  "Yeah, buddy, that's right. Trust me, we will find him." He grabbed his friend in a bear hug, his eyes begging Hayden to make a breakthrough. "We need to take a break and have a good breakfast," he said, his Yorkshire accent shining through.
  
  Hayden shook her head, looking at him as if he had just spoken Japanese.
  
  
  TWENTY FIVE
  
  
  
  LAS VEGAS
  
  
  Alicia Miles watched multi-billionaire Colby Taylor as he sat on the spacious floor of one of the many apartments he owned, this one located twenty-two floors above Las Vegas Boulevard. One wall was entirely glass, offering a fantastic view of the Bellagio fountains and the golden lights of the Eiffel Tower.
  
  Colby Taylor didn't give it a second thought. He was immersed in his latest acquisition, The Wolves of Odin, which he had spent two hours carefully piecing together. Alicia walked up to him, peeled off her clothes one by one until she was naked, and then got down on all fours until her eyes were level with his, a foot off the ground.
  
  Power and danger were two things that turned her on. The power of Colby Taylor - megalomaniac extraordinaire - and the danger posed by the delicious realization that her boyfriend Milo, that big, powerful bruiser from Vegas, actually loved her.
  
  "Are you going to take a break, boss?" she asked breathlessly. "I'm bareback. No extra charge."
  
  Taylor looked her up and down. "Alicia," he said, taking ten dollars out of his wallet. "We both know it would turn you on more if I paid." He pressed the bill between her teeth before taking a position behind her.
  
  Alicia raised her head high, almost drooling, admiring the sparkling lights of the Strip stretched out before her. "Do not rush. If you can."
  
  "How are things going with Parnevik?" Taylor phrased his question as a grunt.
  
  "As soon as you're done," Alicia replied in her broken English. "I'm going to break it in two."
  
  "Information is power, Miles. We... must know what they know. ... A spear. All the rest. At the moment we are ahead. But the Valkyries and the Eyes are... the real prizes."
  
  Alicia tuned it out. Buzzing. Grunt. Obsession. She lived for two things - danger and money. She had the skills and charm to take whatever she wanted, which she did every day without a second thought or regret. Her days in the SAS were mere training. Her missions in Afghanistan and Lebanon were simple homework.
  
  This was her game, her means to self-sufficiency. This time it was fun with Colby Taylor and his army, but the Germans were soon to offer a bigger payday - Abel Frey represented the real power, not Colby Taylor. Mix that with the heady danger of having the ever-loving Milo nearby, and she saw nothing but fabulous fireworks on her horizon.
  
  She glanced around the Strip, recognizing the absolute power in those flashing lights and grand casinos, and took advantage of the little entertainment that Colby Taylor had to offer, all the while thinking about Matt Drake and the woman she had seen him with.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  She walked into the apartment's guest bedroom and found Professor Roland Parnevik tied, sprawled, to the bed exactly as she had left him. With Taylor's heat still burning between her thighs and a blush on her cheeks, she screamed out to Geronimo! and jumped onto the mattress, landing next to the old man.
  
  She jumped up on her knees and ripped the silver duct tape from his lips. "You heard us, didn't you, Professor? Of course you did." Her gaze settled on his groin. "Is there still some life down there, old man? Help is needed?"
  
  She laughed maniacally and jumped off the bed. The professor's frightened eyes followed her every power-hungry move, inflaming her ego, prompting her to even more wild manifestations. She danced, she twirled, she became shy.
  
  But in the end, she sat on the old man's chest, making him breathe heavily, and swung a pair of rose scissors.
  
  "Time to chop off your fingers," she said cheerfully. "I enjoy my torture as much as I enjoy my sex, inch by inch. And the longer it lasts, the better. Seriously buddy, I'm just here for the blood and mayhem."
  
  "What... what do you want... to know?" Parnevik's Swedish accent was thick with fear.
  
  "Tell me about Matt Drake and the whore who helps him."
  
  "Drake? I... I don"t understand... don"t you want - Odin?"
  
  "I don"t give a fuck about all this Norwegian crap. I'm in it because of the pure frantic excitement of it all." She quickly snapped the rose scissors near the tip of his nose.
  
  "Umm... Drake was - SAS, I heard. He got involved in this...by accident."
  
  Alicia felt an icy wave wash over her. She carefully climbed up Parnevik's body, placed both blades around his nose and squeezed until a trickle of blood appeared.
  
  "I feel like you're stalling, old man."
  
  "No! No! Please!" Now his accent was so thick and distorted by the pressure on her nose that she could barely make out the words. She giggled. "You sound like that chef from The Muppets." Blah blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah blah."
  
  "His wife-she left him. Blame SAS!" - Parnevik blurted out and rolled his eyes in horror. "His friend has a sister who helps us! The woman is Kennedy Moore, a police officer from New York. She released a serial killer!"
  
  Alicia moved her blades angrily. "Better. Much better, professor. What else?"
  
  "She... she's on... um... Holiday. No forced holidays. You see, the serial killer-he killed again."
  
  "God, Prof, you"re starting to turn me on."
  
  "Please. I can say Drake is a good person!"
  
  Alicia pulled out her rose cutters. "Well, he's definitely going through it. But I ran into him in SRT, not you. I know what's haunting that bastard."
  
  There was a scream and a crash, and then Colby Taylor poked his head through the door. "Miles! I just got a call from our ally in the Swedish government. They found out where the Valkyries were. We need to hurry up. Now!"
  
  Alicia took the rose cutters and cut off the tip of the old man's finger.
  
  Just because she could.
  
  And while he screamed and writhed, she straddled his back and stuck him with a jet injector, a syringe without a needle, inserting a tiny sensor just under his skin.
  
  Plan B, Alicia thought, her soldier training was still up to par.
  
  
  TWENTY SIX
  
  
  
  WASHINGTON, DC
  
  
  When Thorsten Dahl's cell phone rang, Drake's mouth was full of blueberry muffin. He washed it down with fresh coffee, listening expectantly.
  
  "Yes, Minister of State." After this surprise, the rest of the conversation on Dahl's part was sluggish, a series of 'I see', statements and respectful silence. It ended with 'I won't let you down, sir', which sounded a little ominous to Drake.
  
  "Well?" - I asked.
  
  "My government had to promise one of these Serbian scumbags a reduced prison sentence in exchange for help, but we have confirmation." Drake could tell that underneath Dahl's conservative exterior was a man who wanted to be happy.
  
  "And what?"
  
  "Not yet. Let's get everyone together." Moments later, Ben was pulled away from the laptop screen, Hayden perched an inch from his elbow, and Kennedy standing expectantly next to Drake, his long hair still down.
  
  Dahl took a breath. "The short version is that the leader of the Swedish Serbian mafia in the nineties - a man who is currently in our custody - gave the Valkyries to his American counterpart as a gesture of goodwill. So, Davor Babic received Valkyries in 1994. In 1999, Davor stepped down as leader of the Mafia and handed over control to his son Blanca, retiring to the place he loved most in the world-even his homeland."
  
  Dahl paused for a moment. "Hawaii".
  
  
  TWENTY SEVEN
  
  
  
  New York, USA
  
  
  Abel Frey looked down from the window of his top-floor apartment at the millions of tiny ants scurrying along the sidewalks below. However, unlike the ants, these people were mindless, aimless, and lacked the imagination to look beyond their miserable lives. He suggested that the term 'headless chickens' was coined by a man standing at this very height while he surveyed the disillusioned cesspool that was humanity.
  
  Frey has long given free rein to his fantasies. A much younger version of him realized that being able to do anything made everything boring. You had to come up with new, more varied and entertaining activities.
  
  Hence the battle arena. Hence the fashion business - initially a way to own beautiful women, then a front for an international smuggling ring, and now a way to hide his interest in the Tomb of the Gods.
  
  His life's work.
  
  The shield was flawless, a true work of art, and, in addition to the encrypted map carved into its convex surface, he had recently discovered a cryptic sentence inscribed along its top edge. His favorite archaeologist was working hard on it. And his favorite scientist tried to unravel another recent surprise - the shield was made of a curious material, not ordinary metal, but something more substantial, but at the same time amazingly light. Frey was both happy and disappointed to discover that there was even more to Odin's secret than he had first imagined.
  
  His disappointment was caused by the lack of time to study them. Especially now that he was part of this international race. How he wished he could send everyone back to La Veraine, and while the inappropriate socialites had their fun, he and a select few others would analyze the secrets of the Gods.
  
  He then grinned at the empty room. Analysis always had to be accompanied by a few precious moments of rough respite. Maybe pit a couple of male models against each other in an arena, offer them a way out. Better yet, pit several of his captives against each other. Their ignorance and despair always presented the best spectacle.
  
  His email is pinging. A video appeared on the screen, showing the new girl, Karin Blake, sitting on her bed in chains.
  
  "Finally". Frey looked at her for the first time. The Blake woman had marked each of the three mercenaries he had sent to kidnap her, one rather viciously. She was very smart, a real asset, and she had just been locked up in her little prison in La Vereina, awaiting Frey's arrival.
  
  Fresh meat for his enjoyment. From the blood of the innocent is his eternal bliss. Now she was his property. She had cropped blonde hair, nice bangs, and a pair of wide eyes-though Frey couldn't be sure of the color given the quality of the image. A beautiful body - not skinny like a model; more seductive, which, no doubt, would appeal to the fairer sex.
  
  He touched her digitized face. "You'll be home soon, my little..."
  
  At that moment, the door swung open and a rude Milo walked in, waving his cell phone in one hand. "It"s her," he shouted. "Alicia!" He had a stupid grin on his idiotic face.
  
  Frey hid his emotions. "Ja? Halo? Yes, tell me. That last piece in New York, it should have been mine." He didn't trust the English bitch one bit.
  
  He listened to her, smiling as she explained where they should go next, frowning when he heard that the Swedes and their companions were on their way, and then he couldn't help but beam when she promised that he would soon be holding both Canadian figures.
  
  Then he could decipher this strange inscription on the edges of the Shield and see if other parts were made of the same rare material. Then he would have three pieces and an advantage.
  
  "At least you're resourceful," he said into the phone, looking intently at Milo. "I look forward to using this resourcefulness when we meet again soon." It had been quite some time since he had pierced an English rose.
  
  Frey smirked inwardly as Milo's eyes lit up at the thought of reuniting with his girlfriend. Alicia's answer still echoed in his mind.
  
  As you wish, sir.
  
  
  TWENTY EIGHT
  
  
  
  OAHU, HAWAII
  
  
  th On September 12, the midday sun over Hawaii was darkened by a dark rain of Jellyfish parachutes, the signature parachute of the US military. In a unique operation, Delta Commandos landed surrounded by Swedish SGG and British SAS - and one New York policeman - on a remote beach on the north side of the island.
  
  Drake took a running start to the beach, the sand softening his landing, released his parachute and quickly turned around to check on Kennedy's progress. She landed among a couple of Delta boys, fell to one knee, but soon rose to her feet.
  
  Ben was to remain with the plane while continuing his research with the help of Hayden, who was sent as an "adviser" to the US on the mission.
  
  In Drake's experience, advisors were usually better-trained versions of their bosses-spies in sheep's clothing, so to speak.
  
  They ran along the beach in the hot Hawaiian sun, thirty highly trained Special Forces soldiers, before reaching a gentle slope sheltered by a canopy of trees.
  
  Here Thorsten Dahl stopped them. "You know the rules. Quiet and solid. The goal is a storage room. Forward!"
  
  The decision was made to strike the mansion of the former leader of the Serbian mafia with maximum force. Time was terribly against them - their rivals might also know the Valkyries' location by now, and gaining the upper hand in this race was vital.
  
  And during his reign, Davor Babic was not a merciful person.
  
  They climbed the slope and ran across the road, straight to Babich"s personal gate. Not even the breeze touched them. The attack was made, and in less than a minute the tall wrought-iron gates were reduced to pieces of metal. They burst through the gate and dispersed throughout the area. Drake took cover behind a thick palm tree, studying the open lawn that led up to the massive marble steps. At their top was the entrance to Babich's mansion. On both sides stood whimsical statues and treasures of Hawaiian culture, even a Moai figurine from Easter Island.
  
  No activity yet.
  
  The Serbian mafia retiree was deadly self-confident.
  
  The SAS man, his face half hidden, slid next to Drake.
  
  "Greetings, old friend. Nice day, right? I love it when direct sunlight hits the lenses. Wells sends his best wishes."
  
  "Where is that old fool?" Drake didn't take his eyes off the garden.
  
  "He says he will contact you later. Something about you owing him some time."
  
  "Dirty old bastard."
  
  "Who is May?" - asked Kennedy. She combed her hair back again and wore a shapeless army uniform over a pantsuit. She had a couple of Glocks.
  
  Drake, as usual, did not carry any weapons with him, except for his special purpose knife.
  
  The new SAS guy said, "Old Drake Flame is here. More importantly, who are you?"
  
  "Come on, guys. Focus on this. We are about to launch one of the largest attacks on civilians in history."
  
  "Civil?" Kennedy frowned. "If this guy is a civilian, then I"m Claudia Schiffer"s ass."
  
  Delta Team was already on the steps. Drake came out of hiding the moment they started, and ran across the open ground. When he was halfway there, the screams started.
  
  Figures appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed variously in suits, boxer shorts, and cut-off T-shirts.
  
  Six short shots rang out. Six bodies fell lifelessly down the steps. Delta Team was halfway up. Urgent screams now came from somewhere ahead as Drake reached the bottom of the steps and crawled to the right, where the curved stone railing provided a little more cover.
  
  A shot rang out, loud, meaning it came from the Serbs. Drake turned to check on Kennedy again, then double-stepped upstairs.
  
  Beyond them, a small strip of gravel led to the entrance to the mansion, which was located between the two halves of the H-shaped building. Armed men emerged from open doors and from slamming French doors on either side of the entrance.
  
  There are dozens of them.
  
  They are taken by surprise - but quickly regroup. Maybe not so smug after all. Drake saw what was coming and took refuge among a strange collection of statues. He ended up dragging Kennedy by the piece from Easter Island.
  
  A second later machine gun fire was heard. Shocked guards set up lead curtains in all directions. Drake fell onto his stomach as several bullets hit the statue with thuds.
  
  The guards ran forward. They were hired muscle, chosen more for their brawny stupidity than their intellectual prowess. They ran straight into the careful lines of fire from the Delta boys and fell, writhing among streams of blood.
  
  Glass shattered behind them.
  
  More shots were heard from the windows of the mansion. The unlucky Delta soldier received a bullet in the neck and instantly fell dead.
  
  Two guards stumbled upon the statues, one of them was slightly injured. Drake silently drew his blade and waited for one of them to walk around the statue.
  
  The last thing the wounded Serb saw was his own blood spurting as Drake cut his throat. Kennedy fired at the second Serb, missed, then dove for cover as he raised his weapon.
  
  The hammer clicked empty.
  
  Kennedy stood up. Whether the weapon was unloaded or not, she still faced an enraged opponent. The guard swung the mower, flexing his muscles.
  
  Kennedy stepped out of range, then leapt forward as his momentum left him exposed. A quick kick to the groin and an elbow to the back of his neck knocked him to the ground. He rolled, the blade suddenly in his hand, and slashed in a wide arc. Kennedy jerked back just enough for the deadly tip to pass her cheek before driving her numb fingers into his windpipe.
  
  She heard the soft cartilage break, heard him begin to choke.
  
  She turned away. He was finished. She had no desire to watch him die.
  
  Drake stood and watched. "Not bad".
  
  "Maybe you"ll stop babying me now."
  
  "I wouldn't..." He stopped abruptly. Was he? He covered his shame with courageous boasting. "There"s nothing better than watching a woman with a gun."
  
  "Doesn't matter". Kennedy crept behind the totem pole, another out-of-place feature of the mansion, and surveyed the scene.
  
  "We're going our separate ways," she told him. "You're going to find a storage room. I'm going back."
  
  He did a reasonable job of hiding his hesitation. "You are sure?"
  
  "Hey man, I'm a cop here, remember? You are a civilian. Do as you are told."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake watched as Kennedy crawled to the right, heading toward the back of the mansion, where satellite surveillance showed a helipad and several low buildings. The SAS team was already deployed there and were due to infiltrate at that very moment.
  
  He found his gaze lingering on her figure, his brain suddenly wishing that the clothes she was wearing would show off her ass.
  
  The shock shook him. Humility and uncertainty combined forces in his head, causing a whirlpool of self-doubt. Two years since Alison left, more than seven hundred days of instability. Unusual depths of constant drunkenness, followed by bankruptcy, and then a slow, very slow rise to normal life.
  
  They aren't even there yet. Nowhere nearby.
  
  Was it his vulnerability talking?
  
  Plan b.
  
  Work at hand. Try to get your military focus back and leave the damn civilian stuff behind for a while. He grabbed the guns from both guards and crept between the statues until he stood at the edge of the gravel driveway. He spotted three targets in three different windows and fired three bursts in quick succession.
  
  Two screams and a scream. Not bad. When the remaining head poked back out, searching for its location, Drake turned it into a red haze.
  
  He then ran, only to slip on his knees to stop just outside the front of the mansion, his head hitting the rough stonework. He looked back at the Delta team, who rushed to catch up with him. He nodded to their leader.
  
  "Through". Drake nodded towards the door, then to the right. "Storage room."
  
  They went inside, Drake last, pressing against the curve of the wall. A wide wrought iron staircase spiraled up in front of them to the second level of the mansion.
  
  As they crawled along the wall, more Serbs appeared on the top floor balcony directly above them. In an instant, the Delta team became easy prey.
  
  With nowhere to go, Drake fell to his knees and opened fire.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Kennedy ran to the tree line that bordered the outer wall of the mansion and began to move faster. In the blink of an eye, she reached the back of the house before the faceless SAS soldier fell on his stomach in front of her.
  
  Like a rabbit, she stood motionless, hypnotized by the barrel of the rifle. For the first time in months, all thoughts of Thomas Caleb left her.
  
  "Crap!"
  
  "It"s okay," said a voice next to her right ear. She felt the cold blade just millimeters away from her. "This is Drake's bird."
  
  The comment dispelled her fear. "Drake's bird? I"m gone!"
  
  The man walked in front of her, smiling. "Well, then, according to your president, Miss Moore is not important. I would prefer to introduce myself properly, but now is not the time or place. Call me Wells."
  
  Kennedy recognized the name, but said nothing more as a large team of British soldiers materialized around her and began leaving marks. The back of Babich's property consisted of a huge patio lined with Indian stone, an Olympic-size swimming pool surrounded by lounge chairs and white cabanas, and several squat, ugly buildings that didn't match the rest of the decor. Next to the largest building was a circular helipad equipped with a civilian helicopter.
  
  After years of walking the streets of New York, Kennedy had to wonder if crime really pays. These guys and Caleb paid for it. Chuck Walker would have paid for it if Kennedy hadn't seen him pocket the stack.
  
  The sun loungers were full. Several half-naked men and women now stood around in shock, clutching at their clothes and trying to cover up the excess flesh. Kennedy noted that some older men would not be able to handle the hippopotamus skin, while most young women could do it with just two hands and a left turn.
  
  "These people... let's call them guests... they are probably not part of the Serbian group," Wells said quietly into the throat microphone. "Take them away," he nodded to the three leading men. "The rest of you are heading to the seaward side of these buildings."
  
  As the group began to split up, several things happened at once. The helicopter blades began to rotate; the sounds of its engines immediately drowned out the screams of those nearby. Then a deep rumble, like the sound of a roller shutter door opening, preceded the sudden roar of a powerful car. From behind the seaward side of the ugly buildings, a white strip of metal appeared - an Audi R8 accelerating at top speed.
  
  By the time she reached the patio, it was a lethal ton of bullets. It crashed into the stunned SAS soldiers, sending them sprawling and tumbling through the air. Another car pulled up behind him, this time black and larger.
  
  The helicopter's blades began to spin faster and its engines began to howl. The whole machine shook, preparing for takeoff.
  
  Kennedy, stunned, could only listen as Welles shouted orders. She flinched as the remaining SAS soldiers opened fire.
  
  All hell broke loose in the garden.
  
  The soldiers opened fire on the speeding Audi R8, bullets piercing its metal body, piercing the fender skin and doors. The car sped towards the corner of the house, turning at the last minute to make a sharp turn.
  
  Gravel shot out from under his tires like tiny rockets.
  
  The bullet shattered the windshield, destroying it. The car literally died mid-flight, its engine stalled when the driver slumped heavily behind the wheel.
  
  Kennedy ran forward, raising his pistol. "Do not move!"
  
  Before she reached the car, it was obvious that the driver was her only passenger.
  
  Bait.
  
  The helicopter was two feet above the ground, rotating slowly. The SAS soldier shouted, but without any real anger in his voice. The second car, a black four-door Cadillac, was now speeding along the huge pool, its tires throwing tidal waves of water in all directions. The windows were darkened. It is impossible to determine who was inside.
  
  The third engine started up, currently out of sight.
  
  The soldiers opened fire on the Cadillac, damaging the tires and the driver with three shots. The car skidded and its rear end crashed into the pool. Wells and three other soldiers ran towards him, screaming. Kennedy kept his eyes on the helicopter, but like the Caddy, its windows were opaque.
  
  Kennedy theorized that this was all part of some elaborate escape plan. But where was the real Davor Babic?
  
  The helicopter began to rise higher. The SAS finally tired of the warnings and fired at the rear rotor. The monstrous machine began to spin, and then a man knelt beneath it with a grenade launcher at the ready.
  
  Wells reached the Caddy. Two shots were fired. Kennedy heard through the microphone that Babich was still at large. Now the third car came around the corner, the engine roaring like a Formula 1 racer, but it was a Bentley, big and bold, its presence screaming get the hell out of my way!
  
  Kennedy jumped into the trees. Several soldiers followed her. Wells turned and fired three quick shots that bounced right off the side windows.
  
  Bulletproof glass!
  
  "This is an asshole!"
  
  The words were spoken a fraction of a second too late to save the helicopter - the grenade was released - its explosive charge exploded at the bottom of the helicopter. The helicopter broke into pieces, scattering shards of metal everywhere. A twisted piece of broken steel crashed straight into the pool, displacing thousands of gallons of water with tremendous force.
  
  Kennedy waited until the monstrous Bentley sped past her, then gave chase. Quick deduction told her that there was only one chance of catching the fleeing Serb.
  
  Wells saw this at the same time and sprang into action. The R8 was completely worn out, but the Caddy was still intact, its wheels just an inch underwater on the marble steps of the pool.
  
  Wells and two of his soldiers ran towards Caddy. Kennedy set off in hot pursuit, determined to take over. At that moment, a strange hiss of air was heard, as if a whirlwind had passed, and suddenly the corner of Babich"s house exploded.
  
  "Oh my God!" Wells fell into the mud as even his calm was shattered. Debris flew in all directions, raining down onto the pool and patio. Kennedy reeled. She turned her head towards the cliffs.
  
  A black helicopter hovered there, a figure waving from its open door.
  
  "Do you like it?"
  
  Wells raised his head. "Alicia Miles? What in the name of all that is holy are you doing?"
  
  "Could even rip your tiny balls off with that shot, you old fucker. You owe me. Alicia laughed as the helicopter rose momentarily before turning around to chase the Bentley.
  
  The Canadians were here.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake rolled forward just before the wall behind him turned into Swiss cheese. At least one bullet flew so close that he heard its sonic whine. He did a front flip to get onto the platform below the balcony at the same time as most of the Delta team. Once there, he aimed upward and opened fire.
  
  As expected, the balcony floor was relatively weak. The shooting above stopped and the screaming began.
  
  The Delta commander waved his hand to his left in the direction of the storage facility. They quickly ran through two beautifully furnished but empty rooms. The commander motioned for them to stop near one that their satellite surveillance had warned had something a little special - a hidden underground room.
  
  Stun grenades were thrown inside, followed by American soldiers screaming frantically to add to the disorientation effect. However, they were immediately engaged in hand-to-hand combat by half a dozen Serbian guards. Drake sighed and stepped inside. Chaos and confusion filled the room from end to end. He blinked and found himself confronted by a huge guard, who grinned and burped before lunging forward for a bear hug.
  
  Drake quickly dodged, struck the kidneys and struck the solar plexus with a hard hand with a dagger. The man-beast didn't even flinch.
  
  Then he remembered the old saying about bar fights - if your opponent takes a punch to the plexus without wincing, then you better start running, man, because you're up to your neck in shit...
  
  Drake retreated, carefully moving around his motionless enemy. The Serbian was huge, with lazy fat over solid muscle, and a forehead big enough to smash six-inch concrete blocks. The man moved awkwardly forward, arms spread wide. One slip and Drake would have been crushed to death, squeezed and crushed like a grape. He quickly sidestepped, feinted to the right, and came forward with three quick jabs.
  
  Eye. Ear. Throat.
  
  All three are connected. As the Serbian closed his eyes in pain, Drake executed a risky dummy throw into a flying kick that created enough momentum to knock even this brontosaurus off his broad legs.
  
  The man collapsed to the floor with a sound like a mountain collapsing. The paintings fell from the wall. The force he generated from his own backward leap knocked him unconscious as his head hit the deck.
  
  Drake ventured further into the room. Two Delta guys were killed, but all the Serbs were neutralized. A section of the eastern wall swung open, and most of the Americans stood around the opening, but were now slowly retreating, cursing fear.
  
  Drake hurried to join them, unable to imagine what could have caused the Delta soldier to panic. The first thing he saw were stone steps leading down into a well-lit underground chamber.
  
  The second was a black Panther, slowly ascending the steps, its wide mouth revealing a row of razor-sharp fangs.
  
  "Fuuuuck..." one of the Americans drawled. Drake couldn't agree more.
  
  The panther hissed, ducking to strike. Drake retreated as the beast leapt into the air, 100 pounds of deadly muscle in a rage. He landed on the top step and tried to hang on, all the while keeping his hypnotic green eyes on the retreating soldiers.
  
  "I hate doing this," the Delta commander said, taking aim with his rifle.
  
  "Wait!" Drake saw something flash in the light of the lamps. "Just wait. Do not move."
  
  The panther stalked forward. Delta Team held him at gunpoint as he passed between them, and snorted disdainfully at the incapacitated Serbian guards as they left the room.
  
  "What the- ?" one of the Americans frowned at Drake.
  
  "Didn't you see? He was wearing a necklace studded with diamonds. I suppose that such a cat, living in a house like this, is trained to attack only when it hears the voice of its owner."
  
  "Good call. I wouldn"t want to kill an animal like that." The Delta commander waved to the Serbs. "I would spend all day having fun with these bastards."
  
  They began to walk down the steps, leaving two men on guard. Drake was the third to reach the vault floor, and what he saw made him shake his head in amazement.
  
  "How perverted are these crazy bastards?"
  
  The room was chock full of what he could only describe as 'trophies'. Objects that Davor Babic considered valuable because - in his perversions - they were valuable to other people. There were cabinets everywhere, large and small, arranged haphazardly.
  
  Tyrannosaurus rex jawbone. The inscription next to it read 'From the Edgar Fillion Collection - Lifetime Award'. In addition, a revealing photograph of the famous actress with the inscription 'She wanted to live'. Next to this, eerily resting on a bronze pedestal was a mummified hand identified as 'District Attorney No. 3'. .
  
  And much more. As Drake walked around the display cases, trying to cope with his morbid fascination and concentrate, he finally noticed the fantastic objects they were looking for.
  
  Valkyries: A pair of snow-white statues mounted on a thick round block. Both sculptures were about five feet tall, but it was the amazing detail in them that took Drake's breath away. Two busty women, naked and looking like the mighty Amazons of antiquity, both with their legs spread, as if sitting astride something. Probably a winged horse, Drake thought. Ben wished he knew more, but he remembered that the Valkyries used them to fly from battle to battle. He noticed the muscular limbs, classic facial features and disconcerting horned helmets.
  
  "Wow!" - exclaimed the guy from Delta. "I wish I had a six-pack of this."
  
  Even more tellingly, both Valkyries were pointing upward at something unknown with their left hands. Pointing, as Drake now thought, straight to the Tomb of the Gods.
  
  If only they could find Ragnarok.
  
  At that moment, one of the soldiers tried to get an item from the display case. A loud bell rang and the steel gate collapsed at the base of the steps, blocking their exit.
  
  The Americans immediately reached for gas masks. Drake shook his head. "Don't worry. Something tells me that Babich is the kind of bastard who would prefer the thief to be caught alive and kicking."
  
  The Delta commander looked at the still vibrating bars. "Blow these sticks to pieces."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Kennedy looked in amazement after the helicopter and the retreating Bentley. Wells also seemed confused as he stared at the sky.
  
  "Bitch," Kennedy heard him breathe. "I trained her damn well. How dare she turn into a traitor?"
  
  "Good thing she's gone," Kennedy made sure her hair was still tied back from all that jumping and looked away when she noticed a couple of SAS men sizing her up. "She had high ground. Now, if Drake and Delta Team have captured the Valkyries, we could sneak away while Alicia is busy with Babich."
  
  Wells looked like he was torn between two significant options, but said nothing as they raced around the house towards the main entrance. They saw the helicopter turn to collide head-on with the Bentley. Shots rang out and bounced off the fleeing car. Then the car suddenly braked sharply and came to a stop in a cloud of gravel.
  
  An object was stuck out of the window.
  
  The helicopter plummeted from the sky, its operator possessing an almost supernatural sense, as an RPG whizzed overhead. As soon as his sled touched the ground, Canadian mercenaries poured out of the doors. A shootout broke out.
  
  Kennedy thought she saw Alicia Miles, a lithe figure clad in tight body armor, leap into the fray like the proverbial lion. A beast built for battle, lost in the violence and fury of it all. Despite herself, Kennedy felt her blood run cold.
  
  Was this the fear she felt?
  
  Before she could think about it, a thin figure fell from the opposite side of the helicopter. A figure she recognized in an instant.
  
  Professor Parnevik!
  
  He limped forward, hesitantly at first, but then with renewed determination, and finally crawled as bullets streaked the air above his head, one passing within a hand's breadth of his skull.
  
  Parnevik finally got close enough for the SAS and Kennedy to pull him to safety, the Canadians unaware, fully engaged in the battle
  
  "That's right," Wells said, pointing to the house. "Let's get this over with."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake helped pull the Valkyries forward while a couple of guys attached a small amount of explosives to the grate. They made their way along the narrow path between the terrifying exhibits, trying not to look too closely. One of the Delta guys came back from a spooky check a few minutes ago and reported a black coffin sitting in the back of the room.
  
  The atmosphere of anticipation lasted a full ten seconds. It took soldier logic to stop this. The less you know...
  
  This is no longer Drake's logic. But he seriously didn't want to know. He even flinched, like an ordinary civilian, when the bars were blown apart.
  
  Shooting was heard from the room upstairs. The Delta Guards crashed down the steps, dead in bloody holes. The next second, a dozen men armed with machine guns appeared at the top of the stairs.
  
  Outflanked and outgunned, covered from a higher vantage point, Delta Team had failed and was now vulnerable. Drake slowly made his way towards the closet and its relative safety, trying not to think about the stupidity of being caught like that, and how this wouldn't have happened to the SAS, and trusting to luck that these new enemies wouldn't be stupid enough to shoot the Valkyries.
  
  There were several moments of unrelenting tension, experienced in stifling silence, until a figure descended the steps. A figure dressed in white and wearing a white mask.
  
  Drake recognized him instantly. The same man who won the Shield at the York cat walk. The man he saw in Apsall.
  
  "I know you," he breathed to himself, then louder. "The damn Germans are here."
  
  The man picked up a .45 caliber pistol and waved it around. "Drop your weapon. All of you. Now!"
  
  Arrogant voice. A voice that belonged to smooth hands, its owner possessed real power, the kind that is written on paper and given in members-only clubs. The kind of person who had no idea what real worldly work and tediousness was. Perhaps a banker, born into the banking industry, or a politician, the son of politicians.
  
  The Delta men held their weapons firmly. Nobody said a word. The confrontation was threatening.
  
  the man screamed again, his upbringing not allowing him to know about the danger.
  
  "Are you deaf? I said now!"
  
  The Texan's voice said in a drawling voice: "It won't happen, bastard."
  
  "But... but..." the man paused in amazement, then abruptly tore off his mask. "You will do it!"
  
  Drake almost collapsed. I know you! Abel Frey, German fashion designer. Shock washed over Drake like a poisonous wave. It was impossible. It was like seeing Taylor and Miley up there, giggling about taking over the world.
  
  Frey met Drake's gaze. "And you, Matt Drake!" his hand with the pistol trembled. "You cost me almost everything! I will take her from you. I will do it! And she will pay. Oh, how she will pay!"
  
  
  Before he could realize it, Frey pointed the gun between Drake's eyes and fired.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Kennedy ran into the room and saw the SAS men falling to their knees, calling for silence. She saw before her a group of masked men, wearing body armor, pointing their weapons at what she could only think was Davor Babic's secret vault.
  
  Fortunately, the men did not notice them.
  
  Wells looked back at her and mouthed, "Who?"
  
  Kennedy made a confused face. She could hear someone ranting, she could see his side profile, .45 he continued to wave his arms clumsily. When she heard him shout Matt Drake's name, she knew, and Wells knew, and seconds later they opened fire.
  
  During the sixty seconds of the ensuing firefight, Kennedy saw it all in slow motion. The man in white fires his .45, her shot arriving a split second later and tugging at the hem of his coat as it passes through the hanging material. His shocked face when he turned around. Their plump, flaccid softness.
  
  Spoiled man.
  
  Then masked men spinning and shooting. SAS soldiers return well-placed blows with precision and composure. More fire comes from the vault. American voices. German voices. Voices in English.
  
  Sluggish chaos, similar to the poetic intonations of Taylor Swift, mixed with the archaic rock of Metallica. She hit at least two Germans - the rest fell. The guy in white shouted and waved his arms, and forced his team to hastily retreat. Kennedy saw them cover him and die in the process, falling out like rot from a wound, but the wound lived on. He eventually fled into a back room and only four of his men were left alive.
  
  Kennedy rushed down the hall in desperation with a strange lump in her throat and an ice pick in her heart, not even realizing how worried she was until she saw Drake alive and felt a cool current of delight wash over her.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake rose from the floor, grateful that Abel Frey's aim was as blurry as his grasp of reality. The first thing he saw was Kennedy running down the steps, the second was her face as she ran up to him.
  
  "Thank God you're okay!" - she exclaimed and hugged him before remembering her restraint.
  
  Drake stared into Wells' knowing eyes before closing his own. He hugged her for a moment, feeling her slender body, her powerful figure, her fragile heart beating next to his own. Her head was pressed against his neck, the sensation wonderful enough to tingle his synapses.
  
  "Hey, I'm fine. You?"
  
  She pulled away, smiling.
  
  Wells walked up to them and hid his sly smile for a minute. "Drake. A strange place to meet again, old chap, not the corner pub in Earl's Court I had in mind. I need to tell you something, Matt. Something about Mai."
  
  Drake was instantly thrown back. Wells said the very last thing he expected. A second later he noticed Kennedy's fading smile and pulled himself together. "Valkyries," he pointed out. "Come on while we have the chance."
  
  But the Delta commander was already organizing this and calling them over. "This is not England, guys. Let's move. I ate almost all the Hawaii I could handle on this vacation."
  
  
  TWENTY NINE
  
  
  
  AIR SPACE
  
  
  Drake, Kennedy and the rest of the assault team met up with Ben and Hayden several hours later at a military base near Honolulu.
  
  As time went. Bureaucratic red tape was cut. Bumpy roads have been smoothed out. Governments bickered, then sulked, and then finally started talking. The uprising bureaucrats were placated with the political equivalent of milk and honey.
  
  And the end of the world was getting closer.
  
  Real players talked, worried and speculated, and slept in poorly air-conditioned buildings near Pearl Harbor. Drake immediately assumed that Ben's thoughtful greeting meant that they had little progress to report in their search for the next piece of Odin - His eyes. Drake hid his surprise; he truly believed that Ben's experience and motivation would have solved all the clues by now.
  
  Hayden, the savvy Assistant Secretary of Defense, helped him, but they made little progress.
  
  Their only hope was that the other apocalyptic participants-the Canadians and the Germans-were doing a little better.
  
  Ben's attention was initially diverted by Drake's revelation.
  
  "Abel Frey? German mastermind? Get lost, asshole."
  
  "Seriously, buddy. Would I lie to you?"
  
  "Don't quote Whitesnake in front of me, Matt. You know, our band has problems performing their music, and it's not funny. I just can"t believe it... Abel Frey?"
  
  Drake sighed. "Well, I'm starting again. YES. Abel Frey."
  
  Kennedy supported him. "I saw it and I still want to tell Drake to stop talking nonsense. This guy is a recluse. Set in the German Alps - "Party Castle". Supermodels. Money. Life of a Superstar."
  
  "Wine, women and song," Drake said.
  
  "Stop it!" Ben said. "In a way," he mused, "it's the perfect cover."
  
  "It's easy to fool the ignorant when you're famous," Drake agreed. "You can choose your destination-wherever you want to go. Smuggling should be easy for these people. Simply find your ancient artifact, select your diplomatic briefcase and..."
  
  "...Insert this." Kennedy finished smoothly and turned his laughing eyes to Ben.
  
  "You two have to..." he stammered. "...You two should get a fucking room."
  
  At that moment Wells approached. "This thing with Abel Frey... it has been decided to keep it a secret for now. Watch and wait. We station an army around his castle, but give him free rein in case he learns something we don"t."
  
  "At first glance, this sounds reasonable," Drake began, "but..."
  
  "But he has my sister," Ben hissed. Hayden raised his hand to calm him down. "They're right, Ben. Karin is safe... for now. The world is not."
  
  Drake narrowed his eyes but held his tongue. You won't achieve anything by protesting. It would only serve to distract his friend even more. Once again he was having trouble understanding Hayden. Was it his newfound cynicism eating away at him? Did she think quickly for Ben, or did she think wisely for her government?
  
  In any case, the answer was the same. Wait.
  
  Drake changed the subject. He pierced another one near Ben's heart. "How are your mom and dad doing?" - he asked carefully. "Have they settled in yet?"
  
  Ben sighed painfully. "No, buddy. On the last call they mentioned her, but I told her she had found a second job. It will help, Matt, but not for long."
  
  "I know". Drake looked at Wells and Hayden. "As leaders here, you two should help." Then, without waiting for an answer, he said: "What news about Heidi and the Eyes of Odin?"
  
  Ben shook his head in disgust. "A lot," he complained. "There are fragments everywhere. Here - listen to this: in order to drink from the Well of Mimir - the Fountain of Wisdom in Valhalla - everyone must make an important sacrifice. One sacrificed his eyes, symbolizing his willingness to gain knowledge about events both current and future. Having drunk, he foresaw all the trials that would concern people and Gods throughout eternity. Mimir accepted the Eyes of Odin, and they lie there ever since, a symbol that even God must pay for a glimpse of higher wisdom."
  
  "Okay," Drake shrugged. "Standard historical stuff, huh?"
  
  "Right. But that's exactly how it is. The Poetic Edda, the Saga of Flenrich, is another one that I translated as "The Many Paths of Heidi." They explain what happened, but do not tell us where the Eyes are now."
  
  "In Valhalla," Kennedy made a grimace.
  
  "It"s a Norwegian word for Heaven."
  
  "Then I won"t have a chance of ever finding them."
  
  Drake thought it over. "And there"s nothing else? Jesus, buddy, this is the last piece!"
  
  "I followed Heidi"s journey-her travels. She visits places we know about and then returns to her home. This isn't a Playstation, mate. No side effects, no hidden achievements, no alternative paths, zilch."
  
  Kennedy sat down next to Ben and tossed her hair. "Could she put two pieces in one place?"
  
  "It's possible, but it wouldn't fit well with what we know at the moment. Other clues followed over the years all pointed to one fragment in each location."
  
  "So you're saying this is our clue?"
  
  "The key must be Valhalla," Drake said quickly. "This is the only phrase that indicates a place. And I remember you said something earlier about Heidi telling Odin that she knew where his eyes were hidden because he gave away all his secrets when he was hanging on the cross."
  
  "Tree," - at that moment Thorsten Dahl entered the room. The Swede looked exhausted, more tired from the administrative side of his job than from the physical one. "One hung on the World Tree."
  
  "Oops," Drake muttered. "The same story. It's coffee?"
  
  "Macadamia," Dahl looked smug. "The best Hawaii has to offer."
  
  "I thought it was spam," Kennedy said, showing her condescension towards the New Yorker.
  
  "Spam is widely loved in Hawaii," agreed Dahl. "But coffee rules everything. And the Kona macadamia nut is king."
  
  "So you're saying that Heidi knew where Valhalla was?" Hayden tried her best to look more confused than skeptical when Drake motioned for someone to bring them more coffee.
  
  "Yes, but Heidi was human. Not God. So what she would experience would be a worldly paradise?"
  
  "Sorry, man," Kennedy joked. "Vegas wasn"t founded until 1905."
  
  "To Norway." Drake added, trying not to smile.
  
  Silence followed. Drake watched as Ben mentally reviewed everything he had learned so far. Kennedy pursed her lips. Hayden accepted the tray of coffee mugs. Wells had long since retired to a corner, pretending to be asleep. Drake remembered his intriguing words - I need to tell you something. Something about May.
  
  There will be time for this later, if at all.
  
  Ben laughed and shook his head. "It's simple. God, it's so simple. Heaven for a person is... their home."
  
  "Exactly. The place where she lived. Her village. Her cabin," Drake confirmed. "My thoughts too."
  
  "The Well of Mimir is located inside the village of Heidi!" Kennedy looked around, excitement shining in her eyes, then playfully poked Drake with her fist. "Not bad for an infantryman."
  
  "I"ve grown a real brain since I quit." Drake noticed Wells flinch slightly. "Best move of my life."
  
  Thorsten Dahl rose to his feet. "Then off to Sweden for the final part." He looked happy to be back in his homeland. "Umm... where was Heidi's house?"
  
  "Ostergotland," Ben said without checking. "Also the home of Beowulf and Grendel is a place where they still talk about monsters roaming the lands at night."
  
  
  THIRTY
  
  
  
  LA VEREIN, GERMANY
  
  
  La Veraine, the Party Castle, was located south of Munich, near the Bavarian border.
  
  Like a fortress, it stood halfway up a gentle mountain, its walls jagged and even dotted with arrow loops in various places. Round-topped towers rising on either side of the arched gates and a wide driveway allowed expensive cars to pull up in style and show off their latest achievements while handpicked paparazzi knelt down to photograph them.
  
  Abel Frey led the party one by one, congratulating several of the most important guests and making sure his models behaved as expected of them. A pinch here, a murmur there, even the occasional joke made them all live up to his expectations.
  
  In the private alcoves, he pretended not to notice the white runners laid out on knee-high glass tables, the executives bent over with straws in their nostrils. Models and famous young actresses dressed as baby dolls made of satin, silk and lace. Pink flesh, moans and the heady aroma of lust. Fifty-inch plasma panels showing MTV and hardcore porn.
  
  The Chateau was filled with live music, with Slash and Fergie performing 'Beautiful Dangerous' on a stage away from the decadent venues - the upbeat rock music breathing even more life into Frey's already dynamic party.
  
  The fashion designer left, unnoticed by anyone, and headed up the main staircase to a quiet wing of the castle. One more flight and his guards had closed a secure door behind him, accessible only through a key combination and voice recognition. He entered a room crammed with communications equipment and a row of high-definition television screens.
  
  One of his most trusted fans said: "Right on time, sir. Alicia Miles is talking on a satellite phone."
  
  "Excellent, Hudson. Is it encrypted?"
  
  "Of course, sir."
  
  Frey accepted the proposed device, pursing his lips at being forced to bring his mouth so close to the place where his lackey was already spraying saliva.
  
  "Miles, this better be delicious. I have a house full of guests to take care of." The lie about convenience did not seem like an invention to him. It was just what these nobodies needed to hear.
  
  "A worthy bonus, I would say," the well-placed English tone sounded ironic. "I have a web address and password to search for Parnevik."
  
  "It's all part of the deal, Miles. And you already know that there is only one way to get the bonus."
  
  "Is Milo around?" Now the tone has changed. Throat cutter. Naughtier...
  
  "Just me and my best fan."
  
  "Mmm... Invite him too if you want," her voice changed. "But unfortunately I have to be quick. Login to www.locatethepro.co.uk and enter the password in lower case: bonusmyles007,"lol. "Thought you might appreciate it, Frey. The standard tracker format should appear. Parnevik is programmed as the fourth. You should be able to track him anywhere."
  
  Abel Frey silently saluted. Alicia Miles was the best operative he had ever used. "Good enough, Miles. Once your eyes are under control, you'll be off the leash. Then come back to us and bring the fragments of the Canadians. Then we"ll... talk."
  
  The line went dead. Frey put down his mobile phone, happy for now. "Okay, Hudson," he said. "Start the car. Send everyone to Ostergotland immediately." The last piece was within his reach, as were all the other pieces if they played the final games correctly. "Milo knows what to do."
  
  He studied a row of television monitors.
  
  "Which of them is Captive 6 - Karin Blake?"
  
  Hudson scratched his unkempt beard before waving. Frey leaned forward to study the blonde girl sitting in the middle of her bed, her legs pulled up to her chin,
  
  Or, more precisely, sitting on the bed that belonged to Frey. And eating Frey's food in the locked and guarded hut that Frey ordered. Using electricity that Frey paid for.
  
  On the ankle is a chain he designed.
  
  Now she belonged to him.
  
  "Immediately send the video to my room on the big screen. Then tell the chef to serve dinner there. Ten minutes after this, I need my martial arts expert." He paused, thinking.
  
  "Ken?"
  
  "Yes, the same one. I want him to go there and take her shoes. Nothing else for now. I want the psychological torture to be deliciously long until this one is crushed. I"ll wait a day and then I"ll take her something more important."
  
  "And prisoner 7?"
  
  "Dear God, Hudson, treat him well, like you would treat yourself. The best of everything. His time to impress us is approaching..."
  
  
  THIRTY ONE
  
  
  
  AIRSPACE OVER SWEDEN
  
  
  The plane tilted. Kennedy Moore woke with a start, relieved to have been awakened by the turbulence, the new day having driven away her own Dark Chaser.
  
  Caleb existed in her dreams just as he did in the real world, but during the night he repeatedly killed her by shoving live cockroaches down her throat until she choked and was forced to chew and swallow, her only betrayal tormented by the horror in her eyes, constant until the last spark went out.
  
  Suddenly awakened and torn from the underbelly of hell, she looked around the cabin with wild eyes. It was quiet; civilians and soldiers were dozing or talking quietly. Even Ben Blake fell asleep clutching his laptop, the worry lines not smoothed out by sleep and tragically out of place on his boyish face.
  
  Then she saw Drake and he was staring at her. Now his worry lines simply enhanced his already striking face. His honesty and selflessness were obvious, impossible to hide, but the pain hidden behind his composure made her want to comfort him... all night long.
  
  She smiled to herself. More dinosaur rock references. Drake's time was great fun. A moment passed before she realized that her inner smile might have reached her eyes, because he smiled back at her.
  
  And then, for the first time in all the years since she entered the Academy, she regretted that her calling required her to desexualize her personality. She wished she knew how to style her hair like that. She wishes she was a little more Selma Blair and a little less Sandra Bullock.
  
  Having said all that, it was quite obvious that Drake liked her.
  
  She smiled back at him, but at that moment the plane tilted again and everyone woke up. The pilot announced that they were an hour's flight from their destination. Ben woke up and walked like a zombie to get some leftover Kona coffee. Thorsten Dahl stood up and looked around.
  
  "Time to turn on the ground penetrating radar," he said with a half-smile.
  
  They were sent to fly over Östergotland, targeting areas where Professor Parnevik and Ben believed Heidi's village would be located. The poor professor was clearly in pain from the severed tip of his finger and was deeply shocked by how heartless his tormentor had been, but was as happy as a puppy as he told them about the map engraved on the Shield of Odin.
  
  The path to Ragnarok.
  
  Presumably.
  
  So far no one has been able to translate it. Was this yet another misdirection on the part of Alicia Miles and her confused team?
  
  Once the plane broke through Dahl's rough perimeter, he pointed to the image that appeared on the plane's television. Ground penetrating radar sent short pulses of radio waves into the ground. When it hit a buried object, boundary, or void, it reflected an image in its return signal. At first they are difficult to identify, but with experience it becomes easier.
  
  Kennedy shook her head at Dahl. "Does the Swedish army have everything?"
  
  "This kind of thing is necessary," Dahl told her seriously. "We have a hybrid version of this machine that detects mines and hidden pipes. Very high tech."
  
  Dawn broke over the horizon, and then it was driven away by ragged gray clouds as Parnevik let out a cry. "Here! This image looks like an old Viking settlement. Do you see the round outer rim - these are the protective walls - and the rectangular objects inside? These are small dwellings."
  
  "So, let's determine the largest house..." Ben began hastily.
  
  "No," Parnevik said. "This must be a community longhouse - a meeting place or feast. Heidi, if she were really here, would have the second largest house."
  
  As the plane slowly descended, clearer images appeared. The settlement was soon clearly marked several feet underground, and the second largest house soon became visible.
  
  "You see this," Dahl pointed to a deeper color, so faint that it might not be noticed unless someone was looking for it. "This means that there is a void, and it is located directly under Heidi's house. "Damn," he said, turning around. "She built her house right above Mimir"s well!"
  
  
  THIRTY TWO
  
  
  
  OSTERGOTLAND, SWEDEN
  
  
  Once they were on the ground and had walked several miles through wet meadows, Dahl ordered a stop. Drake looked around at what he could only describe as, in the new Dino-Rock spirit he and Kennedy shared, a motley crew. The Swedes and SGG were represented by Thorsten Dahl and three of his men, the SAS by Wells and ten soldiers. One was left in Hawaii, wounded. Delta Team was reduced to six people; then there were Ben, Parnevik, Kennedy and himself. Hayden stayed with the plane.
  
  There was not a single person among them who was not troubled by the difficulties of their task. The fact that the plane was waiting, fully fueled and armed, with the Figures on board, ready to take them anywhere in the world, only further emphasized the seriousness of the situation.
  
  "If it helps," Dahl said as everyone looked at him expectantly, "I don"t see how they can find us this time," he pointed out. "Start by using light explosives to clear a few feet down, then it's time to rake."
  
  "Be careful," Parnevik wringed his hands. "We don"t want a collapse."
  
  "Don"t worry," Dahl said cheerfully. "Between the various forces here, I think we have an experienced team, Professor."
  
  There was a grumpy laugh. Drake surveyed their surroundings. They set up a wide perimeter, leaving men on top of several hills that surrounded the site where ground penetrating radar indicated an old guardhouse had once stood. If only it was good enough for the Vikings and all...
  
  The plains were grassy and calm, the light breeze barely stirring the trees that grew to the east of their position. It started to drizzle lightly and then stopped before trying again.
  
  Ben's cell phone rang. His eyes took on a haunted look. "Dad? Just busy. I'll call you back at the stern. " He closed the device, looking at Drake. "I don"t have time," he muttered. "They already know something is going on, they just don"t know what it is."
  
  Drake nodded and watched the first explosion without flinching. Grass, turf and dirt flew into the air. This was immediately followed by another, slightly deeper strike, and a second cloud rose from the ground.
  
  Several men came thundering forward, holding shovels as they held weapons. Surreal scene.
  
  "Be careful," Parnevik muttered. "We wouldn"t want anyone to get their feet wet." He chuckled as if it was the greatest joke in history.
  
  A clearer overview image showed a hole underneath Heidi's longhouse that led to a vast cavern. Clearly there was more than just a well lying there, and the team erred on the side of caution. It took another hour of careful excavation and several pauses while Parnevik crowed and studied the unearthed artifacts before they disappeared into thin air.
  
  Drake used this time to organize his thoughts. To date, he felt like he had been on a roller coaster without any brakes. Even after all these years, he was still more accustomed to following orders than executing a plan of action, so he needed more time to think than, say, Ben Blake. He knew two things for sure - they were always behind, and their enemies forced them to react to situations rather than create them; no doubt this is a result of the fact that they entered this race behind their opponents.
  
  Now it's time to start winning this race. Moreover, they seemed to be the only faction dedicated to saving the world rather than risking it.
  
  So do you believe in ghost stories? An ancient voice whispered in his mind.
  
  No, he answered the same way as then. But I believe in horror stories...
  
  During his last mission as a member of the secret SRT, a special unit of the SAS, he and three other members of his team, including Alicia Miles, stumbled upon a remote village in Northern Iraq, its inhabitants being tortured and murdered. Assuming the obvious, what they were investigating... was to find British and French soldiers still in the throes of their interrogation.
  
  What followed darkened the rest of Matt Drake's days on Earth. Blinded by rage, he and the other two team members stopped the torture.
  
  Another 'friendly fire' incident among many.
  
  Alicia Miles stood and watched, untainted by any quirks one way or the other. She could not stop the torture, and she could not stop the death of the torturers. But she did follow her commander's orders.
  
  Matt Drake.
  
  After this, the soldier's life ended for him, all the romantic relationships that she supported were shattered into pieces. But leaving the service did not mean that the memories faded. His wife woke him up night after night and then slipped out of her sweat-soaked bed, crying downstairs when he refused to confess.
  
  Now he noticed Kennedy standing opposite him, smiling as if she were on an airplane. Her hair hung loosely and her face became lively and mischievous with her smile. Centered eyes and Victoria's Secret body combined with schoolteacher decorum and business restraint. Quite mixed.
  
  He grinned back. Thorsten Dahl shouted: "Go deep into reading! We need a guide for the Descendants."
  
  When Ben asked him what Descender was, he just grinned. "Straight out of Hollywood legend, my friend. Remember how a thief jumped off a building and his jump was adjusted to the millimeter before his fall was stopped? Well, the Blue Diamond Lander is the device they use."
  
  "Cool".
  
  Drake noticed his old Commander slowly walking around and took the offered flask of coffee. This chat has been a while in the making. Drake wanted to end it.
  
  "Mai?" He asked, firmly lowering his lips to the ground so that no one would understand his question.
  
  "Hm?" - I asked.
  
  "Just tell me".
  
  "Goodness gracious, dude, after the obvious lack of information you provide regarding your old hobby, I can hardly count on giving away freebies now, can I?"
  
  Drake couldn't help but suppress a smile. "You're a dirty old man, you know that?"
  
  "This is what keeps me at the top of my game. Now tell me a story from one of her secret missions-any one of them."
  
  "Well... I might blow your chance here and give you something tame," Drake said. "Or you could wait until this is all over and I'll give you the gold...you know the only one."
  
  "Tokyo Cos-con?"
  
  "Tokyo Cos-con. When Mai went undercover at Japan's largest cosplay convention to infiltrate and apprehend the Fuchu Triads who were running the porn industry at the time."
  
  Wells looked like he was about to have a seizure. "Jesus, Drake. You're an idiot. Okay then, but trust me, you owe me now," he took a breath. "The Japanese just dragged her out of Hong Kong, right under a false identity, without warning, completely destroying the cover she had been building for two years."
  
  Drake gave him an open-mouthed, incredulous look. "Never".
  
  "My words too."
  
  "Why?"
  
  "Also my next question. But, Drake, isn't it obvious?"
  
  Drake thought about it. "Only that she is the best they have. The best they've ever had. And they must be desperate for it."
  
  "We've been taking calls from their Justice Department and Prime Ministers for about fifteen hours now, just like the Yankees. They'll admit everything to us - they sent her to scout out La Veraine because that's the only connection they've found to this mess that's already escalated into the biggest event happening on the planet right now. It is only a matter of hours before we are forced to confess to them."
  
  Drake frowned. "Is there any reason not to confess right now? May would be a fantastic acquisition."
  
  "I agree, mate, but governments are governments, and whether the world is in danger or not, they like to play their little games, don"t they?"
  
  Drake pointed to a hole in the ground. "Looks like they're ready."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake's descent rate was set at 126 feet. A device called a quick release muzzle was placed in his hand and he was handed a backpack. He pulled a fireman's helmet with a flashlight attached to his head and rummaged through his backpack. A large flashlight, an oxygen tank, a weapon, food, water, a radio, first aid supplies - everything he needs for caving. He pulled on a pair of heavy-duty gloves and walked to the edge of the pit.
  
  "Geronimo?" he asked Kennedy, who remained upstairs with Ben and the Professor, to help monitor their perimeter.
  
  "Or grab your ankles, stick your butt out and hope," she said.
  
  Drake grinned evilly at her, "We'll come back to this later," he said and jumped into the darkness.
  
  He immediately felt the red diamond release trigger. The speed of his fall decreased as he fell, and his little wheel ticked a hundred times a second. The walls of the well - fortunately now dry - flashed past in kaleidoscopic flashes, like in an old black and white film. Finally the descent slowed to a crawl, and Drake felt his boots bounce gently off the hard rock. He squeezed the muzzle and felt the trigger release from his seat belt. Drake reviewed the process of turning him into an Ascendant before heading over to where Dal and half a dozen men stood waiting.
  
  The floor crunched alarmingly, but he attributed it to mummified debris.
  
  "This cave is strangely small compared to what we saw on ground penetrating radar," Dahl said. "He could have miscalculated. Spread out and look for... a tunnel... or something like that."
  
  The Swede shrugged, amused by his own ignorance. Drake liked it. He slowly walked around the cave, studying the uneven walls and trembling, despite the thick cloak given to him. Thousands of tons of rock and earth were pressing down on him, and here he was, trying to penetrate deeper. To him it sounded like a soldier's life.
  
  Dahl communicated with Parnevik via two-way videophone. The professor shouted so many 'suggestions' that Dahl turned off the sound after two minutes. The soldiers tramped around the cave until one of the Delta guys shouted: "I have carvings here. Although it"s a tiny thing."
  
  Dahl turned off the videophone. Parnevik's voice sounded loud and clear, and then stopped when Dahl brought the cell phone to the wall.
  
  "Do you see this?"
  
  "Ja! Det ar bra! Bra!" Parnevik lost his English from excitement. "Walknott... mmm... a knot of slain warriors. This is the symbol of Odin, the triple triangle, or Borromean triangle, associated with the idea of glorious death in battle."
  
  Drake shook his head. "Bloody Vikings."
  
  "This symbol is often found on 'picture stones' that depict the deaths of heroic warriors traveling by boat or on horseback to Valhalla - Odin's palace. This further reinforces the idea that we have found a mundane Valhalla."
  
  "Sorry to spoil your parade, mate," said the straightforward SAS man, "but this wall is as thick as my mother-in-law."
  
  They all took a step back, flicking their helmet lights across the untouched surface.
  
  "It must be a false wall." The guy almost screamed with excitement. "It must be!"
  
  "Wait," Drake heard Ben"s young voice. "It also says that Valknoth is also called the Death Knot, a symbol of the followers of Odin who had a penchant for violent death. I really believe this could be a warning."
  
  "Bullshit". Drake's sigh was sincere.
  
  "Here's a thought, guys," came Kennedy's voice. "How about a more thorough inspection of all the walls. If you get more Walknotts, but then find a blank wall, I would choose this one."
  
  "Easy for you to say," Drake muttered. "Being up there and everything."
  
  They split up, combing the rocky walls inch by inch. They scraped away centuries of dust, brushed away cobwebs and drove away mold. Eventually, they found three more Valknots.
  
  "Great," Drake said. "It's four walls, four knotty things. What the hell do we do now?"
  
  "Are they all identical?" - the professor asked in surprise.
  
  One of the soldiers displayed an image of Parnevik on the videophone screen. "Well, I don"t know about you guys, but I"m sure I"m tired of listening to him. The damn Swede would have finished us off a long time ago."
  
  "Wait," Ben"s voice said. "The eyes are in Mimir's well, not..." his voice was lost behind the hiss of static, and then the screen went dark. Dahl shook it, turned it on and off, but to no avail.
  
  "Crap. What was he trying to say?
  
  Drake was about to make a guess when the videophone came back to life and Ben's face filled the screen. "I don"t know what happened. But listen - the Eyes are in Mimir's well, not in the cave below it. Understand?"
  
  "Yes. So we passed them on the way down?"
  
  "I think yes".
  
  "But why?" Dahl asked incredulously. "Then why was this cave created at all? And the ground penetrating radar clearly showed that there was a huge space underneath. Of course, the Piece had to be down there."
  
  "Unless-" Drake felt a terrible cold. "Unless this place is a trap."
  
  Dahl suddenly looked unsure. "How so?"
  
  "Is this space below us? What if it"s a bottomless pit?"
  
  "This means that you are standing on a clay pillow!" The guy screamed in horror. "Trap! It could collapse at any moment. Get out of there now!"
  
  They stared at each other for one endless moment of desperate mortality. They all wanted to live so badly. And then everything changed. What was once a crack in the concrete floor was now a cracked hard panel. This strange tearing sound was not from the displacement of the stone, but from the fact that the floor was slowly splitting from end to end.
  
  With an endless pit beneath them....
  
  The six men charged furiously at the two Ascendants. When they got there, still alive, Dahl shouted to restore order.
  
  "You two go first. For God's sake, be harsh."
  
  "And on your way up," Parnevik commented, "be especially aware of your surroundings. We don't want to miss the artifact."
  
  "Don"t be an idiot, Parnevik." Dahl was beside himself with forebodings. Drake had never seen him like this before. "The last two of us will check as we go," he said, staring at Drake. "It's you and me".
  
  The videophone beeped again and turned off. Dahl shook it as if he was trying to strangle him. "Damned by the Yankees, no doubt."
  
  It took the first couple three minutes to reach ground level. Then three more for the second pair. Drake thought of all the things that could happen in six minutes-a lifetime's worth of experience, or nothing at all. For him it was the last. Nothing but the creaking of clay, the groan of shifting stone, the creaking of chance, deciding whether to reward him with life or death.
  
  The floor beneath the first symbol they found had collapsed. There was no warning; as if the floor had simply given up the ghost and fallen into oblivion. Drake climbed as far up the well as he could. It balanced on its sides rather than on the fragile floor of the cave. Dahl hugged the other side of the well, clutching a piece of green twine with both hands, the ring on his wedding finger reflecting the lantern on Drake's helmet.
  
  Drake looked up, searching for any strong pieces of string they could attach to their harnesses. Then he heard Dahl shout: "Shit!" and looked down just in time to see the videophone spin from end to end in wicked slow motion before falling with a crunch to the cave floor.
  
  Weakened, the hard drive gave way, falling into a black hole like Drake's old dreams of starting a family. A storm came towards them, releasing turbid air filled with unspeakable darkness from the place where the blind creatures hid and slithered.
  
  And, looking down into that abyss of nameless shadow, Drake rediscovered his childhood belief in monsters.
  
  There was a faint sliding sound, and a rope came down from above, flapping. Drake gratefully grabbed it and attached it to his harness. Dahl did the same, looking identically white, and they both pressed their respective buttons.
  
  Drake watched the altimeter. He studied his half of the well while Dahl copied it on the other side. Several times they stopped and leaned forward to take a closer look, but each time they found nothing. A hundred feet went, and then ninety. Drake peeled his hands bloody, but found nothing. They walked on, now fifty feet, and then Drake saw the absence of light, a dimness that simply absorbed the light he threw on her.
  
  A wide wooden board, jagged along the edges, untouched by dampness or mold. Drake could see the carvings on its surface and it took him a while to position the helmet correctly.
  
  But when he did it...
  
  Eyes. A symbolic image of Odin's eyes, carved from wood and left here... by whom?
  
  By Odin himself? Thousands of years ago? Author: Heidi? Was it more or less plausible?
  
  Dahl cast an anxious glance down. "For the sake of all of us, Drake, don"t drop this."
  
  
  THIRTY THREE
  
  
  
  OSTERGOTLAND, SWEDEN
  
  
  Drake emerged from Mimir's well, holding the wooden tablet high like a trophy. Before he could utter a word, he was roughly yanked from his harness and thrown to the ground.
  
  "Hey, calm down..." He looked down the trunk of the dream machine from Hong Kong, one of the new ones. He rolled slightly and saw dead and dying soldiers lying on the grass - Delta, SGG, SAS - and behind them Kennedy, kneeling with a gun pointed at her head.
  
  Saw Ben being forced to stand upright in a chokehold, Alicia Miles's merciless hands gripping his neck tightly. Drake's heart almost broke when he saw Ben still clutching his cell phone in his hand. Clinging until my last breath...
  
  "Let the Brit stand," Canadian Colby Taylor came into Drake"s sights. "Let him watch his friends die-proof that I can take every part of him before I take his life."
  
  Drake allowed the fires of battle to seep into his limbs. "All you're proving is that this place lives up to what it says in the damn guidebook - that it's a land of monsters."
  
  "How poetic," the billionaire chuckled. "And it is true. Give me the Eyes." He held out his hands like a child asking for more. The mercenary transmitted an image of Odin's eyes. "Fine. That's enough. So where's your plane, Drake? I want pieces of you and then get out of this shit hole."
  
  "You won't achieve anything without the Shield," Drake said... the first thing that came to his mind. "And then figure out how it becomes a map for Ragnarok."
  
  "Fool," Taylor laughed disgustingly. "The only reason we are here today and not twenty years ago is because the Shield was only recently found. I'm sure you already know this, though. Are you trying to slow me down? Do you think I'll slip up and give you another chance? Well, Mr. Drake, let me tell you. She..." he pointed at Alicia, "she doesn"t slip up. She. . hard golden ass, that's what she is!"
  
  Drake watched as his former colleague strangled Ben to death. "She will sell you to the highest bidder."
  
  "I'm the highest bidder, you complete piece of shit."
  
  And by the will of Providence, someone took advantage of this moment to fire a bullet. The shot echoed loudly through the forest. One of Taylor's mercenaries collapsed with a new third eye, dying instantly.
  
  Colby Taylor looked incredulous for a second. He looked as if Bryan Adams had just jumped out of the woods and started playing "Summer of '69." His eyes turned into saucers. Then one of his mercenaries crashed into him, knocking him to the ground, the mercenary bleeding, screaming and struggling, dying. Drake was at their side in an instant as lead tore the air above them.
  
  Everything happened at the same time. Kennedy threw her body upward. The top of her skull was so firmly in contact with the chin of the guard covering her that he didn't even realize what had happened. Instant hang up.
  
  A barrage of bullets flew back and forth; the mercenaries, caught in the open, were destroyed.
  
  Thorsten Dahl was freed when the mercenary holding him lost three-quarters of his head to the third shot that echoed from the rifle. The SGG commander approached Professor Parnevik like a crab and began dragging the old man towards a pile of bushes.
  
  Drake's first thought was about Ben. As he prepared to make a desperate bet, disbelief shook him like a thousand-watt electromagnetic pulse. Alicia threw the boy aside and advanced on Drake himself. Suddenly a gun appeared in her hand; it didn't matter which one. She was equally deadly with both.
  
  She picked it up, focusing on it.
  
  Drake spread his arms out to the sides in an embarrassed gesture. Why?
  
  Her smile was gleeful, like that of a demon who has discovered untouched meat in a lair that he thought had long been used up.
  
  She pulled the trigger. Drake winced, expecting heat and then numbness and then pain, but his mind's eye caught up with his brain and he saw that she had changed her aim at the last moment... and put three bullets into the mercenary covering the indignant figure of Colby Taylor. Let's not take risks.
  
  Two SAS soldiers and two Delta Marines survived. The SAS grabbed Ben and dragged him away. What was left of Delta Team prepared to return fire at a nearby grove of trees.
  
  More shots rang out. The Delta guy turned and fell. The other was crawling on his stomach to where Wells had fallen, on the other side of Mimir's Well. Wells's prone body jerked as the American pulled him away, proof that he was alive.
  
  The next few minutes passed in a blur. Alicia screamed in anger and jumped after the American soldier. When he turned and confronted her with his fists, she stopped for a second.
  
  "Turn away," Drake heard her say. "Just go away."
  
  "I will not leave this man behind."
  
  "You Americans, just give it a rest," she said before unleashing all hell. America's best player backed away, stumbling through the thick grass, first holding on to one arm and then staggering as it was broken before losing sight in one eye and finally collapsing without even flinching.
  
  Drake screamed, running towards Alicia as she picked Wells up by the collar.
  
  "Are you crazy?" - he shouted. "Are you completely crazy?"
  
  "He's going into the well," Alicia's eyes were murderous. "You can join him or not, Drake. Your decision."
  
  "Why in the name of God? Why?"
  
  "One day, Drake. One day, if you survive this, you will know."
  
  Drake paused to catch his breath. What did she mean? But to lose concentration now would be to invite death as surely as if he had committed suicide. He called upon his training memories, his mind, all his SAS skills. He hit her with a straight boxing punch, a jab, a cross. She countered, making sure to hit his wrist with crushing force each time, but now he was very close.
  
  Where he wanted to be.
  
  He pointed his finger at her neck. She took a side step, directly into his rising knee, aimed at breaking a few ribs and slowing her fall.
  
  But she rolled between his knees until they were shockingly close, inches apart, eye to eye.
  
  Huge eyes. Wonderful eyes.
  
  They belonged to one of the world's greatest predators.
  
  "You're as weak as a wicker baby, Matt."
  
  Her whisper chilled his bones as she stepped forward, extended her arm, and tossed him into the air. He landed on his back, out of breath. Not even a second later she was on top of him, knees slamming into his solar plexus, forehead smacking against his own, making him see stars.
  
  Looking into each other's eyes again, she whispered, "Lie down."
  
  But it was not he who had to make the choice. It was all he could do to raise his hand, rolling to the side to watch as she half-dragged the semi-conscious Wells towards the edge of the bottomless pit known as Mimir's Well.
  
  Drake screamed, struggling to his knees. Embarrassed by defeat, shocked by how many advantages he had lost since joining the human race, he could only watch.
  
  Alicia rolled Wells over the edge of the well. The SAS commander didn't even shout.
  
  Drake swayed as he rose to his feet, head and body screaming. Alicia approached Colby Taylor, still as fresh and agile as a spring lamb. Drake, with his back to the Germans, felt about as defenseless as a sailor on a raft facing a prehistoric Kraken, but he did not flinch.
  
  Alicia pulled the dead mercenary's body away from Taylor. The billionaire stood up, eyes wide, looking from Miles to Drake to the trees.
  
  From behind the trunks shrouded in fog, figures began to appear, similar to ghosts, feeling at home in this legendary country. The illusion was shattered when they got close enough to see their weapons.
  
  Drake has already walked around. He could see the people approaching, knew that they were vulture-like Germans who had come to take all the spoils.
  
  Drake looked in bewilderment at the weapon of their victory. Alicia simply grabbed the Canadian billionaire by the crotch and squeezed until his eyes bugged out of his head. She smiled at his confusion before leading him to Mimir's well and leaning his head over the edge.
  
  Drake realized he had other priorities. He sidestepped the action, using Alicia and Taylor as a shield. He reached the bush and continued walking, slowly climbing up a small grassy hill.
  
  Alicia pointed into the hole and shook Taylor until he begged for mercy. "Maybe you'll find something to collect there, you megalomaniac idiot," she hissed and threw his body into the endless void. His screams echoed for a while, then stopped. Drake wondered if a man who fell into a bottomless pit screamed forever, and if no one was around to hear him, did it really count?
  
  By this time Milo had reached his girlfriend. Drake heard him say, "Why the hell did you do that? The boss would love this asshole alive."
  
  And Alicia's response: "Shut up, Milo. I was looking forward to meeting Abel Frey. Are you ready to go?"
  
  Milo grinned evilly towards the top of the hill. "We're not going to finish them off?"
  
  "Don't be an ass. They are still armed and holding the high ground. Do you have what we came for?"
  
  "All nine parts of Odin are present and functional. Your plane is fried!" - he shouted. "Have fun at night on this dead land!"
  
  Drake watched as the Germans retreated cautiously. The world just teetered on the brink. They came all this way and made a lot of sacrifices. They drove themselves into the ground.
  
  Only to lose everything to the Germans at the last line.
  
  "Yes," Ben caught his eye with a mirthless grin, as if reading his thoughts. "Like life imitates football, huh?"
  
  
  THIRTY FOUR
  
  
  
  OSTERGOTLAND, SWEDEN
  
  
  The sun was setting below a clear horizon as the Europeans and their only remaining American ally limped to higher ground. A weak, cold breeze was blowing. A quick assessment revealed that one of the SAS soldiers was injured and Professor Parnevik was suffering from shock. This isn't surprising considering what he's been through.
  
  Dahl contacted their location via satellite phone. Help was about two hours away.
  
  Drake plopped down next to Ben as they stopped in a tiny grove of bare trees with an open plain around them.
  
  Ben's first words: "I know other people died, Matt, but I just hope Karin and Hayden are okay. I'm really sorry."
  
  Drake was embarrassed to admit that he had forgotten that Hayden was still with the plane. "Don't worry. It `s naturally. The odds are extremely good for Karin, fair for Hayden too," he admitted, having lost his ability to embellish somewhere along the mission. "How are you holding up, buddy?"
  
  Ben picked up his cell phone. "Still alive".
  
  "We've come a long way since the fashion show."
  
  "I barely remember it," Ben said seriously. "Matt, I barely remember what my life was like before this started. And it"s already been... days?"
  
  "I could remind you if you want. Frontman of The Wall of Sleep. Swooning over Taylor Momson. The mobile phone is overloaded. Rent arrears. I'm swooning over Taylor.
  
  "We have lost everything."
  
  "No lie here, Ben-we couldn"t have gotten this far without you."
  
  "You know me, buddy. I would help anyone." It was a standard response, but Drake could tell he was pleased with the praise. He didn't forget this when Ben outwitted the suits and even the Scandinavian professor.
  
  No doubt that was what Hayden saw in him. She saw the person inside beginning to shine through. Drake prayed for her safety, but there was nothing he could do for her right now.
  
  Kennedy fell next to them. "I hope I didn't disturb you guys. You look pretty fit."
  
  "Not you," Drake said and Ben nodded. "Now you are one of us."
  
  "Hmm, thanks, I guess. It's a compliment?"
  
  Drake lifted the mood. "Anyone who can play a few Dino Rock games with me is my brother for life."
  
  "All night long, man, all night long."
  
  Ben groaned. "So," he looked around. "It just got dark."
  
  Drake looked at the endless meadows. The last streak of dark red was just dripping from the farthest horizon. "Damn, I bet it gets cold here at night."
  
  Dahl approached them. "So this is the end, men? Are we done? The world needs us."
  
  The piercing wind tore his words to shreds, scattering them across the plains.
  
  Parnevik spoke from where he was resting, leaning his back against a tree. "Listen, umm, you told me that you saw the only known image of the parts in their true arrangement. A painting that once belonged to John Dillinger."
  
  "Yeah, but the thing went on tour in the '60s," Dahl explained. "We can't be sure it wasn't copied, especially by one of those history-obsessed Vikings."
  
  The professor was well enough to mutter, "Oh. Thank you."
  
  Complete darkness, and a million stars twinkled overhead. The branches swayed and the leaves rustled. Ben instinctively moved closer to one side of Drake. Kennedy did the same with the other one.
  
  Where Kennedy's thigh touched his own, Drake felt fire. It was all he could do to focus on what Dahl was saying.
  
  "The shield," said the Swede, "is our last hope."
  
  Is she sitting so close on purpose? Drake thought about it. Touch....
  
  God, it had been a long time since he felt like this. It took him back to the days when girls were girls and boys were nervous, wearing T-shirts in the snow and taking their girlfriends around town on a Saturday afternoon before buying them their favorite CD and treating themselves to popcorn and a straw at the cinema.
  
  Innocent days, long gone. Long remembered and, unfortunately, lost.
  
  "Shield?" He intervened in the conversation. "What?"
  
  Dahl frowned at him. "Keep up, you fat Yorkshire bastard. We said that the Shield is the main detail here. Without it nothing can be achieved as it determines the location of Ragnarok. It is also made of a different material than the other parts - as if it has a different role to play. Target. "
  
  "Like what?"
  
  "Fuuuuck," said Dahl in his best Oxford accent. "Ask me something about sports."
  
  "OK. Why the hell did Leeds United sign Thomas Brolin anyway?
  
  Dahl's face lengthened and then hardened. He was about to protest when a strange noise broke the silence.
  
  Scream. A groan from the darkness.
  
  A sound that evoked primal fear. "Christ lives," Drake whispered. "What- ?"
  
  It happened again. A howl, similar to an animal, but guttural, as if from something big. It made the night crawl.
  
  "Do you remember?" In a whisper unnatural with horror, Ben said: "This is Grendel's country. The monster from Beowulf. There are still legends that monsters live in these parts."
  
  "The only thing I remember from Beowulf was Angelina Jolie's ass," Drake said fondly. "But then, I guess the same can be said about most of her films."
  
  "SHH!" - Kennedy hissed. "What the hell is that noise?"
  
  The howl came again, closer now. Drake desperately tried to make out anything in the darkness, imagining bared fangs rushing towards him, saliva dripping, strips of rotten flesh stuck between their jagged teeth.
  
  He raised the gun, not wanting to scare the others, but too unsure to risk it.
  
  Torsten Dahl aimed his own rifle. The fit SAS soldier pulled out a knife. Silence shackled the night more than Gordon Brown shackled the UK economy, squeezing it dry.
  
  Faint sound. Clank. Something that sounded like light footsteps....
  
  But what kind of legs were these? Drake thought about it. Man or...?
  
  If he had heard the clicking of claws, he might well have released his entire magazine in terror.
  
  Damn these old fairy tales.
  
  The very ventricles in his heart nearly exploded when Ben's cell phone suddenly came to life. Ben threw it into the air in surprise, but then commendably caught it on the way down.
  
  "Bullshit!" he whispered before he realized what he had answered. "Oh, hi, mom."
  
  Drake tried to stop the blood pounding in his brain. "Cut it off. Cut it off!"
  
  Ben said: "In the toilet. I"ll call you later!"
  
  "Cute". Kennedy's voice was surprisingly calm.
  
  Drake listened. The groan came again, thin and painful. This was followed by a distant knock, as if the noisemaker had thrown a stone. Another crying cry, and then a howl....
  
  Definitely human this time! And Drake rushed into battle. "It's Wells!" He rushed into the darkness, instinct leading him straight to Mimir's well and stopping him on the edge.
  
  "Help me," Wells groaned, reaching for the jagged edge of the cliff with cracked and bloody fingers. "I got caught on one of the ropes... on the way down. Almost broke my arm. This bitch has... something more to do to kill... me."
  
  Drake took his weight, saving him from free-falling back into the endless night.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  As Wells wrapped up warmly and rested, Drake simply shook his head at him.
  
  Wells croaked: "I never wanted to start a war...within the SAS."
  
  "Then it's okay, because Alicia and I are no longer part of the SAS."
  
  Next to him, Ben interrogated Parnevik as if nothing had happened. "Do you think the Shield is some kind of key?"
  
  "The shield is everything. This could be the key, but it's definitely all we have left."
  
  "Gone?" Drake repeated, raising an eyebrow. He focused on Ben's I-phone. "Of course we know!"
  
  Ben was one step ahead, googling 'Shield of Odin' at geek speed. The image that appeared was small, but Ben zoomed in faster than Drake could even think of. He tried to remember what the Shield looked like. Round, with a raised round center, the outer rim is divided into four equal parts.
  
  Ben held the I-phone at arm's length, allowing everyone to gather around.
  
  "It's simple," Kennedy said. "Ragnarok in Vegas. Everyone's in Vegas."
  
  The guy rubbed his chin. "The placement of the Shield indicates four distinct parts surrounding the answer in the center. You see? Let's label them North, East, South and West so we know what we're talking about."
  
  "Great," Ben said. "Well, the West is obvious. I see a Spear and two Eyes."
  
  "South is a Horse and two, um, Wolves, I think." Drake narrowed his eyes as best he could.
  
  "Certainly!" The guy was crying. "You are right. Because there must be two Valkyries in the East. Yes? You see?"
  
  Drake blinked hard to focus, and he saw what could be taken to be female warriors mounted on a pair of winged horses. "Damn Starbucks!" He swore. "A cafe with free Wi-Fi anywhere in the world except this one!"
  
  "So..." Kennedy stammered, "the uh, Shield doesn"t have a Shield on it?"
  
  "Hmmm...!" The professor studied hard, coming into Ben's line of sight and receiving a friendly spank. "Could you zoom in a little more?"
  
  "No. This is his limit."
  
  "I don't see any other marks on the East Side," Dahl said from his seat. "But the North is quite interesting."
  
  Drake shifted his attention and felt a rush of shock. "Lord, this is the symbol of Odin. Three connected triangles. The same thing we saw in the well."
  
  "But what is this? Dahl pointed to a tiny symbol located in the lower left corner of one of the triangles. As Ben approached, they all exclaimed, "It"s the Shield!"
  
  An embarrassed silence reigned. Drake destroyed his brain. Why was the Shield symbol placed inside the triangles? Obviously this is a clue, just a vague one.
  
  "It would be so much easier on the big screen!" The professor snorted.
  
  "Stop whining," Ben said. "Don't let it defeat you."
  
  "Here"s a thought," Kennedy said. "Could the triangles represent something other than this 'Odin's knot' or something else?"
  
  "The secret purpose of a mystical symbol associated with God, which was previously considered just a legend?" The guy grinned. "Of course not".
  
  Drake rubbed his ribs where Alicia Miles had taught him that seven years without training took a toll on your fighting level. She had humiliated him, but he found solace in the fact that he was alive and they were still - just - in the game.
  
  "The helicopter will have a built-in Internet," Dahl tried to reassure everyone. "In about... oh, thirty minutes."
  
  "Okay, okay, what about the centerpiece?" Drake did his part. "Two outlines that look like a child"s drawing with three udders and a jellyfish."
  
  "And the Shield again," Ben zoomed in on the 'jellyfish' eye. "Same image as in the Northern part. So we have two images of the Shield on the Shield itself. The central part, consisting of two freeforms, and three single triangles," he said, nodding at Kennedy. "Perhaps these are not triangles at all."
  
  "Well, at least this confirms my theory that the Shield is the main part," Parnevik noted.
  
  "These outlines remind me of something," Dahl reflected. "I just can't say what."
  
  Drake could have come up with some nasty personal attacks, but he kept himself in check. Progress, he thought. The pompous Swede has come a long way with them and has now earned a little respect.
  
  "Look!" Ben screamed, causing them all to jump. "There is a thin, almost irrelevant line connecting both images of the Shield!"
  
  "Which doesn"t really tell us anything," Parnevik grumbled.
  
  "Or..." Drake mused, remembering the days when he read army maps, "or... if you come at it the other way, we know that the Shield is the card of Ragnarok. These two images could be the same focal point in two different pictures... Only one view is the height, and the other..."
  
  "That's the plan!" Ben said.
  
  At that moment, the sound of an approaching helicopter was heard. Dahl spoke about this by demonstrating his old school addiction by turning off GPRS. He squinted in the darkness along with everyone else as a large black figure approached.
  
  "Well, we don"t have much of a choice," he said with a half-smile. "We'll have to, uh, take on this case."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Once on board and settled, Dahl booted up a 20-inch Sony Vaio laptop, which used its own portable modem, similar to an I-phone. Depending on mobile network coverage, they would have access to the Internet.
  
  "This is a map," Drake continued his train of thought. "So let's treat it that way. Obviously, the middle, the central detail, is the plan view. So, copy the diagram, use some geographic recognition software, and see what happens."
  
  "Hmm," Parnevik doubtfully examined the enlarged view. "Why include another image that looks like an udder when the shield symbol is on, uh, Medusa. "
  
  "Starting point?" Kennedy took a chance.
  
  The helicopter was rocking, driven by the strong wind. The pilot was ordered to fly to Oslo until he received further instructions. The second SGG team was waiting for them there.
  
  "Try the program, Thorsten."
  
  "I already have it, but I don"t need it," Dahl answered with sudden surprise. "I knew these shapes looked familiar. This is Scandinavia on the map! The udder is Norway, Sweden and Finland. Medusa is Iceland. Incredible."
  
  A split second later, the laptop pinged with three possible matches. The recognition software algorithms weighed closest by ninety-eight percent-that was Scandinavia.
  
  Drake nodded respectfully towards Dahl.
  
  "Ragnarok in Iceland?" The guy thought about it. "But why?"
  
  "Give these coordinates to the pilot," Drake pointed his finger at the coastline of Iceland and the position of the Shield symbol. "So. We are already several hours behind."
  
  "But we don't have the damn pieces," Ben said plaintively. "The Germans have them. And only they can find the Tomb of the Gods using the Shards."
  
  And now Thorsten Dahl actually laughed, making Drake think. "Oh, no," said the Swede, and his laugh was almost villainous. "I have a much better idea than messing around with these damn pieces. Always were. Let them stay in the sauerkraut!"
  
  "You are doing? Let me think - wasn't the Shield found in Iceland?" Ben asked, once again impressing Drake with his clear thinking under pressure.
  
  "Yes, and if this is the ancient site of Ragnarok," Parnevik said, "that makes sense. Odin's shield would have fallen where he died."
  
  "Oh, that makes sense now, Professor," Kennedy teased. "Now these guys have decided everything for you."
  
  "Well, if it helps, we still have the greatest mystery to solve," Ben said with a slight smile. "The meaning of the ancient symbol of Odin - three triangles."
  
  
  THIRTY FIVE
  
  
  
  Iceland
  
  
  Iceland's coastline is icy, rugged and colorful, carved in some places by huge glaciers, and smoothed out in others by raging waves and piercing winds. There are lava coastlines and black cliffs, majestic icebergs and overall a kind of zen tranquility. Danger and beauty go hand in hand, ready to lull the unwary traveler and bring him to an untimely end.
  
  Reykjavik swept past them in a matter of minutes, its bright red roofs, white buildings and surrounding snow-capped mountains guaranteed to thrill even the most jaded of hearts.
  
  They stopped briefly at a sparsely populated military base to refuel and load up on winter suits, ammunition and rations, and whatever else Dahl could think of in the ten minutes they were stranded.
  
  But the men aboard the black military helicopter saw none of this. They were grouped together-discussing the same goal-but their inner thoughts were about their own mortality and the mortality of the world-how scared and afraid they were, and how afraid they were for others.
  
  Drake was alarmed. He couldn't figure out how to keep everyone safe. If it was Ragnarok they found, then the fabled Tomb of the Gods was next, and their lives had just become a game of roulette-the kind you played in Kennedy's favorite allegory, Vegas-where the table was rigged.
  
  Constructed in this particular hint by the secret plans of each secret player and the unknown plans of their many enemies.
  
  And now, in addition to Ben and Kennedy - two people he would protect with his life - Drake had to think about both Hayden and Karin.
  
  Will all these fears get in the way of saving the world? Only time will tell.
  
  Endgames played out at every corner. Abel Frey has already started his. Alicia and Milo may have their own, but Drake suspected his former SRT colleague had a killer surprise in store that even her boyfriend wasn't expecting.
  
  Torsten Dahl and Wells had rarely spoken on the phone since they crossed the coast of Iceland, receiving orders, hints and whispered advice from their respective governments. Finally, Kennedy answered the call, which made her sit up straight for a few minutes and shake her head wearily in shock.
  
  She only addressed Drake. "Remember Hayden? Secretary? Yes, she just does her job well."
  
  "What does it mean?"
  
  "She's from the CIA, damn it. And exactly where she wants to be. In the middle of all this crap."
  
  "Bullshit". Drake gave Ben a worried look, but still believed she had a soft spot for his friend. Was it just Drake's heart feeding him romantic notions telling him that Hayden's feelings were true, or was she real?
  
  "It was the Secretary of Defense," Kennedy continued as if nothing had happened. "Wanting to be, um, 'in the know.'"
  
  "Really". Drake nodded at Dahl and Wells. "And over there, it"s just history repeating itself." He looked wearily out the nearest window. "Can you believe, Kennedy, after the last week or so that we're still in the game?"
  
  "Can you believe," Kennedy said, "that everyone believes in the 'fire will consume us' doomsday theory?"
  
  Drake was about to answer with weary aplomb when the bottom fell out of his world. The blood froze in his veins when something gigantic loomed outside the window.
  
  Something so huge...
  
  "Now I know," he hissed in the terror-filled voice of a man who suddenly realized that everything he loved could die today. "Damn it... Kennedy... Now I know."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  As he pointed to his revelation and Kennedy leaned over to take a look, he felt her entire body tense.
  
  "Oh my God!" - she said. "This...'
  
  "I know," Drake interrupted. "Dal! Look at this. Look!"
  
  The Swede caught the uncharacteristic display of fear and quickly ended the conversation. A brief glance out the window made him frown in confusion. "It's just Eyjafjallajokull. And yes, yes, Drake, I know, it's easy for me to say, and yes, yes, this is the one who made all the news in 2010..." He paused, transfixed, expectant.
  
  Parnevik's eyes widened. Swedish curses flew out of him like poisoned darts.
  
  Now Ben moved closer to the window. "Wow. This is Iceland's most famous volcano and appears to still be erupting, albeit gently."
  
  "Yes!" Drake was crying. "The fire will consume us. Damn supervolcano. "
  
  "But more importantly," Kennedy now managed to continue, "look at the bird's eye view of the Shield, Matt. Look at it!"
  
  Now Parnevik managed to find his point of view: "Three mountains are not three triangles, as was always believed. The ancient scientists were wrong. Odin's most famous symbol has been deciphered incorrectly. Oh my God!"
  
  Drake looked beyond the erupting volcano and saw two even higher mountains on either side of it, which, when viewed from above, closely resembled the symbol of Odin.
  
  "Oh my God," Parnevik said. "This is where our eyes really play tricks on us, because although these mountains appear to be close to Eyjafjallajokull, they are actually hundreds of miles away. But they are part of the chain of Icelandic volcanoes. Everything is interconnected".
  
  "So if one rises with enough force and is directly connected to the other two..." Kennedy continued.
  
  "You have the beginnings of a Supervolcano," Drake finished.
  
  "The Tomb of the Gods," Dahl exhaled, "is located inside an erupting volcano."
  
  "And removing Odin's bones makes it boom!" Kennedy shook her head, her hair flowing. "Would you expect anything less?"
  
  "Wait!" Dahl was now viewing the satellite image, which told them when they would reach the eye of the Medusa. "We still need a little help with directions, and that's always been my plan B. There's one huge mountain out there, and Abel Frey is going to show us right through the front door."
  
  "How?" At least two voices asked.
  
  Dahl winked and spoke to the pilot. "Lift us higher."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Now they were so high that Drake could not even see the mountains through the clouds. His newfound respect for the SGG commander was in dire need of support.
  
  "Okay, Torvill, put the peasants out of their misery, will you?"
  
  "Thorsten," corrected Dahl, before realizing that he was being egged on. "Oh I understand. Okay, then try to keep up if you can. This is my army specialty, or at least it was before I joined SGG. Aerial photography, in particular orthophotos. "
  
  "This is brilliant," Drake said. "I'm standing straight as we speak. What the hell is this?"
  
  "These are photographs taken from an 'infinite' distance, looking straight down, which are then geometrically modified to fit an accepted map standard. Once the photo is uploaded, all we have to do is align it to 'real world' coordinates, then..." he shrugged.
  
  "Boom!" Kennedy laughed. "You mean something like Google Earth, right? Only without 3D?"
  
  "Really". Drake made a grimace. "I hope this works, Dal. This is our only chance to get ahead of the endgame."
  
  "So it will be. Not only that, but when the computer calculates the coordinates, we will know exactly where the entrance to the Tomb of the Gods is. Even the Germans, who fully own all nine fragments, will have to appreciate it."
  
  "Provided that the Germans place all the pieces correctly," Ben said with a sad smile.
  
  "Well, it's true. We can only hope Abel Frey knows what he's doing. He definitely had plenty of time to practice."
  
  Drake slid from his seat and looked for Wells. I saw him banging his cell phone on the window in despair.
  
  "Any news about Frey's castle, mate?"
  
  The SAS commander snorted. "Surrounded. But secretly - the Castle is unaware of its newfound attention. There are German cops there. Interpol. Representatives of most governments in the world. But not Mai, for some reason. I won't lie to you Matt, this will be a hard rock to break without a ton of loss."
  
  Drake nodded, thinking about Karin. He knew the odds, having played them many times. "So, we'll do the tomb first... And then we'll see where we end up."
  
  Just at this moment there was some excitement in the front part of the cramped helicopter. Dahl turned around with a jubilant smile on his face. "Frey is down there now! We put it into pieces. If we turn this baby on full blast and shoot at one frame per second, we'll be inside this tomb within an hour! "
  
  "Have a little respect," Parnevik breathed reverently. "It's Ragnarok down there. One of the greatest battlefields in known history and the site of at least one Armageddon. The gods died screaming in this ice. Gods. "
  
  "And Abel Frey too," Ben Blake said quietly. "If he hurt my sister."
  
  
  
  PART 2
  put on your armor...
  
  
  THIRTY SIX
  
  
  
  TOMB OF THE GODS
  
  
  The game was over.
  
  As Drake and his companions flew over Ragnarok and Abel Frey's crew, heading towards the smoking mountain, they knew that the Germans would be in hot pursuit. The helicopter descended quickly towards a soft snow basin, violently shaken by occasional gusts of wind and an increasing draft. The pilot controlled the group until the helicopter hovered as close as it could, six feet from the ground, then yelled at everyone to get the hell out.
  
  "The clock is ticking!" - Dahl shouted as soon as his boots touched the snow. "Let's move!"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake extended his hand to support Ben before looking around their surroundings. The tiny depression seemed like the best landing point, being only a mile from the small entrance they were exploring, and the only land within reasonable distance that wasn't overly rocky or a potential magma pipe. An added bonus was that it could help confuse Frey as to the exact location of the Tomb.
  
  It was a bleak landscape, not unlike what the end of the world might look like, Drake thought. Layers of gray ash, dull mountainsides and blackened lava deposits gave him little confidence as he waited for Dal to indicate the entrance on his GPRS device. He half expected a shabby hobbit to emerge from the dim fog, claiming to have reached Mordor. The wind was not strong, but its sporadic gusts bit him in the face like a pit bull.
  
  "Here". Dahl ran through the ash drifts. High above them, a mushroom cloud rose into the sky with serene calm. Dahl aimed at the thick black crevice in the mountain ahead.
  
  "Why would anyone place such an important and sacred place inside a volcano?" Kennedy asked as she trudged next to Drake.
  
  "Perhaps it wasn't meant to last forever," he shrugged. "Iceland has been exploding for centuries. Who would have thought that this volcano would erupt so often without reaching its full capacity?"
  
  "Unless... unless it erupts properly from the bones of Odin. Could they keep it under control?"
  
  "Let's hope not."
  
  The sky overhead was covered with snow and drifting ash, adding to the premature twilight. The sun didn't shine here; it was as if Hell had for the first time taken hold of the Earthly Realm and was holding fast to it.
  
  Dal made his way along the uneven ground, sometimes tripping over unexpectedly deep drifts of gray powder. When Dahl reached the bare rocks, all conversation in this motley group ceased - they were crowded out by the dull wilderness.
  
  "Up here," the Swede pointed with his pistol. "About twenty feet." He narrowed his eyes. "I don"t see anything obvious."
  
  "Now, if Cook had said that off the coast of Hawaii, we would never have had pineapple porridge," Drake chided gently, hoping to get a laugh.
  
  "Or Kona coffee," Kennedy licked her lips as she looked at him, then blushed sharply when he winked back.
  
  "After you," he said, pointing with a flourish at the thirty-degree slope.
  
  "No way, pervert." Only now did she manage to smile.
  
  "Well, if you promise not to stare at my ass." Drake charged the rocky slope with gusto, testing each grip before distributing his weight, keeping a close eye on Dahl and the lone SAS soldier above him. Next was Kennedy, then Ben and finally the Professor and Wells.
  
  No one wanted to be left out of this particular mission.
  
  For some time Dahl advanced forward with a roar. Drake glanced behind him, but saw no sign of pursuit beyond the horizon, more innocuous than the Prime Minister's speech. A moment later, Dahl's voice penetrated the veil of silence.
  
  "Wow, there's something here, guys. There is a rock outcropping, then a left turn behind it..." his voice trailed off. "A vertical shaft with... yes, with steps carved into the rock. Very tight. Helvite!Those old gods must have been skinny!"
  
  Drake reached the outcrop and slid behind it. "Did you just curse, Dahl, and make a joke? Or try, anyway. So maybe you are human after all. Damn, what a tight hole. I hope we are not in a hurry to leave."
  
  With this unsettling thought, he helped Dahl secure the safety line before pushing the Swede into the black hole. Several retaliatory attacks came to mind, but now was not the time or place. Unable to direct the torch down, poor Torsten Dahl descended blindly, step by step.
  
  "If you smell the sulfur," Drake couldn't help himself. "Stop."
  
  Dahl took his time, carefully placing every foot. After a few minutes he disappeared and all Drake could see was the dim glow from his fireman's helmet getting fainter and fainter.
  
  "Are you okay?"
  
  "I've hit rock bottom!" Dahl's voice echoed.
  
  Kennedy looked around. "Is this another joke?"
  
  "Well, let's get out of this cold," Drake grabbed the edge of the black stone and carefully lowered himself over the edge. Using his legs to find his footing first, he carefully lowered himself, inch by dangerous inch. The opening was so narrow that he scratched his nose and cheeks with every movement. "Crap! Just take your time," he said to the others. "Try to move your upper body as little as possible."
  
  A few minutes later he heard Dahl say, "Six feet," and felt the rock behind him turn into empty space.
  
  "Be careful," Dahl warned. "Now we are on the edge of the abyss. About two feet wide. A sheer rock wall to our right, a regular bottomless pit to our left. There's only one way left."
  
  Drake used his own light to test the Swede's findings while the others made their long descents. Once everyone was alerted and prepared, Dahl began to slowly advance along the ledge. They were enveloped in pitch darkness, illuminated only by the torches on their helmets, which danced like fireflies in a stream. The utter emptiness lulled them like the telltale call of a siren to their left, making the heavy rock to their right even more welcoming.
  
  "It reminds me of one of those old dinosaur movies," said Professor Parnevik. "Do you remember? The land that Time forgot, I guess? They move through caves, surrounded by deadly creatures. A great movie ".
  
  "The one with Raquel Welch?" - Wells asked. "No? Well, people of my era, they think a dinosaur - they think Raquel Welch. Doesn't matter."
  
  Drake pressed his back against the rock and stepped forward with his arms outstretched, making sure Ben and Kennedy followed suit before properly moving away. A gloomy void appeared before them, and now a faint rumble, deep and distant, reached their ears.
  
  "This must be Eyjafjallajökull, the mountain erupting softly," Professor Parnevik whispered along the line. "My best guess is that we are in a side chamber, well isolated from the magma chamber and from the conduit that feeds the eruptions. There may be dozens of layers of ash and lava between us and the rising magma, protecting us and the Tomb. We may even be inside a rock anomaly where it rises at a steeper angle than the sides of the mountain."
  
  Dahl shouted into the darkness. "Gelvit! Hell and damnation! A low wall approaches us, crossing our path at an angle of ninety degrees. It's not high, so don't worry, just be careful."
  
  "Some kind of trap?" The guy took a risk.
  
  Drake saw the obstacle and thought the same thing. With great caution, he followed the SGG commander through the knee-high barrier. They both saw the first tomb at the same time.
  
  "Oooh," Dahl didn"t have enough words to understand them.
  
  Drake just whistled, amazed at the spectacle.
  
  A huge niche had been carved into the mountainside, extending perhaps a hundred feet into the volcano's core-towards the magma chamber. It was formed in the shape of an arch, perhaps a hundred feet high. As everyone gathered around and took out their heavy-duty flashlights, the stunning sight of the first tomb unfolded.
  
  "Wow!" - said Kennedy. Its light illuminated one shelf after another, carved into the rocky frame, each shelf decorated and filled with treasures: necklaces and spears, breastplates and helmets. Swords....
  
  "Who the hell is this guy?"
  
  Parnevik, as one would expect, studied the far wall, the one that faced them, in fact the arched tombstone of God. There were fantastic carvings in clear relief, equal in skill to any of the modern Renaissance men, even Michelangelo.
  
  "This is Mars," said the Professor. "Roman God of War"
  
  Drake saw a muscular figure in a breastplate and skirt, holding a huge spear on one massive shoulder, looking over the other. In the background stood a majestic horse and a round building that was very reminiscent of the Colosseum in Rome.
  
  "It amazes me how they decided who would be buried here," Kennedy muttered. "Roman gods. Scandinavian gods..."
  
  "Me too," Parnevik said. "Perhaps it was just a whim of Zeus."
  
  Suddenly all eyes were drawn to the huge sarcophagus that stood under the carved fresco. Drake's imagination took over. If they looked inside, would they find the bones of God?
  
  "Damn it, but we don"t have time!" Dahl sounded frustrated, exhausted and exhausted. "Let's go to. We have no idea how many Gods might be buried here."
  
  Kennedy frowned at Drake and looked along the ledge as he disappeared into the darkness. "It's a fragile stone trail we're following, Matt. And I"m willing to bet my 401 thousand that the number of Gods is not just one or two."
  
  "We can't trust anything now," he said. "Only each other. Let's. The Germans will come soon."
  
  They emerged from the burial chamber of Mars, each man stealing a wistful glance back at its relative safety and incalculable significance. The void beckoned once more, and now Drake began to feel a dull ache in his ankles and knees, a byproduct of their slow movement along the ledge. Poor Professor Parnevik and young Ben must have been in real pain.
  
  Another roar shook the vast cavern and echoed throughout their own. Drake looked up and thought he saw a similar ledge far above him. Bullshit. This damn thing can spin all night!
  
  On the plus side, they haven't heard any signs of persecution yet. Drake assumed they were a good hour ahead of the Germans, but knew that confrontation was almost inevitable. He just hoped that they could neutralize the global threat before it happened.
  
  A second ledge appeared ahead, and behind it a second magnificent niche, located in the depths of the mountain. This one was decorated with many golden objects, the side walls literally glowing with golden light.
  
  "Oh God!" Kennedy sighed. "I've never seen anything like it. Who is this? Treasure God?
  
  Parnevik squinted at the stone carvings that dominated the massive sarcophagus. He shook his head for a moment, frowning. "Wait, are these feathers?" Is this God dressed in feathers?"
  
  "Perhaps, Professor," Ben was already looking past the niche into the expanse of black night that awaited them. "Does it matter? This is not One."
  
  The guy ignored him. "It's Quetzalcoatl! God of the Aztecs! What is all this about..." he pointed to the shining walls.
  
  "Aztec gold." Wells sighed, awestruck in spite of himself. "Wow".
  
  "This place..." Kennedy almost completely ventilated the room, "is the greatest archaeological find of all time. Do you understand that? Here the deity is not only of one civilization, but of many. And all the traditions and treasures that come with them. It"s... overwhelming."
  
  Drake looked away from the image of Quetzalcoatl, adorned with feathers and brandishing an axe. Parnevik said that the Aztec god was known-according to common church sources-as the Ruler God, an expression hinting that he was indeed real.
  
  "Quetzalcoatl" means 'flying reptile' or 'feathered serpent'. Which..." Parnevik paused dramatically, then seemed to realize that everyone else had retreated to the ledge, "dragon," he said to himself, pleased.
  
  "Does it have anything in common with Mars?" asked a lone SAS soldier named Jim Marsters.
  
  Drake watched as Parnevik stepped onto the ledge with his lip pursed. "Hmm," his breathy assumption reached everyone on the ledge. "Only that they can mean death and once did."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The third niche, and this one is just as breathtaking as the previous one. Drake found himself staring at a stunning naked lady carved out of wood.
  
  The walls were covered with figurines worth a fortune. Dolphins, mirrors, swans. A necklace of sculpted doves large enough to encircle the neck of the Statue of Liberty.
  
  "Well," said Drake. "Even I know who it is."
  
  Kennedy made a grimace. "Yes, you would."
  
  "A real whore," Parnevik said sharply. "Aphrodite".
  
  "Hi," Wells said. "Are you calling God Aphrodite a whore? Down here? So close to her grave?"
  
  Parnevik continued with typical elementary school hooliganism: "He has been known to sleep with Gods and men, including Adonis. He offered Helen of Troy to Paris, then sealed the deal by igniting Paris's ardor the moment he set his sights on her. Born near Paphos from the recently castrated testicles of Uranus. I have to say that she..."
  
  "We got the message," Drake said dryly, still looking at the carving. He smiled when he noticed Kennedy shaking his head at him.
  
  "Are you jealous, darling?"
  
  "Very disappointed sexually?" She pushed past him to become second in line after Dahl.
  
  He gazed after her. "Well, now that you mention it..."
  
  "Come on, Matt," Ben brushed past him as well. "Wow!"
  
  His exclamation made them all jump. They turned around and saw him crawling back on all fours, horror written all over his face. Drake wondered if he had just seen the Devil Himself, rising on the wings of demons straight from hell's kitchen.
  
  "This niche-" he exhaled. "It's on a platform... floating in the air... There's nothing on the other side! "
  
  Drake felt his heart skip a beat. He remembered Mimir's well and its false floor.
  
  Dahl jumped several times. "The cursed stone seems strong enough. This can't be the end of the line."
  
  "Don't do this!" Ben squeaked. "What if it breaks away?"
  
  Silence reigned. Everyone stared at each other with wide eyes. Some ventured to look back at the path they had taken, the safe path that included the wells and the Marsters.
  
  At that moment, at the farthest hearing distance, a faint rumbling sound was heard. The sound of a stone falling into a well.
  
  "These are Germans," Dahl said with conviction. "Checking the depth of the shaft. Now we will either find a way to leave this platform or we will die anyway."
  
  Drake elbowed Kennedy. "Look over there," he pointed above them. "I kept my ears open. I think there must be another set of niches or caves above us. But look... Look how the edge of the cliff seems to curve.
  
  "Right". Kennedy hurried to the edge of Aphrodite's niche. Then, pressing herself against the jagged stone, she peered around the corner. "There's some kind of structure here... God! Oh my God."
  
  Drake held her by the shoulders and peered into the darkness. "I think you mean fuck me!"
  
  There, extending far beyond the range of their lights, was a thin ledge that turned into an even thinner spiral staircase. The stairs stretched upward above them, heading to the next level.
  
  "Talk about dizziness," Drake said. "It just took a cookie and a jar."
  
  
  THIRTY SEVEN
  
  
  
  TOMB OF THE GODS
  
  
  The spiral staircase seemed solid enough, but the simple fact that it wound through the void above an endless pit, not to mention the fact that its architects had failed to install any railings, made even Drake's well-trained nerves tremble faster than a flea on a vibrator .
  
  One full circle brought them about a quarter of the way to Aphrodite's alcove, so Drake estimated they needed to make four or five circles. He moved forward step by step, following Ben, trying to suppress his fear, taking deep breaths and always looking forward to their goal.
  
  Sixty feet up. Fifty. Fourty.
  
  As he approached thirty feet, he saw Ben stop and sit down for a moment. The boy's eyes were petrified with fear. Drake carefully sat down on the step below him and patted his knee.
  
  "Dude, there's no time to start writing a new track, Wall of Sleep. Or dreaming of Taylor Momson."
  
  Then the voice of an SAS soldier echoed down to them. "What's going on up there? We're kidding ourselves here. Move."
  
  SAS soldiers, Drake thought. I made them different from before.
  
  "Take a break," he shouted back. "Just be mo."
  
  "Break! Ugh..." Drake heard Wells' deep voice, then silence. He felt Kennedy sit at his feet, saw her tight smile and felt her trembling body with his toes.
  
  "How is the child doing?"
  
  "Skipping college," Drake forced himself to laugh. "Bandmates. Pubs of York. Free movie night. KFC. Call of Duty. You know, student stuff."
  
  Kennedy took a closer look. "In my experience, this is not what college boys and girls do."
  
  Now Ben opened his eyes and tried to smile tightly. He walked slowly on his hands and knees. Face up again, still on his hands and knees, he climbed one grueling step after another.
  
  Inch by inch, step by dangerous step, they rose. Drake felt his head and heart ache from the tension. If Ben had fallen, he would have willingly blocked the boy's fall with his own body, if only to save him.
  
  No questions or hesitation.
  
  Another full circle and they were about twenty feet from their target, a ledge that mirrored the one they had just crossed. Drake studied him in the flickering torchlight. It led back to the entrance shaft, but obviously one level higher.
  
  Level up? He thought. God, he 'modernized' this too much with Sonic the damn Hedgehog.
  
  Above him, he saw Dahl hesitate. The Swede stood up too quickly, lost his balance and now put too much weight on his back leg. There were no sounds, only a quiet struggle. He could only imagine the torture that overwhelmed Dahl's mind. Space behind, safety ahead, the thought of a long, painful fall.
  
  The Swede then rushed forward, hit the steps and held on for dear life. Drake could hear his heavy breathing from ten feet up.
  
  Several minutes passed and the difficult climb continued. Finally, Dahl stepped off the ladder onto the ledge, then crawled forward on his hands and knees to make room. Drake soon followed, dragging Kennedy along with him, feeling overwhelming relief that they were back on the narrow ledge that was still only one step away from screaming death.
  
  When they were all accounted for, Dahl sighed. "Let's move on to the next niche and call a break," he said. "I, for one, am completely destroyed."
  
  After another five minutes of shuffling their exhausted bodies and struggling with increasing muscle spasms, they stumbled to the fourth niche, the one located directly above Aphrodite's tomb.
  
  At first no one saw the permanent God. They were all on their knees, resting and breathing heavily. Drake thought with a grin that this was exactly what his civilian life had led him to, and looked up only when Parnevik uttered an expletive that would have seemed strange coming from anyone else but him.
  
  "Woof!"
  
  "What?" - I asked.
  
  "Woof! Dog head. This is Anubis."
  
  "The same jackal?" Wells leaned back in his chair and pulled his knees to his chest. "Well. I will....."
  
  "Egyptian deity," Parnevik said. "And it certainly has something to do with death."
  
  Drake looked at the rows of mummies and charcoal jackal statues. Gold-encrusted coffins and emerald-studded ankhs. Unimpressed, he turned his back on God's burial chamber and burst into KitKat. A moment later Kennedy sat next to him.
  
  "So," she said, unwrapping her food and drink.
  
  "Damn, you're good at talking," Drake chuckled. "I"m already feeling excited."
  
  "Listen, buddy, if I wanted to turn you on, you'd be putty in my hands." Kennedy gave him a grin that was both cocky and annoyed. "Damn, you guys can't stop for a minute, can you?"
  
  "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Just playing. What's happened?"
  
  He watched Kennedy stare into space. I saw her eyes widen when she caught the faint sound of Frey soldiers catching up with them. "This... thing... we've been beating around the bush for a while. Do you think, uh, we actually have something, Drake?"
  
  "I definitely think Odin is down here."
  
  Kennedy stood up to leave, but Drake put his hand on her knee to stop her. The touch almost caused sparks.
  
  "Here," he said. "What do you think?"
  
  "I don't think I'll have much work to do when we get back," she whispered. "Concerning serial killer Thomas Caleb and everything else. That bastard killed again, you know, the day before we got to Manhattan."
  
  "What? No."
  
  "Yes. That's where I went to walk around the murder scene. And pay your respects."
  
  "I am so sorry". Drake refrained from hugging, knowing that this was the last thing she needed right now.
  
  "Thank you, I know. You're one of the most honest people I've ever known, Drake. And the most selfless. Maybe that"s why I like you so much."
  
  "Despite my annoying comments?"
  
  "Very strongly, despite this."
  
  Drake finished the rest of his chocolate and decided not to throw the KitKat wrapper into the void. Knowing his luck, he might have set off an ancient garbage trap or something like that.
  
  "But no work means no connections," Kennedy continued. "I have no real friends in New York. No family. I suppose I might need to disappear from the public eye anyway."
  
  "Well," Drake said thoughtfully, "I see you"re a tempting prospect." He gave her stupid eyes. "Perhaps you could say bollox to jolly old Paris and come visit jolly old York."
  
  "But where would I stay?"
  
  Drake heard Dal rallying his troops. "Well, we just need to figure out how you can earn your keep." He waited until she rose to her feet, then grabbed her shoulders and looked into her sparkling eyes.
  
  "Seriously, Kennedy, the answer to all your questions is yes. But I can't figure all this out right now. I have my own baggage that we need to discuss and I so need to stay focused." He nodded towards the void. "There's Alicia Miles down there. You may think that our journey this far was dangerous, that this Tomb was dangerous, but believe me, they are nothing compared to that bitch."
  
  "He's right," Wells walked over and caught the last comment. "And I don't see any other way out of here, Drake. There is no way to avoid it."
  
  "And we can't block the route because we need a way out," Drake nodded. "Yes, I looked at all the scripts too."
  
  "Knew you would do this." Wells smiled as if he knew all along that Drake was still one of his guys. "Come on, the turnips are roaring."
  
  Drake followed his old boss to the ledge, then took his place behind Ben and Dahl. One appraising glance saw that everyone was rested, but nervous about what lay ahead.
  
  "Four killed," Dahl said and shuffled away along the ledge, the mountain behind him.
  
  The next niche was a surprise and gave them all a boost. This was the tomb of Thor, son of Odin.
  
  The guy bleated as if he had discovered a yeti camped in Death Valley. And, for him, he had. A professor of Norse mythology has discovered the tomb of Thor, perhaps the most famous Norse figure of all time, thanks in part to Marvel comics.
  
  Pure delight.
  
  And for Drake, Thor's presence suddenly made it even more real.
  
  There was a respectful silence. Everyone knew about Thor, or at least some incarnation of the Viking God of Thunder and Lightning. Parnevik gave a lecture about Thorsday, or, as we now know him, Thursday. This is associated with Wednesday - or Water Day, or Odin's Day. Thor was the greatest warrior god known to man, wielding a hammer, crushing his enemies with a tour de force. The pure embodiment of Viking masculinity.
  
  It was all they could do to pull Parnevik away and stop him from trying to examine Thor's bones right then and there. The next niche, the sixth, contained Loki, Thor's brother and another of Odin's sons.
  
  "The trail is warming up," Dahl said, barely peeking inside the alcove before continuing along the ledge that ended at the side of the mountain, a solid black mass.
  
  Drake joined the Swede, Ben and Kennedy as they passed torches along the rock.
  
  "Footholds," Ben said. "And hand rests. Looks like we're going up."
  
  Drake craned his neck to look up. The stone staircase went up into endless darkness, and behind them there would be nothing but air.
  
  First a test of nerves, what now? Force? Viability?
  
  And again Dahl went first. Rapidly rising twenty feet or so before seeming to slow down as the blackness engulfed him. Ben decided to go next, then Kennedy.
  
  "I think you can keep an eye on my ass now," she said with a half smile, "Make sure it doesn"t fly past you."
  
  He winked. "I can"t take my eyes off this."
  
  Drake went next, achieving three perfect holds before moving his fourth appendage. Rising in this manner, he slowly ascended the sheer cliff into the volcanic air.
  
  The rumbling continued all around them: the distant lament of the mountain. Drake imagined a nearby magma chamber seething, spewing hellfire through the walls, erupting into the distant blue Icelandic skies.
  
  A foot rustled above him, sliding off its small ledge. He held still, knowing there was little he could do if someone rushed past him, but he was ready, just in case.
  
  Kennedy's leg swung in space about a meter above his head.
  
  He reached out, swaying a little unsteadily, but managed to grab the sole of her shoe and pull her back onto the ledge. A short whisper of gratitude reached us.
  
  He walked on, his biceps burning, his fingers aching in every joint. The tips of his toes took the weight of his body with each small climb. Sweat slid down his every pore.
  
  He estimated two hundred feet of safe but terrifying handholds and footholds before they reached the comparative safety of another ledge.
  
  Exhausting work. End of the World, Apocalypse is a later work. Saving humanity with every punitive step forward.
  
  "Now what?" Wells lay on his back, groaning. "Another bloody walk along the ledge?"
  
  "No," Dahl didn"t even have the strength to joke. "Tunnel".
  
  "Eggs".
  
  On their knees they crawled forward. The tunnel led into an inky darkness that caused Drake to begin to believe he was dreaming before he suddenly collided with the motionless Kennedy from behind.
  
  Turn your face forward.
  
  "Oh! You could have warned me."
  
  "It"s difficult when the same fate befell me," came the dry voice in response. "I think only Dahl got out of this pile without a broken nose."
  
  "I"m worried about my damn heart," Dahl responded wearily. "The tunnel ends directly opposite the first step of another staircase at, um, I would guess a forty-five degree angle. Nothing left or right, at least nothing that I can see. Get ready."
  
  "These things have to be attached somewhere," Drake muttered, crawling on his bruised knees. "For God's sake, they can't just be suspended in the air."
  
  "Maybe they can," Parnevik said. "For heaven's sake. Ha ha. I was joking, but seriously, my best guess is a series of flying buttresses."
  
  "Hidden beneath us," Drake said. "Certainly. It must have taken a hell of a lot of manpower. Or a couple of really powerful gods."
  
  "Perhaps they asked Hercules and Atlas for help."
  
  Drake stepped carefully onto the first step, a surprisingly eerie feeling invading his brain, and climbed up the rough stone. They climbed for some time, finally emerging into another alcove located around a suspended platform.
  
  Dahl greeted him with an exhausted shake of his head. "Poseidon".
  
  "Impressive."
  
  Drake knelt again. Lord, he thought. I hope the Germans have it just as hard. In the end, maybe instead of fighting they could have sorted it out with rock, paper, scissors.
  
  The Greek god of the sea carried his usual trident and a room full of fabulous riches. This was the seventh God they passed by. The number nine began to gnaw at his mind.
  
  Wasn't the number nine the most sacred in Viking mythology?
  
  He mentioned this to Parnevik while they were resting.
  
  "Yes, but this place is clearly not just Nordic," the professor pointed his finger towards the man with the trident behind them. "There could be a hundred of them."
  
  "Well, we're clearly not going to survive a hundred of them," Kennedy argued with him. "Unless someone built a Ho-Jo out front."
  
  "Or, better yet, a bacon sandwich shop," Drake smacked his lips. "I could definitely kill one of these bad guys right now."
  
  "Crunchy," Ben laughed and slapped his leg. "You're talking about something that's ten years out of date. But don't worry-you still have entertainment value."
  
  Another five minutes passed before they felt rested enough to continue. Dahl, Wells and Marsters spent several minutes listening to their pursuers, but not a single sound disturbed the eternal night.
  
  "Maybe they all fell off," Kennedy shrugged. "It could happen. If this was a Michael Bay movie, someone would have fallen already."
  
  "Really". Dahl led us up another suspended staircase. As fate would have it, it was here that Wells lost his grip and slid down two slippery steps, hitting the stone with his chin each time.
  
  Blood oozed through his lips from his bitten tongue.
  
  Drake grabbed him by the shoulders of his large coat. The man beneath him-Marsters-grasped his thighs with superhuman strength.
  
  "There"s no escape, old man. Not yet."
  
  The fifty-five-year-old man was roughly dragged back up the stairs, Kennedy holding Drake's back and Marsters making sure he didn't slip on another step. By the time they reached the eighth alcove, Wells was in good spirits again.
  
  "Yes, they did it on purpose, guys. I just wanted the rest."
  
  But he squeezed Marsters' hand and whispered his heartfelt thanks to Drake when no one was looking.
  
  "Don't worry, old man. Just hang in there. You haven"t had your May time yet."
  
  The eighth niche was a kind of demonstration.
  
  "Oh my God". Parnevik's miracle infected them all. "This is Zeus. Father of man. Even the gods refer to him as a deity - a father figure. It's...beyond Odin...much further, and it comes from the Norse."
  
  "Wasn"t Odin identified as Zeus among the early Germanic tribes?" Ben asked, remembering his research.
  
  "He was, man, but I mean, come on. This is Zeus. "
  
  This man was right. The King of the Gods stood tall and undivided, clutching a lightning bolt in his massive hand. In his niche was a multitude of glittering treasures, overflowing with tribute beyond anything one man could muster today.
  
  And then Drake heard a curse, loud, in German. It echoed from below.
  
  "They just broke through a tunnel," Dahl closed his eyes in irritation. "It's only fifteen minutes behind us. Damn it, we're out of luck! Follow me!"
  
  Another staircase beckoned, this time leading out and over the tomb of Zeus before becoming vertical on the last ten steps. They fought it as best they could, their courage turned to ashes by the creeping darkness. It was as if the absence of light suppressed the stuttering spirit. Fear came to the call and decided to sit down.
  
  Talk about dizzy, Drake thought. Talk about how your balls shrink to the size of peanuts. Those last ten steps, suspended above the pitch darkness, climbing through the creeping night, almost overwhelmed him. He had no idea how others had managed it - all he could do was relive the mistakes of his past and cling tightly to them - Alison, the child they never had and never would have; the SRT campaign in Iraq that screwed everything up - he put every mistake at the forefront of his mind to eliminate the intense fear of falling.
  
  And he put one hand on top of the other. One leg is higher than the other. He rose vertically, infinity behind him, gusts of some nameless wind ruffled his clothes. The distant thunderous roar could be the song of a volcano, but it could be other things. Unspeakable horrors, so terrible that they will never see the light of day. Terrible creatures slithering over rocks, mud and dung, emitting eerie melodies that evoke blood-red visions of madness.
  
  Drake, almost crying, crawled over the last rocky step onto a level surface. The rough stone scratched his scraping hands. With one last painful effort, he raised his head and saw that everyone else was prostrate around him, but behind them he saw Torsten Dahl - the mad Swede - who was literally crawling forward on his stomach to a niche larger than anything they had seen so far .
  
  Crazy Swede. But God, the guy was good.
  
  The niche was suspended on one side, but attached to the heart of the mountain on the other.
  
  "Thank God," Dahl said weakly. "It is one. We have found Odin's tomb."
  
  Then he collapsed in exhaustion.
  
  
  THIRTY EIGHT
  
  
  
  TOMB OF THE GODS
  
  
  A scream broke out of his daze.
  
  No, scream. A blood-curdling scream that spoke of pure terror. Drake opened his eyes, but the rock surface was too close to focus. He spat on the ground and groaned.
  
  And I found myself thinking: how far can a person fall into infinity before he dies?
  
  The Germans were here. One of their brothers had just fallen down the stairs.
  
  Drake struggled to stand upright, every muscle ached, but adrenaline began to ignite his blood and clear his thoughts. He walked slowly towards Ben. His friend was lying face down at one of the edges of the platform. Drake dragged him to Odin's niche. A quick glance behind him told him the Germans had not yet arrived, but his ears told him they were minutes away.
  
  He heard the sound of Abel Frey cursing. The clang of protective gear. Milo screaming bloody murder to one of the soldiers.
  
  A chance to show his mettle, he thought, remembering one of Wells' sayings he had picked out during their SAS training.
  
  He dragged Ben around, leaning his back against Odin's large sarcophagus. The boy's eyelids fluttered. Kennedy stumbled: "You be ready for them. I"ll deal with him." She lightly slapped his cheek.
  
  Drake paused, meeting her gaze for a second. "Later".
  
  The first of the Germans to overcome the peak. A soldier who quickly collapsed in exhaustion, followed immediately by a second one. Drake hesitated to do what he knew he should, but Torsten Dahl swept past him, showing no such remorse. Wells and Marsters also shuffled forward.
  
  A third enemy fighter crawled over the top, this time a huge, lumbering male carcass. Cute. Blood, sweat and real tears turned a grotesque mask on his already disturbing face. But he was tough and fast enough to jump over the top, roll and pick up the tiny pistol.
  
  One shot flew out of the barrel. Drake and his colleagues instinctively ducked, but the shot missed its target.
  
  Abel Frey's shrill voice shattered the silence that followed the shot. "No weapons, dumbass. Nar! Nar! Listen to me!"
  
  Milo made a face and gave Drake a nasty smile. "Fucking Kraut assholes. Hey buddy?
  
  The gun was swallowed by a thick fist and replaced with a jagged blade. Drake recognized it as a special forces knife. He stepped aside towards the giant, giving Dahl the opportunity to kick one of the fallen soldiers into space.
  
  The second soldier struggled to his knees. Marsters gave him another smile, then tossed the limp body aside. By this time, three more soldiers had reached the level ground, and then Alicia jumped out from below and landed like a cat, holding a knife in each hand. Drake had never seen her so exhausted and she still looked like she could take on the ninja elite.
  
  "No... weapons?" Dahl managed to say between strained breaths. "Do you finally... believe in the Armageddon theory, Frey?"
  
  A major German designer has now gone over the edge. "Don't be a fool, soldier boy," he said breathlessly. "I just don't want to mark this coffin. There is only room for perfection in my collection."
  
  "Which you see as a reflection of yourself, I suppose," Dahl said, pausing as his team caught their breath.
  
  There was a pause, a moment of terrible tension as each opponent assessed his immediate target. Drake backed away from Milo, unwittingly heading towards Odin's tomb, where Ben and the Professor still sat side by side, guarded only by Kennedy. He was waiting for one more...
  
  ...hoping...
  
  And then a muffled groan came from the stairs, a weak plea for help. Frey looked down. "You are weak!" he spat at someone. "If it weren"t for the Shield, I would..."
  
  Frey pointed at Alicia. "Help her". The female warrior chuckled haughtily, then extended her hand over the side. With one jerk she pulled Hayden up. The American CIA agent was exhausted from the long climb, but even more so from carrying the heavy load that the Germans had strapped to her back.
  
  Shield of Odin wrapped in canvas.
  
  Parnevik's voice was heard. "He brought the Shield! Main part! But why?"
  
  "Because that"s the main part, you idiot." Frey shot him. "This main object would not exist if it did not have some other purpose." The fashion designer shook his head contemptuously and turned to Alicia. "Finish these pathetic cretins. I need to appease Odin and get back to the party."
  
  Alicia laughed maniacally. "My turn!" She screamed, more deadly than River Tam, and threw her protective gear into the middle of the rocky platform. In the confusion, she rushed to Wells, showing no surprise at his presence. Drake focused on his own fight, lunging towards Milo to surprise him, sidestepping with a deft swing of his blade, then delivering a hard elbow to Milo's jaw.
  
  The bone is cracked. Drake danced, swaying and remaining light on his feet. Then this would be his strategy - to hit and run, striking at the hardest points of his body, aiming to break bones and cartilage. He was faster than Milo, but not as strong, so if the giant caught up with him...
  
  Thunder echoed across the mountain, the growls and cracks of rising magma and shifting rock.
  
  Milo writhed in agony. Drake took the lead with a double side kick, two taps - something you might see Van Damme deftly do on TV is completely useless for street fighting in real life. Milo knew this and deflected the attack with a growl. But Drake knew it too, and as Milo threw his entire body forward, Drake delivered another powerful elbow strike right into his opponent's face, crushing his nose and eye socket, knocking him hard to the floor.
  
  Milo collapsed to the ground like a cut-down rhinoceros. Once lost to an opponent of Drake's caliber, there was no going back. Drake stomped on his wrist and knee, breaking both major bones, then his balls for good measure, and then picked up the discarded army knife.
  
  Inspected the scene of the incident.
  
  Marsters, an SAS soldier, had made short work of two Germans and was now fighting a third. Killing three people in a few minutes was no easy task for anyone, even an SAS soldier, and Marsters was only slightly wounded. Wells danced with Alicia along the edge of the platform, more running than actually dancing, but distracting her. His strategy was smart. At close range, she would have gutted him in a second.
  
  Kennedy dragged Hayden's exhausted body away from the center of the battle. Ben ran over to help her. Parnevik did not sleep, studied the tomb of Odin - an idiot.
  
  Abel Frey confronted Thorsten Dahl. The Swede was superior to the German in every way, his movements becoming more refined by the second as the strength returned to his aching limbs.
  
  Lord! Drake thought. We're kicking ass here! Or in the good old spirit of Dino Rock... Let me entertain you!
  
  Not relishing the confrontation with Alicia, he nevertheless headed to Wells, believing that the fifty-year-old woman needed the most help. When his former teammate saw him, she retreated from the fight.
  
  "I already kicked your balls once this week, Drake. Are you so sadistic that you want this again?"
  
  "You're lucky, Alicia. By the way, are you training your boyfriend?" he nodded in response to the barely moving American.
  
  "Only in obedience," she threw both knives up and caught them in one movement. "Let's! I just love threesomes!"
  
  Her nature may have been wild, but her actions were controlled and calculated. She poked at Drake, while slyly trying to corner Wells with his back to the endless void. The commander realized her intentions at the last second and rushed past her.
  
  Drake deflected both of her knives, moving each blade to the side while being careful not to break his wrists. It wasn't just that she was good... it was that she was consistently good.
  
  Abel Frey suddenly rushed past them. It seemed that, having failed to surpass Dahl, he resorted to running past the Swede in his swift search for Odin's grave.
  
  And in that split second, Drake saw Marsters and the last German soldier locked in mortal combat right on the dusty edge of the platform. Then, with shocking suddenness, both men tripped and simply fell.
  
  Death cries echoed in the void.
  
  Drake split it up, prayed for Wells, and then turned his body around and rushed after Frey. He couldn't leave Ben there defenseless. Kennedy blocked the designer's path, gathering his courage, but as he rushed forward, Drake noticed a small black object clutched in Frey's hand.
  
  Radio or mobile. Some kind of transmitter.
  
  What the hell?
  
  What happened next was beyond comprehension. In a stunning act of recklessness, the mountainside suddenly exploded! There was a heavy thump, and then giant boulders and pieces of mountain shale were scattered everywhere. Stones of all shapes and sizes darted and whistled through the void like bullets.
  
  A huge hole appeared in the side of the volcano, as if a hammer had punched through thin drywall. Dim daylight filtered through the crack. Another blow, and the hole widened even further. A mountain of rubble cascaded into a bottomless pit in an eerie, profound silence.
  
  Drake fell to the floor with his head in his hands. Some of this exploding stone must have damaged other priceless tombs. What the hell was going on?
  
  
  THIRTY NINE
  
  
  
  TOMB OF THE GODS
  
  
  A helicopter appeared in the newly made hole, hovering for a second before flying through it!
  
  There were four thick cables and several ropes hanging from the base of the machine.
  
  It was impossible to believe. Abel Frey has just ordered the mountainside to be split open. A mountainside that was part of an active volcano and that could somehow cause a mass extinction known as a supervolcano.
  
  To complete his collection.
  
  This man was every bit as insane as Drake and the rest of the human race gave him credit for. He was laughing maniacally even now, and when Drake looked up, he saw that Frey had not moved an inch, but stood firmly straight as the exploding mountain hissed around him.
  
  Alicia left Wells and stumbled towards Frey, even her crazy self-control faltering a little. Behind them, Professor Parnevik, Ben and Kennedy were protected by the walls of Odin's alcove. Hayden was prone, motionless. Had she really come all this way to die in a fiery madness? Wells knelt at his side, clutching his stomach.
  
  The helicopter floated closer, its engine howling. Frey raised his submachine gun and motioned for everyone to move away from Odin's massive sarcophagus. A short burst of fire reinforced his request, bullets clanging as they struck priceless gold Viking relics in the form of shields, swords, breastplates and horned helmets. Gold coins, moved by a chain of events, began to fall from the shelves like confetti in Times Square.
  
  Frey waved the helicopter.
  
  Drake knelt down. "You move this coffin, you risk the whole world!" - he shouted, his voice barely audible over the heavy sound of the propeller blades.
  
  "Don't be a wimp!" Frey shouted back, his face contorted like an evil clown addicted to heroin. "Admit it, Drake. I defeated you!"
  
  "It's not about winning!" Drake shouted back, but now the helicopter was directly overhead and he couldn't even hear his own voice. He watched as Frey directed him, spraying bullets at him on a whim as he waved his arms. Drake prayed that his friends would not be caught by a stray projectile.
  
  The German lost it. Being so close to his lifelong obsession, he simply broke down.
  
  Now Dahl was next to him. They watched as Frey and Alicia lowered the heavy chains lower and lower until they were finally looped around both ends of the sarcophagus. Frey made sure they were safe.
  
  The helicopter took the weight. Nothing happened.
  
  Frey screamed into his telephone receiver. The helicopter tried again, this time its engines roared like an angry dinosaur. The chains took their weight, and there was a distinct crack, the sound of breaking stone.
  
  Odin's coffin moved.
  
  "This is our last chance!" - Dahl shouted into Drake's ear. "We're going to the grinder! From Milo's gun!"
  
  Drake ran the script. They could have destroyed the helicopter and saved the Tomb. But Ben and Kennedy, along with Hayden and Parnevik, will probably die.
  
  "There"s no time!" Dahl shouted. "Either this or the Apocalypse!"
  
  The Swede jumped for Milo's weapon. Drake squeezed his eyes shut as agony pierced his heart. His gaze fell on Ben and Kennedy, and the agony of decision twisted him inside like a noose. If you lose with one hand, you will lose with the other. And then he decided that he simply could not allow Dahl to do this. Could he sacrifice two friends to save the world?
  
  No.
  
  He leaped forward like a frog just as Dahl began rummaging through Milo's clothes. The Swede recoiled in surprise as Milo straightened his body, the American hunched over in agony, but was mobile and limped to the edge of the platform. To one of the descent lines.
  
  Drake stopped in shock. The helicopter's engines whined once more and an unholy crash filled the cavern. The next moment, Odin's enormous sarcophagus shifted and broke free of its moorings, swinging menacingly towards Drake and the edge of the platform, a ton of swinging death.
  
  "Nooo!" Dahl"s cry repeated Parnevik"s cry.
  
  There was a scream, a frantic scream as if a vent had overheated, a sound as if all the demons in Hell were being burned alive. A stream of sulfurous air escaped from a newly opened hole beneath Odin's tomb.
  
  Frey and Alicia rushed away, nearly being burned alive as they climbed onto the swinging coffin. Frey shouted: "Don't follow us, Drake!" I have insurance!" then an idea seemed to come to me, a guarantee of safety. He shouted to Drake's companions: "Now! Follow the coffin or you will die!" Frey encouraged them, waving his submachine gun, and they had no choice but to go around the column of steam.
  
  Dahl turned his haunted gaze to Drake. "We have to stop this," he said pleadingly. "For... for my children."
  
  Drake had no answer other than to nod. Certainly. He followed the SGG commander, carefully sidestepping the swinging Sarcophagus as it flew above them, their grinning enemies safely above while his comrades followed his trajectory on the other side.
  
  Covered in weapons and the whim of a maniac.
  
  Drake reached a hole in the stone floor. The steam was a scalding, writhing tower. Inviolable. Drake moved as close as he could before turning to watch his enemies advance.
  
  Hayden remained on the ground, pretending to be unconscious. She now sat up and removed the straps that secured Odin's shield to her back. "What can I do?"
  
  Drake glanced at her briefly. "Does the CIA have any contingency plans for shutting down Supervolcano?"
  
  The pretty 'secretary' looked confused for a moment before shaking her head. "Only the obvious. Put the German in the ventilation pipe." She threw the Shield away with a cry of relief. All three of them watched him roll along the rim like a coin.
  
  Have they really failed?
  
  The pressure coming out of the pipe increased as the volcano gained strength. "Once the chain reaction starts," Dahl said. "We won't be able to close this. We have to do this now!"
  
  Drake's gaze was momentarily drawn to the Shield as it rolled noisily around its edge. His rim. The words came out of him as if they were written in fire.
  
  
  Heaven and Hell are just temporary ignorance,
  
  It is the Immortal Soul that leans towards Right or Wrong.
  
  
  "Plan B," he said. "Remember Odin's curse? Didn't seem appropriate, did it? There's no place to put this, right? Well, maybe that's it."
  
  "Is Odin"s Curse a way to save the world?" Dahl doubted it.
  
  "Or hell," Drake said. "Depends on who makes the decision. This is the answer. The person who puts up the Shield must have a pure soul. It's a trap of traps. We don't know anything anymore because we removed the tomb. If we fail, the world will perish."
  
  "How did the curse go?" Hayden, looking no worse than she had after her ordeal in enemy hands, stared at the vent as if she could be eaten alive.
  
  Drake cursed as he raised the Shield and held it in front of him. Dahl stood and watched him as he walked towards the hissing vent. "The moment you touch that steam with this Shield, it will be ripped right out of your hands."
  
  Then, with a sound like the roar of a herd of animals trapped in a burning forest, more steam erupted from below, the high-pitched screech of its eruption almost deafening. The sulfur stench now began to thicken the air, turning it into a toxic miasma. The faint rumble of the mountain that had been their constant companion for so long now became more like thunder. Drake felt as if the walls themselves were shaking.
  
  "New news, Dal. Plan B in action. For future reference, this means I don't know what the hell else there is to do."
  
  "You have no future," Dahl stood on the other side of the Shield. "Or me."
  
  Together they trudged towards the vent. The shale began to slide down the rock next to them. A scream and roar, the likes of which Drake had never heard, came from the endless depths of the abyss.
  
  "The supervolcano is approaching!" Hayden screamed. "Turn it off!"
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Unseen by Drake, Dahl or even Abel Frey, the famous Icelandic mountain called Eyjafjallajokull, which until now is content to emit gentle gray streams and terrorize air traffic, suddenly exploded at its edge. It would soon be seen on Sky News and the BBC and later on You Tube by stunned millions - the fiery tongues of a thousand dragons igniting a firestorm in the sky. At the same time, two other Icelandic volcanoes exploded, their tops flying off like champagne corks under pressure. It was reported, somewhat tongue-tiedly, that Armageddon had arrived.
  
  Only a select few knew how close it really was.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Heroes unseen and never known fought in the dark depths of the mountain. Drake and Dahl attacked the steam outlet with the Shield, using a round object to deflect the steam into a nearby void as they positioned it directly above the hole left by the demolition of Odin's tomb.
  
  "Hurry up!" Dahl struggled to keep the Shield in place. Drake felt his hands tremble from the effort with which he overcame the mountain's primordial strength. "I just want to know what the hell this thing is made of!"
  
  "Who cares!" Hayden tried to hold them back, holding their legs and pushing as hard as she could. "Just put the bastard inside!"
  
  Dahl lunged, jumping onto the hole. If the Shield had missed or even moved slightly, it would have instantly evaporated, but their aim was correct, and the main part carefully entered the artificial crack under the Tomb of Odin.
  
  An elaborate trap, invented hundreds and thousands of centuries ago. I swear to the gods.
  
  A trap of traps!
  
  "The greatest ancient trap the modern world has ever known." Dahl fell to his knees. "The one who could put an end to this."
  
  Drake watched as the Shield seemed to thin, absorbing the enormous pressure rising from below. It flattened and formed along the edges of the crack, taking on an obsidian hue. Forever. Will never be deleted.
  
  "God bless".
  
  Job done, he paused for a moment before turning his attention back to Frey. Terror filled his heart more than he could imagine, even now.
  
  The helicopter rose, straining to support the weight of Odin's coffin, which rocked gently beneath it. Both Frey and Alicia were sitting on the lid of the coffin, their hands tightly wrapped around the straps that attached it to the helicopter.
  
  But Ben, Kennedy and Professor Parnevik were hanging from three other ropes dangling below the helicopter, no doubt held there at gunpoint while Drake fought to save the planet.
  
  They hung above the void, swaying as the helicopter climbed, kidnapped right from under Drake's nose.
  
  "Nooo!"
  
  And, incredibly, he ran - a lonely man, running with an energy born of rage, loss and love - a man who threw himself across a bottomless pit into black space, demanding what was taken from him, and desperately clutching one of the swinging cables, when he fell.
  
  
  FOURTY
  
  
  
  TOMB OF THE GODS
  
  
  Drake's world stopped with his leap into the darkness - an endless void above, a bottomless pit below - three inches of swinging rope, his only salvation. His mind was serene; he did it for his friends. For no other reason than to save them.
  
  Selfless.
  
  His fingers touched the rope and could not close!
  
  His body, finally exposed to gravity, began to fall rapidly. At the last second, his swinging left hand closed on a rope that was longer than the rest and clenched with reflexive malice.
  
  His fall stopped as he grabbed it with both arms and closed his eyes to calm his rapidly beating heart. Hoarse applause came from somewhere above. Alicia pours out her sarcasm.
  
  "Is this what Wells meant by 'show your mettle'? Always wondered what that crazy fossil meant!"#
  
  Drake looked up, acutely aware of the abyss below, feeling dizzy as never before. But his muscles were aflame with newfound strength and adrenaline, and much of the old fire was back inside him now, dying to come out.
  
  He climbed the rope, hand over hand, gripping it with his knees, moving quickly. Frey brandished his submachine gun and laughed, taking careful aim, but then Hayden shouted from Odin's grave. Drake saw her standing there, aiming Wells' pistol at Frey - the old commander had fallen next to her, but, thank God, was still breathing.
  
  Hayden pointed the gun halfway at Frey. "Let him rise!"
  
  The helicopter was still in the air, its pilot unsure of his orders. Frey hesitated, growling like a child separated from his favorite toy. "OK. Hundin! Bitch! I should have gotten you off that damn plane!"
  
  Drake smirked when he heard Hayden's answer. "Yes, I often understand this."
  
  Kennedy, Ben and Parnevik watched with wide eyes, barely daring to breathe.
  
  "Go and get it!" - Frey then shouted at Alicia. "From hand to hand. Take him and let's go. This bitch won't shoot you. She is the government's problem. "
  
  Drake gulped as Alicia jumped off the sarcophagus and grabbed Drake's parallel rope, but even so he took the time to glance at Ben, gauging how the boy reacted to the revelation of Hayden's status.
  
  Ben, if anything, looked at her with more tenderness.
  
  Alicia slid down the rope like a monkey and was soon level with Drake. She looked at him, a perfect face full of anger.
  
  "I can swing both ways." She leapt into the air, feet first, in a graceful arc through the darkness, hanging completely in the air for a moment. Then her legs connected firmly to Drake's sternum and she jerked her body forward, briefly grabbing onto his own rope before swinging it over to the next one.
  
  "Fucking baboon," Drake muttered, his chest burning, his grip loosening.
  
  Alicia used her momentum to swing around the rope, legs spread at chest level, and slammed into his stomach. Drake managed to swing to the right to soften the blow, but still felt his ribs bruised.
  
  He growled at her, shared the pain and rose higher. A sparkle appeared in her eyes, along with a new respect.
  
  "Finally," she breathed. "You're back. Now we will see who is the best."
  
  She shuffled up the rope, confidence radiating with every movement. In one leap she bypassed Drake's own rope and again used her momentum to strike back, aiming her legs this time for his head.
  
  But Drake was back and he was ready. With the utmost skill, he let go of his rope, suppressed the intense dizziness, and caught it at a depth of two feet. Alicia floated harmlessly above him, stunned by his movement, her arms still flailing.
  
  Drake bounced up the rope a foot at a time. By the time his opponent realized what he had done, he was over her. He stomped hard on her head.
  
  I saw her fingers let go of the rope. She fell, but only a few inches. The hard nut inside her worked and she regained her grip.
  
  Frey roared from above. "Nothing good! Die, you English unbeliever!"
  
  Then, in less than the blink of an eye, the German pulled out a knife and cut Drake's rope!
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake saw it all in slow motion. The shine of the blade, the evil shine of the cutting surface. The sudden unraveling of his lifeline-the way it began to bulge and squirm above him.
  
  Instant weightlessness of his body. A frozen moment of horror and disbelief. Knowing that everything he had ever felt and everything he could ever do in the future had just been destroyed.
  
  And then the fall... seeing his nemesis, Alicia, climb on her fist to get back to the top of the sarcophagus... seeing Ben's mouth twist in a scream... Kennedy's face turns into a mask of death... and through his peripheral vision... Distance... . what the. ?
  
  Torsten Dahl, the crazy Swede, running, no, running, across the platform with a seat belt strapped to his body, literally throwing himself into a black pit, just as Drake himself had done moments earlier.
  
  A safety harness unraveling behind him, secured around a pillar in Odin's alcove, held tight by Hayden and Wells, who were braced for maximum effort.
  
  Dahl's mad leap...bringing him close enough to grab Drake's arms and hold him tightly.
  
  Drake's burst of hope faded as he and Dahl fell together, the safety line taut...then a sudden, painful tug as Hayden and Wells accepted the tension.
  
  Then hope. Slow, painful attempts at salvation. Drake looked into Dahl's eyes, not saying a word, not emitting an ounce of emotion as they were dragged inch by inch to safety.
  
  The helicopter pilot must have received the order, because he began to climb until he was ready to fire a third missile, this time from the mountain, designed to widen the gap enough for the sarcophagus to fit through without risk of damage.
  
  Within three minutes, Odin's coffin disappeared. The thud of helicopter blades is a distant memory. Ben, Kennedy and Parnevik were the same as now.
  
  Finally, Dahl and Drake were dragged over the rocky edges of the abyss. Drake wanted to give chase, but his body did not react. It was all he could do to lay there, letting the trauma sink in, redirecting the pain to a secluded part of his brain.
  
  And as he lay there, the sound of the helicopter returned. Only this time it was a Dahl chopper. And this was at the same time their means of salvation and persecution.
  
  Drake could only look into Torsten Dahl's tormented eyes. "You're God, buddy," and the significance of the place they were in was not lost on him. "True God"
  
  
  FORTY ONE
  
  
  
  GERMANY
  
  
  Every time Kennedy Moore so much as turned her ass on the hard seat, Alicia Miles' keen eyes took notice. The English bitch was an Uber warrior, endowed with a cop's sixth sense - constant anticipation.
  
  During the three-hour flight from Iceland to Germany, they stopped only once. First, just ten minutes after they left the volcano, they winched the coffin and secured it and brought everyone on board.
  
  Abel Frey immediately went to the back compartment. She hasn't seen him since then. Probably greases the wheels of theft and industry. Alicia practically threw Kennedy, Ben and Parnevik into their seats, then sat down next to her boyfriend, the injured Milo. The stocky American seemed to be clutching every part of his body, but mostly his balls, a fact that Alicia seemed to find alternately amusing and alarming.
  
  Three other guards were in the helicopter, turning wary glances from the prisoners to the strange communication that existed between Alicia and Milo - alternately sad, then meaningful, and then filled with rage.
  
  Kennedy had no idea where they were when the helicopter began to descend. Her mind had been wandering for the last hour, from Drake and their adventures in Paris, Sweden and the volcano, to her old life with the NYPD, and from there, inevitably, to Thomas Caleb.
  
  Caleb is a serial killer whom she freed to kill again. Memories of his victims attacked her. The crime scene she had walked through a few days ago-his crime scene-remained fresh in her mind, like freshly shed blood. She realized that she hadn't seen a single news report since then.
  
  Maybe they caught him.
  
  In your dreams....
  
  No. In my dreams they never catch him, never get close to him. He kills and abuses me, and my guilt haunts me like a damn demon until I give it all up.
  
  The helicopter descended quickly, jerking her out of the vision she couldn't face. The personal compartment at the back of the helicopter opened and Abel Frey stepped out, barking orders.
  
  "Alicia, Milo, you will be with me. Bring the prisoners. Guardians, you will escort the coffin to my viewing room. The custodian there has instructions to contact me as soon as everything is ready for viewing. And I want this to happen quickly, guards, so don't hesitate. Odin may have been waiting for Frey for thousands of years, but Frey is not waiting for Odin."
  
  "The whole world knows what you did, Frey, you're crazy," Kennedy said. "Fashion designer, damn it. How long do you think you will stay out of jail?"
  
  "The American sense of self-importance," Frey snapped. "And idiocy makes you believe that you can speak out loud, hmm? The higher mind always triumphs. Do you really think your friends got out? We set traps there, you stupid bitch. They will not pass by Poseidon."
  
  Kennedy opened her mouth to protest, but saw Ben briefly shake his head and quickly closed her mouth. Leave it. Survive first, fight later. She mentally quoted Vanna Bonta. "I would rather have an inferiority complex and be pleasantly surprised than have a superiority complex and be rudely awakened."
  
  Frey had no way of knowing that their helicopter remained hidden at a higher altitude. And pride convinced him that his intellect was superior to theirs.
  
  Let him think so. The surprise would have been even sweeter.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The helicopter landed with a jolt. Frey stepped forward and jumped down first, shouting orders to the men on the ground. Alicia rose to her feet and made a motion with her index finger. "First you three. Heads are down. Keep moving until I say otherwise."
  
  Kennedy jumped from the helicopter behind Ben, feeling the pain of exhaustion in every muscle. When she looked around, the amazing sight made her forget about her fatigue for a minute, in fact, it took her breath away.
  
  One look and she realized it was Frey's castle in Germany; a designer den of iniquity where the fun never stopped. Their landing area faced the main entrance, double oak doors inlaid with gold studs and framed by Italian marble columns that led into a grand entrance hall. As Kennedy watched, two expensive cars, a Lamborghini and a Maserati, pulled up, from which four enthusiastic twenty-something guys rolled out and staggered up the steps to the Castle. The heavy rhythms of dance music came from behind the door.
  
  Above the doors was a stone-clad façade topped by a row of triangular turrets and two taller towers at either end, giving the enormous structure a Gothic Revival appearance. Impressive, Kennedy thought, and a little overwhelming. She imagined that being invited to a party at this place would be a future model's dream.
  
  And so Abel Frey profited from their dreams.
  
  She was pushed towards the doors, Alicia watching them carefully as they passed the rumbling supercars and up the marble steps. Through the doors and into the echoing lobby. To the left, an open, leather-covered gate led into a nightclub filled with upbeat music, colorful lights, and booths that swung above the crowd, where everyone could prove how well they could dance. Kennedy immediately stopped and screamed.
  
  "Help!" She cried, looking straight at the visitors. "Help us!"
  
  Several people took the moment to lower their half-full glasses and stare at me. A second later they started laughing. The classic Swedish blonde raised her bottle in greeting, and the dark-skinned Italian man began to look at her. The others returned to their disco hell.
  
  Kennedy moaned as Alicia grabbed her by the hair and dragged her across the marble floor. Ben screamed in protest, but the slap nearly knocked him over. There was more laughter among the party guests, followed by a few lewd comments. Alicia threw Kennedy into the large staircase, hitting her hard in the ribs.
  
  "Stupid female," she hissed. "Can't you see that they are in love with their master? They will never think badly of him. Now...go."
  
  She pointed upward with a small pistol that appeared in her hand. Kennedy wanted to resist, but judging by what just happened, she decided to just go with it. They were led up the stairs and to the left, into the other wing of the Castle. As soon as they left the staircase and entered the long, unfurnished corridor - the bridge between the wings - the dance music stopped, and they may have been the only people alive at that moment in time.
  
  Walking down a corridor, they found themselves in a room that might once have been a spacious ballroom. But now the area was divided into half a dozen separate rooms - rooms with bars on the outside instead of walls.
  
  Cells.
  
  Kennedy, along with Ben and Parnevik, were pushed into the nearest cell. A loud clang meant the door was closing. Alicia waved. "You are being watched. Enjoy."
  
  In the deafening silence that followed, Kennedy ran her fingers through her long black hair, smoothed her pantsuit as best she could, and took a deep breath.
  
  "Well..." she began to say.
  
  "Hey, bitches!" Abel Frey appeared in front of their camera, grinning like the God of Hellfire. "Welcome to my party castle. Somehow I doubt you"ll enjoy it as much as my, uh, wealthier guests."
  
  He waved the offer away before they responded. "Doesn't matter. You don't have to talk. Your words interest me little. So," he pretended to ponder, "who do we have... well, yes, of course, it's Ben Blake. I'm sure it will give you great pleasure."
  
  Ben ran to the bars and pulled on them as hard as he could. "Where is my sister, you bastard?"
  
  "Hm? You mean the saucy blonde with..." he threw his leg out wildly. "Introduce dragon fighting style? Do you want details? Well, okay, since it's you, Ben. The first night I sent my best man there to pick up her shoes, you know, to soften her up a little. She tagged him, hurt a few ribs, but he got what I wanted."
  
  Frey took a moment to fish the remote control out of the pocket of the strange silk robe he was wearing. He switched it to a portable television, which Kennedy didn't even notice. A photo appeared on air - SKY News - chatter about the UK's growing national debt.
  
  "Second night?" Frey paused. "Does her brother really want to know?"
  
  Ben screamed, a guttural sound escaping deep from his stomach. "She is all right? She is all right?"
  
  Frey clicked the remote control again. The screen switched to another, grainier image. Kennedy realized she was looking at a tiny room with a girl tied to a bed.
  
  "What do you think?" Frey incited. "At least she's alive. For now."
  
  "Karin!" Ben ran towards the TV but then stopped, suddenly overcome. Sobs shook his entire body.
  
  Frey laughed. "What else do you want?" He feigned thoughtfulness again and then changed the channel again, this time to CNN. Immediately in the news there was a message about a serial killer from New York - Thomas Caleb.
  
  "Wrote this down for you earlier," madman Kennedy said with glee. "Thought you might want to take a look."
  
  She involuntarily listened. Heard the terrible news that Caleb continued to roam the streets of New York, freed, a ghost.
  
  "I believe that you freed him," Frey said meaningfully to Kennedy"s back. "Great job. The predator is back where he belongs, no longer a caged animal in the city zoo."
  
  The report played through archival footage of the case-the standard stuff-her face, the dirty cop's face, the faces of the victims. Always the faces of the victims.
  
  The same ones that haunted her nightmares every day.
  
  "I bet you know all their names, don"t you?" Frey scoffed. "Addresses of their families. Way... they died."
  
  "Shut up!" Kennedy put her head in her hands. Stop that! Please!
  
  "And you," she heard Frey whisper. "Professor Parnevik," he spat out the words as if they were rotten meat that had fallen into his mouth. "You should have stayed and worked for me."
  
  A shot rang out. Kennedy screamed in shock. The next second, she heard the body collapse, and, turning around, saw that the old man had fallen to the ground, a hole was gaping in his chest, blood was flowing out and splashed on the walls of the cell.
  
  Her jaw dropped, disbelief shutting down her brain. She could only watch as Frey turned to her once more.
  
  "And you, Kennedy Moore. Your time is coming. We will soon explore the depths to which you are capable of descending."
  
  Turning on his heel and grinning, he walked away.
  
  
  FORTY TWO
  
  
  
  LA VEREIN, GERMANY
  
  
  Abel Frey chuckled to himself as he headed to his security department. A few inventive moments and he stomped these idiots into the ground. They are both broken. And finally, he killed that old idiot Parnevik Stone to death.
  
  Amazing. Now on to even more enjoyable activities.
  
  He opened the door to his private quarters to find Milo and Alicia sprawled out on his couch, just as he had left them. The big American was still suffering from the injury, wincing with every move, thanks to that Swede, Torsten Dahl.
  
  "Any news from next door?" - Frey asked immediately. "Did Hudson call?"
  
  Next door was a CCTV control center, currently under the surveillance of one of Frey's most radical supporters, Tim Hudson. Known around the castle as "the man with the memory" for his extensive computer knowledge, Hudson was one of Frey's first students, a man willing to go to any extreme for his fanatical boss. Mostly they were monitoring the progress of the installation of Odin's tomb, and Hudson was at the helm - cursing, sweating and nervously gulping down Yeagers as if it were milk. Frey was eager to see the Tomb installed in its rightful place, and he made full preparations for his first notable visit. His prisoners, Karin's quarters, and the cells of his new prisoners were also inspected.
  
  And a party, of course. Hudson set up a system that subjected every inch of the club to some control, be it infrared or standard pitch, and every move of Frey's elite guests was recorded and checked for its weight in leverage.
  
  He came to understand that power is not knowledge after all. Strength was solid proof. Discreet photography. High definition video. The capture may have been illegal, but it didn't hurt if the victim was scared enough.
  
  Abel Frey could arrange a "date night" with a starlet or a rock chick at any time convenient for him. He could purchase a painting or a sculpture, get front row seats at the hottest show in the most glittering city, achieve the unattainable whenever he wanted.
  
  "Nothing yet. Hudson must have passed out on the couch again," Alicia said as she lounged with her head in her hands and her legs dangling over the edge of his couch. When Frey looked at her, she spread her knees slightly.
  
  Certainly. Naturally, Frey sighed to himself. He watched as Milo moaned and held his ribs. He felt a jolt of electricity quicken his heartbeat as the thought of sex mixed with danger. He raised an eyebrow in Alicia's direction, giving her the universal 'money' sign.
  
  Alicia lowered her legs down. "On second thought, Milo, why don't you go and check again. And get a full report from that idiot Hudson, hmm? Boss," she nodded toward the silver platter of appetizers. "Anything unusual?"
  
  Frey studied the plate while Milo, oblivious to what was happening, like a politician to his stupidity, sent a feigned glance in the direction of his girlfriend, then groaned and limped out of the room.
  
  Frey said, "The biscotti look delicious."
  
  As soon as the door clicked into place, Alicia handed Frey a plate of biscuits and climbed onto his table. Standing on all fours, she turned her head towards him.
  
  "Do you want some nice English ass with this biscuit?"
  
  Frey pressed a secret button under his desk. Immediately, the fake painting moved to the side, revealing a row of video screens. He said, "Six," and one of the screens came to life.
  
  He tasted the cookie as he watched, absentmindedly stroking Alicia's round buttock.
  
  "My battle arena," he breathed. "It's already cooked. Yes?"
  
  Alicia squirmed seductively. "Yes".
  
  Frey began to stroke the depression between her legs. "Then I have about ten minutes. You"ll have to make do with one quick one for now."
  
  "Story of my life".
  
  Frey turned his attention to her, always mindful of Milo just twenty feet away behind the unlocked door, but even with that, and the sensual presence of Alicia Miles, he still couldn't take his eyes off the luxurious cell of one of his newly acquired captives .
  
  Serial killer - Thomas Caleb.
  
  The final confrontation was inevitable.
  
  
  
  Part 3
  Battlefield...
  
  
  FORTY THREE
  
  
  
  LA VEREIN, GERMANY
  
  
  Kennedy ran to the bars as Abel Frey and his guards appeared outside their cell. She screamed at them to remove the professor's body or let them go free, then felt a surge of trepidation when they did just that.
  
  She stopped at the entrance to the cell, not sure what to do. One of the guards pointed with his pistol. They walked deeper into the prison complex, past several more cells, all unoccupied. But the scale of it all chilled her to the bone. She wondered what kind of depraved iniquities this guy was capable of.
  
  That's when she realized he could be worse than Caleb. Worse than all of them. She hoped that Drake, Dahl and the supporting army were approaching, but she had to face this dilemma and overcome it, believing that they were on their own. How could she hope to protect Ben the way Drake did? A young guy walked next to her. He hasn't spoken much since Parnevik died. In fact, Kennedy thought, the boy had only spoken a few words since they had been captured in the Tomb.
  
  Did he see his chance to save Karin slipping away? She knew that his cell phone was still safely in his pocket, set to vibrate, and that he had received half a dozen calls from his parents that he had not answered.
  
  "We're in the right place," Kennedy whispered out of the corner of her mouth. "Keep your mind to yourself."
  
  "Shut up, American!" Frey spat out the last word as if it were a curse. For him, she thought, it most likely was. "You should worry about your own destiny."
  
  Kennedy glanced back. "What is this supposed to mean? Are you going to make me wear one of your little dresses you made?" She imitated cutting and stitching.
  
  The German raised an eyebrow. "Cute. Let's see how long you stay feisty."
  
  Beyond the complex of cells they entered another, much darker part of the house. Now they were going at a sharp downward angle, the rooms and corridors around her were in disrepair. Although, knowing Frey, it was all a red herring to confuse the bloodhounds.
  
  They walked down the final hallway, which led to an arched wooden door with large metal plates on its hinges. One of the guards punched an eight-digit number on a wireless numeric keypad, and the heavy doors began to creak open.
  
  Instantly she saw the chest-high metal railings that surrounded the new room. About thirty to forty people stood around him with drinks in their hands, laughing. Playboys and drug lords, high-class male and female prostitutes, royalty and Fortune 500 chairmen. Widows with huge inheritances, oil-rich sheikhs and daughters of millionaires.
  
  Everyone stood around the barrier, sipping Bollinger and Romani Conti, nibbling on delicacies and exuding their culture and class.
  
  When Kennedy walked in, they all stopped and stared at her for a moment. Her chilling thought was to evaluate her. Whispers ran along the dusty walls and perked up her ears.
  
  That's her? Police officer?
  
  He's going to destroy her in, oh, four minutes tops.
  
  I will take it. I'll give you another ten, Pierre. What are you going to say?
  
  Seven. I bet she's stronger than she looks. And, well, she'll be a little pissed, don't you think?
  
  What the hell were they talking about?
  
  Kennedy felt a rough kick to her buttocks and stumbled into the room. The congregation laughed. Frey quickly ran after her.
  
  "People!" He laughed. "My friends! This is a wonderful offering, don"t you think so? And she"s going to give us one wonderful night!"
  
  Kennedy looked around, uncontrollably frightened. What the hell were they talking about? Stay prickly, she remembered Captain Lipkind's favorite saying. Continue your game. She tried to concentrate, but the shock and surreal surroundings threatened to drive her crazy.
  
  "I won"t perform in front of you," she muttered to Frey"s back. "In any way you expect."
  
  Frey turned to her, and his knowing smile was amazing. "Is not it? For the sake of something valuable? I think you overestimate yourself and your peers. But it normal. You may think otherwise, but I think you will do it, dear Kennedy. I really think you can. Come." He motioned for her to come to him.
  
  Kennedy stepped toward the ring rail. About twelve feet below her was a circular hole dug unevenly into the ground, its floor strewn with rocks and its walls covered with dirt and stone.
  
  Old fashioned gladiator arena. Fighting pit.
  
  Metal ladders were pulled up next to her and lifted over the railings into the pit. Frey indicated that she should come down.
  
  "No way," Kennedy whispered. Three guns were pointed at her and Ben.
  
  Frey shrugged. "I need you, but I seriously don"t need a boy. We could start with a bullet to the knee, then to the elbow. Work and see how long it takes you to fulfill my request." His hellish smile convinced her that he would be happy to confirm his words.
  
  She gritted her teeth and spent a second smoothing out her pantsuit. The rich crowd looked at her with interest, like an animal in a cage. The glasses were empty and the appetizers were eaten. Waiters and waitresses fluttered among them, unseen by them, filling and refreshing.
  
  "What kind of pit?" she was bargaining for time, seeing no way out of it, trying to give Drake every precious extra second.
  
  "This is my battle arena," Frey said kindly. "You live in glorious memory or die in disgrace. The choice, my dear Kennedy, is in your hands. "
  
  Stay prickly.
  
  One of the guards nudged her with the muzzle of his pistol. Somehow she managed to project a positive look at Ben and reached for the stairs.
  
  "Wait," Frey"s eyes flashed angrily. "Take her shoes off. This will fuel his bloodlust a little more."
  
  Kennedy stood there, humiliated and furious, and a little dazed when one of the guards knelt in front of her and took off her shoes. She climbed the stairs, feeling unreal and distant, as if this strange meeting was taking place with another Kennedy in a remote corner of the world. She wondered who this he that everyone kept referring to really was.
  
  It didn't sound very good. It sounded like she would have to fight for her life.
  
  As she walked down the stairs, a whistle came from the crowd, and a powerful wave of bloodlust filled the air.
  
  They shouted all kinds of obscenities. Bets were placed, some that she would die in less than a minute, others that she would lose her thong in less than thirty seconds. One or two even offered her support. But the greater risk was that he would desecrate her dead body after turning her into powder.
  
  The richest of the rich, the most powerful scum on Earth. If this was what wealth and power gave you, then the world was truly destroyed.
  
  All too quickly her bare feet touched the hard ground. She dismounted, feeling cold and exposed, and looked around. Opposite her, a hole was cut into the wall. It was currently covered by a set of thick bars.
  
  The figure trapped on the other side of these bars suddenly rushed forward, slamming into them with a blood-curdling scream of rage. He shook them so hard they bounced, his face little more than a distorted growl.
  
  But despite this, and despite her bizarre surroundings, Kennedy recognized him faster than it took her to remember his name.
  
  Thomas Caleb, serial killer. Here in Germany, with her. Two mortal enemies entered the battle arena.
  
  Abel Frey's plan, hatched back in New York, is being implemented.
  
  Kennedy's heart leaped, and a pure rush of hatred shot from his toes to his brain and back like an arrow.
  
  "You bastard!" She cried, seething with anger. "You are an absolute bastard!"
  
  Then the bars rose and Caleb jumped towards her.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake exited the helicopter before it touched the ground, still a step behind Torsten Dahl, and ran towards the busy hotel, which had been taken over by a joint coalition of international forces. The army is certainly mixed, but decisive and combat-ready.
  
  They were located 1.2 miles north of La Vereina.
  
  Army and civilian vehicles were lined up, engines rumbled, standing ready.
  
  The foyer was a bustle of activity: commandos and special forces, intelligence agents and soldiers were all gathering, tidying up and getting ready.
  
  Dahl announced his presence by jumping onto the hotel reception and yelling so loudly that everyone turned around. There was respectful silence.
  
  They already knew him, and Drake, and the others, and were well aware of what they had achieved in Iceland. Every person here was informed via video link broadcast between the hotel and the helicopter.
  
  "We are ready?" Dahl screamed. "To destroy this bastard?"
  
  "The equipment is ready," the Commander shouted. They all held Dahl responsible for this operation. "Snipers are in place. We're so hot we might as well restart this volcano, sir!"
  
  Dahl nodded. "Then what are we waiting for?"
  
  The noise level went up a hundred notches. The troops filed out the doors, slapping each other on the back and arranging to meet for beer after the battle to keep up the bravado. The engines began to roar as the assembled vehicles pulled away.
  
  Drake joined Dahl in the third moving vehicle, a military Humvee. During the last few hours of briefings he knew that they had about 500 men, enough to sink Frey's small army of 200 men, but the German was in a higher position and was expected to have a lot of tricks.
  
  But the one thing he didn't have was the element of surprise.
  
  Drake bounced in the front seat, clutching his rifle, his thoughts focused on Ben and Kennedy. Hayden was in the seat behind them, equipped for war. Wells was left at the hotel with a serious stomach wound.
  
  The convoy rounded a sharp bend, and then La Veraine came into view, illuminated like a Christmas tree against the darkness that surrounded it, and before the black cliff of the mountain that towered above it. Its gates were wide open, demonstrating the brazen audacity of the man they had come to overthrow.
  
  Dahl turned on the microphone. "Last call. We're starting out hot. Speed will save lives here, people. You know the goals, and you know our best guess as to where Odin's coffin will be. Let's deal with this PIG, soldiers."
  
  The link stood for Polite Intelligent Gentleman. Too much irony. Drake was white-knuckled as the Hummer barreled through Frey's guardhouse with barely an inch to spare on either side. The German guards began to raise the alarm from their high towers.
  
  The first shots were fired, bouncing off the lead vehicles. When the convoy stopped abruptly, Drake opened his door and drove off. They didn't use air support because Frey might have RGPS. They needed to quickly move away from the cars for the same reason.
  
  Step in and turn the land of PIGS into a bacon factory.
  
  Drake ran to the thick bushes that grew under the first floor window. The SAS team they sent thirty minutes ago should have already cordoned off the area of the nightclub and its 'civilian' guests. Bullets flew from the castle windows, showering the walls of the gatehouse as cars poured inside. Coalition forces returned fire with a vengeance, shattering glass, striking flesh and bone, and turning the stone façade to mush. There were shouts, screams and calls for reinforcements.
  
  There was chaos inside the castle. An RPG explosion came from an upper floor window, crashing into Frey's guardhouse and destroying part of the wall. Debris cascaded down onto the invading soldiers. Machine gun fire returned and one German mercenary fell from the top floor, screaming and tumbling until he hit the ground with a terrifying crash.
  
  Dahl and another soldier opened fire on the front doors. Their bullets or ricochets killed two people. Dahl ran forward. Hayden was somewhere in the fray behind him.
  
  "We need to get into this hell hole! Now!"
  
  New explosions rocked the night. The second RPG punched a massive crater several feet east of Drake's Hummer. A shower of dirt and stones fell into the sky
  
  Drake ran, crouched, staying under the criss-crossing pattern of bullets that pierced the air above his head.
  
  The war has really begun.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The crowd showed its bloodlust even before Kennedy and Caleb touched. Kennedy circled carefully, her fingers gripping the dirt, her feet testing rock and earth, moving erratically so as not to be predictable. Her mind struggled to make sense of it all, but she had already noticed a weakness in her opponent-the way his eyes took in the figure that her shapeless pantsuit conservatively covered.
  
  So this was one way to kill the killer. She focused on finding someone else.
  
  Caleb made the first move. Saliva flew from his lips as he lunged at her, arms flailing. Kennedy fought him off and stepped aside. The crowd was out for blood. Someone spilled red wine on the ground, a symbolic gesture of the blood they wanted to shed. She heard Frey, the sick bastard, goading Caleb, the heartless psychopath, into doing this.
  
  Now Caleb lunged again. Kennedy found her leaning against the wall. She lost concentration, distracted by the crowd.
  
  Then Caleb was on top of her, his bare arms wrapped around her neck - his sweaty, disgusting... bare hands. The hands of a killer...
  
  ... cruelty and death...
  
  ...smearing his putrid filth all over her skin. Warning bells rang in her head. You have to stop thinking like that! You must focus and fight! Fight a real fighter, not a legend you created.
  
  The impatient crowd howled again. They smashed bottles and glasses against the fence, roaring like animals eager to kill.
  
  And Caleb, so close after everything that happened. Her center of concentration was shot, blown to hell. The monster punched her in the side, while simultaneously pressing her head to his chest. His dirty, sweaty bare chest. Then he hit her again. Pain exploded in her chest. She staggered. Red wine poured over her, spilling from above.
  
  "That"s it," Caleb taunted her. "Go down to where you belong."
  
  The crowd roared. Caleb wiped his disgusting hands on her long hair and laughed with quiet, deadly malice.
  
  "Gonna piss on your dead body, bitch."
  
  Kennedy fell to her knees, briefly escaping Caleb's grip. She tried to dodge him, but he held her tightly by her pants. He pulled her back to him, grinning like a savage with a death's head. She had no choice. She unbuttoned her pants, her shapeless, figure-concealing pants, and let them slide down her legs. She took advantage of his momentary surprise to crawl away on her butt. The stones scratched her skin. The crowd howled. Caleb lunged forward, reaching into the waistband of her underwear, but she kicked him viciously in the face, the underwear clinking back just as his nose, bloody and broken, dangled to the side. She sat there for a moment, looking at her nemesis and finding herself unable to look away from his bloodshot, carnivorous eyes.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Drake rolled through the fancy doorway into the massive lobby. The SAS actually cordoned off the nightclub area and covered the main staircase. The rest of the castle wouldn't be so friendly.
  
  Dahl patted his breast pocket. "The drawings show a storage room to our right and in the far east wing. Don't doubt anything now, Drake. Hayden. We agreed that this was the most logical place for Frey, our friends and the Grave."
  
  "I didn"t even dream about it," Hayden said decisively.
  
  With a group of men scrambling behind him, Drake followed Dahl through the door to the east wing. As soon as the door opened, more bullets pierced the air. Drake rolled and stood up, firing.
  
  And suddenly Frey's people were among them!
  
  Knives flashed. Hand pistols fired. Soldiers were descending from left and right. Drake pressed the muzzle of his pistol to the temple of one of Frey's guards, then swung the weapon into firing position just in time to put a bullet in the assailant's face. The guard attacked him from the left. Drake dodged the lunge and elbowed the guy in the face. He bent over the unconscious man, picked up his knife and plunged its tip into the head of another who was about to cut the throat of the Delta Commandos.
  
  A pistol shot rang out next to his ear; SGG's favorite weapon. Hayden used a Glock and an army knife. Multinational force for a multinational incident, Drake thought. More shots rang out at the far end of the room. Get the Italians involved.
  
  Drake rolled flat under the enemy's side blow. He turned his whole body, feet first, knocking the guy off his feet. When the man landed hard on his spine, Drake committed suicide.
  
  The former SAS officer stood up and spotted Dahl a dozen paces ahead. Their enemies were becoming fewer and fewer - probably only a few dozen martyrs remained, sent to wear down the invaders. The real army would be somewhere else.
  
  "Not bad for a warm-up," the Swede grinned, blood around his mouth. "Now go ahead!"
  
  They went through another door, cleared a room of booby traps, then another room where snipers picked off six of the good guys before they were eliminated. Eventually they found themselves in front of a high stone wall with loopholes through which machine guns were firing. In the center of the stone wall was an even more impressive steel door, reminiscent of a bank vault.
  
  "That"s it," Dahl said, bending back. "Frey's observation room."
  
  "Looks like a tough motherfucker," Drake said, taking cover next to him, raising his hand as dozens of soldiers ran up to him. He looked around for Hayden, but couldn't make out her slender figure among the men. Where the hell did she go? Oh please, please don't let her lie there again... bleeding...
  
  "Fort Knox is a tough nut to crack," the Delta commando said as he took a bite.
  
  Drake and Dal looked at each other. "Wrestlers!" - They both said at the same time, sticking to their 'speed and don't fool around' policy.
  
  Two large guns were carefully passed along the line, the soldiers grinning as they watched. Strong steel grappling hooks were attached to the barrels of powerful cannons, similar to rocket launchers.
  
  The two soldiers ran back the way they came, holding additional steel cables in their hands. Steel cables attached to a hollow chamber at the rear of the launchers.
  
  Dahl double-clicked his Bluetooth connection. "Tell me when we can start."
  
  A few seconds passed, then the answer came. "Forward!"
  
  A barrage was set up. Drake and Dahl stepped out with grenade launchers slung over their shoulders, took aim, and pulled the triggers.
  
  Two steel grappling hooks flew out at the speed of a rocket, digging deep into the stone wall of Frey's vault before breaking out the other side. As soon as they encountered space, the sensor activated a device that spun the hooks themselves, forcing them firmly against the wall on the other side.
  
  Dahl tapped himself on the ear. "Do it".
  
  And even from below, Drake could hear the sound of two Hummers shifting into reverse, cables attached to their reinforced bumpers.
  
  Frey's impenetrable wall exploded.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Kennedy kicked out in warning as Caleb hobbled toward her, catching his knee and sending him staggering. She took advantage of the moment's respite to jump to her feet. Caleb came again and she slapped him on the ear with the back of her hand.
  
  The crowd above her bleated with pleasure. Thousands of dollars worth of rare wine and fine whiskey spilled onto the dirt of the arena. A pair of women's lace panties floated down. Men's Tie. A pair of Gucci cufflinks, one of which bounces off Caleb's hairy back.
  
  "Kill her!" Frey screamed.
  
  Caleb was barreling towards her like a freight train, arms outstretched, guttural noises coming from deep within his belly. Kennedy tried to jump away, but he caught her and lifted her off the ground, lifting her off the floor.
  
  While in the air, Kennedy could only cower as he waited for the landing. And it was hard, rock and earth crashing into her spine, knocking the air out of her lungs. Her legs kicked up, but Caleb stepped into them and sat on top of her, resting his elbows forward.
  
  "More like it," muttered the killer. "Now you're going to scream. Eeeeeee!" His voice was manic, like the squeal of a pig in a slaughterhouse in her ears. "Eeeeeeeee!"
  
  Burning agony caused Kennedy's body to convulse. The bastard was now an inch away from her, his body lying on top of her, drool dripping from his lips onto his cheeks, his eyes burning with hellfire, he pressed his crotch against her own.
  
  She was helpless for a moment, still trying to catch her breath. His fist slammed into her stomach. His left hand was about to do the same when it stopped. A heart-pounding thought, and then it moved up to her throat and began to squeeze.
  
  Kennedy choked, gasping for air. Caleb was giggling like crazy. He squeezed harder. He studied her eyes. He leaned on her body, crushing her with his weight.
  
  She kicked as hard as she could, knocking him aside. She understood perfectly well that she had just received a pass. The bastard's twisted needs saved her life.
  
  She slipped away again. The crowd jeered at her-at her performance, at her dirty clothes, at her scratched ass, at her bleeding feet. Caleb rose, Rocky-like, from the brink of defeat and spread his arms, laughing.
  
  And then she heard a voice, weak but cutting through the hoarse cacophony.
  
  Ben's voice: "Drake is approaching, Kennedy. He's getting closer. I got a message!"
  
  Damn it... he wouldn't find them here. She couldn't imagine that, of all the places in the castle, he would search this one. Its most likely target would be storage or cells. This could take hours....
  
  Ben still needed her. Caleb's victims still needed her.
  
  Stand up and scream when they couldn't.
  
  Caleb rushed at her, reckless in his selfishness. Kennedy feigned horror, then reared her leg and slammed her elbow straight into his approaching face.
  
  Blood gushed all over her hand. Caleb stopped as if he had run into a brick wall. Kennedy pressed her advantage, punching him in the chest, punching his already broken nose, kicking him in the knees. She used every possible method to incapacitate the executioner.
  
  The roar of the crowd increased, but she barely heard it. One quick blow to the balls sent the asshole to his knees, another to the chin turned him onto his back. Kennedy fell into the dirt next to him, panting from exhaustion, and stared into his incredulous eyes.
  
  There was a thud near her right knee. Kennedy looked back and saw a broken wine bottle stuck upside down in the dirt. A merlot that still oozes liquid red promise.
  
  Caleb swung at her. She took the blow to the face without flinching. "You must die," she hissed. "For Olivia Dunn," she pulled the broken bottle out of the ground. "For Selena Tyler," she raised it above his head. "Miranda Drury," she added, "her first blow shattered teeth, cartilage and bone. "And for Emma Silke," her second blow took away his eye. "For Emily Jane Winters," her final blow turned his neck into mincemeat.
  
  And she knelt there on the bloody ground, victorious, adrenaline pumping through her veins and pulsating through her brain, trying to recapture the humanity that had momentarily deserted her.
  
  
  FORTY FOUR
  
  
  
  LA VEREIN, GERMANY
  
  
  Kennedy was ordered back up the stairs at gunpoint. Thomas Caleb's body was left twitching where it should have died.
  
  Frey looked unhappy, talking on his cell phone. "Vault," he croaked. "Save the vault at all costs, Hudson. I don't care about anything else, you idiot. Get off this damn couch and do what I pay you to do!"
  
  He turned off the connection and stared at Kennedy. "Looks like your friends broke into my house."
  
  Kennedy gave him a sly look before turning it to the assembled elite. "Looks like you fools will get some of what you deserve."
  
  There was quiet laughter and the clinking of glasses. Frey joined in for a moment before saying, "Drink up, my friends. Then leave in the usual way."
  
  Kennedy feigned some bravado, enough to wink at Ben. Damn if her body didn't hurt like a bitch. Her ass burned and her legs throbbed; his head ached and his hands were covered in sticky blood.
  
  She handed them to Frey. "Can I clean this?"
  
  "Use your shirt," he chuckled. "In any case, this is nothing more than a rag. Without a doubt, it mirrors the rest of your wardrobe."
  
  He waved his hand in a royal manner. "Bring her. And a boy."
  
  They left the arena, Kennedy feeling tired and trying to calm her spinning head. The consequences of what she had done would live with her for decades, but now was not the time to dwell. Ben was next to her and, judging by the expression on his face, was clearly trying to telepathically reassure her.
  
  "Thanks, guy," she said, ignoring the guards. "It was a cakewalk."
  
  Following the left fork, they headed down another corridor that branched off from their cell block. Kennedy collected her thoughts.
  
  Just survive, she thought. Just stay alive.
  
  Frey received another call. "What? Are they in storage? Idiot! You... you..." he muttered in rage. "Hudson, you... send the whole army here!"
  
  An electronic screech cut off the connection abruptly, like a guillotine cutting off the head of a French queen.
  
  "Take them!" Frey turned to his guards. "Take them to the living quarters. It seems there are more of your friends than we first thought, dear Kennedy. I"ll be back to treat your wounds later."
  
  With these words, the deranged German quickly walked away. Kennedy was acutely aware that she and Ben were now alone with four guards. "Keep going," one of them pushed her towards the door at the end of the corridor.
  
  As they went through this, Kennedy blinked in surprise.
  
  This part of the castle was completely demolished, a new arched roof was erected overhead and small brick 'houses' lined either side of the space. Not much larger than large barns, there were about eight of them. Kennedy immediately realized that more than a few prisoners had passed through this place at one time.
  
  A worse person than Thomas Caleb?
  
  Meet Abel Frey.
  
  Her situation was getting worse every second. The guards were pushing her and Ben towards one of the houses. Once inside, it was game over. You lose.
  
  She could take one out, maybe even two. But four? She didn't stand a chance.
  
  If only....
  
  She looked back at the nearest guard and noticed that he was looking at her appraisingly. "Hey, is this it? Are you going to put us there?"
  
  "These are my orders."
  
  "Look. This guy is here - he came all this way to save his sister. You think, um, maybe he could see her. Just one time."
  
  "Orders from Frey. We are not allowed."
  
  Kennedy looked from one guard to the other. "And what? Who should know? Recklessness is the spice of life, right?"
  
  The guard barked at her. "Are you blind? Haven"t you seen the cameras in this damn place?"
  
  "Frey is busy fighting the army," Kennedy smiled. "Why do you think he ran away so quickly?" Guys, let Ben see his sister, then maybe I"ll cut you a little slack when the new bosses arrive."
  
  The guards glanced at each other furtively. Kennedy put more conviction into her voice and a little more flirtation into her body language, and soon the two of them were unlocking Karin's door.
  
  Two minutes later she was taken out. She staggered between them, looking exhausted, her blonde hair disheveled and her face drawn.
  
  But then she saw Ben and her eyes lit up like lightning in a storm. It seemed as if the strength had returned to her body.
  
  Kennedy caught her eye as the two groups met, trying to quickly convey the urgency, the danger, the last chance scenario of her crazy idea, all with one desperate look.
  
  Karin waved the guards off and growled. "Go ahead and get some, you bastards. "
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Thorsten Dahl led the charge, holding his pistol out like a raised sword, shouting at the top of his lungs. Drake was right next to him, running at full speed even before the entire wall of the vault collapsed. Smoke and debris scattered across the small area. As Drake ran, he sensed other coalition troops fanning out in both directions. They were a rushing phalanx of death, advancing upon their enemies with murderous intent.
  
  Drake's instincts kicked in as the smoke swirled and thinned. To the left stood a cluster of guards, frozen in fear, slow to react. He fired a burst into their midst, destroying at least three bodies. Return fire was heard ahead. Soldiers fell to his left and right, hitting the collapsed wall hard with their momentum.
  
  Blood sprayed right in front of his eyes as the Italian's head turned to steam, the man not fast enough to dodge the bullet.
  
  Drake dove for cover. Sharp rocks and concrete tore the flesh on his arms as he fell to the floor. Rolling over, he fired several bursts at the corners. People screamed. The exhibit exploded under intense fire. Old bones swirled through the air in slow motion like specks of dust.
  
  Shots rang out again ahead, and Drake saw a mass of people moving. Jesus!Frey's army was right there, drawn up in their deadly formation, moving forward faster and faster as they felt they had the advantage.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Karin used martial arts training to incapacitate her guards in a matter of seconds. Kennedy delivered a sharp backhand to her guard's chin, then stepped forward and butted his head so hard that stars flashed before her eyes. A second later, she saw her second opponent, the fourth guard, jump to the side to create some space between them.
  
  Her heart sank. So the fourth guard was a bridge too far. Even for two of them.
  
  The guard looked petrified as he raised his rifle. With trembling fingers, he scanned the area for help. Kennedy extended her arms, palms out.
  
  "Calm down, dude. Just stay calm."
  
  His trigger finger curled in fear. A shot rang out and bounced off the ceiling.
  
  Kennedy cringed. Tension thickened the air, turning it into a nervous broth.
  
  Ben almost screamed when his cell phone started playing a raspy ringtone through his anxiety. Sizer's image was cranked up to maximum.
  
  The guard also jumped, deflecting another involuntary shot. Kennedy felt the wind from the bullet pass her skull. Pure fear froze her to the spot.
  
  Please, she thought. Don't be an idiot. Be mindful of your training.
  
  Ben then threw his phone at the guard. Kennedy saw him flinch and quickly fell to the floor to further create a distraction. By the time the guard dropped the phone and turned his attention, Kennedy had shouldered the third guard's weapon.
  
  Karin though, she lived here for a while. She has seen and experienced hardships. She fired instantly. The guard recoiled as a red cloud erupted from his jacket. Then a dark spot spread across his shoulder and he looked confused, then angry.
  
  He shot point-blank at Ben.
  
  But the shot was unsuccessful, a miss no doubt aided by the fact that his head exploded a millisecond before he pulled the trigger.
  
  Behind him, framed by the splashes of his blood, stood Hayden with a Glock in his hand.
  
  Kennedy looked at Ben and Karin. I saw how they looked at each other with delight, love and sadness. It seemed reasonable to give them a minute. Then Hayden was next to her, nodding to Ben in relief.
  
  "How is he doing?"
  
  Kennedy winked. "He will be happier now that you have arrived."
  
  Then she sobered up. "We need to rescue the other prisoners here, Hayden. Let's take them and leave this hellhole."
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The two armies clashed, the coalition forces shot their opponents on the spot, the Germans brandished knives and tried to quickly get closer.
  
  For a moment Drake thought this knife game was futile, completely insane, but then he remembered who their boss was. Abel Frey. The madman wouldn't want his own party to use bullets in case they damaged his priceless artifacts.
  
  Among them, Drake cut down enemy after enemy. Soldiers grunted and struck at each other all around him, using force that broke bones. People screamed. The battle was an all-out hand-to-hand fight. Survival depended on pure luck and instinct rather than any skill.
  
  While he was shooting, punching and making his way, he noticed a figure ahead. The whirling dervish of death.
  
  Alicia Miles fights her way through the ranks of international super troops.
  
  Drake turned to her. The sound of battle died down. They were in the back of the vault, Odin's sarcophagus next to them, now open, with a rack of spotlights mounted above it.
  
  "Well, well," she laughed. "Drakester. How are you doing, buddy?"
  
  "The same as always."
  
  "Mmm, I remember. Although I can"t say that it hung for too long, huh? By the way, great cat fight on the ropes. Not bad for an ex-soldier turned civilian."
  
  "You too. Where is your BBF?"
  
  "WWF?"
  
  The two fighting soldiers crashed into Drake. He pushed them away with Alicia's help, both of them enjoying what was about to happen.
  
  "Best boyfriend forever? Do you remember him? Cute?"
  
  "Oh yeah. I had to kill him. The bastard caught Frey and me shuffling around in the backyard." She giggled. "I got angry. They died." She made a face. "Just another dead fool."
  
  "Who thought he could tame you," Drake nodded. "I remember".
  
  "Why did you have to be here now, Drake? I really don't want to kill you."
  
  Drake shook his head, stunned. "There is a term called the beautiful liar. Those two words sum up everything about you, Miles, better than any Shakespeare could."
  
  "And what?" Alicia rolled up her sleeves with a grin and kicked off her shoes. "Are you ready to have your balls handed to you?"
  
  Out of the corner of his eye, Drake saw Abel Frey crawling away from them and shouting at someone named Hudson. Obviously, Miles had been protecting them when she channeled their powers, but now she had other priorities. Torsten Dahl, always reliable, stood in front of the crazy German and began to attack.
  
  Drake clenched his fists. "It won't happen, Miles."
  
  
  FORTY FIVE
  
  
  
  LA VEREIN
  
  
  Alicia shocked him by ripping off her T-shirt, wrapping it around herself until it was as tight as rope, then using both hands to wrap it around his neck. He struggled, but her makeshift harness pulled him inside.
  
  Right into her rising knees - Muay Thai style. One. Two. Three.
  
  He turned around the first one. We turned around again. The second crunched under his ribs. The third blow hit him squarely in the balls. Pain shot through his stomach, making him feel nauseous and he fell onto his back.
  
  Alicia stood over him, grinning. "What did I say? Tell me, Drakey, exactly what I said." She made a motion to give him something.
  
  "Your balls."
  
  She lowered her hip and twisted to deliver a side kick aimed at his nose. Drake raised both hands and blocked the blow. I felt one finger dislocated. She turned so that she was face to face with him, lifting one leg high in an arc, then brought her heel down onto his forehead.
  
  Ax blow.
  
  Drake rolled back, but the blow still hit him in the chest. And with as much strength as Miles could muster, it caused unbearable pain.
  
  She stepped on his ankle.
  
  Drake screamed. His body was systematically broken, bruised and mutilated. She broke it, piece by piece. Civil years be damned. But then, could he even blame the dismissal? She was always good. Has she always been this good?
  
  Broken civilian or not, he was still SAS, and she stained the floor with his blood.
  
  He backed away. Three fighters fell on him, smashing everything around him. Drake was enjoying the respite from elbowing the German in the throat. He heard the cartilage crunch and felt a little better.
  
  He stood up, realizing that she had allowed him. She danced, shifting from foot to foot, her eyes glowing from within with devilishness and gray. Behind her, Dahl, Frey and Hudson were locked together, struggling over the edge of Odin's coffin, their faces contorted in pain.
  
  Alicia threw her T-shirt at him. It hit like a whip, causing the left side of his face to burn. She struck again and he caught her. He pulled with incredible force. She stumbled and threw herself into his arms.
  
  "Hello".
  
  He placed both thumbs just below her ears, pressing hard. Instantly she began to writhe, all semblance of defiance gone. It pressed hard enough on the nerve node to cause any normal person to pass out.
  
  Miles bucked like a rodeo bull.
  
  He pressed harder. Finally, she leaned back in his tight embrace, letting him take her weight, going limp, trying to share the pain. Then she stood up straight and stuck both thumbs under his armpits.
  
  Straight into his own nerve bundle. Agony ran through his body.
  
  And that's why they were locked. Two formidable enemies, fighting through waves of pain, barely moving, gazing into each other's eyes like long-lost lovers until death do them part.
  
  Drake grunted, unable to hide his misery. "Crazy... bitch. Why...why work for this...this man?"
  
  "Means... to... reach... the end."
  
  Neither Drake nor Miles would back down. Around them, the battle began to come to an end. More coalition troops remained on their feet than Germans. But they continued to fight. And Drake could dimly see Dal and Frey locked in a similar deadly embrace, fighting to the end.
  
  Not a single soldier interrupted them. The respect was too great. In privacy and impartially, these battles would be decided.
  
  Drake fell to his knees, pulling Alicia with him. Black spots danced before his eyes. He realized that if she found a way to break his grip, he would truly be finished. The energy was leaving him with every second.
  
  He drooped. She pressed harder, that absolute killer instinct stabbing into her. His thumbs slipped. Alicia fell forward, hitting him in the chin with her elbow. Drake saw it coming, but he didn't have the strength to stop it.
  
  Sparks exploded before his eyes. He fell flat on his back, staring at Frey's gothic ceiling. Alicia crawled up and blocked his view with her face, distorted by pain.
  
  None of the soldiers around them tried to stop her. It will not end until one of the combatants declares a truce or dies.
  
  "Not bad," she coughed. "You still got it, Drake. But I"m still better than you."
  
  He blinked. "I know".
  
  "What?" - I asked.
  
  "You have... that edge. That killer instinct. Fury of battle. Doesn't matter. It matters. This... this is why I quit."
  
  "Why should that stop you?"
  
  "I was worried about something outside of work," he said. "It changes everything".
  
  Her fist was raised, ready to crush his throat. A moment passed. Then she said, "A life for a life?"
  
  Drake began to feel the energy slowly returning to his limbs. "After everything I did today, I think they owe me a lot."
  
  Alicia stepped back and extended her hand to help him to his feet. "I threw the Wells towards the ropes at Mimir"s well. I didn't kill him at Odin's grave. I drew Frey's attention away from Ben Blake. I'm not here to destroy the world, Drake, I'm just here to have some fun."
  
  "I confirm." Drake regained his balance just as Thorsten Dahl lifted Abel Frey's limp body from the wide edge of Odin's coffin. He fell to the floor with a wet crunch, plopping lifelessly onto the Italian marble paving stones.
  
  Cheers rang out and echoed throughout the coalition troops.
  
  Dahl clenched his fist, looking inside the coffin.
  
  "That bastard never saw that prize," he laughed. "His life"s work. Jesus Christ, you guys have to see this."
  
  
  FORTY SIX
  
  
  
  STOCKHOLM
  
  
  A day later, Drake managed to escape an endless round of interrogations to sleep for a few hours at a nearby hotel, one of the oldest and finest in Stockholm.
  
  In the lobby, he waited for the elevator and wondered why all his thought processes were filmed. They went crazy from lack of sleep, constant beatings and intense pressure. It took him several days to recover.
  
  The elevator rang. A figure appeared next to him.
  
  Kennedy, dressed in a casual Saturday pantsuit, hair combed tightly back, studies him with exhausted eyes.
  
  "Hello".
  
  Words were not enough. Asking her if she was okay was not only lame, it was downright stupid.
  
  "Hello to you too."
  
  "On the same floor?"
  
  "Certainly. They keep us all isolated, but together."
  
  They got inside. Staring at their broken reflection in the mirror. Avoided contact with the required video camera. Drake pressed the nineteen button.
  
  "Are you as good at this as I am, Kennedy?"
  
  She laughed heartily. "Crazy week, or weeks. Not sure. It drives me crazy that I ended up fighting my nemesis and clearing my name at the end of it all."
  
  Drake shrugged. "As I. Ironic, right?"
  
  "Where did she go? Alicia."
  
  "Into the night where all the best secrets go, her and that geek Hudson," Drake shrugged. "Gone before anyone who really mattered noticed them. Probably blowing each other's brains out while we're talking."
  
  "You did the right thing. They were not the main inspirers here. Alicia is dangerous, but not crazy. Oh, and don't you mean "in the still of the night".
  
  He took a moment to process her Dinosaur Rock reference. He laughed. His mood rose faster than mercury on a sunny day.
  
  "What about Hayden?" Kennedy said as the elevator doors closed and the old car began to slowly rise. "Do you think she will stay with Ben?"
  
  "I really hope so. If not, then at least I think he was having sex now."
  
  Kennedy punched him in the shoulder. "Don't count those chickens, buddy. Maybe he'll write a song for her."
  
  "You name it-three and a half minutes with you!"
  
  They flew slowly past the seventh floor. "Reminds me. There, in Odin's tomb, what did you say there? Something about me staying in York and, uh, earning my own living."
  
  Drake stared at her. She gave him a seductive smile.
  
  "Well... I... I..." He sighed and softened. "I"m hopelessly out of practice on this."
  
  "What?" Kennedy's eyes sparkled with mischief.
  
  "The old dino-rock band Heart called it the ultimate seduction. In Yorkshire we just say 'chat to the bird'. We are simple people."
  
  As the elevator clicked past the fourteenth floor, Kennedy unbuttoned her shirt and let it fall to the floor. Underneath she was wearing a red transparent bra.
  
  "What are you doing?" Drake felt his heart jump as if he had been electrocuted.
  
  "I earn my living."
  
  Kennedy unzipped her pants and let them fall to the floor. She was wearing a matching pair of red panties. The elevator dinged as it arrived at their floor. Drake felt his spirits and everything else lift. The door slid to the side, opening.
  
  The young couple was waiting. The woman giggled. The guy grinned at Drake. Kennedy pulled Drake out of the elevator and into the hallway, leaving her pantsuit behind.
  
  Drake looked back. "Don"t you want this?"
  
  "I don"t need this anymore."
  
  Drake picked her up. "Good job, it's a quick walk to my room."
  
  Kennedy let her hair down.
  
  
  END
  
  
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