Blood Vengeance

CHAPTER FORTY ONE

The Blood King knelt inside the rear container of a large transport vehicle, thinking the roll and sway of the truck wasn’t unlike the heave and swell of the ocean waves he had been used to for the best part of his life. They were rattling down a dark US highway somewhere in between Crapsville and Shittown, and the hard nucleus of his team lounged all around him. The inside of the container was fully insulated, wired, furnished, and contained everything Kovalenko’s super-hacker required to achieve the tasks he had been set earlier that night. A mobile ops center was always much harder to track down than one that was fully grounded.

Kovalenko allowed the events of the night to pass through his mind, filtering the best parts for review. The President’s face when the Blood King had stepped out to greet him. The disgust he had shown at Marnich’s betrayal. As if it should come as a surprise. Betrayal was one of the better parts of human nature, and something men like him thrived on.

And all the rest. Particularly those moments when news of the vendetta’s ongoing triumphs reached his ears. A member of his somewhat decimated German unit had sent him an admittedly scary picture of Alicia Myles’s death-defying charge over in Germany. Someone who lived in York had facebooked about Ben Blake’s dead girlfriend lying in the streets. Mordant had recounted details of the skirmish he’d had with several SPEAR members. Hayden Jaye lay in a hospital bed, almost dead but sadly out of his reach.

But this day, as they said, would live in infamy. The night of the Blood King, he thought, Has a nice ring to it. A wave of disappointment crashed through his mind, making the tips of his fingers itch and the edges of his teeth ache. Had it all been for nothing? Still the Blood Vendetta remained unfulfilled. What were the chances of him mounting this kind of detailed operation again? The Blood King peered around inside the truck, needing something to kill. At times like this only pure fresh red blood sated his outrageous desires.

“Sir.” Mordant knew that expression. “Would you like us to stop at the next town?”

Kovalenko allowed a twisted grin to raise the edges of his thin lips. “Dah, my lieutenant. That is very good idea. Bring me anything, I do not care, so long as it is fresh meat.”

Mordant radioed the driver, delivering the instructions. Kovalenko managed to relax a little, anticipating the pleasure soon to come. He watched as Mordant settled back, eyes reduced to thin slits. The man almost appeared to be asleep but Kovalenko knew that to be far from the case. Mordant saw and heard everything, and the laid-back sleeping pose was one of the ways he accomplished that. Gabriel, beside him, was quite the opposite, always grinning like a circus freak, always upbeat and nodding along to his own internal annoying beat. Right now he put a hand on his ‘twin’s’ arm, grinning at something Kovalenko didn’t want to know about.

“So,” a voice interrupted his musing. “What happens next?”

The Blood King regarded Agent Marnich carefully. The traitor sat with both legs drawn up, worry etched across his face. Such body language spoke of insecurity and was a sign of weakness to the Russian.

“Stay sharp, stay useful, American,” he said. “And you will live to see your payment.”

Marnich nodded, lapsing into silence, but his question did have some merit.

What next?

Kovalenko entertained the notion of just waiting. It would be fun to maybe set up some sort of shadowy surveillance and watch as his targets grew more anxious as the weeks and months passed, always looking over their shoulders. Occasionally, he could remind them of his presence, lift the shroud a little, to heighten their terror. Such amusement might even see him through happily to the end of his years.

But one thing rankled above all others. Drake.

He held a deep hatred for the ex-soldier. From his ridiculous accent to his pathetic humor. From his privileged training to his infuriating confidence. Drake was the only man who had ever really gotten under Kovalenko’s thick skin.

“Vodka,” he suddenly said, waving at Marnich.

The American passed him a bottle of Southern Cross, one of his own superior brands. Kovalenko twisted off the top and upended the bottle, letting the cold liquor pour straight down his throat. He listened hard as the truck’s engine tone changed, feeling the vehicle start to slow.

Mordant reached out for the bottle. “He’s leaving the highway for the town. It will be soon now.”

“Good.”

A squawk drew his attention to the front of the long container. It was there that the super-hacker sat on a chair bolted to the floor, facing a daunting arrangement of consoles, mini-TV monitors, keyboards and portable tablets. The man went by his nickname, Salami Bob — SaBo for short — and it was said he had once hacked the Pentagon, the NSA and NORAD in the same day. One of his past accomplishments had been to take down the security system of Fort Knox, but the ground team had made a mess of the infiltration, getting themselves caught. SaBo had been on the run ever since, until the Blood King’s men had found him and offered a secure sanctuary with all the money and perks he could ever need. And even that was not enough. Salami Bob’s skills were now required over in the UK for a forthcoming project, and once the Blood King’s men were aware of the project leader’s identity they had agreed to let him go by tonight.

Coyote. The name struck fear into the hearts of anyone who knew her history, or even a part of it. Even men like Mordant and Gabriel. The Blood King himself had contacted her recently, through a third party, offering a lucrative contract in the event of his death or disability. The future was not rosy for Drake and his team.

Kovalenko’s humor turned at the thought of that smug little crew. They were good, to be sure, but to be the best you had to be a loner. Like the Blood King had always been. They were a family, and that was their ultimate weakness. Something both Kovalenko and the Coyote would turn against them. They already had. The Blood King enjoyed a moment of self-satisfied superiority.

The list of their current losses was a gratifying one. It would only get longer.

His faraway eyes finally focused on the piece of now useless material that lay in a shapeless, discarded lump to one side of the van. The nano-vest, the outstanding piece of work Mr. Tyler Webb had supplied him with, now seemed pointless, futile. Nano technology was the ‘new thing’, apparently, the manipulation of matter on an atomic and molecular scale, and Webb’s multi-billion dollar company was at the leading edge of the new technology. A good thing in some hands, but not so much in Webb’s. His research also extended to weapons and the fusion of nano-explosives and this clever vest was an experiment which should have been carried out on the President of the United States in the tunnels under DC. The final and most crushing blow. Unfortunately, Drake and his annoyingly enthusiastic play-friends had short-circuited that particular event. Webb wouldn’t be best pleased. To him it was a major trial. But there were others planned, he knew. Kovalenko would have to deal with him, or maybe join the New Order to save some face. He snorted. Another bunch of megalomaniacs getting together in the wake of the Shadow Elite’s demise. But then they do have some major clout, Kovalenko reflected, and at least one highly placed official on their side. Perhaps they will succeed.

But Pandora’s Box? Really? Wasn’t that just a myth, an ancient mystery made up to scare the kids?

Just like the ancient Gods.

The Box contains all the sins of the world…

The Blood King thought back to Hawaii and the Diamond Head mountain. Captain Cook’s seven Hells underneath, so carefully catalogued. I beat Cook, got further than the old explorer until… again he cursed and slugged vodka.

His mind turned again, flicking across the drone and its procurer. All thanks to the New Order. Kovalenko snorted again and threw back more vodka.

Just then SaBo turned around, red face screwed up in ecstasy, a long strand of greasy hair stuck across his chin. “I think we got something. I really think we got something.”

Kovalenko’s voice, already rougher than a cheese grater, came out even harsher after the glugs of vodka. “What is it?”

SaBo blanched, probably thinking the Blood King was angry. “I believe you will like this, sir. I have been monitoring all channels as requested. Two of the most secure government comms channels just relayed the message that the SPEAR people are being sent to the facility at Death Valley to investigate your, um… breakout. They hope to find something you might have overlooked, clues as to who helped you and where you might go next.”

“Secure channels?” Mordant questioned. “How secure?”

“One of them is linked to the Special Agent Grid I cracked. They won’t find my hack. It’s too good. I can also say that both these channels have been transmitting genuinely throughout the night.”

Kovalenko took a moment, but then felt his pulse start to race. “It is genuine? No trick?”

“It’s genuine, sir. The SPEAR team are on their way to the Death Valley prison facility right now.”

Kovalenko fought the urge to punch the air. “Call our Nevada compound! Prep the men. Send choppers to pick us up. I want to be there. How many men do we have left?”

Mordant frowned. “In total? Maybe a hundred or so.”

“Send them all. Use any means possible. Do it.”

“It’s risky, sir. We have no plan.” Mordant, despite his callous penchant for murder, was a careful man.

“For this, we do not need a plan. Just send everyone, you hear? Send everyone!”