Gorgon

CHAPTER 17

Miles above the Earth a satellite bay door opened, displaying dozens of arm-thick matte-black spikes. Eight pipes vented gas and propelled themselves silently away from the large spindly craft. Their destination was set: the Middle East, Turkey, targeting the ancient trading route between Uşak and Izmir.

There were no ignition plumes, no heat signatures or metallic flashes, to give any sort of object profile to the numerous public and military scanning devices that watched the heavens every minute of the day. More gas vented from the pipes’ side jets, each second-long burst causing minuscule adjustments to their direction in the upper atmosphere, but translating to hundreds of miles difference in where they would land.

The pipes briefly flamed as they entered the mesosphere. Once through, their outer casings broke away, leaving a dull brown spike to travel the final few dozen miles to the Earth’s surface. The spikes readjusted their supersonic descent one last time, selecting landing spots that avoided dwellings, water, rocky outcrops, and any other micro-obstructions. Clear vision was critical.

All the spikes struck the ground along the old trade route, many miles apart, and buried themselves halfway into the soil. Unless someone was standing right in front of them, they simply looked like metal fence spikes that had been abandoned to the elements. Immediately, their small cameras flickered to life.

Hammerson now had his eyes on the ground.

In his office, a headset over his iron-gray crew cut, Hammerson paced as he waited to be put through to five-star General Marcus Chilton. Hammerson had known ‘Chili’ Chilton for many years; the two men weren’t close enough to be called friends, but each respected the other’s competence and ability to get the job done when others couldn’t. Many times, Chilton had used Hammerson and his team to intervene in various places in the world, usually brutally, when diplomacy had failed. In turn, Hammerson knew that if something was important enough, he could bypass the chain of command and go to the general direct … like now.

Hammerson stopped pacing as the call went through.

‘Jack, been hearing your name a lot lately.’ Chilton’s voice was basement deep.

Hammerson was immediately wary. As the senior officer running a team of ultra-elite Special Forces soldiers, maintaining a zero profile was near mandatory.

‘Only good things, I hope, Marcus. How’ve you been?’

‘Good. Just doing my best to avoid war, as always. Getting harder every day.’

‘Volatile times, Marcus. But we both know there’ll always be war, that’s why we’re in business,’ Hammerson responded matter-of-factly.

Chilton grunted. ‘Volatile times indeed. And the more powerful we get, the more we should fear war. It’s my burden to fear it on behalf of over 300 million Americans.’

‘Glad that’s your job and not mine. We should fear war, but I’m just a soldier who does his best to make sure the other guy fears it more.’

Hammerson knew he would never be a general; essentially, a military political animal. His problem was he’d never be able to turn the other cheek.

Chilton gave a deep soft laugh. ‘And that’s why hardheads get to do the hard jobs. I heard you boys kicked some ass in Italy recently.’

Hammerson’s jaw clenched; he didn’t like the fact that the mission had come onto Chilton’s radar. ‘Only enough to establish our credentials. We did our job and everyone went home in one piece — no mess.’

‘Not everyone. Gianfranco Monti was taken. The Italians are not happy. They knew he was a crook, but he was their crook,’ Chilton said.

‘The fucking Brits.’ Hammerson pressed his knuckles down on the desk. He heard the general shift in his chair.

‘And that brings us to why we’re talking now … Istanbul.’

Hammerson waited.

‘Still no ideas what’s behind these strange events?’ Chilton asked.

‘None. Chemical, biological, elemental force — we still have no idea, and neither do the Turks. And now they’re getting into the thousands dead.’ Hammerson remembered the images of the petrified bodies and grimaced.

‘I’m aware of the casualties, that’s for the Turkish to deal with.’ The general’s voice became lower. ‘There’s talk it could it be a new weapon.’

Hammerson began pacing again. ‘Unknown, Marcus. Could be. Whatever it is, it’s on a collision course with Izmir.’

‘Yes, Izmir, that’s different. Can’t let that chaos happen, can we, Jack?’

‘No, sir, we cannot. We need to be over there.’ Hammerson stopped pacing, and stared out the window.

‘And you should be there,’ Chilton said. ‘But Turkey isn’t Italy, and it’s a damn volatile place to kick down doors uninvited. We don’t have many people in our corner in the Middle East these days. Turkey’s one of them, and we’d prefer to keep it that way. We need a gold pass, Jack. In case things get … messy.’

Hammerson exhaled. ‘I’m working on it. But events are moving faster than my persuasion skills right now.’

‘Try again. Don’t give your contact a reason to ask for your help, give him a reason to demand it. If it’s a weapon, secure it. Anything else, destroy it.’

‘That’s the plan, sir. One more thing: we now know the Russians are there.’

Hammerson allowed himself a small smile. The silence told him he knew something the general didn’t.

‘Already?’ Chilton exhaled. ‘Goddamit, that complicates things. I’ll make a few calls, see if we can push that invitation to the top of the queue. Have you got a team together?’

‘Yes, sir, the best. We’re just waiting on the green light.’

‘Good, then I have something extra for you. Something you’re not going to like. Took a call from an old military friend of mine from over the water — Sir David Barrington.’

Hammerson groaned. ‘Chief of Defense, British Armed Forces.’

‘That’s him. Seems they’ve been watching events in Turkey as well. Not surprising given they’ve got nearly eighty men and women in Izmir. They want to go in, but don’t have the contacts we do … or the ones I’ve said we do. Jack, I’m holding them back for now. There’s absolutely no value in having two separate teams falling over each other.’

Hammerson now knew how the general had managed to be so informed. ‘I’ll keep them in the loop.’

‘You want to be leading this. Either we send a couple of operatives along with their team, or a few of theirs tag along with ours. Make the right call, Jack.’

‘Jesus Christ, Marcus. With all due respect —’

Chilton cut him off. ‘They’ve deciphered the inscriptions. They know you’re using Professor Kearns. He’s good, but they think he’s made mistakes. They’ve got Margaret Watchorn — she can read Minoan like you and I read the Sunday papers. It’s in our interest to join forces. It’s going to happen with or without you.’

Hammerson exhaled, knowing he’d be sidelined if he pushed any harder. ‘Okay, what have they got?’

‘You’ll find out soon enough; they’re already on their way. They’re sending us three specialists — two of them SAS. Play nice, Jack.’

Hammerson tilted his head back, shutting his eyes. ‘Always.’

‘Keep me informed, and be ready.’

Chilton ended the call. Hammerson pulled the headset off his head. Could be worse, he thought. At least the SAS can handle themselves.

‘His name is Halim.’ Doctor Layla Ayhan flipped a page in the boy’s medical chart and handed it to Kemel Baykal. She grimaced. ‘He has significant encephelon cell degeneration.’

Baykal read quickly and handed back the chart. ‘Brain damage.’ His voice was flat.

‘Yes. He’s moving in and out of a catatonic state, and it’s getting worse. The cell destruction is still ongoing. Whatever happened to him is still happening.’

‘Did he speak at all?’ Baykal looked down at the tiny figure on the bed. Halim’s eyes were open, but his face was blank. He held one curled hand up to the side of his head. ‘He is the only person to have experienced this thing and survived.’

‘He won’t survive,’ Layla said quickly. ‘But yes, he did speak.’ She read through her notes and shook her head. ‘He said he saw the face of a djinn, an evil spirit. He said it was as tall as a house, and it floated by him.’

‘Floated?’ Baykal exhaled. ‘Why didn’t he succumb immediately, like the rest? Can you tell me anything more?’

‘What is happening to him, and what happened to all those people, is a mystery,’ Layla said. ‘Maybe the boy had some sort of temporary immunity. He said it didn’t eat him because he didn’t look at it.’

Baykal groaned. ‘Anything else?’

She shook her head.

‘Not much to work with.’ Baykal looked at his watch and went to turn away. Her soft voice stopped him.

‘Kemel… the samples, the flakes you discovered. My colleagues at the university are mystified by their origin. Ankara’s top herpetologist says it is probably a reptile scale, but the keratin pattern isn’t recognizable in anything living today, or in any fossil record. It doesn’t make evolutionary sense, he said.’ She shook her head and stepped in close to the large Special Forces commander. ‘Kemel, I want you to hand this case over to someone else. Do not pursue this horror. Please, for me.’

He reached up to touch her face with the back of his hand. ‘Layla, I must pursue it, because of you. If everyone ran from horror, then horror would be everywhere.’ He looked back at the small figure, at the curled hand beside his face. He frowned. ‘In his hand… he’s holding something.’

Layla’s face fell as she too gazed at the boy. ‘Yes; the petrified finger of his mother.’

‘Over 2000 dead — women, children, old, young. This thing has a massive appetite.’ Baykal’s face hardened. ‘Perhaps it is time we met it with something a little more formidable.’

‘Then I’m definitely not letting you go.’ She smiled, taking his hand. ‘Not alone anyway.’ Baykal shook his head, but she gripped his hand harder. ‘I am an excellent field doctor, and the only one who knows what to expect from this thing. I can, and will, help.’

He smiled at last, pulling her closer. ‘Modern women — so forceful. Where will it all end?’

Hammerson’s phone buzzed again. ‘What is it, Margie?’ he asked.

‘Turkey on the secure line.’

‘Jesus. I’ll take it.’

The line opened out to a scrubbed and scrambled international band, and he heard the heavy breathing of a man under pressure.

‘Kemel?’

‘Jack, it ends here — we are going in.’

Baykal’s voice was heavy with resignation. Hammerson didn’t like it.

‘One word — don’t. There’s too much we don’t know.’

‘You don’t know? What do you know?’ Baykal’s voice rose a fraction.

‘We know this thing is actively seeking out populations to decimate. We know you can’t look at it, physically or electronically. We know you’re in an evolving and dangerous situation. You’re not ready.’

Hammerson stared out the window, all his focus on the call. He gripped the phone, and waited. There was only dead air.

‘Commander, please, wait one day,’ he said. ‘We’re working as fast as we can. We’ve got a team —’

‘There has been enough waiting,’ Baykal cut in, ‘and it has resulted in too many dead. The time now is for action.’

‘Listen to me,’ Hammerson barked.

‘Not this time, Jack. If I am right, it is over. If I am not …’ He gave a small mirthless laugh, ‘I’m sure you will be watching. Learn from my mistakes, my friend.’

The line went dead. Hammerson ground his teeth, gripping the phone hard.

‘Stupid, stupid man.’ He slammed the phone down, swore, then snorted softly. ‘Exactly what I would have done.’

Uli Borshov sat hunched over a small table, listening intently to the Russian translation of the intercepted Turkish Special Forces’ communications. Behind him, a roll of thick plastic was pushed against a wall; a boot and a bloody foot, minus four toes, were just visible at one end, evidence of the completion of their successful interview with the police informant.

While Borshov listened, he looked at a small computer screen displaying the pictures his men had taken of the deep chamber below the Basilica Cistern. They had entered last night, killing several guards, and searched the site, photographed the writing, the bronze burial urn, and the stone fragments littering the floor, all within four minutes. Then they’d exited like smoke. The strange writing had been sent back to Russia, where it had been identified as Minoan. A linguistics expert had been found via one of their agents in Germany, and Professor Gerhard Reinhalt had translated the script at great expense. He had been told he would be held on a retainer for his services, whether he liked it or not, and warned that if he spoke to anyone about his work, he would be beheaded. Reinhart had been contracted for life … however long that turned out to be. They had tracked down the dead artifact thief, Janus Caresche, but before they could move to intercept the man’s paymaster, the Americans had intervened. They had moved quickly; Borshov knew he needed to move quicker — now more than ever.

He replayed the images from the new Persona satellite, a massive 14,000-pound bird with optical subsystems based on the Korsch-type telescope. Its reach and clarity was matched only by the Americans’ VELA series. Borshov had been jolted by the sight of the man standing on the front verandah of the Italian villa. A flash grenade had gone off at his feet, but he’d remained upright, as solid as rock, untroubled by the heat and percussion.

‘So, all old friends back in the field again,’ Borshov said aloud. ‘Maybe I will pay you a visit when this mission over.’

Borshov was about to replay the images again, when a fresh piece of information came from his headquarters. He clicked his fingers to get the attention of one of his men. ‘Get the truck ready,’ he ordered.

He waved over another of the tall, fearsome-looking Spetsnaz soldiers. The man motioned with his chin to the screen. ‘We have a fix on the target?’

Borshov snapped the screen shut and stood. ‘Yes. Not sure where exactly, but we have a direction. We need to get closer. Put ourselves in front of it.’ He waved a hand around the room. ‘Burn everything. We move in five minutes.’