The Four Corners of the Earth

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Another day, another plane journey, and Matt Drake was feeling seriously jet-lagged. Takeoff had happened only an hour ago and they were chasing the day toward the Atlantic, en route to the United States of America.

With no clear idea of where to go.

The third Horseman — Famine. Drake dreaded to imagine what kind of warfare the Order had dreamed up for famine. They were still highly engrossed with figuring out the first weapon — the space gun and, in particular, the second weapon — the linchpin code. Hayden still held all the information to it, but the pressure to share was immense. Only the sudden scramble and unclear destination were making her lack of action acceptable.

The linchpin code engineered events carried out across half of Europe, and finally America, to bring down the world’s heads of states, the country’s infrastructures, hobble their armies and free the psychos — those that wanted to send Earth back to the dark ages. It appeared frighteningly real, and frighteningly easy. Once that first domino toppled…

Hayden stayed quiet as she read through. Drake allowed his mind to cruise past all the recent revelations: SEAL Team 7; the Special Forces teams engaging with each other; the French losses, due mostly to the Russians; and now a Native American connection. Of course, the tribesmen had been superb horsemen — possibly the best that ever lived. But where did famine come into it all?

Alicia snored softly at his side, getting a little shut eye. Kenzie tried her best to video the event, but Dahl managed to hold her back. Drake noticed it wasn’t gentle physical persuasion, but rather words that changed her mind. He wasn’t sure about Dahl and Kenzie getting close. None of his business, of course, and he was essentially traveling the same train tracks but…

Drake wanted the best for the Mad Swede, and that was all.

Lauren sat up front, with Smyth as close as he could get without making her feel too uncomfortable. Yorgi, Kinimaka and Mai spoke in quiet tones toward the plane’s rear; the cargo hold they were in not much more than a high-ceilinged, drafty, rattling shell. Just once he’d like to fly first class. Even coach beat luggage class.

Lauren concentrated on the feed they still had going between themselves and DC. The chatter was bland and unfocused right now, more a brainstorming session that a real discussion. That many geeks though? Drake had no doubt they would find exactly what they were looking for.

The hours passed and the States drew closer. Lauren became interested in the various feeds coming in from rival nations. The Israelis, it seemed, had worked out the American connection almost at the same time as SPEAR. The Brits too. The Chinese were silent and the French quite possibly out if it. Drake knew they’d hear nothing from the SEALs. They weren’t really there, of course.

“Interesting to see if they’ll fly these teams into America under the radar,” Dahl said. “Or use internal teams.”

“People already insinuated into society?” Hayden looked up. “I doubt it. Sleeper agents take years to build.”

“And it ain’t hard to fly in unseen,” Smyth said. “Drug dealers have been doing it for decades.”

“Any clue as to this worst Indian that ever lived?” Mai asked.

“Not from DC, and if our rivals know they’re keeping the lid on it.”

“Bollocks.”

Drake checked the time and knew they were nearing the States. Gently, he shook Alicia awake.

“Wah?”

“Time to wake up.”

Kenzie leaned in close. “I have your bottle ready, baby.”

Alicia flapped at her. “Shit, fuck! Get that thing away from me!”

“It’s only me!”

Alicia pulled away as far as the bulkhead would allow. “Bloody circus clown fizzog.”

“What’s a fizzog?” Kinimaka looked genuinely interested.

“It’s English for ‘face,’” Drake said. And in response to Kenzie’s apparent downheartedness he said, “I don’t agree. You’re a reet bobby dazzler.”

“Really?” Alicia growled.

“A what?”

“Means you’re not bad to look at, love.”

Kenzie frowned as Alicia began to snarl and Drake realized he’d probably overstepped the mark with both women. Well, at least with Kenzie. Quickly, he nodded at Lauren.

“No way. Are you sure?”

Attention switched to the New Yorker.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure.” Lauren was quick enough to cover her surprise and jump straight on the comms for an update. “Give me something.”

Immediately, as if by fate, some good news came back. Lauren put it on speaker. “Hey people, good to see we’re all still kickin’.” Mr. Obnoxious back on the line. “Well, the good news is whilst you boys have been getting your share of zees, I’ve been slaving away over a red hot computer. So, first the second Horseman and Conquest. Miss Jaye? The big dogs are barking.”

Hayden shook her head. “Speak American, asshole, or I’ll have you fired.”

Drake glanced across, knowing she was still playing for time. At the end of the day the linchpin code was in their possession and the Americans knew it. A thought struck him then and he signaled for her to join him at the back of plane.

Together, quietly, they huddled.

“Would it be possible to simply lose one of the sheets?” he asked. “The crucial one.”

She stared. “Sure, if you wanna paint a target on us. They’re not that stupid.”

He shrugged. “I know, but look at the alternative.”

Hayden sat back. “Well, I guess we’re already fucked. What harm could one more act of insubordination cause?”

“Let’s ask SEAL Team 7 when they get here.”

The two stared at each other for a while, both wondering just what exactly the other team’s orders were. The secrecy of it all worried them. Hayden heard the obnoxious man start to speak again and turned.

“Agent Jaye, Washington wants to know the exact details of the Conquest box.”

“Tell them I’ll get back to them.”

“Umm, really? Okay.”

“Do you have anything new?”

“Yeah, yeah, we do. Give me a sec.”

Hayden turned back to Drake. “Decision time, Matt. All the way in?”

Drake rocked back on his heels and offered a grin. “Always.”

Hayden plucked a sheet of paper from the pile.

“You already found the right sheet?”

“I thought of this two hours ago.”

“Ah.”

Together, and without another second of agonizing, they destroyed a crucial clue in the linchpin chain. Hayden then tucked all the sheets back together and deposited them back in the Order’s box. The rest of the team eyed them both without comment.

Together, they were as one.

“All right.” The man from DC had returned. “Now we are well and truly cooking on gas. It seems the Order of the Last Judgment were spot on with their descriptions of the third Horseman — Famine. The Worst Indian Who Ever Lived and that he’s surrounded by guns.”

“A Native American?” Kinimaka asked.

“Oh yeah, born in 1829; that’s seven hundred years after Genghis Kahn and fourteen hundred after Hannibal. Almost exactly…” He paused.

“Odd,” Kinimaka filled the gap.

“Maybe, maybe,” the geek said. “Somebody once said there are no coincidences. Well, we’ll see. Anyways, I’ve re-routed the plane and you’re now headed for Oklahoma.”

“Do we know who this old horseman might be?” Drake asked.

“I’d say he’s the most famous Native American of all, not the worst, but what do I know?”

Alicia shifted, still half-dozing. “Not a whole goddamn lot.”

“Why, thank you. Well, Goyaale, meaning ‘the one that yawns’, was a famous leader of the Apache tribe. They resisted the US and Mexicans throughout his lifetime, his raids becoming a terrible thorn in America’s side.”

“Many Native Americans did,” Mai said.

“Of course, and rightly so. But this man was revered as a superb leader and strategist, the archetype of raiding and revenge warfare. Does that sound familiar?”

Drake nodded along. “Same as Hannibal and Genghis.”

“You got it, kiddo. He surrendered three times and then broke out three times. They made several movies of his exploits. He was then treated as a prisoner of war and moved first to Fort Bowie along with many others.”

“And he escaped again?” Alicia looked like she’d like to think so.

“No. In his old age, Geronimo became a celebrity.”

“Ah, now I see,” Drake said. “Along with Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, he’s probably the best known.”

“Well, yeah, and did you know those three used to get together? Pow wow around the campfire. Plot this and that? Talk about choosing your favorite celebrity to go get a coffee with — I’d choose those three.”

Alicia nodded. “It’d be an experience,” she agreed. “Of course, assuming Depp and Boreanaz weren’t free.”

“In 1850? Probably not. But that Depp guy? He never seems to age, so who knows? Remember the story about medicine men that could shift their manitous — their spirits — through time? Anyways… Geronimo appeared at the 1904 World’s Fair and several other lower key ones. The poor guy was never allowed to return to the land of his birth and died at Fort Sill, still a prisoner of war, in 1909. He’s buried at the Fort Sill Indian Cemetery and surrounded by the graves of relatives and other Apache prisoners of war.”

“Guns.” Dahl said. “Braves.”

“Yes, and the many guns of Fort Sill itself of course, which today serves as the United States Army Artillery School. It remains the only active fort of the southern plains which played a part in the so-called Indian Wars and has participated extensively in every major conflict since 1869.” The geek paused before adding, “The Order chose this place and this horseman for a reason.”

“Apart from the guns?” Dahl asked.

“Notoriety, too,” came the reply. “Initial raid on the Indian territories were led, from here, by Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill Hickok. The fort included the 10th Cavalry, also known as the Buffalo Soldiers.”

“So, to recap.” Dahl sighed. “Geronimo’s grave is inside Fort Sill. The Order managed to secrete the plans to a devastating weapon inside it at least forty years ago and now half a dozen of the deadliest Special Forces teams on the planet are rushing headlong toward it.”

Into the deep silence the geek said cheerily, “Yeah, man, cool stuff, eh?”