The Lost Kingdom

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Former limestone mines are now used throughout the USA as secure vaults. The more you pay the more secure your valuables become. Bill Gates uses a refrigerated cave over two hundred feet below ground. Princess Diana’s will rests in a vault below a reinforced mountain entrance. Other safeguarded riches include the original recordings of Frank Sinatra, law firm client files, the mysterious Mormon Vault. The servers of WikiLeaks are secured behind a forty-centimeter-thick door that’s accessible through only one tunnel and capable of withstanding a hydrogen bomb. The JP Morgan vault, one of the largest in the world, the Vatican and of course the KFC vault, where the Colonel’s original recipe is hidden.

An abandoned mine in Pennsylvania houses none of these treasures; rather it is less famous, dustier, and quieter. Instead of the usual all-embracing entry procedures which include two forms of ID, special clearance and blood-taking, a twenty-eight-ton, triple-timed lock and a quarter of a mile trip below the surface, this facility is touted as less illustrious than its big brothers, almost antiquated, and thus unworthy of much attention. There are no fees for storage; prospective clients are generally pointed elsewhere.

A gray-haired man wearing a tatty reflective jacket meets you at the gate and sends you on your way; he’s never had to explain to anybody that he’s ex-Special Forces.

Hayden, Kinimaka and Smyth arrived back in Washington DC in time to hear Karin trying to use Robert Price’s influence and the SPEAR clearance level to learn the whereabouts of the Niven Tablets. Karin told Hayden she was sure nobody was trying to pull the wool over her eyes — it was more a problem of finding anyone who remembered them. No computer stored their file, no filing cabinet contained their folder. The best way to hide something you don’t want found was to lose every record that it ever existed.

And create the backstory that they had gone “missing; somewhere between Mexico and the US”.

Hayden heard most of what Karin told her. A small part of her mind still dwelled over the air-vent incident. Had she moved it before she left the car, even accidentally? Had Mano or Smyth moved it? She felt a little embarrassed to ask them.

Or am I losing my mind?

Maybe it was the gunshot wound. A virus. Damn, most likely she needed a vacation. To get away from all this. As soon as we bag the Pythians.

Barely believing her own promise, Hayden perked up as Karin swung around. “Nailed it. There’s a curator works at the old Steel Mountain facility in Pennsylvania, near the city of Butler. Pretty much a forgotten records facility, he knows of more than a few dusty old treasures that were stored down there between 1940 and 1960. Records don’t exist for these pieces and I guess once the older guys who know about them retire or lose interest then their existence will just pass to legend.”

Hayden rose to her feet. “So what are we—”

“One more thing,” Karin said. “The curator mentioned someone else making the same inquiry only a few days ago.”

“Who?” Kinimaka asked. “Dudley?”

“No. This person came across as well-spoken, highly educated and powerful. And possessed a clearance level beyond ours.”

Hayden narrowed her eyes. “What? But that’s… did he get a name?”

“Names weren’t passed, no. Just the clearance level protocol.”

“Are we thinking — Pythian?” Komodo wondered.

Hayden nodded slowly. “Who else could it be? They’re a downright sneaky bunch. Always a step ahead.”

Karin tapped her keyboard. “They’re only ahead because we don’t know what they’re planning next. It might be an idea to place someone permanently on the inside.”

“A mole?” Hayden said. “A Pythian mole? Great idea, but we don’t know where they are. We could ask Lauren. She said that Nicholas Bell didn’t seem the sort. What do you think?”

Kinimaka and Komodo were already gearing up. Smyth shrugged into a vest beside them. “Shall we discuss all that later?” he said. “We have a robbery to stop.”

Less than two hours later the team exited their plane and were approaching the storage facility by car. The skies were dark, the roads picked out by full beam. The mood inside the car was grim as the soldiers prepared for a fight.

“Nothing heard from the facility for over an hour,” Hayden reported. “Damn. Dudley could have gotten in and out by now.”

“My guess is — he won’t,” Komodo said unhappily. “That man loves his chaos and now he’s brought his friends along.” The soldier shrugged. “I’m surprised the Pythians are still using someone they can barely control.”

“We hit them hard in Niagara,” Smyth said. “Bastards are still in recovery.”

Hayden grunted in approval. “You’re probably right. Which means if we hit them just as hard this time we might take ‘em down.”

The facility appeared up ahead, the mountain rearing up behind it. Soft, sparse floodlights made inconsequential pools around the gated entrance, giving the impression of a low-level building. Kinimaka stopped the car right outside.

“Everybody out. Heads up.”

The night closed in. Hayden raised her gun and approached the entrance. Karin’s voice filled their comms. “Still no contact. It’s now ninety minutes.”

Smyth crouched at the gate. Beyond, splitting a patch of yellow light, a sprawled leg could be seen sticking out. “Contact confirmed,” he said. “Something’s definitely wrong here. Call the cavalry.”

Karin affirmed and then Smyth pushed at the gate. It opened easily. “We still have to secure those tablets,” he said.

“I don’t see any trucks around,” Kinimaka said as he ran through the gate. “How do they intend to move them?”

“Trucks will be inside the facility, I guess.” Hayden moved to the front of the four-man team. “Or they could be taking pictures. Finding the tablets and photographing them could be what’s taking so long.”

The team folded their bodies into the shadows and approached the large entrance to the mountain storage unit. Pausing for a moment they cast about, searching for any signs of life. Through previous contacts Hayden knew Dudley wasn’t exactly the kind for covert and careful infiltrations but she wasn’t about to start taking chances. The entrance was comprised of two doors, one enormous and perfectly able to admit a Mac truck; the other about the size of a large man.

“We need an override code,” she told Karin. “For the facility. Right now.”

Two minutes passed and then they were on the move again. Kinimaka entered the code. The door clicked open. Hayden was first through, squinting slightly and slowing as the light hit her. Komodo produced a prepared map of the unit and pointed off to the right.

“Past the booth, turn right and we’re into a tunnel network. The tablets are on the fourth level if the old timer’s faculties haven’t deserted him.”

Hayden proceeded with caution. The booth was empty, as were the tunnels. Their next problem was the length of the tunnels, hundreds of feet with no niches or exits or junctions; if they were spotted by Dudley and his men they would be sitting ducks.

“Bank of elevators,” Komodo said. “About two hundred and fifty feet ahead.”

“Let’s make it fast.” Hayden broke cover, senses on full alert as she sprinted hard down the smooth, white-painted tunnel. Strip lights mounted to the ceiling lit the way, though her route was arrow straight, angling slightly downward. Kinimaka ran at her back, with Smyth and Komodo behind him.

They reached the elevator bank. Hayden scouted for a set of stairs. “Four down?” she confirmed. “Let’s go.”

The ordinary staircase switched back twice for every level, so it was seven sets later when she slowed. The door to the fourth level stood just below, closed and unmanned.

“It’s been over one hundred minutes,” Karin breathed in their heads. “Be careful.” She added a tender word for Komodo which the rest did their best to ignore.

Hayden approached the door, cracked it open. She took a moment to catch her breath. Beyond, the room opened out into a huge, arched vault, a veritable Aladdin’s cave of unknown and unspeakable treasures. High shelving filled the center of the place but much more space was taken up by haphazard, endless piles of boxes and crates and other paraphernalia.

“It’s a livin’, breathin’ pirate’s cave,” Komodo said, peering over her, grinning. “Used to love all the ole pirate stories, I did.”

“Hey! Where’s that Drake guy? Or Myles? Me brother said yer might be all coming.”

Hayden processed the situation at the speed of light. The Irishman’s voice came from behind, which meant he’d been hidden somewhere in the lower stairwell, and was undoubtedly armed. She dived through the door, rolling; Komodo followed. Kinimaka and Smyth also managed to squeeze through just as the Irishman started firing. Bullets whacked the door and fizzed through the narrowing opening.

“Come on!”

Hayden ducked behind the nearest crate, a high and wide timbered casket large enough to house a small car. Smyth covered the rear whilst the others tried to get their bearings. Komodo referred to the map.

“Um, I don’t think we need that anymore.”

Kinimaka pointed around the left-hand side of the crate. Six men crouched around the bottom shelf of one of the racks, two of them aiming weapons his way.

“They’re photographing the tablets,” Hayden said. “I’d put my sanity on it.” Not the most astute bet she’d ever made. “See any civilians, Mano?”

“No. Just six guys carrying weapons. What do you want to do?”

“Dudley?”

“Yeah. I see him.”

“Take ‘em down!”

Hayden burst out of hiding, firing ahead. Kinimaka ranged to her right, Komodo to her left. All three of them stayed low and veered their run toward another potential shelter. Straw and polystyrene and even dirt coated the floor. High above, strip-lights swung around the rafters. Dudley’s men returned fire, the four who were taking photos cursing loudly and scrambling to the side. Hayden saw one of the tablets fall from its leaning position and crack in half. About the size of two laptops laid on end they were dark gray in color, with the addition of a dull red pigment. Symbols and markings covered their surface. Hayden saw several piles of them just as Dudley’s men started to destroy them.

“Oh no you don’t!”

She fired first, peppering the men and sending them reeling. No blood flowed so she guessed they wore vests, but two fell to the floor, groaning. Dudley’s evil smiling face turned toward her.

“And who the hell are you, missy?”

Hayden let her gun do the talking. Dudley and his men scrambled away, ducking around the end of an aisle. One of them clutched at a leg and this time she saw a trail of blood on the floor.

At her back, Komodo and Kinimaka kept moving. Nobody wanted a stalemate here, too much was at stake. Too many unanswered questions. She kept up a steady fire on the Irishmen’s hiding place as they sought to get closer.

Behind them, Smyth kept the other Irishman at bay. Dudley’s brother. Evidently, they needed to research the whole crew when they returned to the HQ, when and if they captured any of them.

“Where is everyone normal?” Komodo said. “Guards and curators. The question of hostages exists, guys. I just hope these mad Irish bastards didn’t kill everyone on their way down here.”

Kinimaka fired off a shot. “Low key facility,” he said. “Nothing ever happens here. Purposely. I bet their staff numbers in the low teens.”

Hayden was still evaluating Komodo’s other statement — “mad Irish bastards”. The soldier was spot on. They needed to push their advantage because these guys weren’t going to stay pinned down for long whether they had a viable escape route or not. A sudden cry made her look back. Smyth was racing toward them, head down and legs pumping, a metallic object rattling around in his wake.

“Grena—” he managed.

Then the place erupted. Deadly shards made them all hit the ground; the concussive sound blasted their eardrums and their senses at the same time. Hayden recovered fast, Smyth and Komodo doubly so, but then all their assailants burst out of cover.

Behind Smyth, the single Irishman capered and shot his gun off in all directions, performing an actual Irish jig, but only for a moment. When his comrades appeared he fired at an angle, effectively trying to stop Hayden and the others from hitting them.

“They’re the worst kind of enemy,” Komodo groaned. “Trained fucking madmen.” He rolled behind the large crate, joining the others as a bullet whizzed off the framework, narrowly missing his bulk. In that instant Kinimaka’s cell rang.

Hayden stared at him, suddenly lost in the past.

Kinimaka frowned and dug the unwieldy object out. “My fault,” he said. “Should have switched it off. Ah, shit.”

Komodo glanced over. “Who is it?”

“Kono. Sister who’s probably madder at me than all these Irishmen put together. Oh, well.” He turned it off. “Hayden? You okay?”

The ex-CIA agent struggled to speak. Her mind had been transported back many months, to a time when she fought alongside young Ben Blake. Ben often received and took phone calls in the midst of a battle, usually from his mom or dad.

All gone now.

Hayden swallowed drily, hearing the click in her throat. It wouldn’t do to lose focus at this point. She ignored the guys and rolled to the other side of the crate, still struggling. But then Dudley’s manic voice cut through her melancholy.

“Yer really think yer can stop us? The 27-Club are back, bitch, and yer country is our amusement park.”

Hayden peered around just in time to see a rocket launcher settle over the madman’s shoulder. From across the huge vault his brother broke down into fits of laughter, literally falling to his knees. Dudley’s men darted around him, unable to conceal their glee, their lust for blood and lunacy.

“Goodbye,” Dudley intoned.

Hayden called a warning, and shot out from behind the crate, firing blindly to stop the Irishmen taking potshots. She needn’t have worried. They were too busy tracking the missile to watch the damage it caused. When the RPG struck the huge crate the four SPEAR members were sprinting away; when it hit they were suddenly flying away — airborne, meters off the ground, lit by an expanding fireball and twisting amidst debris and planks of timber and metal fastenings. Hayden felt the whoosh of air and the unstoppable force, helpless, crawling through thin air and then coming down hard, slapping into the ground with her shoulder and then her skull; her hip and then her shins. Sliding across the floor for a moment and then she lay still, ears throbbing, ringing, body screaming to be left alone.

But what was Dudley going to do next? A sane man would use the opportunity to escape. This guy…

Hayden fought every nerve ending, every warning signal, every impulse from her brain, and forced her body to turn over.

There he was, sniggering, still talking, standing right over her. And over his shoulder, now pointed down, he still held the rocket launcher.

“Always wanted to do this to a feckin’ cop.”