The Swords of Babylon

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Cayman saw one more hole. “You mentioned three men?”

“Three men. Three tombs. Three parts of Kali. In truth, I do not see how us all having like minds makes a difference, but we’ll do that anyway.”

“Perhaps it has something to do with these vortexes?” Cayman suggested.

“Perhaps. But now we must prepare, Russell. Your task, as I’m sure you know, is to secrete one of Kali’s bones in each of the tombs, then wait at Singen until the appointed hour when we shall join our minds. Presently, I will go to the Hawaiian tomb. Our third man will be present at the Icelandic tomb.”

Cayman again found his gaze drawn toward the bags of bones. “Then I’ll get started.” He walked past Block, dismissing himself, and entered the far room. It was only Wednesday. He would visit the Icelandic tomb first, since he knew its layout and security measures. For a moment he stood upright, clearing his mind, then fell to his knees and unzipped the bag.

Her scent drifted out, ancient malevolence mixed with overwhelming greed and lust, sloth and wrath. All the seven deadly sins infused into a set of dusty old bones that would never quite be just that. Cayman thought his mind may have been a little bit warped before he met Kali, but she had changed all that. Now he could function. Now the way forward was clear.

His future crouched in festering anticipation, waiting for him in the beautifully wretched tombs of the gods.

Zak Block allowed himself not an ounce of judgment. To pull off this gargantuan task he needed Russell Cayman, and now was not the time to form an opinion. Now was the time for action.

The Shadow Elite, whilst no longer having any kind of major army at its beck and call, still employed many insanely-capable cells in all parts of the world. Mercenaries. Ex-soldiers, disgruntled by low pay and officious officers. Warriors unhinged by all they had seen and done. And the plain crazy — the killers. A small, scattered army remained at Block’s beck and call.

He called each and every one now, using prearranged code words and promising an influx of funds. He told each one where he needed them and dispatched them immediately, to await his call. He asked an expert cell to travel shortly to Iceland to deal with his translator — Jakob Hult — with extreme prejudice. The man had completed his task and had now become a liability. He knew far too much about Block’s new master plan.

Each cell would guard a tomb, both covering Cayman’s back and awaiting the hour when three men would turn from mortals into gods and truly rule the world.

The new game was on.