The Swords of Babylon

CHAPTER FORTY

Russell Cayman arrived in Singen on Thursday morning, German time, around the same time as his boss, Zak Block, was finding it increasingly hard to get the idea of sitting on Odin’s throne out of his head.

Cayman had returned from Hawaii, collected the remainder of the bones of Kali, and driven them just over four hundred miles west, almost in a straight line, bypassing Munich, and finally heightening his vigilance as he entered the industrial city. The mountain of Hohentwiel, with its ancient fortress ruins and extinct volcano, reared majestically to the west of the city, the ruined castle itself no stranger to violence — it had resisted five imperial sieges in its time.

Cayman parked the car carefully well before the foot of the mountain, hearing the two oversized holdalls shift in the back, their weight giving them their own inertia or, as Cayman liked to believe, Kali reminding him of her presence.

With difficulty, he wrenched his thoughts away from the goddess and surveyed the mountain. Again, he was a little early. Block’s men were only hours away, but Cayman had never been one to mix with or wait for others. Besides, he was hungry.

Making sure the tiny part of Kali’s finger bone still nestled in his pocket, Cayman exited the car and began to make his way up the mountain on foot. The archaeological exploration was being conducted all the way at the top and, out of respect for the locals, was minimized to that area. So the tourists and Cayman, and Block’s men, would be able to get all the way to the perimeter without immediate detection.

No doubt the pesky Americans would have secreted a few hidden cameras amongst the trees, but by the time their contents were properly scrutinized, it would be way too late. So Cayman walked contentedly but warily, the sunlight dappling his face, the patchy shadows calling his name. He had time to kill.

Not to mention tourists.

Zak Block allowed the fantasy to take him over. He was already a god — a secret, shadowy god, but when he took that throne — when he took his rightful place upon the very seat of Odin — the destiny that was rightfully his would come to wondrous fruition. When three like minds came together, wishes boosted by the latent power and energies inherent inside tombs literally built and occupied by the gods, then Odin’s power would truly be his.

It stood to reason that the three tombs would be connected in some way, perhaps through earth energy. Block had read about many such phenomena before. Places where the natural electromagnetic energy of the Earth vitalizes an area and enables the existence of power. Energy could move vertically or horizontally. If the tombs had been built atop vortexes and along lines of vital, natural energy then it was clear that they were linked in the same way.

He was not unaware of the fact that Jakob Hult’s translation of the ancient text had gone on to state where each ‘like mind’ should stand. Probably an ancient trigger for the device. But it was all speculation, and not something he cared too much about anyway.

For now his efforts should be concentrated solely on the third man. Cayman and he were not enough. They needed a third individual. The Shadow Elite always had a kind of waiting list, a small group of people desperate to join what they thought were the world’s decision-makers. Among the men on this list was one Dmitry Kovalenko, the Blood King, but he was unavailable due to secret incarceration in a godforsaken prison even Block couldn’t locate. Truth be told, Kovalenko was too crazy and unpredictable anyway. He’d probably want to kidnap the U.S. President or something. Block had heard of his blood vendettas and blood vengeance. Not quite the Shadow Elite’s way.

Another name on the brief list was that of Nicolas Denney. The aging European had made respectable money through dot-com businesses in the early days of the Internet and had consolidated with sensible land and financial purchases over the last two decades. In addition, he was a thrill junkie. Block didn’t know anything this man hadn’t tried for kicks and, even at sixty, he had recently completed another round of Himalayan trekking. Add these qualities to the common trait of a rich man always wanting more, and Block had found the perfect fool.

Partner, he amended rapidly in his head. Best not to get ahead of himself. One of his secure lines rang, and he answered quickly, listening without comment to the vital information being eagerly spilled on the other end.

When the man had finished, Block simply said, “You will be rewarded.” And hung up. Interesting. The U.S. and their local allies were moving to secure all three tombs, perhaps somehow aware of an evolving threat. He wondered if Cayman had showed himself. That psycho and his damn prize. What made a man fall in love with the bones of an old god? Far better the tangible power they had once commanded.

Block thought back over the killers he had employed through the years. Cayman was probably the oddest, but there was one other he knew of — a woman, deeply embedded even now inside the British…

He paused with his line of thought. The critical call was coming in. He stared at the satellite phone, unable to believe the time had finally come.

From now on, it was the Shadow Elite versus the rest of the world. The battle of all battles.

“Yes?”

“Sir. All four cells are in position. One at Singen, one in Iceland, and two in Honolulu. We’re ready.”

Block’s heart started to pound with excitement, fear and anticipation. This was everything he had been waiting for. “Go to war.”

Cayman ignored the vibration of his cell phone as he peered through a canopy of overhanging branches into the heart of a clearing. Dangling from his left hand was the corpse of a rabbit he’d used a makeshift snare to trap within an hour of getting here. Blood dripped from the rabbit’s neck, the same blood Cayman had coated his lips and chin with. He just hadn’t been able to resist. Ah, the sweet, thick nectar of life. Spilled blood being the consummation of death.

But now, literally laid out before him, was quite a different prospect.

A young couple, hikers, enjoying the silence, the solitude and, perhaps, the unspoken thrill of being caught, to enjoy a different kind of consummation. Cayman watched intently. Once the couple had clearly lost all awareness of their surroundings, he crept silently forward until he stood directly behind the male, unseen, in their blind spot. He waited another minute and then simply bent over, jabbing the man several times in the ribs with his knife. Cayman leaned in and covered the man’s screaming mouth, then flung the writhing body aside. The woman’s shocked eyes stared into his own, glazed with ignorance, terror and denial until he fell upon her, ending her life with a single slice.

Her life force pumped into the ground, drawing Cayman’s eyes and attention. In another moment there was movement behind him and a man wearing camouflage fatigues stepped out of the underbrush, closely followed by many others, state-of-the-art weapons at the ready.

“The boss says answer your damn phone, Cayman,” the man hissed, holding out his own device. “Good job that phone he gave you holds a tracking chip.” He glared pointedly. “For your sake. Here, take this. Wipe off your damn hands and talk to the boss.”

Cayman sat back and pushed to his feet. The time for play had ended. It was time to go to work.