The Swords of Babylon

CHAPTER FORTY ONE

The first of Block’s cells hit Iceland’s tomb like an arctic storm. With little to do for months, and orders for heightened vigilance having only just being issued, the defending force was more than a little unprepared for the professional team of crack mercenaries that attacked and overwhelmed them.

Shooting mercilessly, the dozen-strong team killed or incapacitated every guard, but made sure they took several civilian hostages, most in the form of scientists and archaeologists. Their boss had said they need hold out only for a day and a half — this seemed the most proficient way.

Leaving a few men to keep an eye out for the cavalry, the leader of the cell proceeded to secure the remainder of the tomb of the gods that had been found first.

Though not in direct contact, the Singen cell struck at exactly the same time. Their job would be more difficult at first, infiltrating the harder-to-reach tomb, but, after that, keeping the local forces at bay for the allotted time shouldn’t be a problem. They took Cayman with them — the man they would make absolutely, terribly sure would stand at the center of the tomb when ordered to by the boss — and lugged along his double holdall of bones. Their leader didn’t question a thing. Their payday would be nothing short of the stuff his dreams were made of.

In Hawaii, the first cell achieved a strike so precise it could have been sliced by a scalpel. Their initial incursion took them all the way to Odin’s daunting black throne, past defenses they had scrutinized for days, and caught an acceptable amount of scared civilian specialists in the process, some of them especially high up the local pecking chain. The leader was pleased, and only when the mission had ended did he experience an unusual stab of agitation.

Now his team would wait for the arrival of their boss.

The second Hawaiian cell positioned themselves where they might prove most useful, dormant for now, but prepared to move at a moment’s notice… if the boss demanded it.