Weapons of the Gods

CHAPTER TEN

Quietly, Hayden’s team stole back into the United States.

The dialogue with Whitehall grew more intense by the minute. Every hour was precious and it had taken several to fly from the uncharted island to America’s coastline.

“Tempest are growing bolder,” Cambridge told her.

“Do they have mercenaries in America?” Hayden asked apprehensively.

“Not mercenaries,” Cambridge said with even deeper worry. “I’m afraid our sources are coming up with the word ‘terrorist.’”

Hayden was shocked to her core. “In what way?”

“Not sure yet. Tempest could be hiring them, using them, or even creating them. Don’t forget, they’ve been planning this for a year and, when ultra-clandestine methods failed, they changed everything. This is their end game, and perhaps they feel cornered, but they will stop at nothing to gain an advantage.”

“Do you have friends in America that can help us?”

“We have friends everywhere that can help you. We also have enemies. So far, it appears Tempest’s plan is to cloud events where weapons are stolen by using terrorist cells. This information comes from a trusted source in their outlying organization, somebody implanted in Syria, where the cells are being trained.”

“And now we’ve crossed into America,” Hayden said. “It’s a big place, buddy.”

“Yes, yes, I understand what you’re saying. Do you have a laptop handy?”

Hayden pointed to a zippered bag and waited for Kinimaka to bring it over to her. With a nod of thanks she booted it up. “Ready.”

Cambridge gave her a link to click and then several passwords, working in tandem. Soon, a clear image flashed up, showing a standard interrogation room with white walls and plastic table. A man was sat on either side of the table, but only one wore the uniform of a prisoner.

“Tell us everything and you might stay out of medium security,” a man was saying. “I’m sure you’d prefer minimum?”

“I am a simple archaeologist,” the man whined, his balding head bobbing up and down, tears welling up in his scared eyes. “I did not mean for this to happen.”

“Right.” The interviewer coughed. “But you did profit from theft, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Don’t give me any bullshit,” the interviewer barked. “This is a one-time offer, Theodore. Spill and you get two years tops at a minimum security. Choke and you get the full weight of our office coming down on you,” he paused. “Might even get maximum…”

“All right, all right.” Theodore couldn’t bear it any longer. “Men already asked me yesterday. That is why I was getting the hell out of there. They were more persuasive than you, threatening to cut parts off and mail them back to me over the next few months.”

“Describe them,” the interviewer said. “Figures, faces. Any names. Everything.”

Theodore did as he was told and then returned to the main subject. “The Dagger of Nemesis,” he said. “It came from the enormous German tomb, the one I worked on. It’s about, oh, six inches long.” He showed the measurement by using the tips of his fingers. “And perfectly obsidian in color. There are no reflections. And still, even now, it’s sharp as a woodcutter’s axe. I don’t know which ancient civilization made weapons like this, but they sure knew what they were doing.”

“You don’t buy into the ‘gods were once real’ theory?”

“I can see its merit,” Theodore said. “Real, living, powerful people worshipped for generation after generation, after which less-developed, lazier races just adopted the old stories, turning the main figures into gods. It makes perfect sense, to be honest. But I can’t go that step further and believe these gods had powers. Of any kind.”

“Okay, understood. Please go on.”

“The dagger is unique, certainly priceless. One of the most irreplaceable objects the world has ever discovered, but—”

The interviewer couldn’t help but interrupt, to Hayden’s annoyance. “Then why did you steal it and sell it to a member of the public?”

“Money.” Theodore shrugged. “I had gambling debts. Two children. A wife that outstripped both our means. I guess it was the easy way forward.” He hung his head.

“Who did you sell it to?”

“Joseph Berry,” Theodore said. “The oil man from Dallas.”

Kinimaka was peering over her shoulder. “I heard of that guy.”

The interviewer confirmed the name and soon Cambridge came back onto the secure line. “This man, Joseph Berry, lives less than three hours west of Dallas by chopper. We have all his addresses and liaisons, more coming as we speak. I suggest you head that way right now.”

“Tempest have a day’s start on us,” Hayden said.

“So it seems. I’m activating all Texan contacts now. Stand by, Miss Jaye, and I’ll soon have more information for you.”

Hayden relayed their destination, guessing they were about two hours from Dallas itself. The rest depended on where Joseph Berry had his home and where he was right now. She studied her companions — Mano, Yorgi, Molokai, Dahl and Smyth. More than enough muscle to take down Berry and take on Tempest. Of course, she had no idea how the new terrorist angle would present itself, but speed, valor and vast experience would see them through, she was sure of it.

Theodore Brakski, the archaeologist inside the interrogation room, had been captured in Stockholm by a small cell connected to the British SAS. It was sad to see they had been a day late, otherwise they may have whisked him away. Hayden thought that might be a good idea even now, but then Cambridge was back on the comms, ruining her thought process.

“Obviously, Mr. Berry is wealthy. He’s a troubleshooter for a very large oil company and often stays in Dallas for weeks on end. We’re using credit card information and CCTV to track him right now, but online presence shows him at home in Arizona just a few hours ago. He bought a last-minute economy class train ticket to Dallas and right now, I’m looking at him boarding a train, carrying a backpack about an hour ago. As we speak, he’s on that train.”

Hayden thought it through. “So this wealthy guy buys a cheap ticket to Dallas and boards with a single backpack. Is he running?”

“Could be he got wind of Theodore’s arrest. Maybe he knows about Tempest and is running to Dallas to collect his more influential belongings before scarpering for good.”

“Well, let’s ask the guy nicely,” Hayden said. “Let’s get to that train.”

“How are we with the second GPR device?” Cambridge asked.

Yorgi held up a black box. “Technically it’s not GPR,” he said. “But Dahl left detailed instructions. It’s more of a cross between a GPS and a long-range metal detector. But we’re not searching for the world’s most precious metals here — not rhodium, extremely rare and valuable, or platinum, gold or iridium. We’re looking for the unknown element and we can only calibrate it by taking readings from an object that contains the same. Hence, these shavings I took from the Key of Hades.”

Smyth shifted uncomfortably. “Was that a wise move?”

Yorgi shrugged. “We shall see.”

Hayden gazed at Yorgi. The young Russian had become more distant over the last few weeks, ever since he revealed to them the tale of his past and why he killed his parents in cold blood. Something was brewing there, Hayden knew. Something that retelling the tale had resurrected. Yorgi still needed closure, and Hayden could think of only one way he might achieve it.

“Set us on the path of that train,” she told the pilot. “We’re ready back here.”

Cambridge’s voice suddenly snapped into life. “Damn, we have a big problem. Local authorities are reporting that terrorists have taken over the train and hostages taken…”

Hayden closed her eyes. Were they already too late?