Weapons of the Gods

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

“Egypt again?” Drake complained. “Shit.”

A subdued team flew under the radar in an unmarked chopper, entering Egyptian airspace with the help of Cambridge and an agreeable airfield controller by the light of the half-moon. What made him agreeable, Drake could only guess, but he assumed it came with a picture of Benjamin Franklin on the back.

Without Yorgi, and with Kenzie’s support at an all-time low, Drake felt as if he was nursing wounds that he didn’t even have. Not yet anyway. He consoled himself with the knowledge that they would see Yorgi again.

Soon.

Hayden regaled them with more than one tale. “The Flail of Anubis is next,” she said. “Our sixth weapon, hopefully. This one also comes with a thorny provenance. The government themselves seized it from the den of a relic crook, and then proceeded to store it away in a vault.”

Dahl shifted his bulk, squeaking across the hard seat in the big chopper. “If we catch any more of these dinosaurs,” he said. “I’m thinking of bringing my own pillow cushion.”

Drake groaned. “You choose now to reveal that nugget? Now, when I’m too depressed to fully capitalize on it?”

“Yeah.” Alicia nodded gloomily. “Yeah.”

“I thought it might cheer you up.”

“Nah.” Drake sighed. “Feels like I lost a friend.”

“Feels like I lost a cuddly toy,” Alicia admitted. “Poor ole Yogi.”

“He’s not dead,” Hayden growled. “Get a grip. We’ll be seeing him again soon. Now listen — they locked the Flail of Anubis away until the world at large figured out what these weapons could do. They waited. Nothing happened. The tombs were destroyed and the flail was largely forgotten about. It’s still there, inside the vault, but we have a couple of major problems.”

“Shocker,” Drake intoned. “Lay ’em out.”

Hayden rolled her eyes. “Egypt is still reeling from the attack that FrameHub instigated — the rockets hitting Cairo. The city and its people haven’t recovered, the government are slow to help. The press only fuel the fire, as per usual, to sell copy. The good news is that the vault isn’t in Cairo, it’s in Alexandria.”

She paused, attracting everyone’s attention.

“And the bad news?” Luther asked.

“It’s stored inside a bank vault—”

“Not bad,” Molokai cut in. “You just have to use the right amount of dynamite.”

Hayden tried to finish: “Which is positioned across the road from a terrifying situation currently unfolding in the heart of Alexandria,” she continued. “Terrorists are holding hostages captive right across the street.”

Drake sat up. “Terrorists?”

“Yeah, my thought too. What kind of terrorists, right? Well, they’re Tempest’s kind. I’m thinking the entire hostage crisis is a ruse. A deception.”

“The terrorists make noise over the road whilst Tempest’s mercs steal the flail?” Luther said. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Full military presence though,” Kinimaka added. “Snipers on roofs. MRAP vehicles on the streets. Seems like they’re prepared for a war.”

“They’re taking no chances after Cairo,” Smyth said. “And I don’t blame them.”

“How far into the crisis are we?” Mai asked.

“Good question. Only an hour. One hostage dead unfortunately, but they’re talking.”

“Stalling,” Alicia said.

“Agreed. The area has been evacuated and roped off, but there’s still plenty of ways to approach.”

“How long do we have?” Dahl asked.

Hayden indicated the creaking fuselage of the chopper. “We’re already there. We’re landing.”

The chopper put them down in Alexandria, three miles from the hot zone. They wore big coats over their gear and moved carefully, speeding up only when the roads and streets were clear. They split into three groups, opposite sides of the road and a minute apart. They checked the new comms set up. All was well. Drake moved briskly with Alicia and Mai, Dahl a step behind, all sweating profusely. It felt normal, it felt competent, but it also felt threatening.

As if a creeping shadow of foreboding lay over them. Drake was not one for premonitions, but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming. Why? Because, finally, after all this endless struggle, the closing stages were in sight. Yorgi was gone. Kenzie was leaving. Mai fancied a bit of Luther. The tables were tipping, times changing. Nothing would ever be the same again.

But not for now.

Together, they moved closer to the bank and the hotel across the street where the hostage situation was unfolding. Cambridge was relating information down the comms line but, strictly speaking, Whitehall’s influence in Egypt was unremarkable, forcing them to read between the lines.

Molokai and Luther broke into the back entrance of a ladies’ fashion store. Hayden led the way through the storage room into the retail space, ducking behind a big metal arm full of clothing so as not to be seen through the front windows.

Drake crawled among the clothes and peered through.

A wide road and sidewalks separated them from the poorly maintained frontage of a street hotel, signs unpainted for years and windows unwashed. The front door was closed. Police cars lined up outside as if waiting at a drive-thru, but their occupants were crouched behind wheels and doors, guns drawn and waiting. Two large vans could also be seen — Drake guessed at least one of them was a communications vehicle, the other probably concealing a strike squad. The entire area was lit not only by streetlamps but by portable floodlights, giving it a stark, ghostly feel. Drake saw no movement at the hotel’s windows.

“Still negotiating,” Hayden reported.

“The only question,” Luther said. “Is will they kill the hostages to cover up Tempest’s attack on the safe, or to cover up their escape?”

“Both,” Mai suggested. “They have eight hostages.”

“But Egyptian SWAT will go in at the first loss of life,” Molokai said. “They have to.”

“Maybe we can diffuse it all,” Kenzie spoke up, “by finding the flail first.”

“Listen,” Hayden said bluntly. “What is happening to the hostages is not something we can influence. Or change. And you can bet your butt that no Egyptian SWAT team is gonna accept our help. So, it’s on with the op, no questions.”

“I’ve bet my butt a few times,” Alicia said wistfully. “Always lost.” She looked around. “Maybe I wanted to.”

Drake removed the hem of an electric-blue skirt from his shoulders. “Thanks for sharing,” he said. “The bank’s on this side then?”

“Next door,” Hayden said. “The vault is one floor down. Are you ready?”

Kinimaka struck and then caught an entire arm of clothing one second before it fell to the floor. “Wait. What if they’re already inside?”

Molokai grunted. Luther explained. “We want them to be inside, Waikiki. We ain’t got any other way of getting in without making the noise of a thunder god.”

“Waikiki?” Kinimaka frowned. “I’m from the North Shore.”

“Even better.” Luther crawled out of the racks of clothing. “Follow me, North Shore. Strictly speaking, my own tendency would be to come at this big, blast this mother out of the water, but I fear for those hostages. Let’s not make it worse.”

Drake was surprised at the big warrior’s low-key thinking. “Lead the way.”

Dahl appeared alongside him, wearing the electric-blue skirt like a headdress. “We following the god of blood and war now?”

“Sorry, mate, I can’t talk to you looking like that.”

“Like what?” Dahl was unaware of the accoutrement.

“Like a pretty Disney princess.” Alicia pulled the material tight around his ears and blew a kiss. “Princess Torsty.”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s more like it. C’mon.”

Retracing their steps, they approached the bank’s rear entrance. Molokai reached it first and held up a closed fist. Drake joined him at the front. The sides of the bank jutted out from the main façade, forming a pillar from behind which they could peer. The bank’s rear doors had been breached but no alarms were ringing. A guard lay dead on the floor, just inside, surrounded by a pool of blood. Somehow, they had made him open the door.

Drake knew there were hundreds of ways to coerce a guard — from threatening to kill a passerby to abducting a family member. No scenario was out of the question for Tempest. The inside of the bank was well-lit, seemingly empty apart from the dead guard lying behind his desk, and open-plan all the way to the front.

“It’s tricky,” he said. “We’ll have to be careful the street cops don’t spot us.”

They established the location of the vault and its access stairs through Cambridge and then made ready.

“If they’re already down there it’s gonna get noisy,” Alicia said.

“Then bring your ear muffs, honey,” Hayden said, breathing hard. “ ’Cause Alexandria’s about to get real loud.”