Lynn gave a nod. The same kind she’d seen King give a hundred times before rushing out to face an enemy.
Queen flung the door open and crouched. Bishop took a stance next to her. No gunfire came. The tunnel was lit. There was a small pile of bodies just beyond the door. Someone had already exited through this route. She didn’t know who, but she was glad for the lucky break. “Go.”
The group sprinted down the tight tunnel, with Queen and Bishop’s armored bodies acting as a shield for King’s unprotected parents. Although the lights were on now, Queen couldn’t see to the end of the tunnel. Still, what she could see looked promising — an empty run until the curvature of the tunnel’s incline obscured her view of the stairs.
They ran until they reached the stairs. More bodies lay at the foot of the stairwell, and for the first time, Queen got the idea that the forces attacking her were not directly under Ridley’s command. They made their way up the stairs to the amphitheater door, only to find it unlocked and ajar. The outer gates were not locked either.
They emerged into the Tunisian pre-dawn twilight, and the smell of the nearby salt water filled her nostrils. Bishop scanned the ruins and the trees that ringed the amphitheater with a small set of night-vision goggles.
“That way,” he said.
“You see tangos?” Queen asked.
“No.”
“How could you know they went that way, then?” Peter whispered.
“Some tree branches are disturbed, bent and broken.. Also, about 2000 feet through the trees that way is the sea — and a helipad. Ridley likes helicopters.”
Queen started for the tree line. “Somebody paid attention during the briefing.”
“He’s not getting away again,” Bishop said. “This time we’ll take care of him permanently.”
Queen let that comment wash over her. Bishop had more reason to loathe Ridley than the others. He’d been turned into a monster and had nearly killed Knight as a result. While the rest of the team fought Ridley and licked their wounds afterwards, Bishop had struggled with the physical and psychological fallout of being turned into something inhuman. She clapped Bishop’s shoulder. “This time, we’ll end him.”
As they crossed the road and slipped into the trees, Queen contacted Deep Blue. Now outside the confines of the Omega facility, she had a clear link to New Hampshire.
“Queen, what the hell is going on over there?” Deep Blue’s voice was modulated only to protect his identity — the emotional stabilization program that removed all trace of his state of mind wasn’t activated. He sounded extremely worried.
“Everything’s gone tits up. I’m with Bishop and two new Pawns. Pawn Zero is with Knight. Rook is MIA…” she paused. “Blue…King and Alexander are down.” Her voice trembled slightly. She squashed the rising emotions back down and said, with more authority, “Repeat. King is down. Ridley is loose with two of the Three Amigos.”
She paused.
“I…want…you…to…bring…the…fire. You read me Deep Blue? This man does not escape us this time. The Grim Reaper is waiting for him with open arms.”
There was a pause on the line as she entered the necropolis. She saw one of the Ridley duplicates draped over a stone marker. She walked up to the body and confirmed it was dead, reverted to an inert clay form. “One of the Amigos is down. That makes Ridley plus one. Copy?”
“I copy, Queen. Stay your course.”
Queen couldn’t tell if Deep Blue had activated the emotional stabilizer or if he was bottling things for later, but he sounded cool and in control.
“I’m showing four heat blooms near the water,” Deep Blue added. “Straight ahead.”
Ridley, Queen thought, and started forward.
“Help is on the way, Queen.” Deep Blue said.
“The fucking fire, Blue. Make it happen. Out.”
She moved into the trees on the far side of the necropolis. Bishop ran beside her, Peter and Lynn following close behind.
One more try, she thought. One more. Please be there.
She keyed her microphone.
“Rook?”
“Queen!” Rook’s voice filled her ear, loud, desperate and fouled by static. “For the love… God… don’t… outside.”
“Rook! You’re coming through patchy. Say again. Say again!”
“Don’t let Ridley… tongue… For fuck’s sake! This… crazy…massive!”
She burst through the trees into a clearing — the baths.
The shoreline was just a hundred and fifty feet away And he was just beyond, wading in the shallows.
In the lightening sky, she could see Richard Ridley in a dark jumpsuit, his arms raised to the heavens. Three other men stood nearby — one of them was the last remaining duplicate, whose white linen suit glowed in the pre-dawn twilight.
The air filled with a rumbling sound like thunder, and she realized it was caused by Ridley, shouting out at the sea.
“Don’t let him use the fucking mother tongue outside! No matter what!” Rook finally came through clearly, but his warning was too late. The sea was writhing.
FORTY-FOUR
“It’s already too friggin’ late, isn’t it?” Rook rubbed a hand over his blond hair and then raised it back into the air as he’d been commanded to do.
Queen didn’t respond.
Three armed men stood in the doorway of the office. They wore black, but the odd assortment of accoutrements each man wore, besides the basic black BDUs, revealed them as mercenaries. One man wore a Braves cap. Another had three blue bandanas tied over one thigh. The third man was tall and slim. He wore a green jungle hat. Each was armed with an AK-47.
Rook glanced down into the gallery and saw five more black-clad mercenaries rush into the space and cover his position from below.
“Don’t even breathe fast, gob-shite,” the tall mercenary said. “Or we’ll turn you into Swiss bloody cheese.” The accent was Lancashire.
Probably ex-SAS, Rook thought. Wonderful.
Rook let his eyes wander to the illuminated glass wall holding the ocean at bay. As he looked out at the enormous submerged statue, a school of small black fish darted over its face, then abruptly changed direction and fled off to the right, past the edge of Rook’s view.
“Just so you know, the sarcastic humor, witty nicknames, and creative threats are kind of my thing,” Rook said.
“Too bloody bad,” the SAS man said, stepping closer, weapon raised. Rook made an easy target.
But Rook didn’t take his eyes off the glass wall. “Course, colorful language ain’t gonna save you from Jolly Green over here.”
“What do you—” the SAS man started, but then stopped when a grinding noise filled the gallery.
Even through the several-inch thick wall of Plexiglas, every man inside the space heard the loud crunch and rumble of grinding stone. The remaining fish lazily swimming near the statue turned and fled. The massive head outside the window slowly rotated, until the face was turned directly toward the viewing gallery wall. Seaweed was wrapped around the long tines of the statue’s crown, the elongated spikes reminding Rook of a demonic statue of liberty. But this statue was male. The face was bearded.
As the SAS man lost his voice, the gigantic head stopped turning.
Then it opened its eyes, and the screaming began.
Hardened men of war started shouting in the gallery below. They ran for the door, gripped by fear. No amount of training could prepare a soldier for such a sight, and no amount of money could provide that much courage. The enormous statue peered through the aquarium wall, raw unbridled anger filling its solid eyes. Immense eyebrows furrowed and frown lines appeared at the mouth, which was larger than the upper office in which Rook and his three captors stood.