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“Not all of them,” Markides said, darkly. “One of them lost his in a scuffle with one of my men. He had bright blue eyes and a very severe burn on his right cheek. Like he had been in a fire. One of the other men called him Block. They thought I was dead at the time and unable to hear.”

“This is great stuff, Spyros,” Lea said.

“I can’t believe such minor details could help anyone,” he said weakly. “After all, it’s not like we can go to the police over this. These men could be anywhere now.”

“No, this is helpful,” Lea said. “Is there anything else you can remember?”

“They moved fast, like you see in the movies. From when we first saw their boat to when they were climbing back on it took less than ten minutes. They moved like lightning around the Electra. Highly coordinated and ruthless.”

“A Special Ops team then,” Lea said.

The wounded sailor nodded.

“And what about the raiding craft you saw?” Hawke asked. “Any more details there?”

Markides shook his head and opened his eyes. “I’m sorry, not really. It was black with some camouflage patterns painted on the hull. It was a diesel craft, for sure. I know that much. You don’t spend as long at sea as I have and not know how to identify an engine.”

After thanking him and wishing him a full recovery, Hawke and Lea stepped out of the room and walked towards Ryan. The young man from London was still doing his level best to charm the nurses, but it didn’t look like he was having much success. When all three of them walked out into the Athens sunshine, Hawke briefed Ryan on what they had learnt from Markides.

“So all we have is a merc with a burn on his face who goes by the name of Block,” Lea said.

“All we have?” Ryan said. “To someone like me that’s as good as having his passport, home address and waist measurement. Leave it with me.”

“Hubris,” Lea said with a roll of her eyes. “Gotta love it.”

When they reached the SUVs, Ryan climbed into the back seat in between Lexi and Kamala. Opening his laptop up, he started doing what he did best. “Won’t be too long,” he said as his fingers flew over the plastic keys. “If there’s a merc called Block on the market, the dark web will have all we need to know about him, including who hired him.”

Hawke climbed into the front passenger seat beside Reaper. He gave a silent nod and fired up the engine.

“How long, mate?” Hawke asked.

“Give me a couple of hours.”

“In that case,” he replied, “let’s get back to the hotel room. With our mystery sniper still on the loose I don’t fancy hanging around outside more than we have to.”

With that thought hanging in the air, the Frenchman checked his mirrors and pulled out of the parking lot.

CHAPTER SIX

Three hours later the team were sitting around in their hotel rooms waiting for Ryan to get off the laptop. Lea took the time to have the hotel launder her clothes and then she took a shower to freshen up. Others followed her lead, all the while Ryan sat hunched over his battered computer, typing, hacking, mining data.

Hawke stretched out on one of the beds and listened to the team as they bantered the hours away. They sounded upbeat and optimistic as usual, but he knew they were feeling the pressure of having their money supply cut off and being on the Most Wanted list. They’d get through it, but only if he kept them positive about the future.

With the sun sinking behind the hills of Athens, he rolled over, switched on the small lamp and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “How are we going, mate?”

“Good.” Ryan lifted a can of coke to his lips, shook it and realized it was empty. Putting it back down with a curse, he spun around in his chair and faced the team’s expectant faces. He knew that during much of their missions the former soldiers and Special Ops people among them usually carried him, but it was times like this when his new family needed him more than he needed them. He felt the weight of that responsibility on his shoulders and took it seriously.

“So what have you got then?” Scarlet asked. “Apart from an annoying personality, that is?”

“At least I have a personality.”

“Aww,” Lexi said. “They love each other really.”

Lea smiled at the exchange. “Give us the lowdown, Ry.”

“Hendrik Block is indeed a mercenary and this is what he looks like.” He enlarged one of the countless windows on his laptop so they could see the merc’s face. “As you can see, he is just as Markides described, with bright blue eyes and a severe burn on the right side of his face.”

“Woah,” Lexi said. “House fire, maybe?”

“Or in battle,” Zeke said. “I saw some very bad burns in Iraq. You wouldn’t believe what can happen inside a tank if it sets on fire.”

“Neither,” Ryan said. “After trawling through some pretty unsavoury forums I can tell you that Mr Block received the burns during a torture session in Hong Kong. He was working as a merc there, protecting a heroin smuggling operation when he was captured by a rival drugs kingpin named Qishan. Turns out Mr Qishan wanted to know the names and HQ of Block’s merc team, but after several hours with a blow torch and a pair of pliers, he still didn’t know.”

“He never squealed?” Zeke said. “Wow.”

“His team rescued him but Qishan got away. The rest is history.”

Silence fell over the room as they looked at Block’s ravaged face. Ryan broke the silence and continued his briefing. “Block now works in a team run by a man known to the Underworld as King Kashala. Real name is Joseph Kashala.”

Hawke’s eyes widened. “Wait, I’m sure I’ve heard of that name.”

“Who is he?” Lea asked.

“He’s a former Congolese Army general and part of the March 23 Movement.”

Kamala looked at Hawke. “Which is what?”

“The Congolese Revolutionary Army,” he said. “Let’s just say these guys don’t play games.”

“Right,” Ryan said. “From what I can tell here, he’s about as ruthless as it gets. He just started up his own mercenary company called Kashala International and the rest of the team include a number of Belgian and Congolese mercs, including Nkulu Mukendi, Nzanga Chumbu, Alexis Demotte and Olivier Crombez. They’re known informally as the Blood Crew.”

Reaper, who was standing on the balcony and smoking, now turned his head sharply to face Ryan. Brow furrowed, he said, “Did you say Olivier Crombez?”

“There’s nothing wrong with your French,” Ryan said. “Oui.”

“Why, Reap?” Camacho asked.

“I know Crombez. We worked together in several African countries many years ago. He was a good friend.”

A long silence followed, broken by Scarlet. “Awkward.”

“Pas du tout,” the Frenchman said casually. “We both know how this world works. You are my new team, ma famille… he is now the enemy. There is no question of my loyalty.”

Hawke sensed the atmosphere change. Despite Francken’s words, things really were starting to get personal. Not only had he known Matt Jagger as a friend, but now Reaper knew one of the mercs responsible for his death. He decided to move things along and change the subject. “Who hired this King Kashala, mate?”

Ryan said, “He was hired to steal the lyre by a man named Sergei Dimitrov.”

“Not another Russian?” Scarlet said with a sigh.

“No,” Nikolai said. “This is not a Russian surname. This is a Bulgarian surname.”

“He’s right,” Ryan said.

“And anyway,” Nikolai growled. “What is wrong with Russians? I am Russian!”

“Nothing, Kolya.” Scarlet said with a wink and smile. “Nothing at all.”

Lea asked, “What else do we know about this Dimitrov?”