There were three more people aboard. Lauren, Yorgi and Grace. The team had decided they might need Yorgi’s services and Lauren’s memories. Grace was there on Mai’s insistence. The Japanese woman just couldn’t leave her new charge on her own — especially in light of yesterday’s new information.
Drake focused on the flight and the flood of facts and figures. Preparation was an imperative. They would land and then hit London’s streets running, no holding back.
Karin was at the forefront of the information charge, naturally comprehending what type of intelligence they would need and in which order.
“Plague pits of London,” she said. “There are many, leading some to name it the city of bones. From one end to the other you need only dig a few yards beneath the surface to discover its many hidden secrets — tens of thousands of bodies are buried beneath the sprawling capital, a land of skeletons. In addition to the Knightsbridge pit I mentioned earlier we have another at the center of Soho — Golden Square. Now a charming little area, it has a secret history as a plague pit. In 1685 Lord Macauley described it as ‘a field not to be passed by without a shudder by any Londoner of that age’. Here, as the great plague raged, nightly cartloads of corpses were dropped and buried. It was believed that the earth was deeply infected and could never again be interred without the risk of infection.”
“But all that has been proven wrong,” Smyth said. “Right?”
Karin shrugged. “We thought so. The bacteria should have perished within weeks. But, as I mentioned, scientists have now noted the presence of other diseases too. Diseases that may not die.”
Drake made a waving motion. “Any more pits?”
“Plenty. An interesting one lies on the Bakerloo line. At the south end of the London depot there’s a junction. One line leads to Elephant and Castle, the other to a dead end and a runaway line for trains unable to stop. Behind the walls of this tunnel lies a plague pit.”
Drake suppressed a shudder. “Think about that the next time you’re on the tube.”
“Another exists at Green Park, discovered when they were building the Victoria Line. And more… so many more. Hayden, Drake, we can’t possibly cover every single one. Not by ourselves.”
Hayden nodded. “Maybe the British police could help.”
Drake held up a warning hand. “Be careful how you word it. London’s on a high alert. If we send squad cars screaming to every location we’re gonna cause mayhem, which will hamper our own search.”
Hayden stared. “I’m FBI, Matt. I know how to be diplomatic.”
Drake grimaced but said nothing. Dahl caught his eye with a similar frown. Hayden noticed the exchange and laughed. “Look at you two goddamn comedians. Do you have a better plan?”
Dahl nodded slowly. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
Kinimaka sat down next to Hayden, protective as ever. “Please share.”
“We monitor the chatter,” he said. “And I don’t mean how the cops do it. I mean how Interpol and the NSA do it. We know the channels they use, the methods they employ. Code words. More importantly, we know the identities of dozens of mercenaries allied to the Pythians, though not their whereabouts since they dropped off the grid. If we can establish any kind of close proximity for them—” Dahl clicked his fingers. “Game on.”
Drake thought about it. “Jesus Christ, Dahl, that’s not bad.”
Dahl nodded toward Hayden. “Make the call. Let’s go get these bastards.”
Drake let out a long sigh. “I just hope London’s ready for this.”
“Not to mention Paris and Los Angeles,” Hayden muttered.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As they came in to land, Hayden called the team they had chosen to assist in Los Angeles. Recommended by Michael Crouch and Armand Argento of Interpol, and the team that had saved Kono Kinimaka’s life more than once, the so-called Disavowed were ex-CIA and an unlikely but competent bunch.
Hayden spoke to their self-appointed but now universally accepted leader, Claire Collins. “Hi, again. If you’re up for some off-the-book, rollercoaster action where you’ll quite possibly get yourself killed at least twice then you’re one of the gang.”
“We’re up for anything and everything.” Collins said. “At least twice. So tell us what you need in LA.”
“Well, obviously you won’t be the only ones out there. But we need you guys to play to your strengths. The Disavowed team were the best in the business at what they do, and could still be. We need them on the ground, working this thing from the streets.”
“We’ll get to it.”
Hayden proceeded to impart all the information they had gathered, bringing Collins up to speed as her colleagues listened. When she was done their West Coast team sounded ready for action.
Hayden spent a few more minutes briefing them and then signed off. “We’re counting on you guys. Don’t let the Pythians or their agents out of that plague pit alive.”
“We’re right on it,” Collins said. “If there’s one thing we’re good at…”
“… it’s kicking terrorist ass.” Claire Collins ended the call and sat back in her seat, searching the eyes of everyone else gathered in the room, evaluating.
“So… what do you guys think?”
Aaron Trent perched on the edge of his chair. Trent was tall and dark-haired, spoke in a clipped manner, was slow to smile but always good-hearted. He had recently been fully reunited with his son after his ex-wife died at the hands of a Serbian whack-job called Blanka Davic. The readjustment, not to mention the grieving, was taking its toll.
“Search and destroy. But I can’t leave LA for more than a day. Mikey’s just too fragile to be without a dad right now.”
Adam Silk, an ex-child thief recruited into the CIA, a whip-like man able to finesse his way into almost anything, looked concerned. “Maybe you should sit this one out, Aaron. Take some time.”
“If it were less of a threat, I’d say yes. But not after what I’m hearing.”
Dan Radford, the playboy and techie of the group who had recently come to realize he was head over heels in love with the wife he’d once happily approved of having an open relationship with, poured himself a coffee. “We need a list of plague pits in LA. We need equipment setting up or access to an existing room where we can monitor the airwaves. We need an open line to the authorities and promises of response if we shout. Not only that, but somebody should be setting up a think tank to find these Pythians and their factory. We have their names, right? How hard can it be?”
“Has there ever been a case of the Black Death in the States?” Silk wondered. “I’ve never heard of one.”
Collins looked blank. “I guess we’ll find out. The Bureau’s already on high alert, concerned over the significant increase in terrorist chatter these last few weeks. Nobody’s sure what to make of the Pythians — a new group appearing out of nowhere and making such gigantic waves is unprecedented.”
Trent was staring into space. “I know one thing about the bubonic plague,” he said. “It’s supposedly where the rhyme ‘ring-a-ring-of-roses’ has its darker roots. The children’s nursery rhyme?” He intoned, “Ring-a-ring o’ roses, a pocket full of posies, atishoo, atishoo, we all fall down’. Associated with the plague and Black Death, though I do believe true folklorists disagree. But, come on. Sneezing and falling down? A rosy rash was said to be a symptom of plague. And posies of herbs were often carried as protection to ward off the stench of the disease. And they still sing it to this day.”
“Shit.” Silk looked wide eyed. “Ain’t you a ray of sunshine? How do you know all this?”