Webb held up a hand to stop his prattle. Seriously, this whole collection of uber-powerful whiners was giving him a migraine. Webb had been prone to horrendous migraines since he was a small boy, debilitating headaches that took him to a different world of pure pain. Until recently only utter darkness and the lack of all stimuli had eventually returned his world to a dull ache and then slow recovery. That, and his own special, personal brand of terrorism — something none of these minions would ever know about.
Stalking. The distraction of the lethal prowl. But he was keeping that beautiful, flourishing concept for later.
First, Stone’s apparent failure.
“We still have the sample from the London plague pit, yes?”
Stone nodded dully. “The mercenary, Callan Dudley, obnoxious man though he is, delivered commendably.”
“And Bell? Miranda? You are on site, yes?”
Bell nodded. “The factory is fully functioning.”
“A little small,” Le Brun sniffed. “But mostly adequate.”
“I certainly hope the long flight didn’t swell your impeccable ankles,” Webb snapped before he could stop himself. Damn. Reel your pride and fury in. They must not fall apart.
“Sir?” Bell to his credit, gave him a second chance.
“This mercenary, Dudley, is he bringing the sample to you personally?”
“I insisted that he do,” Stone put in. “With the remainder of his team.”
“Good. Good. Then we will at least have one of the samples. Start production as soon as it arrives. The process will take longer, but will still give us our edge.”
“Of course.”
“And ramp up security.” Webb attempted to stave off the pounding by gazing through his picture window, straight at the impressive torrent of water that fell out there every night and day, eternal, everlasting, undying. The faraway falls, previously, had been his only solace when his life fell to pieces.
“We will draft in other teams.”
“Do that. We all underestimated the abilities of our opponents this time. Do not let it happen again. And Stone?”
“Yes?”
“That terrorist stunt in London was beyond stupid. Don’t ever think of doing anything like that again. The attention we gained has vastly weakened our position.”
Stone frowned. “Just a minute. I thought we wanted attention.”
Webb scowled at Stone’s blatant incompetence and lack of vision. “Not from such terrorist royalty as Ramses,” he spat. “Are you mad? That animal has the power to start a terrorist world war. Do you really think that will help the Pythians?”
“No, sir.”
“No, sir,” Webb mimicked. “For the Pythians to flourish, the world has to be at least mostly stable. We can then start and end our own wars. Take all that we desire. Now ensure that sample is weaponized as soon as it arrives and keep us informed.”
Webb flicked a switch, succumbing to the hammering that threatened to pulverize the back of his neck. He was alone. By flicking another switch he closed the blackout curtains and switched off the lights, leaving him in utter darkness. Then he placed his head into the crook of his arm.
His mind drifted to the SPEAR team and their accomplices. No matter.
I will be inside their lives soon enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Drake took a step back as new information started to roll in. Actually, he thought, more a trickle of information. Considering what the other teams had already reaped.
Time was a ravenous monster snapping at their heels. They had recovered two of three samples, but the third was still out there and they had no idea where the Pythians’ secret factory was based. It had to be assumed that they could make some kind of weapon from the sample they still possessed. Drake and the team sat in a waiting room inside New Scotland Yard, networking, reviewing and learning as much as they could. The chairs were hard and plastic but the coffee was plentiful and came with packets of biscuits that tasted even better when subjected to that grand old Yorkshire art — dunking.
Dahl made a pained face when he saw what Drake was doing. “Do you really have to go and lower the tone, ya bloody Yorkie muncher?”
Drake dipped again. “Improves the coffee. Improves the biscuit. How is that bad?”
The Americans stared aghast as he continued to dunk, leaving him to wonder if he’d lost an ear in the last battle and not realized.
“What the hell are you all looking at?”
The entire team sat around. Even young Grace was there, fresh from another phone call to Aidan Hardy and still no good news. Mai reminded her again that finding her parents might take months, but Grace couldn’t relax. Drake didn’t want to broach the subject of her returning memories so instead turned to Karin.
“Anything?”
“This is where we stand right now. There are teams studying the samples, trying to figure out the ‘what and why’ of it and how bacteria might still be viable after so long underground. What you have to remember is the durability of plague, of Black Death. From AD541 to 1350, 1650 and 1855, from China to America, this plague has continually reappeared and wiped out more than half the population. Did you know that in some villages in England there are still the old market crosses that have small depressions at the foot of the stone cross? This depression was filled with vinegar in times of plague as it was believed vinegar would kill the germs on coins and so limit the spread of disease. But I believe it is the presence of other known diseases within the plague pits that may be our problem. Not bubonic plague.”
Hayden put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Get Crouch’s team online. And Collins’. We need everyone working this. No one leaves until we get a break. You hear me? Between the three teams we have the best goddamn assets in the world. Let’s make a difference.”
Kinimaka sat his bulk down in the chair next to Drake. The Hawaiian’s eyes rolled as the plastic rivets groaned. “Hell, if these things had arms I wouldn’t be able to sit down at all.”
Drake unwrapped another biscuit. “You hear from Kono, mate?”
“The sister from hell? No. I guess she’s waiting to swoop down when we get back home.”
“Home?” Drake looked up. “Is that what DC is to you now?”
The Hawaiian shrugged, an immense movement. “My mother’s dead. Sister hates me. I have no family now save for Hayden and you guys.”
Drake clapped him on the arm, smiling. “We’re there for each other, right?”
“Yeah. And I’m really interested in learning how to do that.” He nodded toward Drake’s cup. “Dunking. Is it really an old Yorkshire tradition?”
“Course it is.” Drake laughed, putting the wrapper aside. “Okay, well first thing is to remember is not to let the biscuit get too soggy, ‘cause then you have a major disaster on your hands…”
Karin’s voice drifted through the room. “Every major government is involved in the search. Crouch and Collins — did anybody in either of your teams overhear anything useful during your battles?”
Collins spoke first. “We pretty much shot first and asked questions later. And the Moose? He was no help at all.”
Crouch reported a negative too and then said, “I still believe in what we’re doing though. They named this project after Pandora for a reason. Caitlyn has been doing further research.”
Drake assessed the rest of the team. Lauren sat in a corner; the New Yorker had made calls to several top-class escort contacts, asking for help in finding two abusive clients. She was still waiting for answers. Smyth sat beside her now as he had the last several days, close but not in her personal space, protective but not overbearing. Drake thought the rascally old Delta boy just wanted a new friend after losing Romero. Nobody thought that a rough, tough soldier like Smyth occasionally needed someone to talk to. Nobody except fellow soldiers.