“We can work with your three men,” Hart said. “I have two of my men from V Squadron with me, and Hawke and Sloane here are former Special Forces so that makes seven Special Forces soldiers plus me makes eight. You make nine, Alexis. That should be sufficient to take out a boat of mercs.”
“Let’s hope so,” Hawke said. “Or we’re all an hour away from a burial at sea. When can we start?”
“It will take another half hour until the transport is ready,” Pavlopoulos said.
At that moment the door burst open and a junior aircraftman wheeled a trolley into the room.
“Ah!” said the Greek officer, watching the trolley get closer. “We all must eat before we assault the yacht.” On the trolley was a pile of standard Greek combat rations: beef, vegetables, cheese, biscuits and two jugs of coffee. “I’m sorry, but at such short notice…” Pavlopoulos said apologetically.
“Let’s get it down us fast, everyone,” Hart said, and they all pulled a plate from the trolley and started to eat. “We’re not fighting without calories.”
As they got stuck into their meals, they spoke more about the mission.
“So tell me more about this Zaugg,” Pavlopoulos asked.
Hawke was unsure how much to give away. “We know so little. Our research has turned up a few things — private industrialist turned big-time collector of archaeological relics. He’s the son of a former Nazi — an SS officer by the name of Otto Zaugg. We think that’s where all this started, back in the war here in Greece when he killed an Italian archaelogist and stole his research.”
Pavlopoulos stopped chewing and a look of serious disgust crossed his lean face. “Don't talk to me about what that vermin did to my country in the war.” His eyes clouded with hatred. “They executed my grandfather — a brave resistance man.”
“I understand,” Hart said. “This is your chance for revenge.”
“If this is being funded with Nazi money then it will be revenge,” he said, returning less enthusiastically to his meal. “We must stop him.”
“Or the sky will burn, apparently,” Scarlet said cheerfully.
“Sorry?” Pavlopoulos looked up once again, a piece of beef on his fork.
Hawke cleared his throat. “Our other team found a reference to the sky turning to fire if a mortal man tries to control the source of eternal life. We don’t know what it means. We didn’t get a chance to speak with them before they were taken by Zaugg’s men.”
“And all mankind burning to death, wasn't it?” Scarlet added, mischievously.
Hawke was dismissive. “It’s just an old legend.”
They finished the food quickly and packed their weapons as the Jeep returned to drive them to the helipad. Outside Hawke was struck by how warm the winter sun was today. It had been a long time since he had been in the Med at this time of year.
As they climbed into the Jeep, Hawke’s cell phone rang. He checked the screen. It was an incoming call from Nightingale.
“I’ve got to take this,” he said. “Just give me a second.”
He stepped off the Jeep and took the call.
“Hi, N.”
“Just a quick one, Joe.”
“But you haven’t even bought me dinner.”
Silence, then Hawke said: “Sorry, what is it?”
“Kinda bored a moment ago and decided to go hacking around in your friends’ pasts.”
“You realize some people watch movies in their spare time?”
“This is something you should know, Joe.”
Suddenly Hawke was all business. Nightingale’s tone rarely got this sombre, and as his entire relationship with this woman was over the phone he had gotten to know her tone very well.
“What is it?”
“Checked out your girl Scarlet Sloane.”
“Cairo? Why?”
“You told me she was in the SAS for a few years and then she joined MI5, right?”
“That’s what she told me.”
“Then she’s lying. I have a close contact in Five and he’s never heard of her. Ran some internal checks, and still nothing. I don’t know who she’s working for but it’s not MI5.”
“Wait a minute,” Hawke said, his mind racing with the information. “First you tell me Sophie Durand is not really with the DGSE, and now you’re telling me Cairo Sloane isn’t really with MI5. What the hell is going on here?”
“I don’t know, but it’s something you’re going to have to get to the bottom of, Joe, because there’s a lot of deceit flying around here and you could could get hurt. It’s possible at least one of them is working for Zaugg.”
“Which is not a very comforting thought,” he whispered. He knew what had to be done to traitors, but then for the first time he considered if Nightingale was the one feeding him false information. No, never. He shook the thought from his mind and climbed into the Jeep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lea moved long the yacht’s corridor quietly and quickly, keeping her head down and her gun ready to fire. It had been many years since her Rangers training — more years than she could remember, but some things you never forgot.
Now, her mind was clear and focused. She had to get to the helipad and sabotage the chopper. Zaugg was probably planning on taking the yacht to wherever he decided the tomb was, but the helicopter was an escape route waiting to happen and it had come down to her to take that option away from him.
As she slipped unnoticed through the enormous superyacht, she thought about the last few hours in her life — meeting Joe Hawke at the British Museum, fighting Vetsch in New York and Geneva and now a final push to thwart Zaugg’s insane attempt to secure the treasures of Poseidon.
She wondered if she could ever love a man like Hawke. She’d known enough military goons in her time, but he seemed different. Like her, he had left the service behind him and was trying to fit back into Civvy Street, into the real world.
But then she thought about Syria. She thought about the catastrophic decision she had made when she ordered the soldiers of her covert sub-unit to leave their position in order to rendez-vous with a chopper.
She had made an error on the coordinates and instead sent them into the wrong clearing. They got pinned down under enemy fire and three of them had died.
She knew how Hawke felt about officers, especially incompetent ones, as he had put it so delicately. When he found out she was responsible for the deaths of three of her soldiers it was unlikely he’d want anything to do with her.
The guilt she carried on her shoulders was enough without a jumped-up SBS sergeant adding to it. At least she could get this right — disable the chopper while Ryan and Sophie took the yacht’s engines out somehow. That way they were at least giving Hawke and his team a fighting chance when they finally worked out where they were and launched their rescue attempt.
Ryan and Sophie stared at the enormous engine in awe. Full-scale marine propulsion engines were bigger than either of them had realized, so big, in fact, that they could walk inside it.
Descending a shining stainless steel staircase into the engine room they were faced with two walls of engine pipes, wires, panels and gauges, all lit by powerful overhead fluorescent lights built into the ceiling.
“It’s like a spaceship from a science-fiction movie,” Ryan said, amazed.
“Concentrate, Ryan,” Sophie said, asserting control. “We’re here to disable the engine, not talk about sci-fi movies. Although, I do like sci-fi movies…”
Ryan glanced at Sophie’s face for as long as he could without looking weird. She was only a few years older, he considered, but her eyes had seen much more of life than his ever had, that much was obvious. The only thing that had ever gone wrong in Ryan Bale’s life was the night his wife came home from work and told him she was quitting the army and they were leaving Ireland.