“I could,” Molokai said, holding up a grenade. “My ugly friend here never fails.”
Luther’s mysterious brother rose then and slipped off his great coat. Drake couldn’t help but stare, not having seen the man so relaxed before. The coat rattled, presumably with weapons, and emitted constant puffs of dust. Molokai threw it into a corner. Underneath he wore a flak jacket over a camo jacket, the webbing stuffed with armaments and survival gear of all kinds. When he unwrapped the scarves that covered his face, Drake let his eyes drift away.
“Leprosy is treatable,” Molokai said to the whole team. “A multi-drug therapy is used. I’m lucky because the disease was spotted early and treated quickly. But I still have some lesions, sores.”
Drake understood the man’s words would probably be a one-time offer to the team. Just something to assuage the naturally curious. The right side of Molokai’s face was a mass of small bumps that gave the skin a scaly appearance, stretching from his jawline to the ridge of his eyebrow. There was no terrible disfiguration, no misshapen mass. Molokai folded the scarf carefully and patted it as he put it down. Another pall of dust billowed into the air.
“We really need to put you through a washer dryer,” Alicia commented. “All of you.”
“I am just a man,” Molokai said quietly. “In case you were wondering.”
Drake guessed he was referring to the air of mysteriousness he kept active around him and, truthfully, he did wonder about the man’s story. Perhaps another day.
Hayden was holding the key aloft. “Our second weapon,” she said. “But we can’t simply expect to find more. Tragedy aside, this job was easy and took way too long. There are five more weapons left.”
“Do we know what and where?” Dahl asked as he meticulously checked his weapons.
“There’s the Dagger of Nemesis and the Chain of Aphrodite. The Waters of Neptune and the Flail of Anubis. And the Forge of Vulcan. Whitehall — the place in London where the DSF is housed and from where they run all the Special Forces teams — are using worldwide contacts to track the weapons twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. Our advantage here is pretty good — as we know all the weapons were stolen at some point, and that’s how they survived the destruction of the tombs.”
“And a shame none of the gods were stolen,” Luther said. “I’d have enjoyed comparing bone structure.” He flexed trunk-like arm muscles.
“Actually.” Dahl raised a finger. “One of the gods was stolen. The skeleton of Kali. Remember? Kali was the goddess of death. A man named Russell Cayman became obsessed with her. He stole her skeleton and has never been heard from since.”
“That’s messed up,” Molokai said. “Truly. You couldn’t write this stuff.”
“No, that’s interesting,” Luther admitted. “I’d track that lunatic down.”
“Yeah, me too.” Molokai nodded. “Just for the pre-battle chitchat.”
Drake listened as Molokai rattled off more words than he’d spoken since they met. It didn’t last long, both of them lapsing into brooding silence as quickly as they’d spoken up. Hayden continued with her description of Whitehall’s search for the weapons.
“Nothing they’re doing is transparent,” she said. “It has to be subterfuge under subterfuge, which is why it’s taking so long. Tempest have moles everywhere, and definitely some in the British government, maybe in MI5 or even the DSF. Only Cambridge and Bennett know the real objectives.”
Hayden received a text then, looked surprised and spent a few minutes digesting it. Drake guessed it was something acute by the narrowed eyes and the depth of severity on her face. It was into an expectant silence that she spoke.
“I just received a message from Kimberly Crowe who finally heard from Lauren. It seems… ah, it seems Nightshade was instrumental in engineering the theft of General Gleeson’s personal computer. Lauren is fine, and the computer yielded at least one thing. We have the location of Tempest’s secret chamber meeting place. Lauren will now try to get close to President Coburn with the information.”
“Nightshade?” Luther asked.
“Never mind,” Smyth said.
“That really ups the ante,” Drake said. “It’s also another clear shout to get moving.”
“My thoughts too,” Hayden said.
“What did you have in mind?” Luther asked.
“Split the team,” Hayden said. “Who’s with me and who’s with Drake?”
Long moments of banter passed in which Alicia waited for Mai to decide and Kenzie waited for Dahl to choose. Smyth asked about Lauren, but Hayden could literally give him nothing.
“She’s okay,” the ex-CIA agent repeated. “Just hang on to that.”
It was several moments later that Drake voiced the obvious. “All this seems a bit premature, don’t we have two objects to find?”
“It does,” Hayden said. “And we do. Whitehall identified two weapons at the same time by tracking the chain of criminality. One in the States and the other in Greece. Say your goodbyes, people, ’cause we’re gonna be hitting the ground running.”
“And fighting,” Mai said.
“Yeah, and that,” Hayden said. “Tempest will be all over this too.”
CHAPTER TEN
Quietly, Hayden’s team stole back into the United States.
The dialogue with Whitehall grew more intense by the minute. Every hour was precious and it had taken several to fly from the uncharted island to America’s coastline.
“Tempest are growing bolder,” Cambridge told her.
“Do they have mercenaries in America?” Hayden asked apprehensively.
“Not mercenaries,” Cambridge said with even deeper worry. “I’m afraid our sources are coming up with the word ‘terrorist.’”
Hayden was shocked to her core. “In what way?”
“Not sure yet. Tempest could be hiring them, using them, or even creating them. Don’t forget, they’ve been planning this for a year and, when ultra-clandestine methods failed, they changed everything. This is their end game, and perhaps they feel cornered, but they will stop at nothing to gain an advantage.”
“Do you have friends in America that can help us?”
“We have friends everywhere that can help you. We also have enemies. So far, it appears Tempest’s plan is to cloud events where weapons are stolen by using terrorist cells. This information comes from a trusted source in their outlying organization, somebody implanted in Syria, where the cells are being trained.”
“And now we’ve crossed into America,” Hayden said. “It’s a big place, buddy.”
“Yes, yes, I understand what you’re saying. Do you have a laptop handy?”
Hayden pointed to a zippered bag and waited for Kinimaka to bring it over to her. With a nod of thanks she booted it up. “Ready.”
Cambridge gave her a link to click and then several passwords, working in tandem. Soon, a clear image flashed up, showing a standard interrogation room with white walls and plastic table. A man was sat on either side of the table, but only one wore the uniform of a prisoner.
“Tell us everything and you might stay out of medium security,” a man was saying. “I’m sure you’d prefer minimum?”
“I am a simple archaeologist,” the man whined, his balding head bobbing up and down, tears welling up in his scared eyes. “I did not mean for this to happen.”
“Right.” The interviewer coughed. “But you did profit from theft, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t give me any bullshit,” the interviewer barked. “This is a one-time offer, Theodore. Spill and you get two years tops at a minimum security. Choke and you get the full weight of our office coming down on you,” he paused. “Might even get maximum…”