Carrion Virus (Book 2): The Athena Protocol (20 page)

“The police officer?”

“Yes, he did not survive. Now, I must find some sleep.”

Holden walked away, not looking back.

***

Brutus watched the building from the street corner. It was used as a safe house before the mission. Now, Andor Toth and a few of his men, bodyguards probably, waited for the second team to return. Only all members of the second team were dead, and Brutus would return bringing hell with him. Tomorrow, he would use Toth as a bargaining chip.

Brutus checked his watch. He had more pressing matters. He got into the vehicle he’d liberated from the desert, his destination a bar far from the tourist areas of the city. He had been there once when doing freelance work. Unofficially, the bar was a kind of mercenary exchange. Business was agreed and traded on the dirty floor of the stained beer hall. The environment, while not pleasant was one that Brutus felt comfortable in.

The bar was quiet, only a few of the tables occupied. Nobody paid much attention to Brutus when he entered. The rule of the bar was simple. No weapons. No violence.

“Brutus! Over here.”

When they returned from the Sinai, Brutus called one of his former associates, Artyom Vetrov. Vetrov had worked for the Kremlin many years ago. Now, he was freelance and with a healthy remnant of connections. They became friends one night in Afghanistan, sharing some awful whiskey, huddled by a fire under the stars.

“Two.” Vetrov held up two fingers to the barman.

“Brutus, good to see you,” said Artyom, his Russian accent thick. He reached out and brought Brutus into a tight embrace, slapping his back before releasing him. He pointed to the scar on his face. “That is a new one, yes?”

They sat. Two glasses of whiskey arrived. They touched glasses and both men drained their drink and thumped the empty tumblers on the table. The whiskey was cheap, like the kind they shared in Afghanistan. It was a tradition. Vetrov raised another two fingers.

“How’s business, Artyom?”

“Things were good until all that craziness in Scotland. People are nervous. People need hired guns to reassure them. I sell guns, and men to use them, and reassurance.” He smiled revealing a gleaming gold tooth.

The waiter leaned over and poured.

“Yourself?”

“Busy here and there. Business has been interesting if not good.”

“Are you still with Black Aquila?” asked Artyom.

“Not as such, no.”

“I must admit, I did not expect to hear from you. Since your call I’ve been wondering what would bring my friend to call at my door.”

Brutus decided long before entering that honesty, for the first time in a while, seemed to be the best option. “I came to you for help, and with a business proposition.”

“Making money? You have my attention.”

“How long has it been since you worked for the Kremlin? Officially and unofficially.”

“Officially, it is coming up to ten years.” He picked up his glass, and swished the gold liquid about. “Unofficially, you never fully stop working for them.”

“What do you know of the virus outbreak back in the UK?”

“Enough to know that the rest of the world should be wary and watching with great concern.”

Brutus leaned in close. “And what would you say if I told you I had a live sample, fully infected, restrained and ready to be transported within twenty-four hours?”

Artyom leaned back in his chair, wiping sweat from his forehead. The heat was stifling. He retained a neutral expression, a tactic he no doubt employed for all business negotiations.

“And where did you acquire this sample?”

“Here, Egypt. And she won’t be missed. Untraceable. Nobody will be looking for her. I imagine that every functioning government would love to get their hands on a subject infected with the Carrion Virus. As far as I know, Russia nor its allies don’t have access to this.”

“What do you want from me?”

“For the moment, what I want is cooperation, help to move from nation to nation since there’s so much travel restriction. Not just me, but my team and some equipment, too. Perhaps money, or further equipment.”

“To what end?”

Brutus leaned back, matching his companion’s posture. “Now, Artyom, you know not to ask questions you can be sure I won’t answer. Can you facilitate this for me? You’ve still got the contacts, I assume?”

Artyom drained his drink. “I’ll need to see the asset.”

Brutus drained his. “Outside.”

The two men made their way out and across the street. Late evening and the street was almost deserted. Some distance away, car horns blared. Somewhere in the night, a cat mewed its mating call. Brutus unlocked the vehicle and opened the boot compartment.

One final check to ensure they were not followed, and Brutus pulled at the hessian sack. The infected rocked back and forth, rolling roughly. Brutus held it in place and peeled the bag back. She was restrained to the maximum. Arms tied behind her back at the wrists, ankles tied together, as were her knees, and a spit-guard covered her head.

Artyom stepped back, his hands raised in fists.

“She’s secure,” reassured Brutus.

The infected thrashed and fought her restraints, her eyes fixed on her two captors. Her bloodshot eyes bulged. A thick vein pulsed down the centre of her forehead. Dried blood coloured her face, like some savage painted for war. Beneath the gag, she chewed on her restraints. A low rumble built in her throat. Remarkable in a way, considering how much punishment she received during her subjection. Her body displayed little signs of injuries other than the original sores from the virus.

Artyom said something in Russian. A little colour dropped from his weather-beaten face.

“So, what do you think?” asked Brutus nonchalantly, not wanting to draw attention to them. Even quiet streets bristled with eyes and ears.

“Can this be real?” he muttered.

Brutus pulled the sack back up, tightened the ends and pushed her out of view. He closed the boot and stepped back. “It’s real. That’s what we’re dealing with back home. They’re fast, deadly and ruthless. Your country needs to be ready to meet this threat. No matter how prepared they are, the infection will spread past the borders of Britain. This could be the difference between a crisis and a disaster.”

Artyom nodded, though his mind seemed elsewhere. He nodded, over and again. “Keep it secured. I need to make some calls. Tomorrow, how do I contact you?”

“You don’t. I’ll contact you. Twenty-two-hundred-hours. You can meet me at my location. By then, I’ll have a better understanding of what it is that I require.”

Artyom banged the vehicle door twice. The infected thrashed harder.

“You know, Brutus, had it been anyone but you I would have taken this infected and sold it myself. Anyone but you.” It was not a menacing statement, more matter-of-fact. “I’ll get in touch with my contacts back home, see if we can come to an arrangement. Either you have just made us both incredibly rich, or we are dead men walking. Tomorrow, at twenty-two-hundred. I need some more of that rotten whiskey.”

Brutus held all the aces. Artyom was scared and intrigued. Brutus had broken the barriers between fiction and reality. The Carrion Virus had arrived in Artyom Vetrov’s life.

***

It was on Magnus’s watch that a visual of Toth was confirmed. Toth had returned to the safe house. It was time to strike. This was the time that Fisayo and his comrades were to report back. Brutus’s men were positioned on all street corners, weapons hidden in a carry bags. Brutus himself crouched directly across the street, in the cover of a derelict car, long ago rusted to its bare bones. The street masking the safe house had been selected wisely. Passers-by were a rarity, almost like the locals knew not to attempt to come close.

Affixed above the door and to the left was a newly installed security camera watching approaches from the right.

“That’s new,” said Gibbons, his hand on the back of Fisayo’s neck, keeping his head down and out of view. So far, Fisayo had been nothing but compliant.

“It makes getting in there more difficult. They’ll spot us before we even reach the door,” said Roy. He abandoned his sniper rifle. It would be of no use for what lay ahead.

“The wire from the camera unit is exposed. Maybe it’s not hooked up yet. To the left is a blind spot. We can cut the wire from that approach.”

Roy’s face was damp with sweat. “If they don’t spot us from some other angle. We could be dead in seconds.”

“We cut the wire, and go in hard. I’ll take the lead. I need Toth alive.”

Roy blew out his cheeks, then pulled a combat knife from his belt. “I’ll take the wire, just be ready to move when I give the signal.” He nudged Ash Gibbons. “Ash, you’re with me. The camera looks too high for me to reach.”

The two men took off across the street, their light, quick steps kicking up small clouds of dust from the road, the gravel crunching underfoot. They gave the perceived arc of surveillance a wide berth, and reached the building’s wall, throwing themselves heavily against it.

Gibbons linked his fingers and in a fluid motion provided a step up for Roy. It must have been eight feet from the ground, yet Gibbons heaved Roy up like he weighed little. Roy grasped the wire, tugged at it once then slipped a blade beneath the black cord. He sawed, short fast motions, and severed the wire. They retreated, breathing heavily as they slumped down next to Brutus.

“Good job.”

“If they’ve realised something is wrong they’ll be preparing for an attack,” offered Roy.

“Or they’ll send someone out to fix the feed.”

“If they do nothing we can’t just blow the door and walk in, guns blazing. We create too much commotion and we’ll have the Egyptian Army here, closing us down. They can wait us out,” said Ash Gibbons.

Brutus watched, waited for any sign that something was in motion. Nothing. Could they have been that lucky? Brutus was not a man to believe in luck. He made his own way in life, fate moved aside for him.

“Arm yourselves.” Brutus got to his feet.

“Where are you going?” asked Roy.

“To get us an invite. Form up on the door. Remember Toth is to be kept alive. Fisayo, you’re up.”

Brutus led Fisayo around the side of the rusted car. They crossed the street, to all appearances two friends making their way home.

“This is what is going to happen. You’ll approach that door, they know you, and they’re expecting you to return. They’ll open the viewing slot and you’ll tell them to let you in so you can make your report. Once the door is unlocked, you crouch down and keep out of the way. Understand?”

“Yes. I understand.”

“Do you have family, Fisayo?”

“One sister back home.”

Brutus smiled, nothing generous. “You’ll see her again soon if you do this for us.”

They reached the safe house. Brutus grasped his handgun, but kept it within the recess of his shirt. He pushed himself to the wall of the building, directly under the camera. The cut wire dangled above his head.

Past Fisayo and to the right, Freddo McLeod moved forward, shotgun held ready. He would be second in, wielding his weapon in the close-quartered environment.

Freddo nodded, ten feet away from Fisayo. They all crouched, waiting for the signal to move.

Fisayo licked his lips and knocked on the door, three loud raps. He stepped back, Brutus expected him to run but he held fast. The bolt of the latch clicked open and the viewing visor opened.

‘Fisayo?” came a voice through the door. “Where is everyone else?”

“Parking. They’ve sent me along first to make sure everything is in order.”

“Hold on.”

Brutus waved a hand. Fisayo turned his attention only for a second.

“Is it Toth?” mouthed Brutus.

Fisayo gave a tiny shake of his head. Good, thought Brutus. He did not think that Toth would be the one to open the door. He was not the type to get his hands dirty.
Bastard.

The lock of the door disengaged, the heavy bolt pulled back. Brutus was moving before the sound fully registered, before Fisayo had time to duck. Brutus kicked Fisayo out of the way, no time to be gentle. Freddo was up. Brutus pushed the barrel of his handgun through the viewing slot, and fired three quick rounds. The heavy metal of the door muffled the shots. Brutus kicked open the door. A man on the other side lay dead on the floor. Brutus stepped over the corpse pressing onward toward the rear room. Freddo entered behind, kicking the Glock from the dead man’s hands.

The door between the front room and the rear opened. A soldier, packing an AR-15 stepped through. Brutus threw himself forward, grabbed hold of the barrel and forced it upward. The unprepared soldier grunted his surprise. Brutus unloaded the remainder of the clip into his chest.

Brutus dropped the empty handgun, flipped the assault rifle round and made ready. Gunfire from the back room splintered the door and frame. Brutus ducked out of the line of fire. Freddo, moved forward, blasting shot after shot into the room, then darted to the side as more fire burst from the room and reloaded. Brutus motioned his intention to breach the room. Freddo gave a thumbs up, then pumped his weapon ready. Brutus unloaded into the open doorway, suppressing enemy fire. Freddo dashed to the door, shotgun raised. Brutus moved also, right behind Freddo.