The Secret of Excalibur

Mitchell was about to say something when his phone trilled.

‘Yes,’ he said, eyes widening as he listened to the caller. ‘Yes, put him through. It’s Vaskovich,’ he added to Chase.

‘Put it on speaker,’ Chase said. Mitchell frowned, but did as he was asked.

There was a click of connection, then a voice came from the phone. Vaskovich. ‘Are you there, Jack?’

‘I’m here, Leonid,’ Mitchell replied. The background whine suggested that the billionaire was indeed airborne in his jet.

‘You’ve stolen something from me. You and Chase. I assume he’s there.’

‘Yeah, I’m here,’ said Chase. ‘If you’re wondering where Dominika is, I dropped her off on the way back from your party. Sorry about messing that up, by the way. Seemed like quite a good bash.’

‘Yes, it was,’ Vaskovich said, clearly irritated behind his veneer of calm. ‘But that doesn’t matter. I’m having another party here in my plane. For a very special guest.’

A cold fear swept over Chase. He knew who Vaskovich meant. ‘If you fucking hurt her—’ he began, before Mitchell signalled him to shut up.

‘Is she all right, Leonid?’ the American asked.

‘For now. You have something I want, I have something you want . . . or at least that Chase wants.’

‘Let me talk to her,’ Chase demanded. He glanced over at Mitchell, daring him to try to silence him, but the DARPA agent had a thoughtful, almost calculating expression.

Whatever he was thinking, Chase didn’t care, forgetting about him as he heard Nina’s voice. ‘Eddie? Oh, thank God you’re okay! I didn’t know what happened, just something about a helicopter crash!’ ‘Yeah, just another day working for the IHA. Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. I’m sorry, they caught me on the way out.’

‘There is a reason why real secret agents do not appear on chat shows,’ said Kruglov sarcastically in the background.

‘I recognised her,’ said Vaskovich, ‘but not soon enough, unfortunately. Her disguise was very effective. Still,’ he went on, tone hardening, ‘I have her now. I want the sword, Jack. Deliver Excalibur to my mansion within the hour and I’ll release Dr Wilde. Otherwise, I may have to . . . drop her off.’

‘Why the mansion, Leonid?’ asked Mitchell, holding up a hand to cut off Chase’s furious response. ‘I assume you’re on your way to Grozevny. Why don’t we save you some time, deliver Excalibur to you there?’

Vaskovich laughed mockingly. ‘Yes, I’m sure you’d love to see my facility at Grozevny, Jack. That was your plan all along, wasn’t it? It’s a good thing for me that Aleksey never trusted you.’

‘I’m not going anywhere. Dominika shot me in the leg.’

‘Are you okay?’ Nina cut in.

‘It’s more than just a flesh wound this time,’ Mitchell lied, giving Chase a faint smile. ‘But I was thinking Eddie would be a better person to deliver it. He doesn’t know anything about earth energy, or care either . . . and I’m pretty sure that if I tried to stop him getting Nina back, he’d kill me.’ Another smile. Chase returned it, with just a hint of sincerity.

‘Why should I trust you?’ demanded Vaskovich.

‘It doesn’t matter, because I won’t be there. Eddie will. And like you said, you’ve got something he wants. And you’ll have what you need to make your system work, right there.’

Kruglov muttered something in Russian, clearly distrustful, but after a moment Vaskovich spoke again. ‘You have a jet?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I’ll arrange for the airspace to be cleared. But know this: if the plane goes off course, it will be shot down. If anyone other than Chase and the pilot are aboard, they will all die, and so will Dr Wilde. If Excalibur is not aboard, everyone dies. If there is any kind of deceit, everyone dies. And so will you, Jack. Don’t think you are beyond my reach, even in America. Am I clear?’

‘Pretty fuckin’ crystal,’ said Chase, scowling.

‘I will arrange for your jet’s safe passage,’ Vaskovich said. ‘Chase?’

‘What?’

‘You may not believe me, but I am a man of my word. If you bring me Excalibur, you will get to marry Nina. Whenever that may be. But if you betray me . . . you will both die.’ There was a click as the line disconnected.

‘You think we can trust him?’ Chase asked.

Mitchell snorted. ‘Doubt it. But it doesn’t matter - I was lying too. I’ll be on the plane with you.’

‘Wait a sec - if they find you, they’ll kill all of us.’

‘Don’t worry!’ He gave Chase an enigmatic smile. ‘I’ll be aboard when it takes off - but I won’t be when it lands.’ He clapped a hand on Chase’s shoulder. ‘Come on. Let’s go rescue your fiancee.’

27

The aircraft taking Chase and Mitchell north from Moscow was not the State Department plane in which they had flown to Russia, but a smaller Cessna Citation Mustang business jet, conspicuously lacking any kind of corporate markings. Chase suspected it was normally used for discreet, private transportation of US intelligence operatives.

A group of which Mitchell was now undeniably a member.

‘So,’ said Chase as Mitchell opened one of several plastic cases stacked in the jet’s cabin, ‘you were a spook all along, were you?’

‘That a problem?’

‘Depends on the spook. So the whole scientist thing, was that just a cover?’

‘Hell, no,’ Mitchell said firmly. ‘I really do have a PhD in high-energy physics. Would never have been able to convince Vaskovich I’d be useful without it.’

‘And how long’s DARPA been running its own intelligence operations behind everyone else’s back?’

‘A while. It’s better if nobody else knows. We do whatever’s necessary to ensure America has a decisive technological advantage over all other countries - and keep it that way.’

‘By force.’

‘If we have to.’ Mitchell took a rifle from the crate - a weapon of a design Chase had never seen before. He tossed it to the Englishman. ‘Case in point. Check it out.’

Chase turned the futuristic gun over in his hands. A cursory examination revealed it had two separate magazines, one flat along the top and the other set into the stock. The handgrip was positioned forward of both mags in a ‘bullpup’ configuration. ‘Looks like something from Judge Dredd.’

‘The XM-201 Advanced Assault Rifle, one of DARPA’s new toys.’ Mitchell brought out a second, identical weapon for himself. ‘Two hundred rounds of caseless high-power propellant in the buttstock, and a top-mounted helical magazine with five twenty-round feeds for mission-variable three-point-six-millimetre munitions.’ He moved a selector switch on his gun. ‘Standard copper-jacketed, tungsten penetrator, explosive, or plastic nonlethals. Normal loadout is forty standard rounds and twenty of each of the others per mag, but I thought the plastics would be kinda pointless for this operation.’

‘Three-point-six-mil ammo?’ Chase asked dubiously. ‘You won’t get much stopping power with that.’

‘You’d be surprised - although we haven’t tested it on a live human target. Yet.’ He gave Chase a meaningful look. ‘It’s also got a three-round twenty-five-millimetre grenade launcher linked to a computerised laser rangefinder. Just lase the target, tilt it up and the sights’ll tell you when you’re at the right arc angle. Viewfinder with ten-times scope and night vision here, built-in Identify-Friend-or-Foe system to cut down on friendly fire—’

‘Now there’s a gadget you Yanks actually need,’ Chase said mockingly.

Mitchell shot him a sour look before continuing. ‘Hold it in firing position.’ Chase hefted the weapon and did so. Mitchell tapped at a small keypad set behind the sights. A green LED lit up with a bleep. ‘There. It’s now biometrically coded to your hands. Only authorised users can fire it. And if it falls into enemy hands, there’s even a coded self-destruct signal that melts all the electronics to prevent duplication. Pretty cool, huh?’

Chase lowered the gun. ‘Not really.’

Mitchell seemed surprised, even a little affronted. ‘Your professional opinion?’

‘Yep. All the gadgets mean it’ll eat batteries, which means more crap you’ve got to cart about with you, fancy