Age of Heroes (36 page)

“How so?”

“Well, for instance, coming here to Russia, that was a last-minute thing. We’d been heading in the opposite direction ’til Badenhorst got a call and we changed course.”

“Short notice?”

“Very. Only last night, in fact.”

Theo pondered this. “And it was Salvador Vega you were after? Just him?”

“Just him,” said Young. “No one told us there’d be any more of you than that.”

“Odd, because Russia wasn’t Salvador’s stamping ground. He’d been in Mexico for the past – how long, Chase?”

“Couple of decades,” Chase said. He looked more than a little disgruntled that Young had been freed. Theo would have some ego-massaging to do once he was finished with Young.

“Yet you came to find him here.”

Young shrugged. “Our employer evidently has up-to-date intelligence. He’s tracking you somehow.”

Theo thought of Harry Gottlieb. A man who could commandeer the resources of the CIA would have had no trouble pinpointing Salvador’s whereabouts, or the whereabouts of any of the other demigods. There were few places they could go that he could not find them.

But it might be more straightforward than that. Gottlieb had, after all, sent Sasha to join Theo’s group. Was she reporting back to him? Spying for him, right under their noses? It made a horrible kind of sense. The Myrmidons had gone looking for Salvador in the Stolby Nature Reserve. They had known his exact location. How? Because Sasha Grace had told Gottlieb that was where he would be.

She caught Theo looking at her, and he flicked his gaze back to Young. He had begun to believe that Gottlieb was on their side. All at once he was revising that opinion and dusting off his theory that Gottlieb was behind the killings. The former Odysseus had the contacts and the resources to wage a campaign like this. The question was, why? What did he get out of it? Perhaps it was the sheer sadistic pleasure of snuffing out demigods’ lives. He didn’t count himself as one of their kind, after all.
I am not, by the strictest definition, a demigod
, he had said to Theo and Chase. Was this his way of proving himself? Showing them that, while he didn’t have the same physical capabilities as the rest of them, he could still beat them? That his labyrinthine intellect gave him the edge?

“Well,” Theo said to Young, “if your employer is determined to wipe demigods out, including the three of us, then our best tactic is to make it easy for him. We present him with an irresistible target, and get him to commit everything he’s got. Then turn that to our advantage and mount a last stand.”

“Sounds risky,” said Chase. “As in suicide risky.”

“Not if we have an ally in the enemy camp,” Theo said with a nod at Young. “Someone in a position to blunt the Myrmidons’ attack.”

“I’d have to tread carefully,” Young said. “If Badenhorst got wind that I was working for the other side, one call is all it’d take. One call to whoever he’s got holding Josie.”

“I realise what’s at stake for you. I’ve no wish to jeopardise your daughter’s life. But if you can aid us surreptitiously, without it looking like that’s what you’re doing...”

“I can damn well try.”

“Then all we have to do is figure out how to set the agenda – how to make it seem as though we’re still prey when we’re actually predator. I have some ideas in that direction, but I’m open to suggestions. Chase? You’re a hunter. I’d welcome your input here if you have any.”

Before Chase could answer, a phone double-beeped: Sasha’s. She took it out and squinted at the screen.

“Text,” she said. “From Hélène Arlington. Finally she’s got back to me.”

“What does it say?” Theo asked.

“She’s okay with setting up a meeting for us with her husband. They’re in Greece at the moment and expect to be there for the next few days. She wants to know what our business with him is.”

Theo thought fast. Even if he was inclining back towards Gottlieb as the culprit, that didn’t mean Evander Arlington was off the hook. It would still be worthwhile confronting him in person.

“Tell her it’s important.”

“That’s all?”

“Why else would I be bothering? It’s not as if I’m Arlington’s favourite person in the world. Or he mine, for that matter.”

“You want me to put that?”

“No. Say this. If he doesn’t know what it’s about, then he should be told, and if he does know, then we’re presenting him with an opportunity he’d be foolish to turn down.”

Sasha’s thumbs tapped away.

“That should pique his interest,” Theo said. “The acid test will be how he responds. If he refuses to see us, odds are it’s because he knows we’re on to him and he’s scared to face us.”

“Or he’s just being his usual snotty self,” said Chase.

“There is that, but I figure, if he’s innocent, his arrogance won’t let him give us the brush-off. He’ll want to know why we – me in particular – are importuning him like this. High-and-mighty Evander Arlington couldn’t pass up the chance to have Theseus, Perseus and Hippolyta come before him like petitioners at court.”

“Perseus,” Young muttered, looking at Chase.

“And if he’s guilty,” Theo continued, “if he’s our guy and he does consent to a meeting, he’ll be expecting us to beg for mercy. Which he can choose to grant, or not. Either way, he gets to feel all smug and lordly.”

“Or alternatively he can set a nice little trap for us,” said Chase. “We can waltz in, and the Myrmidons will be waiting.”

“But we’ll be ready for them, and Roy will be our ace in the hole. This, potentially, is the endgame.”

Sasha’s phone emitted a swooshing sound. “Sent,” she said.

“Who’s Evander Arlington?” Young asked.

“Possibly your boss,” said Theo.

“I gathered that. I assume he’s one of you.”

“Minos.”

“King Minos? Of Minotaur fame?”

“None other.”

“And Hélène, his wife. Is she just any old Hélène, or is she one of you lot?”

“One of us.”

“I’m going to guess Helen? As in
the
Helen, as in ‘of Troy’. The Face that Launched a Thousand Ships.”

“And launched a thousand doomed love affairs as well,” said Sasha. “The kind of woman who toys with men’s affections and leaves chaos in her wake.”

“You disapprove, Sasha?” said Chase. “I thought a bunny boiler like Helen would be right up your street.”

“Using your looks to take advantage of men is hardly difficult. There’s no skill in it. It’s a mark of the feeblest kind of female. I favour a woman who can snare her own bunny rather than boil someone else’s.”

“That’s that metaphor stretched.”

“I thought I was being quite witty.”

“For you, yes. But I’m the gold standard for wisecracking around these parts.”

“So you believe.”

“It’s all part of the Chase Chance charm.”

“Charm?”

Young cleared his throat. “Excuse me. Hate to butt in when you’re having so much fun, but I should be getting back.” He consulted his watch. “I’ve been gone nearly four hours. Best-case scenario, the Myrmidons reckon I’m dead. Worst-case, Badenhorst assumes I’m AWOL and looking for Josie.”

“All right,” said Theo. “Let’s you and me swap phone numbers. Then we can keep each other abreast of what we’re up to.”

“Agreed.”

“One question. What are you going to tell your colleagues?”

“You mean what’s happened? I suppose I can say I got lost in the woods. Had a comms malfunction, couldn’t radio for help.”

“Think they’ll buy it?”

“Hope so. Might be pushing it with the comms part, though. Speaking of which, where is my helmet? And my weaponry?”

“I had to strip it off you,” Theo said. “Couldn’t very well carry you to the Stolby car park like that.”

“Okay. I’m sure I can get replacements. But it’s going to make my cunning cover story somewhat harder to swallow. ‘Oh, and by the way, I dropped all my gear too!’ You have a better suggestion?”

“Well, it might be more plausible if you claim you ran into me and came off worse.”

“That’s have the ring of truth, if nothing else,” said Young. “It’d also account for the ruddy great bruise I can feel forming on the side of my face.”

“This South African, Badenhorst, he sounds like a shrewd customer.”

“Doesn’t look like one, but yes, he is.”

“I don’t think a single bruise is going to sell the story.”

Young’s face fell. Then, with grim resignation, he nodded. “I take your point.”

“In a stand-up fight you’d be lucky to have got away from me alive. You’d never have managed it without it costing you.”

The Englishman positioned himself directly in front of Theo, arms hanging by his sides. “Get it over with, then.”

“Nothing personal,” Theo said. “This is for the sake of authenticity only.”

“Of course. And just so’s you know, I didn’t much like your book.”

“You’ve picked a fine time to tell me.”

“I didn’t hate it. Just didn’t love it. If this was Goodreads I’d probably give it three stars.”

“Could be worse. I’ll take that.”

He punched. Young staggered.

“I felt,” Young gasped, “that you... you have a strong grasp on plotting... but your characters are... formulaic. Ciphers.”

Theo punched again. Young reeled, but recovered.

“Apart... from Jake Killian, that is,” he said. “He... he’s fairly believable. The rest... seem just kind of there to... to service the storyline.”

Theo landed a couple of sharp blows in quick succession.

Young collapsed to his knees. Somehow he was able to keep talking.

“As for your prose... Not as elegant... as it could be.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Young was on all fours, heaving for breath.

“Meat-and-potatoes stuff. Could do... Could do with a little... garnish.”

A toe-kick to the ribs.

“But still... I’m tempted... to read... one of the others... in the series.”

Another kick.

THIRTY

Prospekt Mira, Krasnoyarsk

R
OY HOBBLED ALONG
the street until he found a pharmacy. He spoke almost no Russian, but was able to communicate to the woman behind the counter that he needed some sort of strong painkiller. Not that she couldn’t have guessed from the way he held his ribs and winced at even the smallest movement.

He dry-swallowed four of the tablets there in the shop, before limping back outside. He slumped onto a pavement bench and waited for the chemicals to work their magic. After what seemed like far too long, the throbbing of his injuries began to subside.

Theo Stannard had worked him over pretty thoroughly. Roy felt like he had been rolled around in the back of a cement truck then dropped off a building. It hurt simply breathing. Stannard had been careful, however; solicitous, even. No bones broken. No inner organs damaged. As beatings went, it had been a judicious, forgiving one. Roy was still mobile, and as long as he kept himself topped up with analgesics, he should be able to function more or less as normal. The bruises, however, were already impressive and were on their way to becoming spectacular.

He fumbled out his phone. He was on a busy shopping street at mid-afternoon and expected that he might draw some stares. It seemed, however, that a man in black paramilitary fatigues sitting on a bench looking the worse for wear was not a noteworthy sight in Krasnoyarsk. Well-dressed passers-by spared him the occasional glance, but no more than that.

Badenhorst picked up after the second ring. “Roy! Man, I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you again. What in hell’s name happened to you? You disappeared on us. We assumed the worst.”

“Kind of a long story. Look, I’m not in great shape. Where are you?”

“We’re getting set to leave for the airport. Where are you?”

“One of the old districts of Krasnoyarsk. Lots of trees. Nice buildings. Hang on.”

Roy caught the attention of a blonde woman in high heels, laden with carrier bags. She spoke enough English to be able to answer his query.

“I’m on Prospekt Mira,” he said to Badenhorst. “Can you come and collect me? I’ll explain everything when you get here.”

“No problem. Stay put. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Glad to hear it, Roy. Glad to hear it.”

A
QUARTER OF
an hour later, a taxi pulled up; the rear door opened and Badenhorst beckoned from within. Roy clambered stiffly in, joining the Afrikaner on the back seat. The car’s interior reeked of pine air freshener, which was fighting a losing battle with the pungent odour of the driver’s cigarettes.

As the taxi moved off, Roy noticed that Badenhorst had one hand inside his jacket, holding something pointed at him. It was small, but not so small that it couldn’t have been a gun – a Beretta Px4 subcompact, for instance, or a Kahr P380. The kind of backup automatic that could fit comfortably in a pocket or an ankle holster.

“Jeez, the state of you,” Badenhorst said. “You look like
kak
. And where are your weapons? Your helmet?”

“Somewhere in the forest,” Roy replied. “Left them there along with my dignity, it feels like.” Every word counted. Every word had to be right, and convincing. “There was a second man, Badenhorst. Salvador Vega had a friend.”