Copyright © 2015 Andy McDermott
The right of Andy McDermott to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2015
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
Ebook conversion by Avon DataSet Ltd, Bidford-on-Avon, Warwickshire
eISBN: 978 0 7553 8079 4
Cover images © Shutterstock
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
About the Book
Also By Andy McDermott
Praise
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
About the Author
Andy McDermott is the bestselling author of the Nina Wilde & Eddie Chase adventure thrillers, which have been sold in over 30 countries and 20 languages. His debut novel, THE HUNT FOR ATLANTIS, was his first of several New York Times bestsellers. THE REVELATION CODE is the eleventh book in the series, and he has also written the explosive spy thriller THE PERSONA PROTOCOL.
A former journalist and movie critic, Andy is now a full-time novelist. Born in Halifax, he lives in Bournemouth with his partner and son.
About the Book
2002 – Southern Iraq
A CIA operation in the desert uncovers ancient ruins concealing a strange statue. Team member Ezekiel Cross is convinced that it represents one of four angels prophesied in the Book of Revelation. When the agents are attacked by Iraqi forces, leaving Cross the only survivor, he steals it to begin his own mission from God . . .
Present Day – New York
Nina Wilde has been focusing her energies on her pregnancy rather than her archaeological discoveries. But adventure still finds her – kidnapped by religious cultists, she is forced to locate the remaining angels.
Held prisoner, Nina engages in a battle of wits against her captors, knowing her only hope of rescue is her husband Eddie Chase. But with a ruthless maniac determined to fulfil Revelation’s prophecy, time is running out. Only by keeping the angels from the cultists can Nine and Eddie prevent the coming apocalypse . . . but what price will they have to pay?
By Andy McDermott and available from Headline The Hunt for Atlantis
The Tomb of Hercules
The Secret of Excalibur
The Covenant of Genesis
The Cult of Osiris
The Sacred Vault
Empire of Gold
Temple of the Gods
The Valhalla Prophecy
Kingdom of Darkness
The Last Survivor (A Digital Short Story)
The Revelation Code
The Persona Protocol
Praise
Praise for Andy McDermott:
‘Adventure stories don’t get much more epic than this’ Daily Mirror
‘An all-action cracker from one of Britain’s most talented adventure writers’ Lancashire Evening Post
‘If Wilbur Smith and Clive Cussler collaborated, they might have come up with a thundering big adventure blockbuster like this . . . a widescreem, thrill-a-minute ride’ Peterborough Evening Telegraph
‘True Indiana Jones stuff with terrific pace’ Bookseller
‘A true blockbuster rollercoaster ride from start to finish . . . Popcorn escapism at its very best’ Crime and Publishing
‘A rip-roaring read and one which looks set to cement McDermott’s place in the bestsellers list for years to come’ Bolton Evening News
‘Fast-moving, this is a pulse-racing adventure with action right down the line’ Northern Echo
‘A writer of rare, almost cinematic talent. Where others’ action scenes limp along unconvincingly, his explode off the page in Technicolor’ Daily Express, Scotland
‘McDermott writes like Clive Cussler on speed. The action is non-stop’ Huddersfield Daily Examiner
For Sebastian
and all the adventures that await
Prologue
Southern Iraq
The half-moon cast a feeble light over the desolate sand-swept plain. The region had been marshland not long ago, but war had changed that. Not directly; the islands spattering the expanse between the great rivers of the Tigris and the Euphrates had not been destroyed by shells and explosives. Instead spite had drained it, the dictator Saddam Hussein taking his revenge upon the Ma’dan people for daring to rise against him following the Gulf War. Dams and spillways had reduced the wetlands to a dustbowl, forcing the inhabitants to leave in order to survive.
That destruction was, ironically, making the mission of the trio of CIA operatives crossing the bleak landscape considerably easier. The no-fly zone established over southern Iraq gave the United States and its allies total freedom to operate, and the agents had parachuted to the Euphrates’ northern bank earlier that night, their ultimate objective the toppling of the Iraqi leader. Had the marshes not been drained, they would have been forced to make a circuitous journey by boat, dragging it over reed-covered embankments whenever the water became too shallow to traverse. Instead, they had been able to drive the battered Toyota 4x4 waiting at their insertion point almost in a straight line across the lowlands.
‘Not far now,’ said the team’s leader, Michael Rosemont, as he checked a hand-held GPS unit. ‘Two miles.’
The driver, Gabe Arnold, peered ahead through his night-vision goggles. He was driving without headlights to keep them hidden from potential observers. ‘I can see the lake.’
‘Any sign of Kerim and his people?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Might have known these Arabs would be late,’ said the third man, from behind them. Ezekiel Cross was using a small flashlight to check a map, focusing it on an almost perfectly circular patch of pale blue marked Umm al Binni. ‘Nobody in this part of the world can even do anything as basic as keep time. Savages.’
Rosemont let out a weary huff, but let the remark pass. ‘How close is the nearest Iraqi unit, Easy?’ he asked instead.
‘Based on today’s intel, about nine klicks to the north-east. Near the Tigris.’ Cross’s pale grey eyes flicked towards his superior. ‘And I’d prefer not to be called that.’
‘Okay, Cross,’ Rosemont replied with a small shake of his head. Arnold suppressed a grin. ‘Any other units nearby?’
‘There’s another fifteen klicks north of here. Forces have been building up there over the past week.’
‘They know Uncle Sam’s gonna come for ’em sooner or later,’ said Arnold.
Cross made an impatient sound. ‘We should have flattened the entire country the day after 9/11.’
‘Iraq didn’t attack us,’ Rosemont pointed out.
‘They’re supporting al-Qaeda. And they’re building weapons of mass destruction. To me, that justifies any action necessary to stop them.’
‘Well, that’s what we’re waiting on the UN to confirm, ain’t it?’ Arnold said. ‘Got to give ’em a chance to give up their WMDs before we put the hammer down.’
‘The United Nations!’ Cross spat. ‘We should kick them out of our country. As if New York isn’t enough of a pit of degeneracy already, we let a gang of foreign socialists and atheists squat there telling us what to do!’
‘Uh-huh.’ Rosemont had only known the Virginian for a few days, but that had been long enough to learn to tune out the agent’s frequent rants about anything he considered an ungodly affront to his values – which, it seemed, was everything in the modern world. He turned his attention back to the driver. ‘Still no sign of Kerim?’
‘Nothing – no, wait,’ replied Arnold, suddenly alert. ‘I see a light.’
Cross immediately flicked off the flashlight, dropping the off-roader’s interior into darkness. Rosemont narrowed his eyes and stared ahead. ‘Where?’
‘Twelve o’clock.’
‘Is it them?’ said Cross, wary.
The CIA leader picked out a tiny point of orange against the darkness. ‘It’s them. Right where they’re supposed to be.’
‘On schedule, too,’ added Arnold. ‘Guess they can keep time after all, huh?’ Cross glowered at him.
The lake came into clearer view as the Toyota crested a low rise, a black disc against the moonlit wash covering the plain. Arnold surveyed it through his goggles. ‘Man, that’s weird. It looks like a crater or something.’
‘That’s the theory,’ Rosemont told him. ‘They think a meteorite made it a few thousand years ago; that’s what the background data on the region said, anyhow. The lake used to be a lot bigger, but nobody knew that was at the bottom until Saddam drained the marshes.’ His tone turned businesslike. ‘Okay, this is it. I’ll do the talking, get the intel off Kerim. You two ready the weapons for transfer.’ He turned to regard the cases stacked in the Toyota’s cargo bed.
‘And after?’ Cross asked.
‘Depends on what Kerim tells me. If he’s got new information about the Iraqi defences, then we call it in and maybe go see for ourselves if HQ needs us to. If he doesn’t, we give the Marsh Arab rebels their weapons and prep them for our invasion.’
‘Assuming the UN doesn’t try to stop us,’ said Cross scathingly.
‘Hey, hey,’ Arnold cut in. ‘There’s something by the lake. Looks like a building, some ruins.’
Rosemont peered ahead, but there was not enough light to reveal any detail on the shore. ‘There wasn’t anything marked on the maps.’
‘It’s in the water. Musta been exposed when the lake dried up.’
‘Are Kerim and his people by it?’
‘No, they’re maybe two hundred metres away.’
‘It’s not our problem, then.’ Rosemont raised the M4 carbine on his lap and clicked off the safety. Cross did the same with his own weapon. They were meeting friendlies, but those at the sharp end of intelligence work in the CIA’s Special Activities Division preferred to be ready for any eventuality.
Arnold brought the Toyota in. The point of orange light was revealed as a small campfire, figures standing around the dancing flames. All were armed, the fire’s glow also reflecting dully off assorted Kalashnikov rifles. To Rosemont’s relief, none were pointed at the approaching vehicle.
Yet.
The 4x4 halted. The men around the fire stood watching, waiting for its occupants to make the first move. ‘All right,’ said Rosemont. ‘I’ll go meet them.’
The CIA commander opened the door and stepped out. The action brought a response, some of the Ma’dan raising their guns. He took a deep breath. ‘Kerim! Is Kerim here?’
Mutterings in Arabic, then a man stepped forward. ‘I am Kerim. You are Michael?’
‘Yes.’
Kerim waved him closer. The Ma’dan leader was in his early thirties, but a hard life in the marshes had added a decade of wear to his face. ‘Michael, hello,’ he said, before embracing the American and kissing him on both cheeks.
‘Call me Mike,’ Rosemont said with a smile.
The Arab returned it. ‘It is very good to see you . . . Mike. We have waited a long time for this day. When you come to kill Saddam’ – a spitting sound, echoed by the others as they heard the hated dictator’s name – ‘we will fight beside you. But his soldiers, they have tanks, helicopters. These are no good.’ He held up his dented AK-47. ‘We need more.’
‘You’ll have more.’ Rosemont signalled to the two men in the Toyota. ‘Bring ’em their toys!’
‘You’ve got the intel?’ asked Cross as he got out.
‘Show of good faith. Come on.’
Cross was aggrieved by the change of plan, but he went with Arnold to the truck’s rear. Each took out a crate and crunched through dead reeds to bring it to the group. ‘This fire’ll be visible for miles,’ the Virginian complained. ‘Stupid making it out in the open, real stupid.’
Kerim bristled. Rosemont shot Cross an irritated look, but knew he was right. ‘You should put this out now we’re here,’ he told the Ma’dan leader. Kerim gave an order, and one of his men kicked dirt over the little pyre. ‘Why didn’t you set up in those ruins?’
The suggestion seemed to unsettle his contact. ‘That is . . . not a good place,’ said Kerim, glancing almost nervously towards the waterlogged structure. ‘If it had been up to us, we would not have chosen to meet you here.’
‘Why not?’ asked Arnold, setting down his case.
‘It is a place of death. Even before the water fell, all the marsh tribes stayed away from it. It is said that . . .’ He hesitated. ‘That the end of the world will begin there. Allah, praise be unto him, will send out His angels to burn the earth.’
‘You mean God,’ snapped Cross.
Kerim was momentarily confused. ‘Allah is God, yes. But it is a place we fear.’
With the fire extinguished, the ragged ruins were discernible in the moon’s pallid light. They were not large, the outer buildings and walls having crumbled, but it seemed to Rosemont that the squat central structure had remained mostly intact. How long had it been submerged? Centuries, millennia? There was something indefinably ancient about it.
Not that it mattered. His only concerns were of the present. ‘Well, here’s something that’ll make Saddam fear you,’ he said, switching on a flashlight and opening one of the crates.
Its contents produced sounds of awe and excitement from the Ma’dan. Rosemont lifted out an olive-drab tube. ‘This is an M72 LAW rocket – LAW stands for light anti-tank weapon. We’ll show you how to use them, but if you can fire a rifle, you can fire one of these. We’ve also brought a couple thousand rounds of AK ammunition.’
‘That is good. That is very good!’ Kerim beamed at the CIA agent, then translated for the other Ma’dan.
‘I guess they’re happy,’ said Arnold on seeing the enthusiastic response.
‘Guess so,’ Rosemont replied. ‘Okay, Kerim, we need your intel on Saddam’s local troops before—’
A cry of a
larm made everyone whirl. The Marsh Arabs whipped up their rifles, scattering into the patches of dried-up reeds. ‘What’s going on?’ Cross demanded, raising his own gun.
‘Down, down!’ Kerim called. ‘The light, turn it off!’
Rosemont snapped off the torch and ducked. ‘What is it?’
‘Listen!’ He pointed across the lake. ‘A helicopter!’
The CIA operatives fell silent. Over the faint sigh of the wind, a new sound became audible: a deep percussive rumble. The chop of heavy-duty rotor blades.
Growing louder.
‘Dammit, it’s a Hind!’ said Arnold, recognising the distinctive thrum of a Soviet-made Mil Mi-24 gunship. ‘What the hell’s it doing here? We’re in the no-fly zone – why haven’t our guys shot it down?’
‘We first saw it two days ago,’ said Kerim. ‘It flies low, very low.’
‘So it gets lost in the ground clutter,’ said Arnold. ‘Clever.’
‘More like lucky,’ Cross corrected. ‘Our AWACS should still pick it up.’
‘We’ve got some new intel, then,’ Rosemont said with a wry smile. ‘They need to point their radar in this direction.’
Arnold tried to locate the approaching gunship. ‘Speaking of direction, is it comin’ in ours?’
‘Can’t tell. Get the NVGs from the truck . . . Shit!’ A horrible realisation hit Rosemont. ‘The truck, we’ve got to move it! If they see it—’
‘On it!’ cried Arnold, sprinting for the Toyota. ‘I’ll hide it in the ruins.’
‘They might still see its tracks,’ warned Cross.
‘We’ll have to chance it,’ Rosemont told him. ‘Kerim! Get your men into cover over there.’ He pointed towards the remains of the building.
The Ma’dan leader did not take well to being given orders. ‘No! We will not go into that place!’
‘Superstition might get you killed.’
‘The helicopter will not see us if we hide in the reeds,’ Kerim insisted.
‘Let them stay,’ said Cross dismissively. ‘We need to move.’
‘Agreed,’ said Rosemont, putting the LAW back into its case. The Toyota’s engine started, then sand kicked from its tyres as Arnold swung it towards the ruins. ‘Come on.’