King Solomon's Curse

  ‘Hope they can’t hear you calling them that.’

  ‘I honestly don’t care. They know the LEC is relying on me to supply weapons, so they wouldn’t dare touch me even if they understood English. Which very few of them do.’ He rounded the wall into the open. ‘So what will it be, Chase? You should at least hear me out. I’m sure your friends would want to know that an offer was made, even if you didn’t accept it.’

  All eyes turned to Eddie. ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Fortune.

  ‘We can’t let him make a deal on his own!’ protested Lydia. ‘For all we know, he might sell the rest of us out!’

  ‘Oh, shut up, for God’s sake,’ snapped Nina. ‘But we know we can’t trust Brice, Eddie. As soon as he gets Mukobo back, we’re all dead.’

  ‘We still have the Shamir,’ Ziff pointed out. ‘That could give us something to bargain with.’

  Eddie made a decision. ‘Let’s find out what he’s offering.’ He shouted to Brice. ‘All right! Come over!’

  ‘You sure about this?’ asked Fisher.

  ‘Nope. Fortune, Paris, keep him covered. Howie, quick word.’ He took the young man aside and whispered to him. Howie looked surprised, then nodded and hurried back to the first chamber.

  ‘Where’s he going?’ asked Lydia.

  ‘I just want him to check something.’ He returned his attention to the entrance as Brice, hands raised, picked his way over the fallen rubble. ‘Right, everyone without a gun, get out of the way. Fortune, watch the ruins; Paris, watch him. I’ll frisk him.’

  ‘I’m not armed,’ said Brice as he arrived.

  ‘If you’ve got a fucking paper clip on you, I’d consider that armed. Hands high, against the wall.’

  The former agent took up his awkward position as Eddie conducted a thorough search of his clothing. Apart from a cigarette pack and lighter, his pockets were empty. ‘Travelling light, aren’t you?’

  ‘I thought you might take a perverse pleasure in breaking anything valuable, so I left everything else outside,’ Brice replied. ‘I have every intention of returning to collect them, though.’

  ‘That depends on you, doesn’t it?’ Eddie finished the search. ‘He’s clean.’

  ‘As promised.’ Brice turned towards him. ‘My cigarettes?’

  ‘Filthy habit. You should give up.’ Eddie tossed the pack and lighter outside. ‘Maybe I’ve seen too many James Bond movies, but I just have a funny feeling about the lighter being a bomb or the fags shooting poison darts.’

  ‘James Bond isn’t real. If SIS had the budget for gadgets like that in real life, the British Empire would never have faltered.’

  ‘Yeah, I always thought Alderley having that crappy old Ford Capri instead of some fancy Aston Martin spy car was a bit of a giveaway.’

  Brice gave him a half-smile. ‘Poor old Peter never did have the drive to reach the top, did he? Anyway, to business. First, I’d like to see Mukobo before we start negotiations.’

  ‘You can see him, sure,’ said Eddie flatly. ‘Okay, move.’ As Brice started down the passage, he spoke to Paris and Fortune. ‘Watch things here – if anything happens outside, shout. I’ll be up as quick as I can.’ He followed Brice. ‘If the militia try anything, this bell-end’ll be the first to get shot.’

  ‘I’m here in good faith,’ said Brice patronisingly. ‘I hope that when you hear me out, you won’t just accept my offer, you’ll do so willingly.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ They entered the first chamber. Eddie drew the revolver and handed the Kalashnikov to Ziff. ‘Doc, take this and help Fortune and Paris if they need you – or me if I do.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Fisher.

  ‘He wants to see Mukobo, and he’s at the bottom of the mine, so we’re going down there. Howie, did you check the batteries like I asked?’

  Howie held up one of the torches. ‘Fully charged, man.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Eddie took it. ‘Nina, I want you to come with me.’

  She was surprised. ‘What? Why?’

  Brice had his own objections. ‘That’s not the deal, Chase. I talk to you, and you alone.’

  ‘She’s my wife. What I know, she knows. I found out the hard way that it’s not good to keep secrets from her.’ He gave her a small but genuine smile, which she returned in kind. ‘That’s the deal. And you’re going to accept it.’ He twitched the revolver at the ex-spy for emphasis.

  ‘Very well,’ said Brice with clear displeasure. ‘Just take me to Mukobo, and let’s get started.’

  Eddie indicated the booby-trapped tunnel. ‘You know the way. Lead on.’

  Leaving the others behind, he and Nina escorted Brice through the palace and down into the chasm. They descended the last flight of steps to the Chamber of the Shamir. The lanterns were still lit within. ‘Philippe!’ called Brice. ‘It’s me, John. Are you okay?’ There was no answer. ‘What have you done to him?’ he demanded. ‘Did you knock him out?’

  ‘Ah . . . no,’ said Nina, truthfully.

  ‘He’s inside,’ Eddie told him. ‘Go on in.’

  Brice strode into the ancient room – and halted at the sight of the warlord’s corpse. ‘What – oh. Really, Chase?’ He shook his head. ‘This complicates matters.’

  ‘You’re not kidding,’ Nina muttered.

  ‘You don’t know how much.’ He went to examine the body. ‘Six shots at close range – including one to the balls? Rather a case of overkill.’

  ‘Well, when someone says they’re going to rape and kill my little girl, I kind of take offence,’ Eddie told him thinly. He fixed the gun upon Brice’s back, thumbing the hammer. The other man froze at the click. ‘And he said you were going to help him do it. Any reason I shouldn’t put the next six into you?’

  ‘You’ll need the bullets, for a start.’ Brice very slowly and carefully turned to face the other Englishman. ‘If I’m not back within the hour, nothing will stop the Insekt Posse from making an all-out assault.’

  ‘It won’t go well for ’em.’

  ‘It will go even less well for you. And you know that, for all your bravado. You may not have been an SAS officer, but you’re fully capable of making a tactical assessment.’

  Eddie scowled, but knew he was right: with their limited ammunition, the defenders would be unable to hold back a concerted attack. ‘Okay, then. What’s this deal of yours?’

  Brice regarded the lead case. ‘I assume you put the Shamir back in there.’

  ‘It’s the safest place for it,’ said Nina.

  ‘Perhaps. But it’s not fully safe, is it? I can still feel that . . . vibration in the air.’ He tipped his head as if listening to the omnipresent hum. ‘Solomon may have built the palace to shield the Mother of the Shamir from whatever activates it, but even with an inch of lead inside every wall, something’s still getting through. I’d assume that only some kind of high-energy particle or radiation could penetrate this deeply.’

  She nodded. ‘Whatever it is, exposure charges up the Shamir until it reaches a critical level. I’ve seen something similar before. Although this is much more destructive. It seems to produce ultra-low-frequency sound waves to shake apart – smash apart – solid objects.’

  ‘A sonic weapon,’ said Brice, almost admiringly. ‘The Horn of Joshua, for real. The Americans and Russians spent years working on similar ideas, but never managed to make them useable in the field. This, though? A man-portable weapon that can obliterate a building using nothing but focused sound, and do so from a distance – it’s an extremely valuable find.’ His expression became more calculating. ‘The perfect tool for regime change. Just wait for a country’s leaders to be in the same place at the same time, then open the box. Take them all out in one go, and make sure your preferred replacements are ready to step up in the ensuing state of emergency. And there’s no defence, because nobody even knows it exists . . .’


  ‘Is that your deal?’ Eddie asked, scathing. ‘You going to offer us a cut of what you get from selling the Shamir to the highest bidder?’

  ‘Actually, no. That wasn’t why I wanted to speak to you. My business here in the Congo is more important. Or rather, it was until you put a spanner and six Magnum rounds in the works.’ A small sigh. ‘And after everything I did to rescue him from the Yanks . . .’

  ‘How did you rescue him? He was on a bloody plane!’

  ‘A pilot with some large debts, and a mid-air interception and transfer,’ Brice told him, as if it was no big deal. ‘Members of GB63 – the Removal Men – pulled Mukobo out through the 747’s cockpit escape hatch and winched him up.’

  ‘But . . . then the plane crashed,’ said Nina. ‘What went wrong?’

  There was no regret or apology in his reply. ‘Nothing. The plan went exactly as intended.’

  ‘You what?’ said Eddie in disbelief. ‘“As intended”? Over three hundred people fucking died!’

  ‘You crashed a plane full of civilians just to cover up that you’d rescued one man?’ she cried, appalled. ‘My God!’

  ‘Over half a million Iraqis died to secure American interests in the Middle East,’ Brice replied patronisingly. ‘A few hundred deaths to secure British interests in Africa is a rounding error by comparison.’

  ‘What do you mean, British interests?’ demanded Eddie. ‘What’s Britain got to do with the Congo?’

  The other Englishman laughed. ‘Why do you think I’m here, Chase? I never really left SIS – that was all part of my cover. I’m here on a mission, a very important one.’

  Eddie was stunned. ‘What – the British government knows you’re trying to start a civil war?’

  ‘They authorised it! Do you think I ended up in this hellhole on a whim? I’m working on the orders of C, and with complete immunity from prosecution for any and all actions I take in the course of my mission. We want secession for eastern Congo. My job is to make sure it happens. Although,’ he glanced at Mukobo’s body, ‘you’ve complicated things quite considerably.’

  ‘Oh no, I heartily fucking apologise,’ said Eddie, though his sarcasm was blunted by shock. His own country was behind everything?

  ‘You destroyed an airliner!’ Nina added. ‘You killed hundreds of civilians – how can you possibly have immunity?’

  ‘Section 7 of the 1994 Intelligence Services Act,’ Brice replied in a smug, lecturing tone. ‘Otherwise known as the “James Bond clause”. SIS officers are protected from prosecution for any actions taken in service of Her Majesty’s Government anywhere in the world, as long as they have written authorisation from the Secretary of State. And I assure you, I have full authorisation.’

  ‘You were ordered to take down a plane to rescue Mukobo?’ asked Eddie, horrified.

  ‘No, no. There are very few politicians willing to get their hands that dirty. I was simply given an objective – “to bring about the independence of eastern Congo and secure any and all British interests therein” was, I believe, the exact wording. How I achieved it was entirely my decision. Mukobo was by far the best strongman to unite the various political groups and militias, so I had to arrange his removal from American custody. Which,’ he gave Eddie a sharp look, ‘I would never have had to if you hadn’t turned him over to the police in Tenerife. If the Removal Men had bagged him as planned, we would have brought him back to DRC and set things in motion three years sooner. You cost us a lot of time, effort and money. And lives.’

  ‘Don’t you fucking try to put any of that on me!’ Eddie shouted. ‘You set up the plane crash, you let that fucking maniac Mukobo run loose and kill God knows how many people. You’re the one responsible, not me.’

  ‘And why are you doing all this?’ Nina demanded. ‘Why would Britain want to split this country in two? What’s in it for them?’

  Again, Brice became distinctly lecturing. ‘The Democratic Republic of Congo has some of the world’s largest deposits of rare minerals. Unfortunately, the mining rights have been handed to other countries of late – China and even Russia have been taking control. I’m not saying the current government is utterly corrupt, but . . . money talks. However, if the east becomes an independent state—’

  ‘You get to negotiate new deals,’ she realised. ‘And the new rulers will be very grateful to the people who put them in power.’

  He nodded. ‘You’re brighter than your husband. Although I never really doubted that.’

  ‘And you’re only as bright as Mukobo if you’re going to insult a man pointing a gun at your head,’ the Yorkshireman rumbled.

  Brice ignored him. ‘But yes, you’re right,’ he told Nina. ‘We may have won our freedom with Brexit, but because it’s taken us out of the European Union, we’re losing out on a lot of deals that were signed with the EU as a bloc. This way, we get to secure vital access to rare minerals with exclusive mining concessions for Monardril – a British company.’

  ‘All this is about fucking mining?’ Eddie said with disgust. ‘MI6 has killed Christ-knows how many people, just so some silver-haired twat in a helicopter can make more money?’

  ‘It’s about securing the future of my country!’ Brice replied, for the first time revealing a hint of defensive anger. ‘Of your country too. Never forget that, Chase. We both took an oath to protect it against all enemies. And any nation that denies us a resource we need is an enemy. There are plenty who are rushing to sabotage us now that we’re going it alone.’

  ‘So your allies suddenly become your enemies because they’ve got a contract to mine coltan or whatever, and you haven’t?’ said Nina.

  Eddie rolled his eyes. ‘Great, like we need more people who hate us. So is this how MI6 protects us from enemies – by making sure we’ve always got plenty of enemies we need protecting from?’

  ‘Oh, grow up, Chase!’ Brice snapped. ‘The job of SIS isn’t to chase spies or fight terrorists. We have far more important things to do. We were founded to help the British Empire play the Great Game against the other imperial powers of the day; the players may have changed since then, but the game is still going on. We’ve lost some pawns, but we still have powerful pieces on the board. Our purpose is to keep them there, and make the best use of them.’

  ‘But whenever you move your fucking chess pieces around, real people get killed. And it’s the poor buggers in the forces who take the brunt of it. Let me guess: if eastern Congo became independent, the army and SAS would be sent here to “help” Monardril take over from the mining companies who were already there?’

  ‘The armed forces exist to secure and maintain British interests by force, whether the threat thereof or actual. That’s their sole purpose.’

  ‘Bollocks!’ Eddie protested. ‘I didn’t join the army or the SAS to fight for some rich bastard’s business plan. Or to start coups that’ll leave a lot of innocent people dead. I did it to serve my country and make a difference to the world.’

  To his anger, his heartfelt assertion produced only a mocking smirk from Brice. ‘If you really believe that the SAS and our other special forces are there to preserve world peace and protect the innocent, you’re even more naive and stupid than I thought. You know, you were actually lucky to join the SAS when you did, just as there was a genuine war against a clear enemy.’

  Eddie snorted. ‘Yeah, I felt really lucky while I was being shot at by the Taliban and al-Qaeda.’

  ‘I mean that you had the fortuitous timing to be able to take the moral high ground and be a soldier with a good cause: a rescuer, a hero,’ the MI6 officer went on. ‘Rather than being an enforcer, muscle for Britain’s friendly despots and warlords. A few years earlier, and you would have been in the islands of the Far East burning farmers’ villages and shooting their livestock to clear their land for rubber plantations, or executing dissidents who challenged the authority of our allies.’

 
‘That’s bullshit. That’s not what we do.’

  ‘You do what you’re told to do! Your purpose was to kill whoever we pointed you at, Chase. Nothing more, nothing less. SIS determines the targets, and you eliminate them. It doesn’t matter if they’re ISIS or the IRA, or civilians in some backwater country most people back home couldn’t even find on a map. If we decide their deaths serve British interests, then you make them dead.’ Another dismissive laugh. ‘Don’t give me any airy-fairy nonsense about making the world a better place.’

  ‘So it’s “My country, right or wrong?”’ Eddie said, appalled. ‘Wrong is wrong, whichever fucking side it is!’

  ‘You serve your country by putting it first, above everything else,’ Brice replied. ‘Your own opinions, your own morals, even your own family – and your own life.’

  Nina regarded him contemptuously. ‘Sorry, but you don’t seem the kind to sacrifice your own life for your country. Everyone else’s lives, maybe—’

  ‘You don’t know what I’ve sacrificed for my country, Dr Wilde,’ Brice cut in, again with a flash of anger. ‘But you, Chase – I said once that your country had given you everything, and you repaid her by walking away. Well, now it’s time to settle your debts. Your turning Mukobo into Swiss cheese affects things, but I didn’t intend to let him stay around after independence anyway.’

  ‘You were going to kill him?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘He was far too unstable to allow to run a country, even by the standards of some of the despots we’ve supported in the past. Fabrice Kabanda is much more . . . civilised. And easier to control. Which brings me back to my offer, or at least an amended version.’ He straightened his clothing as if about to make a sales presentation. ‘With Mukobo dead, the chances of the secessionists winning have decreased considerably. Kabanda just doesn’t have the necessary capacity for violence. But that would redress the balance in their favour.’ He indicated the box containing the Shamir.

  Nina was not impressed. ‘You want to give it to those lunatics outside?’