Eberhardt stared longingly at the sketch map he had drawn before folding it up and tucking it into his journal. Then he took a last look into the heart of the Nubian Deathstone, bade farewell to its mighty keeper and left.
But the Stone remained lodged deep inside him.
Eberhardt had gone back to be lord of his little patch of backwoods Germany. He had donated the remaining notebooks of The Quest for Glory to Ludwig and the library, and then for the past twenty years he had lived the life of a country squire in a damp and crowded castle, forced to stay put to retain his inheritance whilst going quietly mad, dreaming of foreign lands and the freedom of his youth.
Now though, the thrill of the campaign was beginning to awaken him once more as he mounted up and rode on south through the woods.
He could feel his skin tightening, his pulse quickening. The Deathstone was calling him for its purpose; he did not know what it was but he spurred his horse on to the coming war.
PRESENT DAY, 17 NOVEMBER, LONDON
‘OK, so here’s the plan for our war.’
Kalil stepped up to the projector screen and circled an area on the satellite image with his finger. Today he looked even more of a playboy than he had before. His black hair was neatly coiffured and he wore a pearlescent white shirt, designer jeans and expensive loafers.
‘This is the target area for the attack. The extinct volcano where they actually do the mining is here; the blue circle is the caldera lake in the crater.’
He smiled excitedly as he turned back to face Alex and Colin — ‘Col’ — Thwaites, a former sergeant-major from the Parachute Regiment, who were sitting on chairs in the plain meeting room. They watched him attentively, notepads on their knees. Kalil had provided a small rented mews office in Mayfair for them to work from. He apparently lived five minutes’ walk away but still drove to work and parked his silver Porsche Carrera in the basement garage.
‘This shot covers a four-hundred-square-mile area and as you can see there isn’t exactly a lot going on in the neighbourhood.’
Apart from some rivers, the lake was the only thing that broke the green carpet of jungle that filled the rest of the picture; the sharp cone of the volcano stood out from the flat terrain by its shadow.
‘OK, so if we zero in on this you can see some more detail of the actual buildings.’ Kalil clicked the remote and the image zoomed in.
‘These are very good shots.’ Alex nodded appreciatively. ‘Where did you get them from?’
The remark was well meant but Kalil reacted uncomfortably. ‘The cartel has … connections.’ He looked evasive and turned back to the screen.
Alex had not meant to be intrusive; he was just grateful to be back in work and was trying to show willing. He was in a much better mood than he had been lately. His restless mind needed to be constantly engaged, and sitting around at home fretting about bills had been driving him mad. With his first two months’ pay in advance in his bank account, and the promise of a lot more to come, he had been able to arrange for some builders to do the roof. Lavinia, his neighbour, was speaking to him again and had called off her lawyers.
However, he had also had a call from the bailiffs in Herefordshire saying that his father would be evicted in a month if bills for services and debt interest weren’t paid. Alex had handed over enough cash to fend them off for a while but he was anxious to get the project completed so that he could pay them in full. Despite everything, he was not going to see his father turned out onto the street and, strangely, now that the responsibility was his, he didn’t want to see his ancestral home lost either.
Apart from helping with his domestic problems, the project was also his chance to prove himself; to throw something to the dark wolves of self-doubt that had been biting him for so long. I can’t be a failure if I am responsible for all this? he thought.
It was the biggest thing he had been called on to organise — his own private army. Finally, his own independent command, the chance that had been denied him by the army. He furrowed his dark brows and concentrated on what Kalil was saying.
‘So, the mining goes on up here in the volcano. They have also built a little hydroelectric plant here, in this break in the crater wall, where the lake overflows. Smart way of getting power. The mine seems to be a pretty primitive setup, though: just shafts dug into the side of the crater by hand. We assume they must be using slave labour from somewhere as there is almost no local population in the immediate area apart from some Pygmies.
‘The ore from the mine gets dumped into a system of chutes down the side of the volcano here.’ Kalil traced a blurry line cut through the dense jungle on the mountainside. ‘Alongside them there seem to be ladders that they use to get the slaves up and down the slope. They then truck the ore along the road about a mile west to this complex here on the flat ground. This will be the actual focus for the attack.’
The photo showed a collection of buildings on the south shore of a small lake, which was fed by the stream flowing from the hydroelectric plant.
‘We’re not quite sure what all these buildings are — probably barracks for the slaves and soldiers.’ Kalil pointed to a series of evenly spaced long buildings. ‘There are two key areas for the assault — this factory structure here is where the power line comes in from the volcano plant and is presumably where the ore refining goes on.’ He turned back to face the two soldiers and raised an index finger for emphasis. ‘It is essential that this is seized intact at the first opportunity.’
Alex and Col nodded and noted this on their pads.
‘The second focus of the assault must be on these houses along the lake shore, where we guess the command and control element live.’ Kalil paused. Then:
‘I must emphasise to you that the cartel requires that you neutralise this command and control element permanently.’ He looked at Alex for a long moment.
Alex looked him straight in the eye and then nodded.
There was no point in being squeamish about it; killing people was his job. What else did he expect if he agreed to start an illegal private war?
Alex stood up and tapped the map with his Biro. ‘It’s got to be a helicopter assault.’ He stepped back and crossed his arms. The three of them looked at the detailed satellite photograph.
‘Hmm, I don’t fancy dropping into that lot with a parachute.’ Col pointed at the dense jungle foliage around the mine. ‘Might catch me bollocks on a palm tree.’
Col Thwaites was in his mid-forties and had been working with Alex through all his operations in Africa. Sharp, tough and a stickler for military professionalism, he was the mainstay of the group of freelancers that Alex was currently assembling for the job.
Like many Paras he was short, stocky and wiry; aggressive energy making up for what he lacked in size. He was balding on top, with close-cropped grey hair, a coarse-boned face with gimlet eyes, and a small moustache. Tattoos of Blackburn Rovers on his right forearm and the Parachute Regiment badge on his left completed the picture of a Northern hard man. Wry comments and an endless stream of poor-taste jokes were delivered in a harsh Lancashire accent.
He had been born on a council estate in Blackburn with a restless natural intellect that failed to achieve anything at school. Drifting into a life of glue-sniffing and petty crime, he had signed up for 2 Para with a mate one day because they had been watching The Professionals the night before and knew that the lead hard man, whom they worshipped, was a TA Para.
As with many wastrels before him, the strictures of army discipline had provided the channel to focus his energies. He had fought in Northern Ireland, the First Gulf War and Bosnia. He had risen to be a sergeant-major in the Pathfinders, the Para’s élite