Chasing the White Lion James Hannibal (essential reading TXT) 📖

“It was. TACRON made their bid last spring. Each squadron comes with thirty-two drones. TACRON asked the US government to buy a minimum of two squadrons at two hundred million a pop.”

“And?”

“And they were laughed out of the Pentagon.”

“Why?” Finn asked. “Doesn’t the US already use Predators and Reapers to kill people?”

Eddie fielded the question, putting on his geek-splaining face. “Actually, Predators and Reapers aren’t drones at all. They’re Remotely Piloted Aircraft with whole crews of professionals at the wheel. True drones are autonomous, part of a collective.” He tilted his head toward the screen. “Like those. They take humans and common sense out of the kill chain. The public relations optics are untenable for any democratic . . .”

Something on Eddie’s tablet drew his attention, and Tyler took over. “The point is, TACRON built three complete squadrons, each designed to fit into a standard shipping container, and nobody bought them. Last month, all three containers turned up on the black market with a 90 percent markdown. TACRON is trying to cut their losses.”

“And that’s where we come in,” Talia said.

He nodded. “TACRON’s top negotiator, Emma Knight, has been courting the latest and nastiest warlord to come out of the Kongara Republic of Central Africa—a real piece of work named Martin Iwela. Knight and Iwela’s lieutenant, Mr. Aku, will meet for the final deal in an underworld sanctuary on the Greek Isle of Milos.” He paused, clearly waiting for Eddie to continue, then cleared his throat and slapped his armrest. “Eddie.”

“Hmm? Oh, right. The briefing.” A satellite graphic of the Isle of Milos appeared on the cabin wall, zooming in on a dormant volcano on its western point. “The locals call this Profitis Ilias, or the mountain of the Prophet Elijah. But don’t be fooled. This mountain is sacred only to criminals.”

A graphic overlay showed natural formations inside, like an ant hill. “Many moons ago, a silver miner bought the land, only to discover the mountain was hollow—full of defunct magma tubes and chambers, coated with obsidian and flooded with seawater. Fortunately for his struggling bank account, our intrepid miner was born without a conscience. He made seriously evil lemonade out of his lemons.”

Eddie replaced the volcano with a glamor shot of an older Greek gentleman, holding a pose Talia might expect to see in a painting above a rich man’s mantel. “Meet Orien Jafet, the owner of Club Styx, serving all your underworld needs since 1975. Club Styx is the criminal Switzerland of the Mediterranean. Neutral ground. A criminal sanctuary. Deals go down in the club without the worry of murder or cops, and Jafet takes a cut of every one.”

“As I’m sure you’ve guessed,” Tyler added, “Jafet is also part of the Jungle syndicate. He is Boyd’s top player, the Maltese Tiger—one step away from the White Lion title.”

The moment Tyler spoke, Eddie’s attention returned to his tablet. He scrunched his nose. “Guys, I have a message here. It’s—”

Talia held up a hand to quiet him. She had heard everything she needed to hear, with one glaring question. “So, we waylay TACRON’s negotiator, Emma Knight. Val and I replace her at the meeting with Mr. Aku in Club Styx. And then Aku wires the money to our accounts instead of TACRON’s.”

Tyler touched his nose, then waggled the finger. “Close enough. We get our forty-five million from the drone sale and send a big chunk of it to the Jungle. With Atan and Jafet—the Jungle’s Hyena and Maltese Tiger—both watching, we should earn our seat at the Frenzy table.”

“But how will we ensure the weapons don’t fall into the wrong hands?”

“You’re going to love this.” Holding her gaze, Tyler made a beckoning motion to Eddie. “Show them my favorite part.”

But they had completely lost the geek, still absorbed in whatever he’d found on his tablet. He scratched his chin. “Seriously, guys, this is weird. I’m putting it on the big screen.”

The picture of Jafet on the cabin wall vanished, replaced with a gray message box labeled AMESSAGEFROMTHEJUNGLE. A little white hand icon hovered over the OPEN button. Eddie shook his head, perplexed. “This shouldn’t be possible. When I hook up the tablet to the aircraft display system, it becomes isolated from all networks—behind a curtain of my custom firewalls. This message shouldn’t have come through until we landed and the tablet left the plane.”

“Yet there it is.” Tyler narrowed his eyes. “Is it safe?”

Eddie shot a glance at toward the flight deck. “Probably snuck in through the aircraft SATCOM—text and voice only. That data stream doesn’t have the bandwidth to carry files, viruses or otherwise.”

They all blinked at him.

“Meaning yes, the message is safe. Has to be. I’m opening it.”

The click resonated through the cabin. For a split second, Talia thought she saw the big blue eyes of a white lion on the walls, ceiling, and bulkhead, until a flash of sparks from air vents blinded her. The cabin went dark. The AS2’s three supersonic engines spooled down to silence.

CHAPTER

FORTY-

ONE

ADRIATIC SEA

FORTY-SEVEN THOUSAND FEET AND FALLING

EN ROUTE TO MILOS, GREEK ISLES

“MASKS!” TYLERBOLTEDFROMHISSEAT, heading for the flight deck. “Mac, we’re losing pressure. Drop the masks. Get us down!”

“Copy!”

In the red flash of the flight deck warning lights—the only lights in the aircraft still operating—Talia saw Mac flip a toggle on the overhead control panel. Oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling above every seat.

Tubes with yellow cups hung like flowered vines from the ceiling. Eddie had pulled his mask on but seemed to be hyperventilating. Finn unbuckled and yanked on the geek’s tube to get the oxygen flowing. Eddie took a deep breath and gave him a thumbs-up.

Like Finn, Talia did not immediately put on her mask. Her delay was not born of calm, but of the one fear she’d never been able to master. Heights. And by extension—flying.

Hidden behind the fear, she found intellect, and clung to it. She didn’t see any holes blown in the fuselage. Farm training