Guardians of the Gates - Part 3, The Osiris Gate, Jeff Schanz [red white royal blue TXT] 📗

Guardians of the Gates - Part 3, The Osiris Gate (Sample)

 

 

 

 

 

A novel by

Jeff Schanz

-Sample Only-

 

Copyright © 2020 Jeff Schanz

All rights reserved

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

 

Chapter 1

The US Army C-17 transport plane was waiting on the tarmac of a remote airstrip outside the London city zone. Its shadow stretched away from the plane, climbing the wall of an unmarked hanger. Early morning sun twisted the shadows of other objects sitting on the tarmac like characters from a Salvador Dali painting. The rarity of the clear English sky and warm sun had extended another day, although the sun hadn’t been up long enough to make the air warm yet.

Though the C-17 was clearly marked US military, there was no indication the airstrip belonged to any particular military. However, it was too sparse to be a civilian airport. There were also no other planes of any kind, commercial or otherwise, in sight. Only one lone aircraft was visible in the distance, an olive drab helicopter, and Sebastian couldn’t read the markings to decipher whether it was American, British, or other. A few posted soldiers were scattered around, most in desert camos with no obvious national markings. The whole place screamed private or mercenary ownership. Sebastian would have guessed CIA if he thought the CIA needed a secret or private airbase on the outskirts of London, but that seemed overkill even for the CIA. Whatever its little mystery, the scenario was more curious than suspicious. Sergeant Major Harris ushered him aboard the bloated aircraft and Sebastian found a seat.

The cargo hold of the aircraft doubled as the passenger section. It had a broad, open floor with no barriers or breaks, flanked on two sides by fuselage walls covered in low-profile, utilitarian compartments. A straight line of seats stuck out from the base of each fuselage wall, the seats also utilitarian, with flat, cushion-less surfaces built for men who were more concerned with stability for their heavy gear than creature comforts. Considering this plane’s primary function was to transport heavy machinery, vehicles, bulky cargo, and one hundred soldiers, or so, the amenities and sitting room wasn’t much worse than a commercial airliner.

Sebastian strapped himself into one of the side-facing seats. Harris had remained outside until the last minute, talking animatedly on his phone, giving someone a severe earful, until the cockpit called down that wheels would be up in five minutes. His phone was thrust into a pocket and Harris stomped up the ramp. He strapped himself in, leaving an open seat in between himself and Sebastian. A dozen men dressed as soldiers in no recognizable nation’s uniform also boarded with Harris. They made small-talk amongst themselves, speaking in muted tones that Sebastian couldn’t hear well, but recognizable as American dialect. They, too, took their seats quickly and strapped in. AR-15 rifles were tucked into their chests, plus a few small items pocketed in their uniforms, but they did not wear helmets or any of the heavier assault gear that would be expected for an Army squad about to engage in a mission somewhere. Maybe they were just bodyguards, though Sebastian couldn’t figure out why he’d need this kind of escort. As far as Sebastian knew, they were only going to New York to assemble the field agents, not heading to battle yet, unless these guys were riding along for an ultimately different destination that might involve a firefight. None of them seemed overly tense or charged up, as would be expected from a squad that was about to encounter hostilities. At the same time, they didn’t seem at ease, and made no attempts to acknowledge Sebastian’s presence. Not that he expected to be made an immediate honorary member, but he would assume the stranger on the plane might get at least a curious glance. Their attention stayed solely on themselves, with only an occasional glance at Harris.

Their combined thoughts were a lot to process, only partially readable, and didn’t tell Sebastian much other than they were waiting for something. All of them. Orders? Their “something” seemed to be centered around Harris, but wasn’t clear on what Harris was supposed to be doing or saying to trigger whatever it was they were waiting for.

And again, this didn’t bother Sebastian, just made him more curious. And Harris, as usual, wasn’t giving off clear thoughts. Just vibes. And like everyone else, the vibes were that he was waiting for something.

The cargo door had fully shut and the plane was rolling toward the runway. Only then did Harris take the opportunity to talk to Sebastian. It wasn’t at all odd for the Sergeant Major to stay quiet for long lengths of time. He wasn’t a man of small talk. Whatever he had to say would be necessary to communicate verbally, or otherwise, he wouldn’t bother. So, the words Harris deemed necessary to say were another added curiosity in this collection of curiosities.

He leaned a few degrees toward Sebastian and asked, “Do you trust me?”

What in the world is that supposed to mean?

Sebastian searched for an answer that would be appropriate, or at least not a terrible lie. His head told him that pretty much nothing and nobody was to be fully trusted at this stage, but he didn’t want to offend the Sergeant Major, nor did he wish to create any kind of friction. If recent history was any indication, the Sergeant Major wasn’t going to fall for any kind of fib, and perhaps he was wasn’t expecting anything more than the truth. Regardless of the sore feelings it may cause, Sebastian knew he should be as straight with Harris as possible.

“No,” he said, apologetically. “Sorry, I don’t trust anybody right now. No offense.”

Harris stared at him for a short moment, then slowly bent his lips into a barbed smile. He laughed a little in his throat. “Copy that, son.”

Uh huh. Well, thanks for the chat.

Sebastian blinked and shook his head. He would have loved to have just written off that conversation and ignored anything it may represent. There had been enough nonsense and drama in the past few days, he deserved things to be simple and understandable. No more cryptic chats or mysterious agendas. Whatever Harris was up to, Sebastian wanted no part of it. The bizarre situation of his kidnapped ghost brother was enough to mull over. Harris could do without him for a while, so Sebastian could just close his eyes and drown everything out for the plane ride until they hit the states.

Unfortunately, things weren’t that simple, and Sebastian wouldn’t get his wish.

As soon as the plane leveled off at cruise altitude, someone descended the stairs that led from the upper-level cockpit. Sebastian turned his head and cracked his eyes open only far enough to satisfy his curiosity as to who it was. He was expecting maybe a pilot or engineer, or some kind of personnel associated with directing the plane to its destination. What he saw made him shudder and sit up so fast his seat harness bruised his shoulder.

Severinus stood at the bottom of the stairwell.

 

 

 

The Saint council leader took a seat near Sebastian. Sebastian was still stunned and couldn’t decide whether to graciously welcome the leader of the Saints, or punch him in the face, or just jump out of the plane. The set-up at Westminster, the manhunt that made Sebastian an outlaw, and the humiliation of trying to disavow him and maybe even get him killed on the Tierra Perdida mission, had to have been sanctioned or even cooked up by Severinus. There was nobody on the council that despised Sebastian more. And maybe it was Severinus’ men who had been following him this whole time? Could that have included Harris?

There was another man with Severinus that Sebastian did not know. The man was tall, dressed in dark, Goth-style clothing, and was introduced as Lucian. He stood next to Severinus, refusing a seat, instead, planting his feet wide like a gunslinger, trying to stand with cool command. Sebastian couldn’t see a weapon on the man from his vantage point, but everything in Lucian’s demeanor said he had a firearm very handy. Severinus’ last right-hand man, Pee-Wee Herman’s lookalike, Turibius, had outed himself as Ashe’s double agent, and was last seen bolting from Ashe’s office in a panic, not looking like someone who had a plan B. Is this Pee-Wee’s replacement? Whomever Severinus’ new buddy might be, it concerned Sebastian far less than the presence of Severinus himself.

Severinus is in England. He’s freaking here! Why in the hell is Severinus here?

Sebastian felt like he was acting in a soap opera that wouldn’t let him leave character, or leave set. He stared at Severinus like the man had two heads, which in a way he did. Sebastian cut a quick look at Harris, who had casually removed his Ka-Bar knife and was dragging it across a whetstone, ignoring the scene like nothing unusual was going on at all. The dozen soldiers who had boarded with Harris sat neutral in their seats, no longer avoiding the sight of Sebastian, but not looking like they had one ounce of sympathy for the situation. No one except Sebastian seemed surprised that Severinus and his new sidekick were on this aircraft. Severinus wasn’t able to hide his thoughts and Sebastian didn’t like what he heard. Strangely enough, he couldn’t make out much from the Goth gunman. But Severinus’ thoughts were plenty clear for both.

Sebastian took in a deep breath and held it in perplexity. This is a goddamned trap. Probably all the way back from – from – when Harris was told to tail me? So, why now? Why wait this long?

Sebastian shifted in his seat to get even with Severinus’ eye line. His first preference would be to slam Severinus’ head into the wall, then see what happens next. Despite the satisfaction of it, he doubted starting a fight would accomplish anything. Perhaps it would be to his advantage to remain calm and almost flippant. Hey, it works for Bond.

Using willpower he wasn’t sure he possessed, he stared at Severinus with an almost dismissive gaze, like the Saint leader had a bad smell that Sebastian wasn’t allowed to comment on, yet couldn’t disguise the disgust. Severinus, for his part, stared back with a confident and superior air.

“Sebastian,” he said finally, with intentional weight, like it meant something to say the name aloud. “I believe it is time to stop running away from your messes.” It sounded like an old-timey schoolmarm scolding a student.

Sebastian again felt the urge to reach out and throttle Severinus right there, though unwise with the current glowering onlooker who had probably been brought in just to make sure Sebastian behaved himself during this melodrama. He said nothing and tried to keep his placid expression.

“I tried to stop you from digging too deep, but you just wouldn’t be handled would you?” said Severinus. “You really had no idea that what I was doing was for your own good, did you?”

Uh – apparently not. What are we talking about? Sebastian kept his thoughts to himself and maintained his unimpressed gaze.

Severinus sat back a little, adjusting his legs for a more comfortable position. He was very pleased with himself about this situation. However, Sebastian could also sense that Severinus was concerned about what led them here. There was something else