Chapter 36 The Swap

Algea-covered stone walls danced ahead from Aps's flashlight beam, lighting every footfall.

After several turns down the dripping passages, the trio stumbled into an enormous valley of weapons that could sustain an army for months.

Steel racks along the far walls showcased an array of firearms, including assault rifles and grenade launchers.

Cases upon cases of ammunition stacked so high, it would need a crane to hoist it down.

What truly shocked Grey was what was on center stage.

Encased in an armor of reinforced concrete were three beefy intercontinental ballistic missiles on mobile platforms, their payloads pointing towards the sky, strapped with nuclear warheads.

From his previous dealings with the royal family, he knew they were not merely a succession of symbolic figureheads.

But the extensive high-tech weapons cache conjured up images of just how much of a nightmare force they really were—that is until he was involved in blowing them up.

Robinson watched Grey closely, waiting for his reaction to the horrifying display.

Even the reinforced concrete silos used to spook him with their sheer magnitude and catastrophic potential.

"Contrary to the public narrative spun by the government, the trigger to unleash nuclear devastation doesn’t rest solely in the hands of the Prime Minister,” Robinson revealed

“In truth, the fate of the nation is decided by an enigmatic group known as the Nuclear Command Authority.”

"Does the royal bloodline perchance hold seats on this committee?” Grey inquired.

"Yeah, they were, among others."

"Other's? Like, who?" Grey, questioned with curiosity.

"Large-cap conglomerate companies, institutionalized banks, weapons contractors—you get the picture!"

"How enlightening," Grey responded.

"Let me guess they are all on each other's committees as well."

"Exactly," Robinson confirmed.

"A web of interconnected interests and power, if you like, where these entities influence each other's decisions and maintain their control."

"It's quite concerning, isn't it?"

"It's just the way of the world," Robinson added, seemingly resigned to the reality.

"Where does Magister Gulag fit into all of this?" Grey asked, hoping for some clarity on the situation.

Asp was on the first rung of the industrial staircase leading up to the control room; so far, he had been silently analyzing Grey's character.

It was uncustomary for the client wanting a contract hit to come along for the ride.

Finding family members was not his line of work either.

But Grey and Robinson's bounty was almost too good to turn down, especially after Gulag's lack of forward momentum at the moment.

Asp turned around to face Grey, his expression serious.

"Gulag is a cockroach. A parasite that uses people!"

"He needs to be exterminated then," Robinson declared firmly.

"Both of you are in a very unique position," Asp said.

"What makes you say that?" Grey asked.

"You would be dead if it weren't for the fact that I am currently disillusioned with my employer."

"Well, here we are," Grey said.

Dante and the rest of the bloodies arrived back from the quayside; the torrents of rain had partially soaked away the blood of the crew from Princess Isabella, leaving behind only faint stains from any struggles on the deck.

"Has the job been dealt with, Dante?" Asp asked.

"The crew will not be leaving any time soon if that's what you're asking," Dante said, casually removing his gloves.

"Good, we can continue our meeting in the control room," Asp suggested, gesturing towards the door.

Robinsion's return to the control room left a sour note of nostalgic déjà vu in his mouth.

He had no authority here anymore, only a spectator’s view of others taking charge of the operations he once commanded, blindly following Grey's reckless one-way ticket to oblivion.

The screens blinked with dull indifference, showing no signs of life.

The engineers had deserted their posts, leaving the submarines idle and silent until the next order would fire them up again.

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Everyone sat down around an oval table, like they were about to attend a board meeting, with Asp taking control, his piercing gaze never leaving Grey's face.

"Grey, you leave me with a dilemma," Asp said.

"You want Gulag. You want your family back. I get it."

"Yes, that is exactly what I want," Grey replied.

"You must understand we are technicians of violence," Asp continued, his tone growing more intense.

"You want to come, but we don't take deadwood into our line of work. It's hazardous, and it gets men killed. Me and my men, to be exact."

"Me and Robinson, we've seen our fair share of bloodshed already. We want to join you."

"Speak for yourself," Robinson interjected.

Grey continued. "What I'm trying to say is that we are not interested in putting ourselves in dangerous situations anymore. I just want my family and my life back."

"That may be so," said Asp.

"Grey, I'd doubt that you could even do ten press-ups without falling apart. And Robinson, you couldn't even fight your way out of a paper bag.

Give me ten press-ups." Asp commanded, to mild sniggers from the rest of the bloodies.

"Is this necessary? I don't see how doing press-ups proves anything," Grey said, questioning the relevance of Asp's instructions.

"Understand Grey. I have full control over these negotiations, whether you live or die. If you want Gulag, maybe seeing your family again; who knows; it depends on my decision," Asp replied confidently, silencing any further objections.

"Drop and give me ten, and you, Robinson!"

Scraping the office-type chairs across the beveled grating of the control room, Grey and Robinson exchanged exhausted looks and muttered under their breaths.

The older inspectors at Scotland Yard got a free pass when it came to the minimal requirements for passing the physical fitness test.

Robinsion's sedentary lifestyle from his previous royal duties involved tasks such as whether there were enough prawns on the canapes, occupied with endless itineraries.

Both struggled after the third press-up, their muscles burning with fatigue and their breaths coming in short gasps. By the fifth, sweat dripped down their foreheads as they fought to push through the pain barrier.

With each subsequent press-up, their arms trembled uncontrollably until they planked into a heap below the feet of Asp.

"Get up, both of you! You see my point; you're not fit for purpose."

Grey and Robinson got to their feet with resigned acknowledgment of their lack of athletic prowess.

"Asp I would stick to the sidelines and let you take all the risks. That is your bread and butter, right?" Grey pointed out.

"There are billions of pounds of gold down there for you lot. That has got to be worth something.

Dante and the Bloodies were already all in on the idea; it would be Asp who would have to make the final call.

"I just want the kill of Gulag for myself," Grey requested bluntly.

"Just set me up."

"Gulag is in Greenland right now," Asp responded.

"Waiting for our arrival," Dante added, joining the exchange.

"Well, that gives us a clear advantage," said Grey.

"It certainly gives a window of opportunity," said Asp.

"Especially if we move quickly and catch him off guard."

"That is unlike Magister. He does not like the cold," said Robinson, a little surprised.

"He is the president, surprisingly," Dante remarked.

Robinson laughed. "He would not have chosen to do that. What circles is he manipulating and moving around in these days?"

"Russia, China, world domination," Dante replied with a sly grin.

"What a wanker!" cursed Robinson.

"We went to your home on Gulag's instructions. They were alive at the time when we handed them over." Asp watched for Grey's reaction, regretting nothing.

Grey shuddered with rage and helplessness, trying to hold on to his overwhelming desire to seek revenge.

"I can't promise if they are alive anymore, though."

"I understand; it is just business; I get it," Grey said. "A contract that must be fulfilled."

"It's nothing personal," said Asp.

"Ok, we will take you to Greenland Grey; it is not a militarized country after all, so it should be a low-risk assassination.

With regards to your family matters, you can take that up with Gulag; that is none of our concern," Asp concluded.

"If Gulag has them or knows of their whereabouts, I want your full cooperation. That is the deal. Otherwise, just finish me off now."

Grey's voice trembled as he spoke. Asp could see the desperation evident in his eyes.

"We will see how it goes. But remember, my patience is wearing thin."

"I can live with that," Grey replied. A flicker of relief crossed his face.

"We have a deal, then," Asp said. "I will inform Majister that you are coming to Greenland with us!"

Robinson cut in. "Counterproductive, warning Gulag, don't you think? That makes no sense at all."

"Grey has a tracker implanted inside his body? We were coming for you ourselves," Asp stated.

"That's why we were a little surprised that you came all this way to see us. It certainly saved us a trip." Dante remarked.

"A tracker! That's news to me," Grey said like somebody just switched on a light switch.

"Uncle and Petrov, Gulag the whole lot of them; know where you are at any given time," Asp continued.

"Who are Uncle and Petrov?" Robinson asked.

Grey felt a ping of fear shoot through his body.

"Lo Chen! How could I have been so blind? "

They heard the sound of footsteps clanging on their way up the stairs. The Bloodies whirled around, pulling guns at the would-be intruder.

Behind the glass door, Grey could see those dark eyes of Lo Chen's from a mile off. He walked into the control room, smiling at Asp.

"It looks like we all have Grey for the taking," Chen said, raising his handgun with sinister intentions.

Gunfire erupted as Asp's men opened fire. Lo Chen jerked as bullets tore into him. Blood splattered across the control room, staining the walls.

He collapsed, a puppet with severed strings. Asp kneeled beside the body, pulling free a tracking beacon. Then he crushed it underfoot.

"You're off the trail now, Grey. Let's go to Greenland."

Preparations were made, plans were set in place, and the gold was handed over to be taken to a safe house.

Grey showered and freshened up, followed by a hot meal. Robinson gave a set of instructions to one of his most trusted former engineers. The directions were cryptic and vague, leaving Grey wondering what they were meant for.