Chapter 12

The Golem seethed. Hatred and frustration rolled from him like the heat haze from sun scorched asphalt. His body was rigid but almost trembling as his mind chewed over the same dark thoughts again and again. He could feel his emotions bubbling up, making him feel hot, making him feel the need to loosen his collar.

The Golem sat in a cheap plastic chair, arms dangling between his legs, torso slumped forward. Beside him was another hospital bed, with more machines beeping and whirring to justify their existence. In the bed was the same withered old man, barely clinging to life. In some ways it was like a photocopy of the same recurring scene he had lived so many times before.

In other ways it wasn’t, and this was why the Golem seethed.

The hospital room in Prague may not have been a five star hotel, but it had been clean, dry and heated. This room was a partitioned corner of an abandoned warehouse. The power that was being supplied to keep the old man, The General, alive was produced by two petrol powered generators. The room here was not dry. The walls swelled and dripped with moisture. No matter how many times he had the room cleaned it still stank of mildew and damp. Even the nurse was not ideal. She had been kidnapped from the previous facility and the woman was overworked and overstressed. She probably did not know it but if the old man survived long enough to be moved again then she would probably be murdered to cover up their trail. Conversely to her purpose and expectations, if the old man died then she would probably survive and be released.

The Golem watched for the nearly imperceptible rise and fall of the old man’s chest. If it had been hard to detect before then it had become almost invisible now.

‘Not long now,’ the Golem said, his voice an indistinct rumble.

Did he know for sure that the treasured old man’s sudden deterioration was the result of being moved so suddenly and so secretly? Did he know for sure it was the result of the poor conditions where he was currently being housed? No, of course he could not know this for certain. But he suspected it was the most likely explanation. Yes, the man was very old and had been existing on borrowed time for longer than anyone had any right to expect. But the timing fit and it boiled the Golem’s blood.

He could not, and would not, express to the old man how important he was to the Golem. He probably didn’t need to. But his enemies had made a grave mistake in putting the old man at risk, in hastening his demise. As the Golem sat, chewing on his dark thoughts like so much raw meat, he realized that he was soon to be untethered. Everything he had built here, one of the most powerful criminal organizations in Eastern Europe, he had built not for riches or power. He had built it for the old man. He had built it to show The General that he had chosen well when he had taken this lost and wandering strange little child in. He wanted to show The General that he had made the right choice when he had made this twisted monster his heir.

But soon there would be no father figure to make proud. When the old man made his one last final and almost unnoticeable exhalation, the Golem would be unleashed.

When that happened he would be able to turn all of his attentions to making the man responsible for this tragedy suffer. And he would do it with his physical powers, yes. His physical powers were his second greatest asset so he would certainly put them to use. However, his scheming, the scheming he had inherited from the old man, the scheming he had used to conquer Prague, this would be his most powerful weapon. And he would turn it’s full and deadly power on the one responsible.

The Golem continued to stare at the old man and chew on his dark thoughts. An observer familiar with him might have been able to detect that his little obsidian eyes were glassier than usual, that emotions other than anger and hate also swam beneath the monstrous surface.

The Golem shifted in his seat and his gaze drifted away from the skeleton in the bed to the crumbling plasterboard of the opposite wall. His eyes hardened, that glassiness briefly fading. He was scheming again.

A single word, a name, slipped like a puff of wind from his mouth. The word was spoken quietly, almost inaudibly, but with all the power and ominous potential of distant thunder.

‘Troy.’

Chapter 13

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Razmik found O’Connor in the library, sitting in one of a pair of red wingback armchairs. O’Connor could often be found here, reading or seemingly dreaming. In this instance, as in those many others, the priest was holding a lit cigarette. The smoke was drifting lazily towards the high ceiling in the still air of the room.

Razmik almost didn’t say anything. O’Connor was staring vacantly into nothingness, hefting one of the massive cartridges for Homer’s new cannon in his non-smoking hand. He seemed to be in a pensive place, and perhaps he had duties he needed to perfrom in that place.

But then he spoke, unable to contain his news. He said, ‘I’ve found something.’

O’Connor didn’t startle at the sudden sound. Instead his eyes casually drifted over to Razmik. It confirmed Razmik’s impression that O’Connor was always, either consciously or unconsciously, aware of his surroundings. In his youth he must have been one of the mightiest of warriors.

O’Connor said, ‘I’m sorry, what?’

Razmik approached him. He said, ‘I’ve found something. About the Darkley Corporation.’

O’Connor nodded slowly, drifting back to shore from the sea of his own private thoughts. ‘Something our respective wards will no doubt be fascinated to discover.’

‘Yes,’ said Razmik, settling himself in the chair opposite O’Connor’s. ‘But I had hoped to speak to you about it first.’

‘There’s danger then?’

Razmik did a Razmik shrug, but he nodded as well. ‘There may be. It’s been some time since the campaign that led us to the battles in Africa and on the mountain. The idea of them going out there again makes me a little nervous.’

‘They’ve grown stronger since then,’ said O’Connor.

‘Homer certainly has,’ said Razmik.

O’Connor shifted a little bit in his chair, finding a more comfortable posture. He said,’ They both have. The unit that is Homer and Ardia has grown to multiples of what it was. Homer has gained incalculable new skills. But more than that, Ardia has learned to manage him in a way that I never could. I think we will discover that he has become more than just a companion to her, but a weapon as well.’

‘I’m still nervous about the idea of setting off on a new campaign,’ Razmik said.

O’Connor cocked his head to one side and peered at his friend. He said, ‘And what about yourself, Razmik? How do you feel about committing to a new campaign, to starting the whole whirlpool going again? This surely can’t be good for your business or your bank balance.’

Razmik waved the comment away, ‘My bank balance could withstand a great deal more than you might imagine. Besides….’

‘Besides?’

‘I don’t know…’

O’Connor stared at him a little longer. Then he said, ‘I know why they set out on their respective quests. It might not be the most noble of motivations, but vengeance is a powerful one. I do wonder if maybe that has drifted a little away from them now. I wonder if something nobler is growing out of this affair that we started. Ardia, in particular, is still haunted by the ruined village she witnessed in Chad. As for us, you and I… We set out to help and guide these amazing young people that are so important to us but I wonder if maybe things have changed for us as well. I wonder if that might be your “besides”.’

Razmik’s face melted through a series of expressions. First came a kind of dazzled amazement, followed by a sheepish grin and finally embarrassment.

‘I’m not ready to discuss it,’ Razmik said finally, casting his eyes downwards.

O’Connor nodded, ‘When you are I would be honored if you came to me first. I trust you Razmik, and I can feel a plan brewing in your brain. I can feel something noble taking shape with you. When your “besides” is fully formed, please come to me. You have supported us this far and it would be my greatest pleasure to be able to repay that in some small way.’

Razmik said, ‘There’s nobody else I would even consider going to for counsel before you.’

O’Connor smiled at this and the two men sat in comfortable silence for a time. O’Connor rolled and lit a new cigarette as they sat, the previous one having burned itself to ash without ever reaching his lips during his long thoughtful staring.

With the cigarette lit and sampled, O’Connor said, ‘And what was it that you found?’

Razmik shook his head free of whatever reverie had been holding it and looked back at the priest. He said, ‘The Darkley Corporation is doing something in the Mediterranean. Well, not Darkley exactly, but close enough as to make no difference. Some little company that is either completely or largely owned by Darkley is operating suspiciously there.’

‘Suspicious how?’’

‘Contacts of mine, men who fly planes and drive boats between Europe and Africa, have become aware of helicopters coming and going from some kind of platform far out in the sea. Some of them are even aware of having colleagues be approached by representatives of Darkley to acquire their services.’

‘A platform? An oil platform, you mean?’ O’Connor said.

Razmik shrugged, bobbing his head from side to side. He said, ‘Something like that. I’m not sure. I’ve sent someone to get some photographs for me. The way it has been described to me, it sounds like an oil platform, or at least something very similar.’

‘And why do you think that this has a bearing on our situation?’

Razmik shrugged yet again. He said, ‘I’m not sure. Call it intuition. I know that Darkley has some involvement with the other hybrids. I have gathered enough circumstantial evidence to be fairly sure of that. Whatever they are doing in the Med, it’s secret. I’m very interested in their secrets. Even if it is not directly related to the hybrids, my bet is that if the secret keepers can be identified then they will eventually lead us to something we want.’

‘Alright,’ O’Connor said. ‘What comes next then?’

Razmik said, ‘I have some recon being conducted by some, let’s say, contractors. When that is completed, if this still seems interesting, then I propose a little expedition.’

O’Connor nodded, ‘Yes. I like the sound of that. An outing might do the kids some good.’