The Peacemakers Read online

  "At the Bio-enhancement lab. Lord Octavia is there as well."

  "Follow me." Titus said, heading down the hallway.

  Used to his master's cold responses, Falco fell in behind Titus, matching his pace as they moved through the hall of the HQ towards the Bionic Enhancement Lab.

  As he marched down the artificially lit corridors of the HQ, Titus passed several Centurions, who saluted vigorously at the approach of the young Tribune.

  Tiberius. A ball of anger formed in Titus's stomach. Although Titus, as the son of the Imperator, was the genuine heir to the Olympus Brotherhood and all of its holdings, he was still only allowed to gain in rank like the rest of the commanders. Like a common merc, Titus was forced to bootlick the Legate for favor any chance he could.

  One day that would end. One day I will be the Legate. I will lead this military into the future.

  They reached the Design and Technology lab after a brisk walk through two major districts of the HQ. The eye scanner above the door made a brief, barely noticeable inspection of Titus's retinal data and allowed his entry into the darkened lab beyond.

  "Wait out here." He said curtly to his bodyguard. Falco nodded reverently and stood off to the side of the door.

  My loyal dog.

  The sound of screams greeted Titus as he moved to look through a partition of Plexiglas into the lab proper. Beyond the glass, laying on a center lab chair was the body of Agrippina. Titus stared through the glass as a multitude of technicians, doctors and other personnel worked to save the Olympus assassin's life. The charred remains of the once magnificently beautiful woman screamed and writhed on the table, as the doctors began the arduous process of bionic implantation.

  Titus heard the door open behind him. He whipped around angrily.

  "I said stay outsi−"

  It was not Falco. In the doorway stood a beautiful woman, clad in a dark doctor's outfit. Slender and shapely, she stood backlit by the bright lights of the corridor beyond.

  "I thought you might want to see me."

  Octavia. The lead bioengineer of Olympus. A woman of science, possessing a mind far outmatching Titus, she was responsible for some of Olympus's greatest scientific triumphs.

  "I'm sorry, I thought you were Falco." Titus said, slightly flustered at his mistake.

  His eyes lingered on her form. Octavia managed to make a fashion-less scientist uniform sexy. Her long brown hair spilled over her shoulders like molten shale. She was a head shorter than Titus, but lithe and toned.

  It did Titus good to see her.

  "She has to be awake." Octavia said, watching the surgical procedure with her arms crossed.

  "What do you mean?"

  Octavia looked through the glass at Agrippina while she spoke, "During the bionic implantation, she must remain awake."

  "Why?"

  "Bionic implantation requires full brain activity. No morphine, no drugs of any kind. In order for the body to not reject the bionics, the brain must be fully aware and conscious."

  Titus turned to look back at the grisly sight beyond the observation glass.

  "It would have been better if she'd died."

  Octavia moved to stand directly in front of the young commander. "Perhaps."

  She reached down and clasped Titus's hand with hers.

  "I missed you last night."

  "I...had other things concerning me." Not un-gently, he let go of her hand. "Did you talk to him?" Titus asked.

  Octavia paused, "Who? Your father?"

  "No, Hitler. Yes, my father."

  "Only for a moment."

  "How did he seem?"

  Octavia turned away from him. Titus gazed at the woman. Although she had been his lover for several months now, he still felt he knew nothing about her. She was an enigma wrapped in a mystery. Recruited only a few years ago, she had been one of the world's leading bio-chemists. Olympus recognized potential when it saw it and had made a coup in deciding to bring her in to the Brotherhood.

  Octavia answered Titus, her voice calm. "He is...upset. Losing Dante and the Code."

  "−half of the Code," Titus interjected.

  "If we are to complete Project Prometheus, we...you must get the second disc back."

  Anger was rising in Titus's blood. He slammed a fist against one of the monitoring stations beneath him, breaking it to splinters. His extraordinary conditioning often made it difficult to know his own strength. Octavia barely flinched at the reaction.

  "We have no idea where the disc is. Jackson Walsh stole it and somehow disabled the transponder signal imbedded in it." The rage was returning, "How many chances did my father have to kill that bastard Colonel?"

  "But there's no way the CIA or anyone else can break the encryption. We just have to reacquire it." Octavia's voice was soothing, "If you retrieve it, you would have your father's favor again. He will make you the Legate and then you will raise the fog from the eyes of the world."

  Titus took a deep breath, focusing his mind. He looked back at the room where Agrippina lay writhing in horrific pain.

  "Perhaps. There is still much to do before then. But I swear by whatever god is listening, that I will control this army one day. I will find the Code."

  Chapter 1

  The Bazaar

  Darra Adam Khel Arms Bazaar, Pakistan, November 15th

  Few areas of the planet were as lawless as the town of Darra Adam Khel, one of the largest suppliers of small arms munitions in western Pakistan. Having started as a tiny hamlet in the early 80s, Darra had received a massive stockpiling of US and Saudi-funded arms, transforming it into the western region's largest ammunition supply sites. But in 1988, a major ammo dump in Rawalpindi exploded accidently. In a day-long inferno, the dump rained down unarmed missiles and ordnance upon the heavily populated region, killing dozens. The Pakistan government sold all of the destroyed ammunition as scrap to arms dealers in Darra Adam Khel, which proved a windfall to local manufacturers. From those destroyed weapons, they were able to acquire the technology for manufacturing mines, machine guns, small cannons and even multi-barrel rocket launchers.

  To Joseph Braddock, the place had a stimulating wild west attitude about it.

  As the Staff Sergeant of the elite Peacemaker unit walked through the bustling bazaar of Darra Adam Khel, Joe could hardly believe the sights. For almost as far ahead as he could see, the Bazaar stretched on, with both sides of the street filled with shops, tents and pavilions chock full of every kind of weapon imaginable. In every store, all manner of Kalashnikovs, American assault rifles and Russian handguns were stacked together, row on row. Every minute or so, a stray gunshot from somewhere in the village cracked, melding together with the overall noise of thousands of Pashtun peoples walking through the streets.

  For Joe and his current companion, the six foot Arab-Russian mercenary, Krieger, getting into the bazaar had been anything but easy. It had taken a multitude of bribes given to the Afridi tribe of indigenous peoples to secure some form of safe transport for Joe and his companion into the bazaar. In order to better blend in, Joe had grown out his beard and stayed in the sun as much as he could in the week leading to today, allowing himself to tan significantly. Wrapped around Joe's head was a purple Keffiyeh headdress, his near shoulder length dark-brown hair pulled into the wrap. He wouldn't pass for a native Pakistani, but he would look less like a tourist, and that was the whole point.

  A rather excitable gun-dealer caught Joe's eye and spoke excitedly in his native Pashto dialect. He seemed to want Joe to buy one of his new after-market RPK heavy machinegun, or perhaps five AK-74's for the same price. Joe smiled politely and shook his head, continuing on his way.

  "Do you see contact yet?" Krieger asked in his thick-as-Heinz Russian accent, as he trudged alongside Joe. The Russian was fully embracing his Arab heritage, having neatly trimmed his beard, and wearing his own black and brown Keffiyeh headdress. Both men were swaddled in loose fitting dishadasha outfits; traditional garb worn by the native Pashtun tribes-people.<
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  In answer to his friend's question, Joe shook his head.

  "Not yet." He checked his watch, "We're early. Shamal won't show up until Decimus arrives. That was the deal."

  Krieger grumbled, "Let us hope the fool keeps his end. I hate Pakistan."

  "Oh come on, what's not to like?" Joe asked, swatting an annoying black fly buzzing around his ear, "Plenty of blistering sunshine, rampant terrorism, and enough guns to gag the NRA."

  The Russian, for once, wasn't in a joking mood, "Laugh now my friend, but if these people were to get a sniff at who we are, our bodies would be strung from light posts within a minute."

  Joe snorted in reply. He had to admit; Krieger was right. It would be a coup for some terrorist jihadist to string up two US soldiers bent on kidnapping an allusive Olympus dignitary.

  The Peacemaker Unit had been all over the globe since its inception back in March. After the Kazinistan incident, Joe had hardly waited for his wounds to heal before heading back into the fray. Over the past eight months, they had kept a weather eye on the newly arisen PMC, following Olympus like a bloodhound. Each time they arose, Joe and his team had been there, to act as a designated fly in the ointment to the powerful mercenary group.

  And here they were, in Pakistan, just under forty miles from Afghanistan.

  Another brush fire to put out.

  Joe didn't mind. It fed his soul to know he was fighting an enemy worth his blood and sweat to put down. Just in the past eight months he had seen Olympus commit a multitude of atrocities that went completely unheard in the media. It baffled the young Sergeant how they got away with what they did.

  Every act of atrocity just fuelled Joe's knowledge that he had done the right thing in joining Colonel Walsh's personal crusade.

  Braddock taped the small comm switch hidden in the watch on his right wrist, activating the radio transceiver in his inner ear.

  "Whisper, are you in position, over?"

  Doctor Yune had implanted the pin-head sized audio device into Joe and Krieger's left ears before the mission had begun, allowing both men to communicate with each other as well as with the other members of the Peacemaker unit.

  After a brief second, a raspy, almost serenely calm-sounding voice replied through the comm.

  "Affirmative, Joe."

  Joe smiled to himself. Danny Callbeck, efficient as ever. He spoke again, trying to make it look like he was merely talking with his walking companion, not with his comrade positioned 100 feet above the village.

  "Keep a weather eye Danny, we're totally exposed here."

  "Be careful Brother, that place is filling up fast."

  Brother. Danny had taken to calling him that these in the past year since Kazinistan. It gave Joe great pride that a man of Danny Callbeck's strength and character would call him brother.

  Joe asked one last question, "What's the view like up there?"

  * * *

  PERCHED LIKE a cat on a fence, Whisper waited patiently atop the stone steeple towering over the marketplace.

  "Best seat in the house, Joe."

  He meant it. The entire outlay of the village of Darra Adam Khel stretched out before Whisper, providing him with a perfect vantage point. The steeple was some sort of a religious monument, built several hundred years ago by the indigenous tribes people of Western Pakistan. Built from solid rock, the steeple towered over the marketplace at nearly 100 feet. Whisper had been waiting since early dawn, having climbed the obelisk in order to provide Joe and Krieger with recon throughout their dangerous mission. The steeple had a small outcropping for one person to sit uncomfortably.

  The Canadian Inuit ex-special forces soldier was clad head-to-toe in the awesome Whisper stealth-suit. Designed by the ever inventive Doctor Toshiro Yune, the suit allowed Danny to remain virtually invisible using light-bending shroud technology. Although it functioned far better at night, the suit was capable of appearing nearly invisible even during the day. No one would spot him up here unless they knew exactly where to look.

  His highly tuned instincts kept him in check, always on edge; ready for anything. The suit provided the blind soldier with everything he needed, including sight. His own eyes having been irreparably blinded eight months ago during the Kazinistan incident, the bionic enhancers in the helmet gave Danny nearly perfect 20/20 vision. The heads-up-display of the Whisper helmet showed Danny a detailed readout of all activity going on in the bazaar below. Danny swept the crowd, looking for anything that might compromise his team members.

  Objectively speaking, it was fairly quiet. For an arms bazaar anyway.

  "I'll keep you posted Joe. You guys be careful. This is one of the most dangerous places in the world."

  * * *

  "Tell me about it." Joe switched off the comm. Joe resumed his walk, scanning the crowd as inconspicuously as possible. Suddenly, Krieger smacked Joe on the arm, making a gesture with his head.

  "Wait, tovarisch, I think I see him."

  Joe followed the Russian's eye line to an alley way just off the market way. He searched for a moment before he too saw their contact: a short, no older than eighteen year old Pashtun boy.

  Shamal. That had been the name given to Joe by Colonel Walsh as the primary intelligence source inside Pakistan capable of getting them close to Decimus.

  As the two Peacemakers made their way through the crowd toward the young man, Krieger whispered nervously, "You sure we can trust this kid?"

  Joe shrugged, "If the Colonel says he's okay, that's enough for me. Keep your eyes out, just in case."

  Krieger nodded. Joe had to admit that, besides Danny, there was no one else he would rather have watching his back. The Russian mercenary, a one-time Blackwater PMC soldier, had more than proven himself in the past year as a capable and resourceful addition to Walsh's Peacemaker Unit. Despite his sarcasm and flippant personality, Krieger worked surprisingly well with a team, and was highly devoted to Joe, a trait the young Sergeant sometimes resented. It felt at times that Krieger was only in the unit as a favor for Joe, rather than any idealistic desire to bring down Olympus. It made the Russian rather unpredictable to everyone else in the Peacemakers. Joe had a hunch no one in the Unit truly trusted the ex-mercenary.

  As the two Peacemakers' maneuvered through the insanely busy crowd, they got a better look at their contact. The boy was probably closer to sixteen. How the hell could a kid this young be so trusted by the Colonel?. Slung on the boy's back was an AK-74, and around his torso was draped a bandoleer of ammunition. A kufi, or traditional Islamic cap, was fit snugly on his head. The boy was only five feet tall, standing a foot shorter than Joe and a full foot and a half shorter than Krieger.

  As they approached, Krieger was the first to speak.

  "You are Shamal?" he said incredulously.

  The boy tipped his head slightly, "Yes and you are Misters Braddock and Krieger, are you not?" His English was spotty, but accessible.

  Joe nodded, "Yes we are. Is there someplace we can talk?"

  "Follow." With surprising quickness, the boy disappeared down the alley behind him. Joe shot Krieger a suspicious glance before following.

  The boy was indeed the Shamal the Colonel had told them would act as their temporary guide through the Adam Khel village. He had a small indent on his chin that was instantly recognizable from the picture Walsh had shown Joe in Washington at the mission briefing.

  They followed the boy through the shaded alley of Darra Adam Khel. The alley off the market way was fairly quiet; sparsely populated with small groups of beggars huddled together, attempting to pass the dreary time of midday. Shamal led the two covert warriors quickly, careful not to draw any unwanted attention from prying eyes.

  Joe was rapidly getting anxious. Underneath the folds of his dishadasha, Joe placed a reassuring hand on the his M4 Carbine, slung snugly against his side.

  The Peacemaker Sergeant had to admit he was doubtful the kid would be particularly useful in the current mission. Two weeks ago, Walsh had learned from one of hi
s mysterious sources, that Olympus was hosting a massive arms bazaar somewhere in Pakistan. It had taken the CIA three days of tough leg work to pinpoint the location of the bazaar as the Darra Adam Khel market and even then, details of the arms sale were sketchy.

  One detail was for certain: Maximillion Decimus would be hosting the sale. As Joe moved through the alley, he grit his teeth at the thought of that slimy bastard. Ever since Olympus made itself known on the world stage back in early 2014, little publicly was still known about the enigmatic PMC.

  Except for Decimus.

  The primary weapons supplier for Olympus was the only true public face of the company. Making appearances around the world, visiting trouble-zones and hot spots selling Olympus's brand of hellfire and death for a price.

  It gnawed on Joe that so little was still known about this goddamn Private Military. Throughout the past eight months, even after the multitude of operations in Egypt, the Sudan and Croatia, the CIA still did not know A.) Where the Olympus HQ was located and B.) Who was controlling it. They had yet to even capture a single Olympus trooper or officer alive. Even if one was simply wounded, if it looked like capture was imminent, the trooper would activate a self-termination syringe within their body armor that immediately injected 100cc's of potassium chloride directly into the heart, killing the soldier in two seconds flat. Needless to say, getting any actual intelligence from Olympus soldiers was nearly impossible.

  Maximillion Decimus represented a clear break in the Peacemaker's year long crusade in exposing the truth about Olympus to the world. It was trickling down the grapevine that the Peacemaker Unit was making little headway in actually exposing any real threat Olympus posed to US security. It was becoming clear the CIA and Pentagon bigwigs were looking for any excuse to pull funding for the fledgling unit. This mission could very well be their ace in the hole.

  Walsh had told Joe the mission was completely unsanctioned. This was a completely deniable black op. Not even the CIA would be in on it. Joe knew Walsh was taking a huge risk on this one. But the value of their target outweighed the odds.