Hammer of the Witches (The Covenant Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  Hammer of the Witches

  Book 2 of The Covenant Chronicles

  Kai Wai Cheah

  Copyright

  Hammer of the Witches

  Kai Wai Cheah

  Castalia House

  Kouvola, Finland

  www.castaliahouse.com

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by Finnish copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental

  Copyright © 2018 by Kai Wai Cheah

  All rights reserved

  Editor: Vox Day

  Version: 001

  Contents

  Part One: The Hunted

  1. The Woman of a Hundred Faces

  2. Not A Career Highlight

  3. Kalypso

  Alpha: Kill Zone

  4. Warning Order

  5. Our People

  6. Players of the Game

  7. The Obvious Suspects

  Beta: The Handler

  8. The Road

  9. The Offer

  10. A Thousand Times Before

  Part Two: The Survivors

  1. Extraction

  Gamma: The Liars

  2. Some Crazy Conspiracy Theory

  3. Between Earth and Sky

  4. The Unconquered Sun

  Delta: Monsters

  5. The Ghosts of Conjurer

  6. The Living and the Dead

  7. Firepower

  Epsilon: True Believers

  8. Training Day

  9. Disclosure

  10. Intercession

  Part Three: The Purge

  1. Not My Kind of War

  Zeta: The Yellow Ghost

  2. Luke’s Gambit

  3. Strategy of Tension

  Eta: The Reversal

  4. Induction

  Theta: Double Game

  5. The Nature of the Game

  6. The Stormbringer

  7. The Traitor

  Iota: The Reckoning

  8. The Torn Veil

  Castalia House

  Part One: The Hunted

  There shall not be found among you anyone who makes his son or daughter pass through the fire, or one who practices divination or tells fortunes or interprets omens or calls up the dead, or one who covenants with unclean spirits, or one who permits unclean spirits to indwell within himself. For all who do such things are an abomination to the Creator, and for these abominations the Creator shall drive them out before you.

  —Deuteronomion, The Theograph

  1. The Woman of a Hundred Faces

  If someone had told me I’d be fighting the latest round of a shadow war in London a decade ago, I’d have laughed.

  War has changed.

  When I was younger, war was fought in Third-World cesspits against a poorly equipped but highly motivated and incredibly elusive enemy. Today, the enemy was still highly motivated and incredibly elusive, but now he moved freely in the First World and had access to all the toys and tech of modern civilization. And so long as he paid lip service to the law, the authorities were powerless.

  That was where we came in.

  It wasn’t good manners to run a deniable operation in an allied country. If the Anglians knew what we were doing, they’d have a conniption. Our own government would disavow us—the two of us who were Hesperians anyway. But the intelligence leading to this job had come from a not-quite-sanctioned operation, and the Anglians didn’t need to know about that one either. Very few people needed to know for that matter.

  At least we weren’t killing anyone today.

  Just stealing his information.

  “How do I look?”

  I glanced behind me. Eve was wearing a sleeveless black dress that cut off at the thigh and exposed a fair amount of cleavage. She emphasized the last with a glittering sapphire necklace shaped like a teardrop. She held a shiny leather handbag in her lap and crossed her legs, revealing her sheer black tights and matching ankle boots. Sexy and sophisticated, but her dress was loose and breezy, and her boots had flat heels, giving her complete freedom of movement.

  Today she wore a face I hadn’t seen before. She wore her blond hair in a complex bun, holding it in place with a pair of chopsticks. She had softened her sharp, angular features and widened the space between her eyes just enough to fool a biometric scanner. But her irises were the same glacial blue I remembered.

  “You look the part,” I replied.

  She raised a delicate eyebrow. “And what does that mean?”

  “It fits your cover.”

  Her real name was Eva Martel, but I had thought of her as “Eve” for so long it was hard to change. She was also a top-flight psion and a woman of a hundred faces. An hour ago, we gave her a dose of industrial-grade ambrosia. She burned it to shapeshift herself into her current form. She was the only person I knew who dared to shapeshift on a regular basis. By luck, skill or some combination thereof, she had avoided the usual ill effects of malignant cancers, exotic diseases, malformed limbs and genetic disorders.

  Of course, she was also the only person I knew who had covenanted with a god.

  Next to me in the driver’s seat, Pete laughed.

  “Luke is trying to say you look pretty.”

  I sighed and rolled my eyes. Peter Hanson was as incorrigible as ever. Maybe someday he’ll learn to reign in his impulses, but after four failed marriages, I doubt that.

  Pete’s dark prosthetic eyes abruptly narrowed as his face settled into a neutral mask. It was game time.

  “We’re here,” he announced.

  “Here” was the Worthington Hotel. Situated in the Mayfair district of London, it was a palatial five-star establishment frequented by Pantopia’s rich and famous. We had to dress the part.

  Pete parked our rented Mercedes in the basement parking lot. I smoothed my suit down and checked Pete’s.

  We were dressed in off-the-rack suits—black for me, blue for him. Formal enough for the occasion, yet common enough that we would not be mistaken for actual wealthy people and draw attention to ourselves. Just for today we were exactly who we said we were: a pair of executive protection specialists.

  “You ready?” I asked.

  “Let’s do this,” Eve said.

  We escorted Eve upstairs to the main lobby. The staff was unfailingly polite, greeting Eve as she passed. She oozed attitude, the sense of supreme yet effortless sensuality found in starlets. It was the way she rolled her hips, her languid smile, the soft gaze of her eyes. Pete and I were asteroids orbiting her sun, just another pair of anonymous bodyguards, the likes of which the staff had seen a thousand times before and knew to ignore.

  At the concierge, Eve unleashed a dazzling smile.

  “Hi! I have an appointment with Mr. Nasir. In Room 2092.”

  The concierge smiled back, bashfully looking away. “Of course, miss. May I have your name, please?”

  “Rose,” she said huskily. “Rose O’Day.”

  “One moment, please.”

  He picked up his phone and punched in a number.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Nasir. This is the front desk. Miss Rose O’Day has arrived for her appointment. Of course. Thank you, sir. Have a good day.” Turning to Eve, he said, “Mr. Nasir will be pleased to see you. Please follow me.”

&
nbsp; The concierge led us to the elevator. The first four floors were public access. The remainder was keycard controlled. He swiped his all-access card into the reader and pressed the button for the twentieth floor.

  As we ascended, Eve checked out her reflection in the shiny brass wall and patted down her hair just so. At our destination, the concierge held the door and bowed.

  “Here we are. To reach Room 2092, please head to your right, go down the hall and turn left at the end. Enjoy your stay.”

  I led the way. Discreet security cameras dotted the ceiling. We kept our heads down and eyes hidden, walking with deliberately altered gaits. I had dyed my hair ginger and wore brown contact lenses. Pete had grown a beard and mustache that covered his chin and lower cheeks, colored his hair black and placed a huge false mole on his right cheek.

  Despite our precautions, there were many things we could not hide: the triangle formed by the eyes and nose, the length of the arms and legs, the geometry of the hands. We had to assume the hotel security would have biometric patterning and recognition software, maybe even inroads into the national street surveillance network. The best we could do was introduce just enough doubt into the system to prevent an automatic flag. Big Brother was coming, and everyone welcomed him into their homes and businesses.

  Of course, if we did this right, we wouldn’t need the disguises.

  If.

  I identified Room 2092 by the two men standing guard outside. They were dressed like Pete and me: mid-range suits for the professional protector. The man on the right scanned us as we approached. His eyes flicked between the three of us, lingering on me and then Pete.

  A pro. One who wouldn’t be easily distracted on the job.

  “Good afternoon,” he said. “Miss O’Day?”

  Eve nodded. “That’s right.”

  “And these gentlemen are…?”

  “We’re her close protection detail,” I said in my best Received Pronunciation.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  I nodded. “It won’t be an issue.”

  She grinned. “Well, with you fine, strong young men here, I feel very safe today.”

  The other man smiled back. So far he hadn’t said anything. He appeared to be the younger of the two.

  “I’m afraid Mr. Nasir will see only Miss O’Day in his room,” the lead bodyguard said.

  “We can wait outside,” I said.

  “Very good, sir. Mum”—I mentally translated that as ma’am—“we need to pat you down and check your bag before we let you in.”

  “Oh? So strict today?”

  “Mr. Nasir takes his personal safety very seriously.”

  “I understand.”

  “Please hand us your phone and buds. We’ll return them to you when you’re done.”

  I held up my hand. “I can do that for her if you don’t mind.”

  The senior bodyguard nodded. “Please go ahead.”

  Eve unfastened her holophone from her wrist and handed the flexible device to me. Then, she pulled her holobuds from her ears, careful not to tangle the connecting wire. I slipped all three items into my jacket pocket.

  As the junior man picked through her handbag, the senior drew a metal detector from his pocket.

  “Please spread your arms and legs,” Senior said.

  Eve complied. The man waved the wand over her. It beeped as it passed over her necklace.

  “Ah,” she said. “The chain is made of steel.”

  “Let me hang on to that for a moment. I’ll give it back when you’re done.”

  “Very well.”

  She unfastened the delicate chain and handed it over. Senior scanned her again, and this time the wand remained silent.

  “What’s this?” Junior asked.

  He held up a yellow autoinjector in a clear plastic bag.

  “It’s my epinephrine,” she said. “I have a peanut allergy, you see.”

  She also had a medical card in her purse to reinforce the lie. But it wasn’t necessary today.

  “Ah,” he said and returned the bag.

  “I need to pat you down,” Senior said.

  “Didn’t you scan me just now?”

  “There are many things that can’t be picked up with a metal detector. Mr. Nasir insists, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, all right then.”

  Pressing the wand against her body, he felt her through her clothes, spending no more time than strictly necessary. Kneeling, he patted her ankles and nodded.

  “Very good, mum. Thank you for your understanding.”

  He returned the necklace to her. Junior returned her handbag, pulled a card from his right breast pocket and opened the door. She paused for a moment, clasping her necklace back on, and entered. The door closed behind her, locking with a solid thunk.

  Now the four of us stood in the corridor staring at each other, hands by our side, saying nothing. I faced Senior. Pete had Junior.

  Through my holobuds, I heard Eve say, “Good day, Mr. Nasir. I’m Rose.”

  “Good day to you, too. You are every bit as beautiful as your name.”

  She giggled. “Thank you.”

  Just behind the brilliant blue sapphire embedded in the necklace, there was a tiny microphone. It was powerful enough to pick up the rustling of clothes and the shuffling of feet against carpet.

  When in use, holobuds were supposed to project a visible screen, telling the world they were online. It was a privacy measure, mandated by international standards. Ours had been modified: they would only light up if we wanted them to. The bodyguards had no idea I was listening to Eve’s conversation.

  “Would you like some tea?” Nasir asked. “Coffee, perhaps?”

  “Tea would be wonderful.”

  “Milk or sugar?”

  “Two sugars, thanks.”

  Muhammad Nasir bin Munsif was a Near Eastern success story. The CEO of a medical equipment and supplies company, he had a personal net worth of twenty-five million dollars. And when the daylight world wasn’t looking, he moved funds and equipment for ad-Dawla Wahiyye—better known as the Wahi State, which currently ruled most of the Near East under its black flag.

  Sheikh Fahad bin Nayef had spilled many names last year, among them Nasir. Nasir didn’t just donate his earnings and products to DW; he was supporting a secret DW project.

  Fahad himself knew little about the project—just that it was sanctioned by DW’s leadership de jour—and he had been “requested” to infuse Nasir’s company with operating capital to expand his product catalog.

  We didn’t know the whys, the hows, or more importantly, the whos involved in the project. That information was—probably—locked up in Nasir’s computer. What we did know was that Nasir enjoyed regular stays at executive suites in the Worthington Hotel, usually with female company.

  That was where Eve came in.

  Outside in the hallway, the four of us stood around, watching each other. Senior cleared this throat and spoke.

  “Oi, mates, haven’t seen you two around before. Which firm you with then?”

  The Received Pronunciation was gone, and in its place was London’s famous cockney accent.

  “We’re new on the circuit,” I said. “Got this job through a friend of a friend.”

  “What friend is that?” Senior inquired.

  “Former Army mate. Retired some five, six years ago.”

  “Army, eh? Which regiment?”

  “Royal Green Jackets.”

  Both close protection officers laughed.

  “Eh?” I said.

  “If you’se RGJ, me mum’s the Queen.”

  I took a deep breath, keeping my hands low. For now.

  “What do you mean?”

  Senior grinned. “I know that look. Former squaddies are all stiff and proper like. But you two? Too relaxed, too poised, but you’re alert, too. Like tigers. You wuz SF, yes?”

  I grinned back. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

  The Anglians la
ughed.

  “C’mon, mate, your hands are too rough. You and your mate’s. I can see the callouses in the webs of your hands. You spent lots of time shooting shorts. That’s not a standard service weapon… for most people.”

  Pete glanced at me. He was impressed. I continued smiling, hoping that this soldier turned amateur Sherlock wasn’t up to figuring out what we were really doing there.

  “You spent time in places where knowing that comes useful, eh?” I said.

  “Oh, you know, we get around.”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “Where are you from?”

  His eyes twinkled. “The Regiment stationed at Hereford.”

  He meant the Special Air Service Regiment based in the city of Hereford.

  “Yeah? And your mate, too?”

  Junior nodded.

  “How about that?” I marveled. “We’re practically next-door neighbors.”

  “Really, now?” Senior said. “Which?”

  “The Wizards.”

  It was the popular slang for the Special Psionic Regiment. I’d cross-trained with them enough times to know their tune.

  “You’se a psion? For real?”

  I simply smiled and stayed silent.

  “‘ow about that,” Senior said. “What’s the color of the kill house door?”

  “How should I know? We blew it down so many times I stopped caring.”

  He laughed. I laughed. We all laughed. Over my holobuds, I heard Eve and Nasir wrap up their conversation, too.

  “Shall we get started?” Eve asked.

  “Of course. Would you like to freshen up?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great. I’ll be waiting in the bedroom.”

  Feet padded. A door opened and closed. Half a minute later, the shower turned on.

  As the water flowed, I directed my attention to my left arm. I sensed a hard nodule, shaped like a rod, pressing against my skin. It was a charagma—the mark of my covenant with al-Hakem al-Dunya, the Judge of the World and the archangel of the Wahi faith.

  The charagma was presently tucked away in a pocket dimension invisible to mortal eyes. I willed it to unfurl, rolling down my forearm, halting at my wrist. I could only tap into the Void when it was fully deployed, but in this position, I could snap it open in an instant.