The 5th Amulet Read online

  THE

  5TH

  AMULET

  S J HAILEY

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 SJ Hailey

  All rights reserved.

  To my parents and brother for our first adventures

  and my wife and daughter for our future journeys.

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY ONE

  TWENTY TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  TWENTY FOUR

  TWENTY FIVE

  TWENTY SIX

  TWENTY SEVEN

  TWENTY EIGHT

  TWENTY NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY ONE

  THIRTY TWO

  THIRTY THREE

  THIRTY FOUR

  THIRTY FIVE

  THIRTY SIX

  THIRTY SEVEN

  THIRTY EIGHT

  THIRTY NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY ONE

  FORTY TWO

  FORTY THREE

  FORTY FOUR

  FORTY FIVE

  FORTY SIX

  FORTY SEVEN

  FORTY EIGHT

  FORTY NINE

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  LIST OF ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  CHANGES SINCE 2008

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  An amulet is an object that protects a person from trouble; but the original Greek meaning comes from the word talein, which means ‘to initiate into the mysteries.

  ONE

  Iceberg Alley, Grand Banks.

  Two hundred and fifty miles east southeast of Newfoundland, a portion of the Labrador Current flows southward along the eastern edge of the Grand Banks. The icebergs and sea ice from here created the Titanic disaster of 1912.

  It is still an unforgiving sea.

  The oil supply vessel Sea Eagle ploughed through the intimidating winter waves of the Canadian coast. Black water capped with foam slammed into the red hull from all angles. The assault on the reinforced glass of the forward bridge was relentless, despite it being fifteen metres above the waterline.

  The ship was front heavy, like a bulldog. A huge bow for dealing with the conditions of the northern Atlantic. The flat stern carried cargo and could be adapted for helicopter landing.

  Captain Skanks was a rough looking Scotsman with a shaggy beard and head that was sinking into his neck. He was wedged into his large chair; his red knuckled hand gripped a battered mug of overly sweetened coffee.

  The first mate called over, ‘Are you ever going to throw that mug out?’

  ‘This is an antique.’ Skanks replied.

  ‘Cap, it’s a 1977 Queen’s Silver Jubilee mug, there must be millions around the world.’

  ‘But none with this ancestry like me it’s a survivor.’

  ‘What are you on about? There’s only superglue holding it together.’

  ‘This mug Crawford, has survived four ships and two wives. You see this crack on the handle. First wife, last fight. She gave me stitches in my head.’

  ‘Mean lady?’

  ‘Yep. God I loved that woman.’

  Crawford laughed with Skanks, knowing the only real love he had ever had was the sea, although it took him years to admit.

  Skanks looked out through the spray, seeing storm clouds in the distance, but not much else. ‘We have a job to do, how much more of this storm have we got?’

  Crawford reviewed the latest information. ‘Satellite imagery shows maybe five miles and then it will blow south of us.’

  Skanks knew he could trust his judgement. ‘And where’s our quarry?’

  ‘You mean the iceberg?’

  ‘Anything else out here we need to worry about?’

  ‘Besides the freezing sea, icebergs and thirty foot waves?’

  ‘Always the comedian Crawford, you know sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.’

  ‘Yeah I know, sorry. The berg is fifteen miles north east.’

  ‘Ice patrol tag still squawking?’

  ‘Yes Cap.’

  The International Ice Patrol dropped GPS tags onto all icebergs which transmitted their location to shipping in the area. This allowed the ships and oilrigs that occupied this lethal stretch of ocean, to remain informed of possible issues from the drifting ice.

  ‘Which platform is she threatening?

  ‘Hibernia.’

  ‘So, one and a half billion tonnes of oil platform versus an iceberg the size of a football stadium.’

  ‘Wouldn’t like to bet on that.’

  ‘Neither would our masters. Which is why we need to tow it out of harm’s way?’

  ‘Not exactly towing boss, more suggesting a slight detour.’

  ‘True Crawford, but doesn’t make it any less dangerous.’

  Less than two hours later the experienced crew got the specialist cable around the berg with a careful circling manoeuvre. The winch team and navigator worked effectively to circle the enormous slab of ice with a high strength cable. Regularly spaced orange floats along its length kept it visible on the surface. Skanks wanted to make sure there were no problems, snagged sections or small growlers that could seriously compromise the dangerous operation.

  A small UAV wheeled out on the deck, six-foot wingspan and a prop motor was reminiscent of a brightly coloured oversized toy. The lightweight plane was launched into the strong wind and powered to its chosen altitude with ease. A direct feed from its two cameras appeared on monitors above the Captain’s chair.

  The iceberg was two hundred metres long, one hundred wide and fifty high. The UAV circled around the white island, checking for any smaller bergs floating around. If a chunk of ice fell off it could present a much larger hazard from lying low in the water.

  After a thorough check it was late afternoon when they began towing. The fourteen thousand horsepower engines gradually built up power. Foam and spray churned from the stern, leaving a white carpet right up to the building sized piece of ice overlooking the ship.

  Random cracking and rumbling amongst the background sounds of the cold North Atlantic was the only indication of movement. The cable held.

  Something on the feed from the UAV screen perked Skanks curiosity; he pried his body from the chair

  ‘What’s that?’ His thick fingers left a mark on the pristine LCD monitor. ‘Rewind and pause. There! Dark outline, something in the ice.’

  Davis the UAV operator turned the plane and made a single low pass over the berg. The wind blowing off its vertical sides buffeted the small aircraft.

  ‘What does that look like to you?’

  Davis looked at Skanks, ‘You are going to think I am crazy, but it looks like the stern of a ship?’

  ‘I don’t think you’re crazy Davis, thought I had finally cracked for a minute.’

  Skanks moved over to the computer terminal on the far side of the bridge. With surprising dexterity he emailed the images to the friend who had given him the UAV.

  ‘Who you sending that to boss?’

  ‘Jacob Mathias, an old friend. Saved his life once and he got me a good divorce lawyer. Gave me that UAV as a thank you.’

  As he came onto the r
ear bridge, Crawford heard something unfamiliar on the wind. A scraping noise, metallic, something too different to be normal. He called down to the winch deck. ‘Get someone to check the cable on the back, sounds like its catching.’

  He looked towards the berg quarter of a mile away. It began to turn. Not sideways, but over, towards the Sea Eagle. Crawford shouted across the bridge, ‘the berg’s spinning Cap!’ panic changing his voice to a scream.

  The cable had shifted and the berg began to turn turtle. Its lucid blue underbelly rolled into view with surprising speed.

  As the berg rotated it displaced a huge mound of water in front of it. A crewman was unlocking the rear hatch on the winch deck, the bottom handle was sticking as usual. He gave it a kick to loosen it.

  The mound of water became a large wave, cresting and moving with astonishing speed. A wave over thirty feet high surged headlong towards the aft of the ship, washing over the deck within seconds.

  The crewman swung the rear hatch open to see the three men on the winch deck being thrown towards him. Two hit the wall; even over the noise of the water he heard the crunch of bone. He attempted to shut the open hatch, but a third crewman washed into the void. The wall of water struck the open hatch and entered the ship. The massive change in pressure blasted any unsecured doors off their hinges.

  Two other men were climbing up from the engine room, the torrent of water slammed down the corridor passed over their bodies and cascaded onwards into the engine room. The explosion as the freezing seawater hit the red-hot engines blew out a small section of metal, compromising what little hull integrity remained.

  The sea straddled the stern, tonnes of salt water pushed through the open hatches. The freezing Atlantic Ocean relentlessly surged over the rest of the ship.

  Skanks and Crawford were still on the bridge, feeling the ship shifting down as the tonnes of water inundated the superstructure. Neither of them had their survival suits on, they both knew what was going to happen in the next few minutes. Crawford shouted over the noise as the ship was dragged down. ‘Been a pleasure Cap.’ Skanks just looked his friend in the eye and nodded as he hit the keyboard, sending the email to his friend Jacob Mathias. Then he lost his footing.

  The bridge was now at forty-five degrees as the ship lost buoyancy. Skanks reached for the emergency beacon release button. Before he could activate it he slid down the floor breaking his leg on impact, the pain was excruciating but Skanks knew he would not have to tolerate it for long.

  The Sea Eagle was below the surface within minutes. If the shock of hitting the freezing water did not kill the crew, they either drowned or died of hyperthermia.

  On the surface the only remaining sound was the buzzing of the UAV’s engine as it circled above a swirling mass of white water and debris.

  TWO

  Mabalia Republic, Horn of Africa.

  Archer Mathias sat in the bar as dust from the street blew in, stirring up the combined odours of tobacco, stale beer and roasted meat. Was this the lingering stench of civil war?

  He had come in by boat on the coast of Somalia, by car and truck to Mabalia. A UN safe haven formed to stabilise the region, which it was barely doing. He had seen the dead everywhere, some still walking, but dead they were. He knew how the world could allow this. One of the many reasons he had turned his back on his life.

  Ex-soldier, ex-son, ex-patriot.

  Archer was a private security consultant working for Protection Incorporated. No one here knew his real name, a pseudonym was used to support any enquiry. Archer had recently disagreed with his father on the circumstances of his mother’s death and wanted to be anywhere but home. He signed up for a one-year contract to see if he preferred this way of living. He was invited by Khan, a mate from Ranger School he had not seen for years. He had thought he was dead, but he just turned up and offered him a job.

  The pay was good, better than Uncle Sam’s but the conditions were variable. Someday clients would be in five star hotels, other times in seedy motels without their wives’ knowledge. His job was not to judge, just to assess, protect and keep his mouth shut, which he did competently. This job had come about from that aptitude, personal protection for the President of Mabalia.

  This was his seventh month here; he had settled in quick, annoying some people by changing all the woefully inadequate security protocols. This annoyed Enzi, the head of internal security restricting his ability to continue with his covert operations

  Since Archer had been recruited there was only one attempted assassination, a simple shooter with a handgun, dealt with quickly and easily. President Uncotto’s trust in Archer had multiplied after that, ‘you have proved your worth Mr Darnay, I am grateful.’ The president did not know Archers real name, just his cover.

  Rarely did the President speak to Archer directly in public, there was an understanding between them which had developed and this was based on trust. Archer liked it, reminded him of home, before his Mom died.

  He tried not to have habits, never the same place twice, no patterns, and no predictability. The only people who could see it were kindred spirits, like Khan who was the last person he expected to see in a bar in Mabalia, but there he was in the doorway.

  Archer’s two men made brief eye contact with him, and then allowed the stranger to approach. Even on a day off, walking around alone was extremely unhealthy, the increased kidnapping of oil workers currently plaguing them was testament to that.

  Khan’s teeth emphasised his handsome dark features. His hair was long and tied back behind his head in a rough ponytail; his combats were tatty and dirty letting him blend into the crowd. Archer knew better than to call him over, as he would at home, he just nodded and kicked a chair out. Khan approached, scanning the room.

  ‘It’s safe buddy, trust me.’

  ‘There is no safe, not even home’

  Archer laughed, ‘you are right old friend. Tea?’

  ‘You still drink that?’

  ‘Green tea, take it with me everywhere, boiled water makes it safer than coffee.’

  ‘Disgusting. So how’s tricks?’

  Before Archer answered a man came over with a bottle of whiskey, Khan nodded politely and paid the man.

  Archer waited until he was out of earshot, concerned that Khan did not have to order the bottle. ‘So how have you been?’

  ‘Great, great. Been a hell of a year, how’s your mother and father, its years since I have been on the ranch.’

  ‘Dad is off saving the world as usual. My mom, died.’

  ‘Shit man, I am really sorry, I liked her.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘Cancer. Ate healthy, exercised, never smoked and it still got her.’

  ‘Were you with her at the end?’

  ‘No, she died alone. I was in Afghanistan, Dad was in the Arctic.’

  Khan was silent, watching his friends face.

  ‘That’s why I am here. Too many memories at home. I am not talking to my dad.’

  ‘Not his fault, he was away.’

  Archer slammed his fist down on the table, ‘he could have been, but he chose not to be.’

  The other occupants of the bar looked around briefly and then returned to their business.

  ‘Again, I am sorry. That why you took the job then?’

  ‘This company is alright, the job has its advantages. I mean when you tell your kids that you have guarded presidents, that’s cool.’

  Khan laughed, ‘And who are you having kids with? And when?’

  Archer saw the joke.

  ‘Okay so I might need to get a woman first’

  ‘More like get a life, then get a woman. This is no job for a married man and I should know after two wives.’

  The two friends laughed, unaware of the man in the backroom on his mobile, recording their faces.

  ‘So why you here, the company sending me back up?’

  ‘No Archer, I’m here on other business, tell you what, I might need y
our help. Meet me later?’

  ‘Sure, when and where?’

  ‘At my hotel, two hours?’

  Archer took the paper Khan had passed him, a little over cautious glance from his old friend had Archer on his guard.

  ‘Sure mate, see you in two.’

  Khan left, taking the bottle with him. The man at the back shut his mobile with an audible click. Archer’s peripheral vision caught him. Six foot, shaved head, jeans, t-shirt, straw hat, the tattoo on his forearm gave him away, despite his dark skin. An army insignia. The man also made the mistake of eyeballing Archer on his way out. Khan was in trouble, more than he realised.

  Archer drove back to the Presidential palace a mile away, his tactical awareness engaged. He wanted to call head office about Khan, but a mobile on the street here, enough to get you shot.

  Archer settled in his Spartan room, a bed, wardrobe and chair. He didn’t need anything else, just the basics. His gun safe was under a marble slab in the floor, accessible from the bed. His satellite phone for head office was also stashed in a standard safe he had fitted when he arrived. He closed the blinds and shutters of his single large window, locked the door then opened the safe quietly.

  Khan’s behaviour and the possibility that he may be compromised had Archer spooked. A call to base would reassure him. He dialled the number, a short delay, and then a clear voice, ‘This is Protection Incorporated. Enter your pin now,’

  Archer obliged, the voice that responded was not the usual operator.

  ‘Archer my boy, I am keeping a close eye on Mabalia, is this about Khan?’

  As always The General’s knowledge was intimidating, ‘Yes Sir, he is being tracked. I am concerned he is compromised.’

  ‘Archer, you worry too much. Khan is fine, just some recon for me, nothing serious. I can assure you he is not at risk.’

  Archer did not believe The General, healthy paranoia his father called it. ‘Yes sir, just checking in, can I advise him that if he has trouble, he can come to the palace?’

  ‘Absolutely not! I do not wish to have him associated with you at all. You are not to invite him anywhere, understood!’

  ‘Yes sir, understood, out.’