

### The Zenstones Enigma by

Mark Habberley

Phase 1  
The Pursuit of the Shambhala Sapphire

Copyright © 2015 Mark Habberley

All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or in any means - by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise - without prior written permission.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Contents

About the Author

About the book

Background

Prologue

Chapter one - The Double Agent

Chapter Two - The Street Fight

Chapter Three - The Terrascraper

Chapter Four - The Casino

Chapter Five - The Hostage

Chapter Six - The Consequences

Chapter Seven - The Rescue

Chapter Eight - The Escape

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

The Zenstones titles to follow...

# About the Author

Mark Habberley is a writer. His wife Caroline and the Cornerstones Literary Agency have finally worn him down and he has succumbed to this job title. He now lives and works in rural Warwickshire, England, but was born in the 'Black Country' some half a century ago and grew up on the 'Concrete Jungle'.

He has no previous written work for you to draw reference from or any industry specific experience. He also has very little knowledge of the world of publishing. However, he is very proud to finally finish the first part of 'The Zenstones Enigma' and now he hands it over to you for your pleasure. Enjoy!

Please feel free to give your comments to: hello@levengrove.com

Published by: Levengrove

# About the Book

The Zenstones Enigma - Written by: Mark Habberley

**Phase one:** _The Pursuit of The Shambhala Sapphire_ plays out on the dark streets of New York City, the result of events long before in the Himalayas. Murder, deceit and pitched battles rage before an unsuspecting public as two mighty organisations compete for possession of one of five powerful jewels that could decide the fate of the human race and the planet we call home.

There are five Zenstones and the quest for ownership has begun. Arion Industries and the Silver Ghosts both accept the prize is so great that any risk is fully justified.

This is a tale of deadly assassins, futuristic technology, family feuds, lies, greed, egos and too many secrets. Whoever has possession of all the Zenstones will hold the key to world domination in the third millennium.

# Background

Two organisations are at war and desperate to possess the five holy Zenstones. These sacred jewels, which were passed down by the tribal leaders of the Himalayas, have powers that could destroy the Earth. All but the Shambhala Sapphire are missing and this story begins with the precious jewel's ownership in doubt. The prize is so great that any risk will be justified. The following sequence of events will reveal a murky group with an insatiable thirst for power who must be stopped. The world's survival depends upon it.

Arion Industries are a dark mysterious group. They are primarily a force for good, but have knowledge and power as their prime objectives. It was formed in 1919 by the British military in order to infiltrate the US Government. This was a post-World War I response to the possibility of another war, on another continent. Though the two countries were allies at the time, they did not really trust one another and Great Britain needed every piece of information it could gather to manage world affairs.

In the second half of the twentieth century, due to the strength of the special relationship cemented in World War II, Arion was perceived an unnecessary expense and terminated. However a few well-connected and wealthy individuals saw the potential of maintaining its inventory and capabilities, so it lived on in secret. Now Arion Industries concerns itself with collecting unexplained phenomena, exploring their potential and keeping it out of the wrong hands.

Arion is based in the first building completed at Ground Zero, 6WTC, which descends sixty-seven floors straight down into the earth and is the world's first terrascraper. It was built in absolute secrecy and with total respect to the resting places of the 2977 victims of September 11, 2001. There is no obvious entrance but it is there hidden amongst the architecture. The terrascraper also has several other access points, which are hidden throughout the city. Using technology light years ahead of what is widely available allowed, it was built within a sealed tunnel that was both sound- and light-proof. Supplies were ferried in submergible barges through ancient underwater trenches from their manufacturing site in northern Greenland, never seeing the light of day during their journey.

Arion Industries is managed by five directors;

MJ Levengrove is the Director of Architecture. He controls the terrascraper and organisational strategies.

Cochrane Valhallan is the Director of Collateral. He directs operatives and cells in the field.

Coco Alleyne is the Director of Synchronicity. She is in charge of mission preparations and ordnance.

Athena Jones Ph.D. is the Director of Heritage. She is a code-maker and code-breaker.

Michael Winchester (Weasel) is the Director of Organics. He is a technical genius and inventor of all specialist apparatus.

The Silver Ghosts (TSG) are the sworn enemies of Arion Industries. They aspire to global supremacy and they will stop at nothing to achieve their objective. Their strength is their hunger. They hunt alone or in packs with devastating effect. Their immense resources and kamikaze attitude make them a terrifying foe. Their North American HQ is located in downtown Vancouver, hidden in plain sight, in one of the most inclusive and friendliest places on earth.

They also occupy a disused sawmill just outside Vavenby BC, which serves as their main training camp. Above the door is inscribed 'Qualify or die.'

Crawford Montgomery III is a former director of Arion and now heads TSG. A sixth-generation oil baron with a vast fortune he is a rogue player in global financial markets and political affairs. He has invested in military overthrows and oil exploration in Antarctica. His followers are highly trained and ferocious mercenaries.

Major Gerhardt Koller is Crawford's second in command. He is a former Stasi officer with a ruthless streak. He is in direct command of all field agents and helped to strategize the Silver Ghosts plan for global domination.

Eduardo Corrales is their latest recruit, an Argentinean-born naturalised American with fast hands and a quick mind. He is an assassin of the highest order.

Alex Sanderson is the Silver Ghosts' lead field agent. Her striking looks hide a ruthless killer instinct.

Mortimer Shaw is Crawford's confidante and he manages TSG's New York base of operations, PJ's Casino.

# Prologue.

Sgt Terrance J. Pointer is an Iraq War veteran but his war decorations have long since faded; now he is just an unemployed drunk, a drug-riddled tramp, just one of the many who wander the Yankees' home town looking for a meal and a dry place to sleep. He is on a mission to contact the only person he could trust.' His crippled body is failing him and soon his sorrow-filled existence will come to a peaceful end, ending a decade of misery. However, first he has one final mission to undertake, to return the Balzinium totem to the daughter of the woman he loved. The ancient conduit has passed between him and Dr Athena Jones on more than one occasion over the years, but now it is time for the final exchange.

He had already gone quite a long way downtown and was not too far away from his destination when he spotted the two thugs following him; now he would have to make a detour. He wasn't even sure he was headed to the right place, but he wasn't going to arrive at her secret location with unwanted guests. Pointer gripped the totem tightly and urged Scud, his faithful Australian cattle dog, to speed up.

The thugs were closing in, and he wished he had decided to find Athena sooner. They were gaining fast, obviously waiting for the right moment to strike. Neither seemed too rushed; it was almost as if they were enjoying stalking him and the fear it was clearly causing him. Sure enough, Pointer made the mistake they had been waiting for when he cut into Madison Square Park. It was early and since there was no one around, the thugs pounced without mercy. Punches and kicks rained down on him and beloved pet. Pointer was easily relieved of the totem, and only his muscle memory and military training saved his life. The last blow had closed his right eye, and now he played dead, praying they would leave him to be found by the municipal cleaners, who were due any time soon. The battering abated and he heard his attackers bragging to themselves about the rewards they would receive back at the casino. He could hear Scud in the distance and hoped he had escaped without too much harm.

The thugs disappeared into the shadows and Pointer lay still for several minutes, before picking himself up the ground, shivering. Within moments felt the rasping tongue of Scud on his open wounds. He had lost the totem and was pretty sure he was going to die, but he forced himself up onto his feet anyway. He knew he had to continue his journey to find Athena and tell her all he knew.

# Chapter One: The Double Agent

The black Range Rover slipped into the traffic three cars back, its wipers frantic as they tried to clear the torrent lashing the windscreen.

It was standard procedure to tail unsuspecting colleagues every so often. It was an irritant that kept everyone sharp and on their toes. Eduardo Corrales had seen them coming. He'd passed five seconds earlier and noted the privacy glass plus two suits in the front. He was unconcerned. They would drop off after a couple of minutes and fill in the A107 online report. He wasn't happy because he knew he would be marked down for lack of attention, but he couldn't exactly flag them down and offer them a nightcap at Molloy's, not tonight anyway.

Now he would have to drive away from his intended rendezvous and make up the lost time in order to meet his contact on schedule. The tail followed him diligently block after block. His initial reaction was one of annoyance, followed by anger and concern.

'Stay calm,' he told himself. 'Stick to the speed limit, no sudden moves. It's just a couple of rookies out to impress the directors.'

As a result of that momentary loss of concentration, Corrales did not see the jogger run out in front of his vehicle. He braked, swerved and missed him by inches, only to bounce off the kerb and clip a cyclist with enough force to send her into the gutter. Corrales knew he should have pulled over, got out and checked she was alright, but doing that would have meant a further delay, and that was something he couldn't afford. In a moment of panic he forgot about his trackers and turned swiftly right, first left and second right.

"Is this guy completely mad? This is more than an A107; it's a hit and run. We need to call this into the director: he's jeopardising the anonymity of Arion Industries." Brown's said, his grip on the overhead handle tightening.

"True, but what would happen if we brought the arrogant son of a bitch in ourselves?" suggested Perez, her partner of just three months.

"We'd probably get our asses kicked and jump a couple of hundred places into an Arion cell. Let's do it," Brown replied, enjoying the tingle of the goose bumps forming across her muscular torso. 'We'll bring him in without fuss and by doing so, have taken down a senior agent with a shady reputation'.

In her head, she was already accepting the shower of congratulations from her peers as Perez twisted the car's axles and started the pursuit.

Corrales acknowledged his mistake and everything changed in that moment. He had to disable this threat and quickly. If they called it in, he was going to get unwanted company. He needed a private venue where he could neutralise his pursuers. He dropped the old V8 down a couple of gears and gunned the accelerator.

The two cars synchronised their traffic dodging in a flurry of screeching tyres and jagged manoeuvres. The rain crashed down with increasing intensity, obscuring the road, as they boxed for position in the late night Sunday traffic, causing mayhem and distress as they headed downtown at ridiculous speed. Corrales was the better driver, but had a well-worn engine under his right foot; he couldn't out-sprint his pursuers and their respective knowledge of the surrounding environment was well matched.

"Need to finish this," he mumbled.

The C4 Corvette screamed as it was torn through opposing lock onto overcrowded streets. Handbrake turns into oncoming traffic created fright and alarm. Not really thinking quick enough to make accurate decisions, he found himself northbound on the FDR. Now he was really stuck. He was going to be picked up on camera and by local law enforcement too. The sweat began to creep down the side of his neck as his escape options were denied by heavy traffic or road works.

Finally Corrales saw the answer. He shot across two lanes and buried himself in an underground car park. There was no valet here to witness events, just a perfect dark haven where he would be able to finish the job in hand.

Perez was raw, but he knew the drill. He dropped Brown at the entrance and charged straight down to the basement level. They started to systematically check every floor, car by car; each cleared their first floor inside ten minutes.

Corrales decided to meet the operative below him first. Then he would tidy up the other assailant, dispose of the bodies and their shiny new ride.

Perez was well known for his lack of subtlety where weapons were concerned. His choice of an up-and-over shotgun was typical of his bullish personality. The twelve-inch Bowie knife was more for show than practicality, but it felt good to have by his side. He felt confident, almost arrogant, as he moved up to his second level.

Shadows stretched across the void between rows of vehicles. Every sound was amplified and fluorescent lights flickered. Corrales rolled the silencer onto the end of his G36 Heckler and Koch assault rifle; it locked easily into place. He lay prone, fifty metres from his target. This was too easy - the only thing that could have made him miss was his conscience. What conscience?

Thud. Thud. Two imperceptible noises: so calm, so subtle. The first entered through the left thigh and brought Perez to his knees. The second, which went through the bridge of the nose, ended his life.

Corrales moved across the open grey expanse like a ghost, a silver ghost. He rolled his victim over and then under the adjacent SUV. He quickly turned his thoughts to his second target. He was fairly sure the other operative would be sweeping each level slowly and diligently - that was what they were trained to do, after all. Now it was Corrales' turn to be over confident, and he ran in a rather too carefree manner considering the task at hand.

Brown took aim through the telescopic sight of her Colt M4A1 and took a deep breath. She was so filled with adrenaline that her finger twitched as she fired and missed the target, but she immediately shot again, this time more from hope than with any close attention to accuracy. Again, she missed her target - by some considerable distance, this time.

The concrete above Corrales' head exploded and debris splayed into his face. Instinctively, he hit the deck, furiously rubbing at the grit in his eyes.

"Where did that come from?" he thought.

He dropped the rifle and immediately pulled out his Smith & Weston 9mm semi-automatic pistol. As the cold steel touched his sweaty palm, he felt a sense of comfort at having his old friend near.

Brown nestled down in the booth, trying to gather her thoughts. Perez was dead, she was sure of that, and now she needed back up pronto. The comm. was in the car, and there was no phone in sight. Damn! She scanned the cold expanse; there was no sign of Corrales. Maybe I hit him, she thought, but deep down, she knew she hadn't.

Corrales gathered himself and crawled slowly along the back wall of the dingy garage. From here, he would be able to see any movement and would act without hesitation.

Brown was overcome by a sense of foreboding. She didn't want to die.

'Come on, think!' she said to herself.

If she could get a message back to Mission Control, Valhallan would send a rescue cell.

Then it occurred to her: the PC: it must be connected to the net.

She crawled along then scrambled up onto her knees, hiding behind the large monitor ahead of her. She clicked the mouse and woke the machine from its slumber.

Corrales saw the flash of light instantly.

'Gotcha.'

Rachel Brown typed fast and as accurately as her nerves would allow. But then, in quick succession, pain, blood and death fell upon her. The bullet shattered the glass, entered her clavicle, passed through her heart and exited her solar plexus all within a millisecond. Her last living act was to return the computer to its desktop menu, before she collapsed into a permanent sleep.

The witness buried himself in the upholstery of his car seat using his counterfeit designer man bag as a cover and prayed he had not been seen.

It took Corrales nearly twenty minutes to clear the scene and place the bodies into the boot of the 4x4. He would return and dispose of the vehicle later. As for now, he was very late. He had to get his hands on that money.

Corrales left the murder scene, unable to help but wonder how on earth he had ended up in this situation. He was a top class Arion operative; he earnt good money, and he was on a career path that could lead him right to the top. But one mistake had changed all that in an instant. If he had gambled on black instead of red that night at PJ's he wouldn't be here sat in this rusting chariot trying to get across town. Mortimer Shaw, the casino manager, had called in the debt and wanted to be paid within forty eight hours. With no chance of getting his hands on a tenth of what he owed that quickly, he had foolishly asked if there was anything else he could offer as payment. He was thinking the corvette, maybe the high-end hi-fi he had on credit? He was extremely surprised when Shaw asked for information. What would a gambling joint manager want with access codes to the terrascraper? He couldn't use them, nobody could get in anyway and even if he had gained entry, he would never live to tell anyone about it. The more Corrales thought about it the easier it became. He would give Shaw the access code to a couple of long-distance entry doors, and be able to pay off all his debts and give himself a healthy bonus on top. The deal was agreed quickly and he had walked away without regret.

The rain had lessened, but there were still deep puddles everywhere. He was to drop and swap packages, then return to the safety of his shabby, sports car, which was hidden no more than one hundred metres away. He checked his watch, hoping he was not too late.

He passed a young couple, laughing and caressing each other, but they didn't make eye contact with him.

They are not in the game, he thought to himself.

As he approached the corner he heard the muffled sound of a diesel engine ticking over. Hairs pricked up all over his body. He paused. This did not feel right, but he knew he had to persist; he had no choice. He rounded the corner and saw the family-sized saloon. Perfect. He opened the rear passenger door and slipped quickly inside. He slammed it shut, looking for a reaction. There was none. He felt the cold hard stare coming from the rear view mirror.

"Alexandra."

"Eddie."

' It's Eduardo'.

Hate burst from his eyes and perspiration began to leak from his hairline. Sanderson smiled at her passenger's contemptuous expression. She moved her arm slowly but surely across to the passenger seat. She had a pistol in her other hand and knew that she held all the cards. She lifted the case and passed it back. Corrales knew he was dead meat. He would have to use both hands to open the battered briefcase.

He smoothly released the catches.

"File."

"Sure."

He reached inside his jacket and slung the small memory card at her.

He opened the case and bent forward, as if to wanting to smell the one hundred thousand dollars in cash that was inside.

Sanderson uploaded the terrascraper access codes to her tablet and pressed send.

"We're done, now get out."

"What, no goodnight kiss?"

"NOW."

"OK, see you around" he whimpered.

"Maybe."

He exited and backed away from the car and as he reached the corner he heard the gears engage. With one hand on his gun, he watched her reverse out of the alley and drive away.

'Maybe?'

One word, but it wasn't the right word. Did she know something? In this field of work there were no definite answers, but 'maybe'? He did not like that. Subconsciously, he had begun to quicken his pace. His mind was racing as he broke into a brisk walk, seeking the refuge of his old muscle car. His mind turned its attention to the next task, and he wondered if Arion could have picked up his trail. He decided to stash the cash, tidy up the evidence from earlier and then return for it. If he did get searched, at least he would not be caught in possession of his bribe. He remembered a coffee shop nearby with a side alley and a bike store and no-one was going to look there.

His feelings of fear and loathing were growing exponentially; he needed to do better than this but, although he didn't know it, very soon the only thing that Eduardo Corrales would need would be a place of rest.

# Chapter two: The Street Fight.

Valhallan granted Brown's dying wish. He was in position. Mission Control was his home and he loved being there. The excitement, the knowledge and the wisdom oozing from this room would have frightened a lesser man. As the console beeped, he swivelled around and clicked open the mailbox, already suspecting the worst. He was right. He jumped out of his chair, grabbing the comm. off the desk and opened a channel.

The tone beeped once.

"Receiving."

"We have two operatives needing assistance. Eliminate the threat, recover assets and cleanse thoroughly. You will receive your co-ordinates in five seconds. Over and out."

Valhallan went in search of the others.

The members of the Arion 8 clean-up cell were now activated and in motion. They checked their equipment and left the terrascraper via EVAC point D. The truck picked up speed and ploughed through the streets as if possessed by its mission. The journey was short and swift, and as they approached the crime scene they slowed and then, turning off the car's lights, they idled to a stop. The Heckler & Koch MP7A1s were passed around and the uranium-tipped bullets handed out. They had one magazine each; at three grand a pop it would be an expensive kill.

After a quick briefing they all entered the subterranean void. The company vehicle was easily found as were the two bodies in the trunk. Half the Arion cell immediately returned to their truck and prepared to remove all the evidence from the scene. Blackmore, the cell leader, suggested another sweep; Mancini joined him and they retraced their steps.

Shivering uncontrollably in the driver's seat, the witness began to weep. He had to escape this nightmare somehow. More gunmen had turned up and were now only feet away. Trying to fit into the gap between his seat and floor, he brushed the wiper stick. Blackmore reacted first, fell swiftly to the deck and took aim. Mancini did likewise, then appraised the rear of the vehicle. Nothing happened.

Blackmore took the initiative and yelled toward the car.

"Come out now or we will open fire."

Mancini repeated the threat, but there was still nothing. He tore a bullet into the driver side rear wheel. The impact shook the car and set off the alarm in the adjacent station wagon. The blaring noise was the final straw. The occupant sprang up, threw the door open and made a run for it. Luckily for him, Blackmore had seen that he was unarmed and clearly not a professional. He waved his colleague down and tackled the fleeing civilian to the ground. He quickly frisked the trembling soul, then after ascertaining his name, tried to calm him. Within a couple of minutes they had been informed of the gunfight and the escape of one individual.

They knew that Corrales' 96 Corvette had a faulty brake light. It would not be too difficult to track at this time of night. Blackmore relayed the intel to the control desk on the van and was quickly connected to the city's CCTV network.

"Got him. I can't tell whether he's going for the bridge or staying local. My guess is he's got a prior engagement, otherwise he'd have taken the rookies and disappeared."

Blackmore's impatience transmitted itself to Portman and she immediately engaged the turbos.

"Looks like he's stationary on Crosby St. Pull up just to the north, and we'll sweep from there."

They parked on Bleeker Street and eventually found the rusting beast, poorly hidden on a ramp garage. They swept the immediate locality. No sign, but he wasn't going to walk too far. As he rounded the corner, Blackmore immediately noticed the brake lights of the imported German saloon. The car was parked with the engine running. His curiosity engaged, he called over to Dhoni.

"Check the plates on that one".

The night vision lens picked out the letters and digits and he cross-referenced them with the Department of Transport's database. The plate belonged to a Harley Davidson from Ohio. The cell quickly had all four corners of the vehicle under surveillance.

Blackmore called it.

"Two principals: one in the front and one in the rear. Driver is female. I have image capture and will send it to the director for identification."

"I can take the passenger from here," Dhoni's growled though Blackmore's earpiece, sounding eager.

"Let it play," Blackmore replied.

Within ninety seconds, the passenger was on the sidewalk and the vehicle was reversing out of its cover.

"Portman, you and Mancini take the VW. Dhoni and I will track the pedestrian. Do not fire unless fired upon."

But Portman and Mancini were never near being in a firing situation. Sanderson was quick, smart and lucky that night. She had spotted the tag and drove carefully away from her intended destination, first over to Brooklyn and then into avenues with plenty of parked obstructions. Sanderson drove like the Tokyo street racer she had once been. This family car wasn't built for handbrake turns, but it obeyed under protest. After the third tight turn in suburbia she earned herself a lead, then quickly accelerated along a wide straight gaining enough time to take the next junction unseen. The chasing four-tonne beast arrived at the T-Junction and was forced to make a fifty-fifty decision: left or right? They chose right; they chose wrong. The road tapered and wound itself around the housing development in ever decreasing semi-circles, until Lindower Park came into view. The chase was over and they relayed the bad news back to Blackmore.

"Get back to us ASAP," Blackmore said, his tone telling them everything.

"Shall I take him out?" Dhoni enquired.

"Let's wait for the audience to disappear," Blackmore responded, as two Caucasian females walked across his line of sight. "Back-up is less than ten away, let's play the percentages."

Blackmore was the most professional soldier Dhoni had worked with, but sometimes he wished he would be quicker to act.

The target's pace seemed to pick up just a little. It was not even measureable but everyone felt it happen. But what surprised the Arion operatives most was the audience had also kept up. Then Corrales paused and glanced behind him. The couple immediately flung themselves into a passionate embrace and slid into the convenient alleyway adjacent to them. Blackmore and Dhoni stopped too. They were almost out of the shadows but luckily still not in view. Corrales took his finger off the trigger and resumed his journey.

Blackmore's twenty years of experience was telling him that these two females were not as innocent as he first thought - they certainly were not civilians, anyway.

His hunch was right: these two highly motivated assassins, posing as city brokers, were under strict orders from Sanderson.

'Get back the boss's money and bury the evidence,' she had told them.

"I believe this is bigger than we first thought," Blackmore replied calmly. "Portman, call the Director. This is not our stated mission. We either bag our man or bail out. I want to know in the next thirty seconds what our orders are."

Valhallan knew what had to be done. He had spoken to Levengrove, Athena and Alleyne; received their input and acted accordingly.

"Target has vital information. Take alive and bring back to HQ for interrogation."

Corrales slipped into the side entrance of the coffee shop, opened the gate at the rear and found the bike store. He hid the cash behind the back wall, replaced the scooter and surfboards and quickly found his way back onto the street, continuing his progress back to his car. The TSGs had already grabbed their ride and caught up with Corrales. Now it was time to finish him. Headlights slowly crept up behind Corrales. The window on the car's near side was wound down slowly, and the Luger silencer was rested neatly on the wing mirror. Corrales would have died in that moment was it not for the intervention of the Arion truck, which smashed into the back of the tiny city car, pushing it onto the sidewalk.

All hell broke loose.

Corrales spun around, then fired - first into the car and then at the van. He didn't wait to find out whether he had drawn blood. The blonde exited the mangled car from the driver's side and took cover behind the door.

Mancini fired two short bursts from the van and threw himself to the ground.

Portman was bleeding from her right lower arm, but she knew instinctively that it was a flesh wound and anyway she was a lefty, so after slamming reverse, she started shooting through the open window, using her good hand.

Dhoni rounded the corner and with all the subtlety of a raging bull fired several rounds towards the advancing Corrales.

"Alive damn it," Blackmore screamed through the comm. He jumped down from the viewpoint he had taken on the fire escape and charged toward the melee.

The Silver Ghost agents were indiscriminate with their firing and sprayed bullets like confetti to protect each other.

"These girls are good," Portman observed.

"Yeah, but not good enough," cried Mancini as he pounced, catlike, on top of the nearest car and shot the brunette in the passenger side straight through the neck.

Taking flight, the blonde headed toward Corrales, who was trapped and knew he was going to die.

'So take as many as you can with you,' he advised.

Portman moved forward to pick up Mancini and together, they advanced down Crosby Street.

Corrales traversed the road, keeping low and reloading as he went.

Dhoni noticed something move, then saw the blonde. She fizzed a round within millimetres of his left ear. Startled, he jumped up and, filled with rage, raced towards her. One swift roll forward and he was in the perfect shooting position, from where he shot her twice in the chest.

That should have been the last thing Dhoni ever did. Corrales had him perfectly in his sights. There were no obstructions in the way, and a nearby streetlight was illuminating his victim beautifully. BANG. He heard the noise but didn't feel the recoil. A split second later Blackmore's bullet entered Corrales' left temple and it was all over for him.

The clean-up cell worked quickly, removing all possible evidence and heading back to HQ for debriefing. This was not going to be well received. They had no prisoners or intelligence, and were aware that this episode would have tarnished their reputation. They cruised back cross-town in uninterrupted silence.

The van comm. intervened.

"We have affirmative identification on the female and probable location. It is possible Crawford Montgomery is at this address. You will redirect immediately and rendezvous with the Director of Organics at 3rd and 55th. Out."

"You heard the lady, let's move," Blackmore instructed, smiling to himself.

Arion 8 would redeem their status. They would bring home the biggest prize of all: a certain Crawford Montgomery III, the leader of The Silver Ghosts.

# Chapter three: The Terrascraper

The large screens were almost bursting with imagery and the lights on the control panels were dancing in sequence as each director went about their particular function. The atmosphere in mission control was tense as Levengrove started speaking.

"Miss Alleyne has asked me to call this meeting to discuss the hacking of the mainframe at 03:59 hours. Files were accessed but no virus inserted. Ladies and gentleman, this is the second time this has happened."

"Do we know what was being looked for?" Dr Jones asked.

"No, but we placed a locator program in the mainframe because we guessed they would return. We have traced it to an illegal gambling hall in mid-town. We believe it's a TSG money laundering joint. That means our mole was Crawford, and he must have been searching for something very important to take this kind of risk," Valhallan responded. "Plus, our own Eduardo Corrales met with a TSG agent tonight and seemingly an exchange took place. The fact he has killed two of his own colleagues and has Level Five clearance means we should prepare for the worst."

"Miss Alleyne has identified the TSG agent as Alex Sanderson, who works out of the same PJ Casino." Levengrove replied, his raised voice echoing across the room. "She has redirected the Arion 8 cell to this address and Weasel is to join them straight away. I believe Crawford is there and we may just have an opportunity to capture him. As a precautionary measure, I advise we raise our alert level to red."

Dr Jones reached over to the console and tapped in her password. Alleyne obliged by inputting the second authority and the terrascraper went into lockdown. The cool blue lighting changed to scarlet and the process became organic as the Mainframe chose which systems to power up and which to power down. As all remaining directors were in the Situation Room, life support was suspended in the reactor, vault, archives and on all floors below the 31st. All access routes were locked and armed. Valhallan and Alleyne then took Elevator Four to Ordnance and returned with sufficient firepower to repulse any unwanted guests.

"If we are under attack I believe Ellis Island and North Cove Marina entrances are not likely to be used, so let's concentrate on the small access points closer to us," Levengrove advised.

"If they are coming, I am betting on the Wall Street sewer access or the City Hall information kiosk opposite the Woolworth building," Alleyne suggested; Valhallan nodded his agreement.

Dr Jones ran the possibilities through the computer and waited patiently for the data, wishing that Weasel had been there to analyse it and offer his own conclusions. Although it was not spoken, this was a thought shared by all. The decision had been made to let him loose with the Arion 8 cell and they couldn't call him back now.

Suddenly the alarm sounded and everyone turned to the wall of screens behind them.

Valhallan yelled "You were right, MJ, it's the helipad on the MetLife. They're taking one hell of a chance using it after all these years."

The BattleCopter had landed momentarily, released its payload then removed itself, all within five seconds. The TSG Pack immediately took cover and then headed for the roof exit. Following their precise instructions, they cleared the security door and took the elevator down to lower ground level two. During this one-minute journey, all surveillance cameras had suffered intermittent malfunction and the so directors had been unable to get a clear image of the invaders.

Levengrove remained collected, but he knew this was going to get very intense.

"It's The Silver Ghosts, and my guess is they will come from more than one angle. Mister Valhallan, can you activate the Cobra defence mechanism? Dr Jones, instruct our nearest operatives to repel any infiltration from Access Point 19," he continued.

"We need Weasel for Cobra" Valhallan burst out, correctly but unhelpfully.

"We can do it between us. I'll drive and you can take the remote."

Alleyne was, as usual, clear and to the point. They left speedily and grabbed the elevator to the hangar bay on level six.

Zara Zavarava had been here before, but had never yet got beyond the unassuming blue door that was now in front of her. The question now was: how would they get in? She waited impatiently for the order to proceed. All she needed now was the access code to the hidden headquarters of their deadly enemy.

The other two members of her pack were ninety percent muscle and ten percent brains. One had a huge lump of explosive and a grin on his face. The other was slightly more measured in his approach and had started taking readings with a scanner, although he obviously had no idea how to use it. Bleeps and alarms sounded for a minute or two before he switched it off, shrugged his shoulders and sat back down again.

Zavarava removed the club from over her left shoulder and began tapping it against the wall behind her with ever-increasing force. Someone was going to feel the benefit of her favourite weapon tonight.

Major Koller, her father and Commanding Officer, had been clear and concise with his instructions: "you will take possession of the sapphire tonight."

The terrascraper was colossal, but invisible to the world. It had been built using the most sophisticated technology known to humankind, but this TSG pack were expecting to be able to walk in, hold out their hands and receive the Shambhala Sapphire as if it were a Chinese fortune cookie. Zavarava clubbed the wall again, hard. Within seconds, her smartphone had acknowledged receipt of the access code.

"We have it, let's go."

Her underlings jumped up in unison, and they all entered the dark abyss together. Walking three abreast, their weapons primed, they proceeded, at speed, toward their destination.

Cunningham and Johnston duly received their instructions and entered via the other end of Access Point 19. Years of working together had made them easy in each other's company and, as they swept the tunnel, Johnston was actually smiling, confident in the tools at their disposal. He unclipped his holster, which contained a small unassuming handgun with a chamber for eight rounds. This one was special because of the miniature heat-seeking missiles it fired. It wouldn't be long before he had a chance to test the technology.

Tapping on the screen, Zavarava dropped back a little from the rest of the pack. The immediate reply gave a highly surprising order, but the radio went dead before she could protest. She would comply even though it was against everything she believed.

The other two were über-cool and they both cursed out-loud, psyching themselves up for the battle ahead. The larger of the two saw the light and raised his fist making the universally recognised military signal to stop.

Zavarava crouched down and as her knee touched the ground she was showered in blood and bone. The big guy was history. The ugly one felt the air vibrate as the munitions passed him and decided to advance behind a wall of shells.

Deciding to play with his new toy, Johnston fired in a circular motion towards the mass closing in on him. He watched as the missiles passed through twelve, two, five, seven, ten then returned to twelve o'clock. He saw the explosions in this order: mouth, bicep, thigh, groin, shoulder, forehead; though the momentum of his victim had carried him a further five metres or so forward, he was dead before he hit the ground in front of Johnston's feet.

"I surrender," Zavarava screamed.

She could not believe she was doing this; she would have preferred a soldier's death.

"I surrender," she repeated. She threw her pistol, club and phone to the ground and held her arms out at her sides.

Cunningham and Johnston were perplexed. In seven years not one single TSG agent had given themselves up willingly.

"What do we do?" said Johnston.

"Call it in; I'll cover you," replied his partner.

"Bring her in," was Levengrove's directive. "But check she's not hot-wired."

After frisking her thoroughly, they strapped her hands behind her back and pushed her forward for the long walk back to base.

Levengrove's mind worked quickly as he considered the possibilities.

'A TSG agent has surrendered. This hadn't happened for nearly a decade or so. What do they want?'

The terrascraper was bomb-proof from the inside and every piece of data in the building was backed up instantaneously to the orbiting server. An assassination of one, or even two, directors might damage Arion Industries, but would not destroy it. There must be something in the archives or the vaults. There was so much stuff stockpiled...

"MJ," Athena said, breaking his train of thought.

"Yes. Sorry, Dr Jones. Can I help?"

"Shall I prepare an interrogation suite?"

"In these circumstances I believe our captive will be telling us exactly what she wants us to hear. I suggest we convene in the Assessment centre and take it from there."

Alleyne and Valhallan's journey was silent as they plunged through the terrascraper's core. There had been no small talk between them since the night in St Petersburg last year when one drink too many and a need to switch off from all the killing had led them to a brief but enjoyable encounter. Alleyne had left before dawn and Valhallan knew that business came before pleasure where his fellow director was concerned. He could hear every squeak as she clenched her fist inside the well-worn biking gloves.

'I need Weasel to get some music in these tin cans' he thought.

As the door opened, Alleyne smoothed her leathers and fixed her helmet firmly against her head, moving towards the technological beast that was Cobra. It was constructed from the finest alloys and it offered over fifty combinations of weapons. It was the size of a large quad bike and was powered by a hydrogen turbo cell. It gleamed in the spotlight of the garage, looking as sleek as a missile. It was covered in composite scaled silver skin, and the massive LEDs mounted front and rear blazed into the distance. Cobra could be ridden by an active pilot or operated by remote control. It had intuitional functions and was the future of robotics - the only prohibitive part was the $87 million price tag.

Valhallan arrived at the control desk and whispered softly into the comm.

"Listen, Coco, I can take this one if you wish."

"No way, Val. I want to kick some TSG butt; just press play and let me go."

"No problem, just remember it's my turn next time. Cobra is powered up, 100 percent fully armed and at your disposal."

"Pilot mode engaged, weapons on, scanners operative, co-ordinates verified, ignition."

She braced herself as Cobra began to rise. The sleek alloys contorted into attack position Alpha. Its wheels locked and gripped the polished floor as the jet engine roared into life.

"I'm heading to the Canal Street entrance. There's activity outside and it doesn't look like hobos searching for a place to spend the night."

"Affirmative, I'll stay online and pass Intel as and when." His voice boomed down her earpiece.

Cobra crept onto the elevator and Alleyne gripped the wheel as they disappeared from view. They arrived at Level 26, and she immediately fired the boosters. Cobra responded smoothly, and they moved rapidly along the tunnel.

The other TSG pack had by now gathered around the nondescript aperture within the subway station. Two stood guard as the other entered the code given to him moments earlier. At an appropriate gap in the human traffic, they all quickly secreted themselves behind the door with the star-spangled banner.

The pack progressed slowly down the tunnel, repeatedly shining their laser-sighted rifles meticulously from floor to ceiling and back down again.

"What's that noise?" one asked, after a few minutes had passed.

"It's the late train. Get a move on," was the terse reply.

The sound grew steadily and the corresponding vibration made the overhead lights flicker.

"It's getting louder."

Alleyne and her steed rounded the corner at full speed; halfway up the wall, Cobra's full beam lit up the target, and she fired instantly. Two thousand nine-millimetre rounds shredded one of the TSGs into a million tiny pieces.

The pack leader dived quickly into the shadow of a ceiling support and froze. Cobra stopped and scanned the area in front of them.

As the final pack member came running into the light, he fired his anti-personnel bazooka. Cobra assumed a horizontal position, retracting its wheels back into its skin and smoothly encasing Alleyne within its thorax. The missile flew past and exploded behind them. The whole tunnel shook and the ceiling collapsed, trapping Cobra's tail. Alleyne chose button five on the steering wheel and from her prone position watched as three venomous discs left Cobra at lightning speed. They sliced her attacker into neat thirds and his body crumpled into a heap. As the dust began to clear, it became obvious that Cobra was trapped under the fallen debris. She would have to free it or walk back to the terrascraper. The ceiling above looked fragile, and as she unlocked the hatch and climbed out of the stricken robot she appraised the situation and decided to try and free her ride.

With the help of a metal pole, she started to lever away the boulders, so was completely unaware of the TSG who was creeping up behind her brandishing a machete. He was old school and he would take much satisfaction in beheading his opponent and cruising back with the mechanical creature under his control. Her helmet muffled outside noises and impaired her vision, so Alleyne didn't sense the villain as he took the last steps towards her. He raised his blade above shoulder height and lunged forward. In a flash, Cobra's rapier-like tongue ruptured the TSG's mid-riff and lifted him high up to the ceiling above. He screamed, and its laser-red eyes bounced a gory projection onto the tiled surface.

Valhallan had been continuously monitoring the live feed, and as the murderer was approaching his colleague, he had switched Cobra to remote control, thus saving his fellow director's life.

"Thanks Val," Alleyne murmured.

"No trouble, Coco. Are you freed up?"

"Just about, I'll advance to the far end, check the door and sweep the tunnel on my return. Back in twenty, out."

Cunningham and Johnston sat their captive down in the wide expanse of the fitness assessment centre. Dr Jones arrived soon after and began a rather unusual interrogation session with quiet enquiries for her health and treatment thus far.

Zavarava seemed perplexed by the methods being pursued. She had already refused a drink, a cigarette and an offer to loosen her binds.

'When will I embrace the pain?'

A door opened at the far end of the arena, and Levengrove walked purposely toward the group. He had insisted that every politeness be offered to the prisoner because he knew violence wouldn't work and he guessed she would demand whatever she wanted anyway. This unorthodox scenario may throw her off-guard and help him get to grips with the problem at hand.

'Got to get her to talk' he murmured to himself.

"Miss Zara Zavarava, illegitimate daughter of Maria Zavarava and a certain Major Gerhardt Koller, level seven Silver Ghost agent. Welcome to our world."

Levengrove sounded like pleasantness personified.

Zavarava burst out "stop this nonsense. I am a soldier; treat me like one."

"Why would we do anything other than treat you with the respect that a prisoner of war deserves? There are certain conventions we all must follow..."

"If you were in the hands of my father, he would tear you open and you would slowly bleed to death."

'It's coming,' Levengrove acknowledged. "We will offer no such treatment, Miss Zavarava. You will be held until a satisfactory negotiation has taken place. Until that time you will be confined to quarters and be expected to behave in accordance to your rank and position."

"There will be a negotiation, but not on your terms..." Zavarava began, then stopped herself. One more word and the plan would be crippled.

"Go on," Dr Jones said, encouragingly.

"I have no more to say," Zavarava replied, cold with rage.

Levengrove didn't quite manage to hide his disappointment.

"TAKE her away," he ordered, quickly regaining his composure.

Cunningham and Johnston did as was asked, and they left by the nearest exit.

"I thought she was going to talk," Athena said, her slouching posture reflecting her disappointment.

"So did I, Dr Jones. It seems we will be on the receiving end of a blackmail attempt. We know that, at least, although unfortunately we do not know why, how or when it will take place. There are many things to consider."

Then Levengrove stood up abruptly and went out of the room, leaving Athena by herself.

# Chapter four: The Casino.

Weasel pressed down with his right foot, and the 64 Mercury Comet broke free of the traffic surrounding him. The combination of silence and power gave him an awesome feeling. He had rebuilt the car, re-configured the power plant by inserting a hydrogen fuel cell and added two twin turbos at its heart. He had even fitted external speakers that mimicked the grunt of an old-style classic. It could reach 196.5 mph which was highly remarkable in itself, but the fact that it could do it non-stop for twenty-nine years, parts willing, made this vehicle an automotive miracle. It took only ten minutes for him to reach the rendezvous and the welcome he received was as unfriendly as he'd expected. No highly trained assassin collective wanted a nerd onboard, especially not one with glasses and asthma. They respected his work and had profited from the equipment he'd constructed, but the idea of Weasel on a mission was a joke to them.

Apparently not. Valhallan had called it through because this latest piece of hardware had no training manual, so Weasel's participation was vital. The line had been drawn at issuing a firearm, even though he'd tried to reassure them that, last time out on the range, he'd hit his own target. Mancini and Dhoni unlocked the atmospheric pressure cases and waited for further instructions.

"What you hiding in the box, Mikey?" Portman teased.

Sure enough, Weasel's face immediately turned a burning red.

"It's a surprise, and the name's Weasel or Sir to you," he retorted.

Blackmore interjected, "zip it, this is serious."

Weasel was his boss, but he was in charge of this mission.

"We have an unforeseen opportunity to grab their main man and finish this war here and now. Weasel, you and Mancini set that contraption up, pronto. We'll be onsite in less than five."

The mood changed, and the professionals set to work. The architectural X-ray device (aXd) allowed them to see into the interior of a building, record heat signatures and track movement. It could penetrate almost any substance to any required depth (Weasel was currently working on an underwater version for attack submarines). Mancini followed his guide carefully, and they finished the initial construction with a minute to spare. Dhoni navigated Portman to within a few metres of the establishment and they pulled over to await their orders.

Blackmore eyed the casino in front of him. He knew that capturing Crawford would end years of fighting, death and destruction. This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for his entire career.

Weasel nervously whistled "Living on a Prayer", a favourite tune of his, not recognising its significance in this situation.

Seeing another chance to wind him up, Portman jumped on it.

"Hey Mickey, who are you going to pray to? Your god or your shorts?"

There was a collective chuckle at his expense, but deep down everyone knew that a little heavenly assistance would be most helpful on this mission.

"Just shut up, and open the lid. I need to make your job easy."

He felt four pairs of eyes look straight through him. Portman obliged and the roof slowly rolled back, revealing a cold, damp city evening. Weasel raised the aXd into position and returned to his control panel. He clicked furiously and the machine above him responded with a series of jerks and swivels. Within seconds he had intel.

"Ok I've got two on the roof, another three on the second floor and two on the ground floor. The building is sealed and armed like I've never seen before. There is one access point below the surface and there is a fire escape at the rear."

"Check. Mancini, you and Portman will take the roof," Blackmore barked, "Dhoni, you and I will hit the ground floor and both teams will meet on the second floor. That's where Crawford is; I'm positive. Weasel, under no circumstances leave this vehicle. If we abort or things don't go as planned, call it into Valhallan and get the hell out of here. Understood?"

"Affirmative, no problem, I'll keep you up to speed on any movement from here." Weasel squeaked.

"Dhoni, back us up real slow into that alley; you two will alight and then we'll return the van to this exact spot. Do not lose sight of that building. My guess is they've already spotted us, but they don't know how many we are or what we're going to do next."

Blackmore oozed confidence and cool, and this settled Weasel's nerves just a little. Mancini passed the Heckler & Koch UMP9 sub machine guns around and the mission was on.

Mortimer Shaw was leaning against the bar when the phone rang softly beside him.

"Yes. Good. No. Do nothing," he barked.

His head of security had spotted an out-of-place vehicle and had requested the opportunity to 'blow it to bits' but Shaw flatly refused.

"We have visitors', he announced.

Spinks and his colleague Bremner scrutinised the truck as it manoeuvred into position.

"Must be looking for a better angle" Bremner said.

This distracted Spinks for long enough that he missed the two Arion operatives, who were just taking cover.

Sanderson peeked through the blinds, calmly passing her Ruger LC9 pistol from hand to hand.

She bellowed to the nearest guards "you two, make sure no-one gets upstairs."

They both nodded, then silently returned to their post. Suddenly her phone alerted her to an incoming message. She read it twice, before breaking the bad news to Crawford with a simple shake of her head. The second TSG pack had failed in their assault on the terrascraper.

"I'm surprised they intercepted the attacks so quickly," Shaw remarked.

"Don't fool yourself, Mortimer, it was a diversion at best: they were toast the minute they opened the door."

Sanderson was in no mood to mince her words tonight.

Crawford interjected: "now, now children. It's true that there was no chance that either Pack would succeed, but if Miss Zavarava has done as she was instructed, everything is going to plan, hence our visitors outside. Alex, you may need to be armed more appropriately, go to the basement - you'll find all you need there. Mortimer, please advise Mr Spinks and Mr Bremner; I want my nephew alive and able to communicate."

Sanderson and Shaw left the room, and Crawford quickly drew out a handkerchief and mopped his fevered brow. He gulped down a mouthful of iced bourbon and clenched the head of his cane. It was getting worse; he could feel the life being dragged away from his body. He poured himself another drink and threw Argen, his Greenland dog, a fresh steak. He sat back down in his seat, subconsciously tapping his fingers rhythmically on the arm of his chair. This was a sign of the impatience that was growing within him. His temperature had risen markedly, and this was not good for his condition. He needed the jewel more than anything else, but he was acutely aware that he couldn't afford to show any signs of weakness in front of Sanderson and Shaw. They were two of his most trusted soldiers, but if he were to falter, either could try to take his crown.

His concentration was broken by the totem standing behind him, which seemed to produce a musical note at every vibration, however small. It was almost as if it were tuned into the rotation of the earth on its axis. He marvelled at its presence: the five tiny dragons meticulously engraved by the hand of a master. If it could be combined with one or more of the Zenstones, he knew its potential would be limitless.

Mancini and Portman gripped the wall at their backs and paused.

"You go first; I'll follow. Keep low, and don't take any prisoners."

"Check. Give me thirty seconds' start," Portman responded, grasping the bottom rail of the ladder. She reached the first floor without incident and was surprised to find an open window. She decided to wait for her partner and discuss this opportune scenario.

"Why'd you stop?" Mancini whispered.

Portman pointed to the gaping aperture, and asked "should we take it?"

"Yeah, you carry on and I'll go in and meet you up there."

He clicked his comm.

"Weasel, any movement in our vicinity?"

"Negative. Nearest body to you is the best part of 25 metres to your twelve."

Mancini entered the building and Weasel guided him to the staircase which led to the roof.

Blackmore and Dhoni left the blind side of the van and ran alongside it while Weasel, having adjusted the driver's seat backward several notches, slowly pulled away. They both took refuge behind a large waste container, leaving Weasel to distract any observers. It obviously worked because Dhoni, keeping low, sprinted along the shadow line and approached the main doors of the casino without drawing fire. He came to a halt a metre shy of the overhead light protecting it. He reached the door and quickly palmed the explosive onto the handles before retreating along the brickwork and back around the nearest corner.

Blackmore was equally lucky, having arced along the opposite shadow to find himself crouched next to the cellar hatch. After a momentary pause he moved forward and deposited a remote-controlled grenade in a waste bin adjacent to the rear corner of the building, before returning back to the cellar opening.

"One is go," he transmitted.

"Four is go," Portman confirmed.

"Two is go," came Dhoni's reply.

"Three is no go. I repeat, no go. Multiple goons approaching," Mancini shrieked.

Weasel saw his predicament and decided to act.

"Five is go."

He engaged the van's gearbox and let rip.

Feeling the roar of the diesel engine behind him, Dhoni took evasive action.

"Abort five. ABORT FIVE," Blackmore shouted, knowing that he was wasting oxygen. He blew the hatch and triggered the grenade simultaneously then rapidly disappeared below.

The grenade lit up the casino, and the explosion shattered the lower ground-floor windows. Moments later, the van crashed through the front doors, taking out rows of chairs and tables, before eventually smashing into the bar.

In the mayhem, Mancini ran across the landing, greeting the two meathead there TSG guards with a flurry of shells. They took cover and returned fire. He had hit one, and Mancini could see that he was bleeding profusely. The other was trapped in a dead end with nowhere to run. Mancini's heart was racing, and he heard footsteps above him. Blindly firing a volley of rounds over his head, he charged out, looking for his foe. His luck was holding: the guard had run out of bullets, and Mancini easily finished him off.

Unfortunately it was Mancini who was now trapped in a dead end. He grabbed his comm.

"Need assistance on first floor."

No response came and, as he was thinking about his next move, he was hit in his calf. He collapsed and was easily captured by Spinks and Bremner. They grabbed one arm each and smashed his face into the wall. Gunfire came from below, and the burly TSGs retreated back to the relative safety of the storage space at the rear of the building.

Portman realised she needed to act fast; she jumped up and over the roof rail and opened fire at... no-one.

The guards on the roof must have left to meet the threat from below, she thought to herself.

She ran to the doorway, but saw the tripwire too late and her trailing leg caught it. The subsequent explosion blew her down the flight of stairs, and she landed in a crumpled heap at the bottom.

Blackmore listened carefully, locating where the cacophony of gunfire was coming from, then charged in the direction he had identified.

Sanderson was hidden behind the slot machines. He had a perfect view of what was going on. Portman's initial shot took an inch off Blackmore's left forefinger and the next one clipped the top of his shoulder. She swivelled and ran to the back stairwell, which led up to where Crawford was. She bounded up the stairs, two steps at a time, and met Shaw in the doorway.

"Where have you been?" she screamed.

"I have been appraising the situation" he lied.

"We have to capture the nephew and get rid of the others"

"Very well, I'll get the boy and you go shoot to kill," he suggested.

"Coward."

They parted and both set about their tasks.

Dhoni advanced to where Blackmore was standing.

"Can't stop the bleeding," Blackmore called.

"There's a kit in the van; follow me," said Dhoni.

Weasel shook himself, then straightened his glasses. As he did so, he felt blood from his eyebrow trickling onto his hand. He exited the van, taking the firearm he'd been admiring off the dashboard. He had moved only a few metres when Shaw came into view. He raised his gun and pulled the trigger. The hammer refused to move and he realised he'd left the safety on.

"NUTS" Weasel exclaimed.

He slipped the guide and started to lift his arm again, only to have it smashed into his chest by a barstool. Shaw had taken his opportunity and pounced. He quickly followed up his attack and thrust his sidearm into Weasel's face.

"Get up" Shaw ordered.

He pulled Weasel upright and dispatched him around the corner. He pulled his captive in front of him using Weasel as a shield and from the relative safety of his hiding place, he raised his gun and fired toward the van repeatedly.

Sanderson, meanwhile, had returned to the ground floor, and realising that Shaw was on the other side of the van, opened fire on the vehicle's occupants.

"We're in a cross-fire now," bellowed Dhoni.

"We need to regroup," Blackmore responded.

"We can't leave them." Dhoni sounded desperate.

"We can't help them either."

Blackmore's word was final and Dhoni, taking the driver's seat, hit the reverse gear hard. The vehicle shot out of the doorway and he executed a less than perfect handbrake turn. He pumped the gas pedal and they screeched across the junction.

Spinks and Bremner left Mancini tied and blooded at the Northside roof stairwell. They took to the roof perimeter and heard the Arion van engine roar. Spinks lifted and aimed his M32 bazooka.

"Bye bye, spy guys," he grinned.

He flicked the launch switch, and if it hadn't been for the intervention of Portman, the other half of the Arion 8 cell would have been history. She ran across the rooftop and delivered a flying poleaxe kick to Spinks's back. Unfortunately for her she only misdirected his aim, and after depressing the fire button, he had swung around to see Bremner dealing with his attacker. After the second kick in the face, she had passed out.

The UNS Insurance office opposite took the full force of the missile. Two floors exploded and hundreds of windows shattered; laminated glass rained onto the avenue below.

The police and medical services were on site quickly. The noise was deafening as, like an army of ants, dozens of uniforms co-ordinated their response. It was obvious that an explosion in the city would attract media attention and it wasn't long before the cameras began to arrive.

Luckily, two sides of the casino were in shadow, and the cloudiness of the night added another layer of camouflage. Inevitably, two members of the FDNY came knocking and Sanderson met them, assuming her most feminine character. She assured the public officers she was 'fine' and as she walked them away from the building confirmed that 'the building is clear' and should she need the smallest amount of assistance or a 'ride home' she would call upon them in an instant. As Sanderson turned away and walked back to the casino she un-cocked her weapon and allowed herself a smile. Dick before duty, she thought. Extortion, theft and murder was about to take place right under the noses of half of the city's emergency services and media, and the Silver Ghosts were going to get away with it simply because everyone was looking the wrong way.

# Chapter five: The Hostage.

Weasel slowly sat down in a chair; it seemed to be expecting him. He eyed Crawford with disdain as he wiped the blood from his top lip and wiped it deliberately onto the furniture.

"Manners, Michael, please," Crawford began.

"Go screw yourself, Unc."

"Calm down, this doesn't need to be a drawn out affair; we'll soon have you back on your leash in the laboratory."

Crawford's dig at the directors was neither subtle nor totally inaccurate and that riled Weasel.

"What do you want? There must be something, otherwise I'd be dead already. Spit it out, old man. What is it?"

"I see you have inherited your mother's passion and your father's intellect. Very well, let us not prolong this for any longer than is necessary. I want the Shambhala Sapphire from the vault on floor seventeen and you're going to persuade Levengrove to hand it over to my colleague, who's waiting patiently at his pleasure."

"Are you completely insane? Neither MJ nor any of the others are going to hand over the Zenstone, whatever the threat. They do not negotiate with scum like you."

The blood continued to flow from his lip, and again, Weasel transferred it directly onto the upholstery.

'CRACK.'

Weasel felt a firm slap to the back of his head, which made him wince and cower.

Mortimer Shaw shook the vibrations from his hand and said "show a little respect for your superiors."

"Thank you, Mr Shaw, but that's enough violence for the moment. Give Michael a towel and a drink."

Crawford acknowledged that brute force was not the right strategy with his own flesh and blood.

"As you wish; I will make the call myself. It would have been better for your colleagues on the roof if you had cooperated, but nevertheless..."

"Wait. What are you saying?" Weasel asked, his despair revealing itself.

"You see, Michael, I was going to offer you and your followers a chance to walk away from this with a modicum of self-respect, but now you will have another two deaths on your conscience, to add to that of your mother."

"AARRGH."

Weasel sprang from his seat and raced to the opposite side of the desk. He seized Crawford by the throat and began to squeeze it. In an instant, he felt an immense pain in his lower right thigh, as Argen, Crawford's most loyal servant, sank his teeth into his master's attacker.

"Release," bellowed Crawford.

The beast duly let go and stood over his victim, growling and snarling as he licked the blood and tissue from his lips. As Weasel kneeled on the floor, Crawford grabbed his scalp and jerked his head back ninety degrees.

"Listen, you little bastard, if you weren't a blood relative I would let him finish you off here and now."

Crawford took a deep breath and regained his composure.

"You have a simple decision to make: either call Levengrove and tell him I want the Zenstone in exchange for you, or your two compatriots are going to meet the sidewalk from a long way up."

"No way."

The pain was searing. He had retaken his seat, and was now gulping down the liquor before him.

"Think carefully, Michael. The next words you speak could be the last someone hears."

Weasel turned to see Shaw holding an open comm. and wearing a smile that dared him to challenge his boss's patience any further.

"OK, OK, let them go and I'll make the call."

"Let me be clear. If you don't make the call in the next ten seconds someone will die."

"How do I know you won't kill us all anyway?"

"You don't, you're going to have to trust Uncle Monty."

Weasel opened his sleeve pocket, unfolded his comm., placed it carefully around his wounds and pressed the blue connect button.

"Levengrove."

"It's Weasel. I'm here with Crawford. He wants the Shambhala Sapphire in exchange for me and two Arion Operatives."

"No deal," Levengrove replied and hung up immediately. He realised he had the answer to the puzzle.

Weasel hesitated a moment before speaking. Although he had known that the directors would not deal with him, he had been surprised by just how quickly the notion had been rejected. This was an opportunity to save three lives, one of whom was a friend of sorts - or a trusted colleague at least.

"He said no."

Crawford shouted towards the communicator being held open by Shaw. "Let one of the detainees loose."

He sounded almost enthusiastic.

"Waaiitt."

It was done in less than a couple of seconds. Weasel saw the dark mass passing swiftly in front of him. It was Mancini: the shape was too big to be Portman. He felt so guilty that this made him feel a tiny bit relieved.

"Michael, I will have the sapphire tonight - be sure of that. You have one more chance to save a life."

Weasel had to try again: he liked her; he liked her a lot. Sure, she took the piss out of him at every opportunity, but that was obviously because she liked him too.

"Listen, Unc, I need a moment to compose an acceptable argument for the directors. Give me a minute, will you?"

"Absolutely, Michael, you shall have your minute and so as to prove I look after my family I will give you a further... how old are you now? 35? Yes, 35, so let's make it 95 seconds, starting from now."

Crawford was being wicked, and he relished it.

'Bastard, arrogant, evil bastard,' Weasel thought. 'When this is over I'm going to shove his cane down his neck. Wait. That cane - I've seen it before. Where was it?'

He searched his memory. Athena had had that cane a while back in the lab. She had fired high-intensity lasers at it but they didn't even leave a scratch. She had proposed that it was made from a new alloy and called it balzinium. That was it: the balzinium totem.

"Thirty seconds."

"I get it, Unc, you need the sapphire for the totem."

Weasel's words awoke Sanderson and Shaw.

"You're unwell, I see it now. You're squinting from the effort of standing and your body is trembling under the weight of your ego."

"Silence, boy. Fifteen seconds or the girly gets a facelift she'll forget in an instant."

Crawford was riled now. He'd kept the secret for so long and he was so close to his cure. He noted the increased attention of his partners.

"Getting to the heart of the matter, aren't we, Unc. You look a little warm too. Hey, lady, pour my Unc a drink before he falls over."

"Five seconds."

"I can get you the sapphire, but you're going to have to give me something to bargain with. Let the other one go as a gesture. She's not important and it may help me to get you what you so desperately need."

Weasel's excitement showed in the flush of his cheeks.

Crawford pondered. If he had not had an audience the situation may have been negotiable, but since these two were watching his every move, he knew he had no choice.

"As you wish, Michael. Mortimer, ask Mr Spinks to let the female go."

The relief on Weasel's face lasted only a fleeting moment before turning to dread. Portman met her inevitable fate before the scream left her throat. Weasel's muscles flexed, but as he attempted another assault on Crawford, all of his vertebrae were pressed together. Sanderson and Shaw held him fast in his seat. It was all too much for a man of his sensibilities; the shock made him go limp and Crawford easily relieved him of his communication device.

"MJ, this is Crawford. You will retrieve the Zenstone and hand it to Miss Zavarava. If it is not in my possession within the hour Mr Winchester will be an ex-director of your collective."

He hung up without waiting for a reply.

"You see, Michael, it's not so difficult after all."

Crawford was euphoric.

"It's not yours yet, you evil piece of crap."

"STOP THIS... Michael, it's just a business transaction. The directors know this. They couldn't possibly let anything happen to you, now could they? Their blue eyed boy. The golden child."

Weasel looked down; his feelings of guilt manifested itself in the form of tears. He felt ashamed that sacrifices would have to be made by others to save him from the results of his own actions. He glanced at the window and thought about joining the others. He had been responsible for two more lives ending. He picked up his glass, threw the whiskey down his neck and requested another.

ROAR. The surveillance screens flashed a warning of another potential threat. The cameras flicked between angles and locked onto the 6WTC entrance.

"Someone's calling at the front door."

The creases on Levengrove's face deepened.

Athena turned and told the voice-activated camera to zoom in.

"I know him - or someone who looks a lot like him. That's Terrance Pointer. We need to let him in. I'll open the door."

Pointer had collapsed over by the time Dr Jones opened Access Point One. His breathing was shallow, and it was a struggled for him to crawl inside.

"I don't know why I didn't think of doing this earlier?" he panted.

"How did you know where to find me?"

"I followed you here one afternoon, out of idle curiosity, but you somehow disappeared."

"Shush, Terrance. I need to get you to Medical."

"No time my dear, please listen to me and believe what I tell you. I don't have much longer."

"Yes you do. We'll talk later when you're feeling better."

"Please stop."

Pointer pulled himself up straight and rested an arm on the cold wall, but the effort was too great and he slowly concertinaed back to the floor. Athena followed him and Scud came to sit between them, as if preparing to listen to his master.

"Dr Athena Jones, I charge you to finish my quest. You must find the totem and all five Zenstones and return them to their rightful place. I swore to do this, as did your mother before me, and now the task passes to you to complete."

He took a big gulp of air, and his breathing became erratic.

"I was on my way to return the totem to you, but a group called the Silver Ghosts have it and know of its power. A couple of them tore it from me earlier today. I saw their tags. They bragged about their pack and their master and how he would wreak havoc on the world. However, they do not have the combinations to empower the totem fully, and I believe they have not found the location of any of the missing jewels."

"We know Terrance" she said, but decided against telling him about the possible fate of the Shambhala Sapphire.

"I have searched and found nothing, but I have many leads; they only dispossessed me of the totem. If only I had returned it to you sooner."

"Don't worry, Terrance. Please rest," Athena feared the worst and knew she was impotent to stop it happening.

"Athena, I have the combinations - they were given to me by the Buddhist monks of Kangchenjunga. The monk had kept safe for many generations, and they entrusted them to me. It was after I had survived the ambush on your mother's party. The monks found me after I had endured three nights of a Himalayan winter. They deemed me to be a re-incarnation of a seeker of truth. I was seen as a sign from above and I allowed my ego to persuade me that they were right. Once I had the combinations all I needed to do was find the Zenstones, But I have failed."

She had heard these tales many times before, but he had never discussed the Zenstone combinations.

"Where are the combinations?"

"I kept them from you because I wanted the glory of finding the Zenstones myself. I am sorry for that, but at least I can still entrust them to you. All my evidence is kept safe by my only friend."

Scud sniffed his pal and Athena noticed his blood-matted coat and then the bulge in his neckerchief.

"Everything is therrrrre. Please take care of him." Pointer said.

"I will."

"I loved your mother." Pointer closed his eyes and lived no more.

Athena and Scud sat for a few minutes, both digesting what had just happened. If only she had known about the combinations. She had had the totem and one Zenstone was buried just a few metres from where she worked.

"Damn it," Athena exclaimed in a tearful shriek.

Scud licked her hand and they both slowly stood up. She placed her jacket over the restful body, then moved towards the elevator. Scud, limping badly, began to follow, but stopped for a moment and glanced back at his old master before joining his new mistress in the elevator.

# Chapter six: The consequences.

Valhallan knew they were going to trade. Any principled arguments about not dealing with terrorists were null and void where Weasel was concerned.

"I'll fetch the sapphire and take it myself."

Levengrove nodded his head in agreement and blew on his clasped hands. He was trying to think of alternatives, but he just couldn't come up with any that were palatable.

"They are expecting our prisoner to deliver the jewel; maybe you should escort her?"

Valhallan agreed.

"I will get Cunningham and Johnston to convey her and we will all rendezvous with the Arion 8 cell."

Dhoni pulled over and jumped back to help Blackmore finish the strapping on his shoulder. The bullet had dug a trench into the flesh, but no serious damage had been done. Blackmore had lost part of a finger, but he managed to tie it off efficiently. When he had stopped the bleeding, he replaced his glove. The two-way beeped.

"Two operatives will be joining you; they are bringing a prisoner. We will execute retrieval of the director shortly after my arrival. Hold position, out."

Valhallan replaced the comm. in his jacket and tightened the helmet strap under his jaw.

"He just said 'we'. This is getting worse by the hour," Blackmore said, frowning. He had realised it wasn't his mission any more.

Valhallan hit the green button on the hanging door lock and the shutter rose slowly in front of him. He put his foot on the brake and pressed 'ignition.'

The Dodge Tomahawk motorcycle was not a subtle vehicle: 503 brake horsepower, 311 miles per hour and with four wheels, which made city riding tricky, but really exciting. He loved old technology, and as he felt the cold air on his face he contemplated the operational nightmare of that night, and how he would make amends for it. Returning with Weasel as living breathing passenger would probably help his case.

Crawford eyed the Brooklyn waterfront and pondered where the new coastline of the eastern seaboard would sit if he could retrieve the Storm Diamond and unleash its full potential. At the very least it could raze Manhattan causing global financial meltdown and destroy the Terrascraper at the same time. Even better, if he owned all of the Zenstones and found the correct combination, he could destroy a country - maybe even a continent. He fantasised about being in the presence of all of the Zenstones, which all had incredible powers: the Storm Diamond had the ability to harness the natural environments of the planet; the Rubicon Ruby was capable of unimaginable destructive power; the Imitation Emerald gave its owner the power to control whatever non-organic matter came into its light and the Vishnu Pearl endower of ultimate power and serenity. But the Shambhala Sapphire, which had power to heal, was his first priority.

Mission Control had been eerily quiet for some time until Levengrove broke the silence.

"Dr Jones, can you give your fellow directors a briefing immediately, and tell us everything, so we can come up with a plan of action?"

He's always about the details; stuff the compassion, Alleyne thought, but she did not say anything, because she knew the old bastard was right again.

"I will try. Just after the dawn of the twenty-first century my mother, Hera Jones, led a Buddhist pilgrimage to Northern India. She was a world-famous humanitarian and Nobel Prize recipient and had experienced no trouble in collecting together a small group of wealthy and concerned individuals, who were trying to find some peace and a sense of belief in an angry world.

Two weeks into the tour of the area, a messenger from his Holiness the Dalia Lama found her camp in the foothills of the Himalayas and asked her to attend a special audience at her earliest convenience. My mother was thrilled, but also nervous about the reason for this most auspicious honour. She duly arrived in Dharamsala and met with the guru's most senior advisors. There she was told of the totem, the Zenstones, the potential power held within, and finally about a failed attempt to steal the Shambhala Sapphire.

There was a powerful and magical history associated with these particular artefacts. One disciple believed they had been collected during a series of tribal wars in the first half of the seventeenth century. However, the rod and jewels had never become known to his Holiness as, many years before, these five precious stones had been placed at the five peaks of what was thought at the time to be the highest mountain in the world, Kangchenjunga, as an offering from the disciples of the teenage High Lama. This ransom was their way asking for forgiveness for keeping the death of the fifth Dalai Lama, Lobsang Gyatso, secret for over fifteen years so they could complete the construction of the Potala Palace.

Gushri Khan, a Khoshut prince and leader of the Khoshut Khanate had answered a call for help from the fifth Dalai Lama, Lozang Gyatso, to unite war-torn Tibet once and for all. As chief of the Khoshut he then recruited the Oirit-Mongol tribesmen of Torghad and Dorbed and together they overthrew the Khalka and Chahar tribes as well as the Eastern Mongols during the winter of 1640. His invasion of Tibet culminated on April 13th 1642 with the defeat of Karma Tenkyong, the Prince of Tsang; this finally allowed the Dalai Lama to take political control of Tibet.

Khan was rewarded with the title of Khan of Tibet and allowed to keep all the spoils he had collected during his long and bloody campaign. This treasure consisted of land, livestock, captured slaves and also five precious stones nestled within a small totem carved with five dragons. He felt omnipotent whenever he wielded it, and the artefact helped discourage resistance to his rule.

He reigned for more than a decade but, before his death in 1655, he ensured it was placed in the hands of the Dalai Lama's closest advisors, as he feared his ten sons would fight for possession of it, and Tibet would revert to a state of civil war.

Turmoil did return to the North and many lives were lost, brother fought brother and even the intervention of the Lama's governors brought only a temporary cessation of war. This bitterness continued for another fifty years, and it is thought that Khan's grandson, Lhabzang Khan, was instrumental in the death of the Sixth Dalia Lama, Tsangyang Gyatso, as he travelled to China to meet the Kangxi Emperor. The mysterious passing of the young holy man was believed to be a result of Khan trying to retrieve his grandfather's totem.

Four of the Zenstones were unfortunately stolen, traded or lost; only the Shambhala Sapphire was recovered, and centuries later, travelled in exile to India. The location of this Zenstone had been a secret for over three hundred years, but now it was feared that it would only be a matter of time before another attempt to steal it was made.

My mother was asked if she had a safe hiding place for the totem and the last of the Zenstones. She did not, but mentioned that I may be able to help. After a brief discussion with me, she informed the disciples that she would take them back to America and reassured everyone that there was no place on earth more secure than where they would be sheltered.

Knowing the risks and realising the value of the two items in her possession, Mother decided that the best course of action was to separate them and deliver one directly with the minimum of attention, and so, three days later, an unassuming package arrived at her home address, accompanied by a note advising that I should be called to collect it.

Meanwhile, she and her party left the Himalayas after a splendid ritual ceremony; one which served to ensure every villain and corrupt politician knew exactly when she was leaving and the route she planned on taking. It was a foolish yet brave decision and ultimately it led to her death. All but their mountain guide were slain that fateful day. No evidence was found and no-one was ever held accountable. The only consolation for this tragic loss was she had safeguarded many millions of lives, for many years to come."

"How did Pointer get the totem?" Alleyne questioned.

Her reply was the simple truth.

"He was the mountain guide for my mother's party and she entrusted it to him before her death. She confided in him about her meeting at the Potala Palace. They were very close and she needed to spread the knowledge of the Zenstones, just in case the worst happened. She told me a little and sent me the sapphire. I then told you all an altered version of the story and entrusted it this organisation. I left out some of the details because I feared being tempted.

The totem resembled a gentleman's cane, so she asked him to carry it, telling him to feign an injury if anyone not from the group was watching. After surviving the attack Pointer's only focus was to search for the Zenstones.

For a few years after my mother's death, I continued meeting him. Over coffee, we would discuss the possible locations of the Shambhala Sapphire. I had stored the sapphire in our vaults for safe-keeping, but I kept this a secret - something I now truly regret. As time passed, we saw each other less frequently, and it seemed the pressure to fulfil his promise to my mother became too great and he slipped into drug and alcohol abuse. He had given the totem to me and I tested it with every piece of equipment we had. Nothing could touch it, and I could not find anything like it. I even gave the alloy a name: Balzinium. I gave it back to him because I didn't trust myself to do the right thing, knowing that two matching pieces were within my grasp. I also believed it might spur him on, help him to focus on the search again, maybe even distract him from his addictions. I felt he was unfit to take advantage of the possibilities, and I was unaware he actually had the combinations that could make the artefact work. If I had known that, I would have informed you all. My underlying thought was that if anyone, even one of us, could harness the power of the totem and the sapphire, it would start an irreversible series of events. I could not trust myself or my friends. I was wrong and I am so very sorry."

"What happened to him after that?" Alleyne whispered.

"He would hardly talk about his quest, and would rather relive the glories of war, the loss of his wife or of being a guide for travelling parties in the Himalayan peninsula. He would sometimes forget who I was and repeat himself. He continually told me about the journey with my mother: an extraordinary affair involving a small group of pilgrims with a particularly intelligent and attractive leader. He told of campfires and songs, of visiting the Dalai Lama, and of the tragedy of an attack by bandits as they left for home. It was a miracle he had remained alive in such temperatures, and afterwards he vowed to repay the disciples for saving his life.

"This morning he was relieved of the totem by a couple of TSG thugs, but they did not find the tiny drive hidden in Scud's collar."

She pulled it from her new friend and placed it on the conference table. She continued,

"He had spent so many years travelling around the world, collecting data and trying to decipher it. This had led him to many false theories. He must have eventually realised that the search was too big for him alone and that now his health was fading, it was the time to pass the gauntlet on to me," Athena replied breathlessly, her throat dry and her eyes full of tears.

The five men crowded into the back of the van.

"What's that smell?" Cunningham complained.

"There are three leaking stiffs under the floor. Want a perfumed napkin?" Blackmore replied, smirking at the junior member of the group.

Valhallan took control.

"Let's get serious. We need to work out how we're going to get the director back and keep this sapphire."

He took the pouch from inside his jacket and revealed the gem. It was huge and gave out celestial blue spears as the lights of the van caught it. He passed it around.

"It's vibrating in my hand, it seems alive. I don't want to look away," Blackmore offered.

"According to Dr Jones, this rock is a Zenstone: one of five, each of which has a power that can only be realised when married with a conductor. My guess is it's trying to communicate with that conductor and it's in that building, more than likely in the possession of Crawford Montgomery."

Valhallan had told them a little more than he wanted to, but it was a necessary risk.

"Does that contraption still work?" Valhallan asked, pointing to the aXd.

"Not sure; I'll fire it up," Blackmore answered, hauling himself to the roof of the van.

He pulled and pushed as many knobs and buttons as he could get his hands on but nothing responded. He dropped down to the screen attached, saw that it was fixed then focused on the lower half of the building.

"The camera is working, but the giros are not engaging, so we only have a limited perspective. I can see the lower part of the casino, and it looks clear. They may still be on the second floor or they may have fled - though I am speculating."

Valhallan jumped in.

"No chance. Crawford is not going to leave without this sapphire. This is what we are going to do. I will move forward with the prisoner and draw their attention. Once I am inside you three will launch a frontal assault. This will keep everyone occupied, enabling Blackmore to access the rear of the building to assist me in the retrieval of the director. Are we clear?"

"Yes Sir" the collective cried.

# Chapter seven: The Rescue.

Blackmore chose his route purposefully and he approached the corpses with resignation in his heart. He placed his hand under Mancini's breastbone and gently rolled him over. As they came face to face, the true horror of what had transpired hit him. He'd worked with this man for eleven years; they had faced death and peril together on many occasions. He fought back the emotions tearing through his mind, trying to focus and stay professional. He lowered Mancini's body to the ground and braced himself for the next ordeal. The two paces it took him to reach Portman were torture. Again, he slid his hand under her body. Though she was a dead weight, she was much lighter than Mancini, and he flipped her over easily into his arms.

"E-a-s-y, Colonel: you don't get to third base until at least the third date."

Blackmore's heart missed a beat.

"Holy crap, Portman, you're alive."

She opened her mouth, but Blackmore immediately said "do not speak. I'm going to get you out of here."

He craned his neck and saw a small trolley across the alley. He retrieved it, placed Mancini across it, face-down, and Portman, face-up, on top of him. He removed their I.D. and weaponry, and then sprinted back toward the emergency vehicles on the other side of the street,

"Hey, bud," a small middle-aged man said, turning to face him. "Got two more here, one's had it, but the female's alive though only just."

The medic advanced towards them.

"You're from St Chad's, right?" he asked.

The paramedic was busy checking Portman's vitals and shouting for assistance, but gave a curt nod.

"Well, take good care of her and I'll be along later to see how she's doing," Blackmore said, then turned and raced back to his original position.

Valhallan held Zavarava tight in front of him and pushed her into view of the casino. Spinks saw them immediately from the roof, and called it through to Shaw, who, in turn, informed his boss.

"Good news, Michael: it seems the directors want you back after all."

Crawford moved over to the window.

"Mister Valhallan - Director of Collateral, no less - has come to your rescue and he has Miss Zavarava too. Alexandra, would you furnish us all with another round of drinks? It's nearly time to celebrate," he gloated.

Weasel grunted and continued to stare at his feet. He was unmoved by this unexpected change of policy. Another director risking his life for Michael Darcy Winchester; he must be mad.

I must be mad, Valhallan thought to himself. I am a sitting duck out here and I have no route of escape from the building planned. He held his captive close and marched briskly forward. All he could hope for was that the others would win their personal battles and join him on the second floor.

Zara Zavarava never took the last few paces into the casino. She had just started stepping over the rubble when she found herself airborne, the result of an almighty shove. She was lifted clean off her feet and smashed into the partly demolished front door. Valhallan's large frame stepped over her unconscious form, and as he entered the exposed building, he held his Gatlin pistol straight ahead.

Levengrove turned to face his colleagues.

"This operation may not go according to plan and we need to be ready for the worst possible outcome. I will prepare our response and have him mission capable in thirty minutes. I believe the Ghost Hunter is our best chance should a rescue mission be required."

"Is he capable of such a task? He's been through so much, and we haven't finished testing all the systems within him," Athena cautioned.

"Dr Jones, we will have to test everything at once and not in the most ideal of circumstances - that is what happens in war."

Levengrove's fierce riposte brought crimson to his cheeks. He would apologise later.

He left the situation room and rode Elevator One to the medical facility on the thirteenth floor. As he entered the room, which was at the far end of a dismal corridor, he flicked on the lights. He knew all the potential downsides of the action he had proposed taking, but he feared what was coming nonetheless and sent his orders directly through the neural coding interface.

Remus Knight (The Ghost Hunter) lay prone before him: six foot tall, pallid complexion, wiry, dark-haired and unshaven. Where once he had been a soldier of fortune now, he was now a re-constructed mess of a man - an evil bad-tempered individual who had worked for the highest bidder with no questions asked. The South African had plied his trade with many organisations including TSG. However, a failed assassination attempt of a billionaire drug dealer had been a mission too far. He had finally met his demise after betraying an associate and being ambushed on the dark streets of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico.

His body was eventually recovered by the Policía Federal, but it was only thanks to an enthusiastic medical student, who did a final examination in the morgue itself, that it was discovered that his heart was still beating - at a rate of one beat per minute. Immediate hospital attention was granted and an enforced coma followed. Expert opinion over his condition was split. Was he dead or alive? The answer was both. Arion Industries found out about the unusual story from a local operative, one Eduardo Corrales, and realising the potential use of the man's knowledge, they funded his treatment and finally took control of Remus's welfare.

Over the year that followed his brain began to send messages to his nervous system and muscles. Arion developed a second skin that sent electronic impulses continuously through his body and this caused muscle reactions. Eventually, after many enhancements, the second skin would develop his speed and strength to ten times that of a healthy human being.

His heart was still only functioning at fifteen percent capacity, so he was always cold and pale of complexion. The graphene suit he wore gave him artificial life support too, but his main sensory functions had almost ceased. He had no discernible sense of smell, he could not speak and his hearing was shot. Miraculously, his eyesight was functioning and with the aid of optical implants, his vision was better than 20-20. Mentally, he seemed stable, but he never showed any emotions, including fear, and he was immune to physical pain.

After another two years of intensive therapy, the directors seemed to have succeeded in convincing the fragile entity that some good could come of what was left of his life. This gave Remus at least a flicker of a reason to prolong his previously worthless existence. Where once he had been alive, but had no good in him, he could now serve a greater purpose by trying to eradicate mercenaries and villains of the kind that he had once been.

As his health improved and his training schedule intensified, it became clear that he had an innate ability to find individuals without any previous knowledge of their location. He seemed to be able to track the vapour humans left behind; it was as if he could perceive the essence of a soul and follow its trail. Communication was very difficult, but Remus's brain would accept a cerebral signal that could programme a task. One major glitch was that, once programmed, the command was unbreakable and so he would always see his mission through to its climax or until he was satisfied that a successful outcome had been achieved.

Remus woke slowly and eased himself upright. He removed the various leads from his head and body and, without making any attempt to communicate, left the medical bay and disappeared into the darkness.

"Once I have the sapphire you will be able to leave, Michael. I give you my word. You will be free and so will I."

Crawford remained at the window, transfixed by the prize that was coming closer.

'Where's he hiding it?' he thought. "Mortimer, please welcome our visitor."

Shaw immediately felt nauseous; he'd never met Valhallan, but he'd heard stories, most of which included violence and pain.

"Surely Alex is better equipped for this type of thing?"

"NOW, Mr Shaw."

Those three short words propelled him down the stairs to the casino reception, his gut full of fear.

Cunningham opened the driver's door and slipped down behind it. On the other side of the vehicle, the others followed suit. They scanned the building, and each removed the safety from their weapons.

"You know they have a clear shot for at least fifty metres?" Johnston asked in a low tone, his voice faltering towards the end of the sentence.

"We have the element of surprise, right?" Dhoni asked, overflowing with false bravado.

"I was just saying."

"Buck, buck, bukerk" Dhoni mocked.

"Don't you go calling me chicken" Johnston replied, and with that he ran out and started firing.

But he had only made half a dozen strides when a bullet hit him. The first shot had missed, but the second nestled tightly into his abdomen. He recoiled, and the force of the projectile pushed him downwards. The third bullet missed by some considerable distance, largely due to the hole Blackmore had placed in the back of Bremner's head. Blackmore could see a ray of light passing through the tiny hole, which distracted him from the destruction of his victim's face, which exploded and landed at Bremner's own feet.

Spinks squirmed back into the dark, firing recklessly as his body retched from the vision before him. Bullets ricocheted off the fire escape framework, which stopped Blackmore's progress.

Dhoni ran to Johnston.

Cunningham, fearing the worst for his partner, executed a swift about-turn and went to retrieve the car. He placed it between the prone pair and the casino, then returned fire as Dhoni threw Johnston onto the backseat.

"Get him out of here," Dhoni demanded. "I'm going in."

Through all this, Valhallan had continued striding confidently toward the approaching Shaw with a glint in his eye.

"Take me to your master."

Mortimer feigned authority.

"Drop the gun."

Although Valhallan knew he should obey this order, he decided not to. He released fifty rounds directly above and below his adversary, and as the plaster lumps showered down on Mortimer, he advanced quickly and punched him so hard in the face that he felt his bones imprint themselves in the glove. Shaw was almost finished when he hit the ruined floor beneath him. Valhallan walked past him, then carried on up to the second floor.

"Miss Sanderson, please obstruct the director," Crawford commanded.

With that, he grasped his firearm and went to stand guard behind Weasel. Argen also seemed to sense the oncoming threat and raised his hackles. The drool cascaded to the floor as he snarled, looking full of deadly intent.

"Michael, you would be advised to call off Mr Valhallan - for your own benefit. Neither of you will live to tell the tale if he does not surrender immediately."

"What can I say, Unc? He cares about me. Best let me go and hobble off as fast as you..."

The full weight of Crawford's anger fell upon Weasel's head and the sound of metal on skull could be heard above all the outside noise.

Sanderson emerged from the doorway and shot at the feet of Valhallan.

"I will not miss again," she hollered.

He guessed she meant business and could back it up.

"I've come for my colleague."

"Do you have the ransom?"

"I will only deal with Crawford. Where is he?"

Sanderson backed into the room and signalled to Valhallan to follow. She moved over to the bar and positioned herself at a perfect angle to cover everyone else's movements.

'Clever, she's covering all the bases from there,' Valhallan said.

"Cochrane."

"Crawford."

"As you can see, it all became too much for Mr Winchester."

"I hope he's not in a permanent state of unconsciousness, otherwise I will have to withdraw my happy face."

"Don't worry, he'll recover and be back in his nursery. Quite soon, in fact, provided you have the jewel, that is," he replied, the menace increasing with each word.

Blackmore was pinned down halfway between the fire escape and the stairwell. He chastised himself for having been overzealous; I should have waited, he said to himself.

Spinks knew that he could keep Blackmore there all night - or at least until reinforcements arrived. Then again, he could end it now with the bazooka by simply blowing him away. So many choices, each of which would be equally pleasing. He decided quickly on the big bang option and leaned down to pick up the bazooka. He put it on his shoulder, primed the missile and released the safety. He was about to push the trigger when Dhoni appeared at the top of the fire escape and started bombarding him with bullets. Blackmore seized this unexpected opportunity, and he ran toward Spinks, firing indiscriminately. The scissor action of the munitions cut into Spinks and he fell before being able to discharge his weapon. Blackmore kept going beyond the roof access, but he fell clumsily onto his damaged hand. He reeled with pain, knowing instinctively that the hand was broken.

Dhoni tried to join him just a moment later, but he fared much worse in his attempt to escape. While running towards the door, he was caught flush between the shoulder blades by a sniper's high-velocity bullet, the force of which took Dhoni off the roof to certain death.

Blackmore had not waited to identify the shooter or where they were hidden, he just careered downwards. Unknown to him, he was on a collision course with Shaw, who had barely recovered from the assault by Valhallan. They had both heard the raised voices coming from the main office, and now headed towards them.

"I see you have the Balzinium totem."

Valhallan glanced toward the cane that sat next to his former colleague. Argen stood to attention and Valhallan realised his enemies had just multiplied.

"Yes, I have. Now let us do business. Give me the stone and you may take the boy."

"Not going to be that simple, Crawford. I wouldn't make it to the door, would I? Let me take Weasel and I'll fetch the sapphire for you."

Crawford smiled, but Sanderson cut him off "You don't have it?"

"Of course he does, Alexandra, he's testing us. Aren't you, Cochrane?" Crawford replied, placing his pistol to Weasel's head. "Give me the Zenstone."

Valhallan quickly assessed the probable outcome: Crawford shoots Weasel, I shoot Crawford and the lady nails me. Where the hell is everyone else? Suddenly his comm. clicked.

"This is Arion One. I am primed and awaiting a go, no-go, over." Blackmore received only static as a response, but repeated his message anyway.

Valhallan absorbed the information feeding into his earpiece; he knew he needed to communicate his orders, but how? He gazed across the room and saw that Sanderson was still in prime position. So he decided to change tack.

"I have the sapphire and you don't want Weasel, so let's deal and get on with our lives."

He lowered his gun and sat back into the armchair. This was it: the biggest gamble of his life. He tossed the velvet bag onto the desk and waited.

Crawford was taken by surprise. He'd won and it had been so easy - way too easy, in fact. It made him feel cautious where he didn't need to. The silence in the room allowed them to hear the pandemonium outside and this made the tension unbearable. He was surprised to find himself also taking his seat and lowering his pistol.

Sanderson could not believe her eyes. What is going on? Why don't we finish it, she asked herself. Her feelings of uncertainty affected her confidence. Her clip was full; she could finish him and take the jewel. She could probably take Valhallan too. She would be the new leader of the Silver Ghosts. She was ready to claim her accession.

"I'm ready to go NOW." Valhallan shouted above the din.

In a split second Blackmore released two flash-bangs and a smoke bomb. From the doorway, he threw his SOG S37K Seal blade and it pinned Sanderson to the wall. Before he could enter the room, he saw Shaw appear across the landing and rum full pelt toward him. Diving at him, Blackmore grabbed his waist. They crashed to the floor and started to grapple with each other.

Valhallan sprang up from his seat and, crouching down, ran to Weasel. He held his friend's head down and fired around the room. The bullet-proof glass held, but there were explosions all around him as hundreds of rounds tore into the fabric of the room. He couldn't see through his stinging eyes, but he could hear muffled voices drifting away from where he was. He held his breath and tried to concentrate. No more conversations, but he could hear a chair scraping on the oak floor. He turned and shot in the general direction of the sound, and as the noise of the ricochets subsided, he felt a presence near to him and smelt rancid breath. This was quickly followed by agonising pain as Argen sank his powerful jaws into his torso. The beast had a good grip of his jacket and a healthy slice of skin and he was tearing viciously at him. Even his graphene body suit was being damaged, so Valhallan raised his gun and smashed it onto the beast's head. The attack continued for a short while longer before eventually ceasing. As he grimaced and lay on his side, he heard the movement of furniture, then nothing more. Just as he was trying to figure out his next move Weasel came to.

"Where am I?" Weasel began, but Valhallan immediately clapped his hand over Weasel's mouth.

"We need to leave," Valhallan said quietly.

Although he was bleeding heavily, he still had the strength to shoulder the hostage aside and run. As the smoke cleared, he saw Sanderson struggling to free herself. He raised his firearm and tried to shoot towards her, but he was out of ammo and the empty clicks infuriated him. He continued into the hallway and saw Zavarava standing over two wrestling bodies on the floor.

She's recovered quickly, he thought. Must be the training. He took a few bounding strides forward, then attacked with the only weapon he had left: Weasel. His young colleague flew through the air and felled his target like a bowling ball striking a pin.

Shaw had been getting a pounding from Blackmore, but Valhallan quickly ended the dispute by treading on Shaw's neck, snapping it.

"Get up," Valhallan growled. "The jewel is lost, but the director is the priority. You go back to the roof and sweep down. I will get him to safety, return and meet you here."

# Chapter 8 The Escape.

Blackmore nodded and took the pistol off the deck. He arrived on the roof just in time to witness the BattleCopter taking off and turn smartly one hundred and eighty degrees towards him. The giant headlight blinded him and brought him into the clear view of Major Gerhardt Koller. As the BattleCopter rose into the air, Blackmore emptied his gun at it. But small arms were no match for this next-generation attack vehicle and as it raised itself imperiously into the night sky, Koller fired three missiles which annihilated the top floor of the casino. Blackmore met his fate.

Valhallan saw the light reflect off the building in front of him and instinctively ducked as the wave of noise hit him and his transport.

"Hang on," he bellowed.

Weasel had no say in this: he was strapped to the tank of the Tomahawk. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the road flashing by underneath them. Valhallan eased his bike through the gears. Self-preservation was not his only consideration: hundreds of civilians and public officials were trying to take cover from the latest explosion, and he knew he had to clear the area and help take the civilians out of the firing line. He could probably outpace the cannon fire, but the guided missiles were going to be difficult to lose with this one-and-a-half tonne machine. He thumbed the comm. on the handlebars.

"This is Valhallan. I have Weasel, but I have lost the jewel. I have a BattleCopter in pursuit. I need assistance immediately, over."

Levengrove gripped the control desk in front of him and responded "we're calculating options, out."

"Dr Jones, please advise Mister Valhallan of the computers analysis as soon as possible. Miss Alleyne, is the RX-13 available to assist?"

"Affirmative, MJ, It's fuelled and armed."

Levengrove turned his back to his colleagues, then opened his communication panel and inputted: 'Ghost Hunter, pilot the RX-13 from the North platform and intercept BattleCopter.' There was no reply, although none had been expected 'The dead don't talk,' he thought to himself.

"The hologram is stable; I will retract the hood" said Alleyne.

Levengrove's screens lit up and all three remaining directors saw the roof of the terrascraper roll back and reveal its payload.

The RX-13 was a micro jet fighter developed by Arion. In designing it, they had drawn inspiration from NASA's 1950s model: the X-13 Vertijet. It was capable of Mach 2 and armed with laser cannons that could blow a hole through a tank. Remus Knight had already completed his pre-flight checks and was airborne without delay. The tracer on Weasel was locked into the navigation system; he would rendezvous in less than one minute. The RX-13 arched up and over the Woolworth building, then quickly built up to attack speed. The supersonic fighter soared through the city below one hundred feet. This meant it was too low for radar to detect, too fast to be seen with the naked eye, and thanks to its eco-nuclear propulsion system, almost silent.

"He is a worthy adversary. I shall not enjoy this assassination."

Koller's tone was robotic and clinical.

Crawford exploded in fury.

"Major, we need to finish this and remove ourselves to our Phantom Station, so stop being the honourable soldier and start killing people."

He could ill afford to lose concentration. The treasure was in his grasp, but his tolerance was being tested like never before. He placed and then replaced the sapphire in each of the five apertures, but whatever he did, it remained lifeless. His temperature was rising dramatically and his whole body shook from the effort.

"Work, damn you," he exclaimed.

Koller followed his master's instructions, throwing the BattleCopter into a series of high speed turns. His control over the machine was total; it was like he was at one with it. His target was highly skilled in evasive manoeuvres and so, to fulfil his master's order, he would have to forego a dignified quick kill and be brutal. He reached out and primed the air-to-surface heat-seeking missiles. All he needed now was guidance lock.

Valhallan dodged huge twenty millimetre shells, trying to keep ahead. He yearned for an open stretch of tarmac where he could open up the throttle and get some distance between them and the BattleCopter. His comm. signalled an incoming transmission.

"Val, it's Athena. You won't make it back so you're going to have to lose him and lay low. You're approaching the Queens Tunnel: that will offer you your best chance. The RX-13 is on final approach to assist you; use this diversion to the optimum."

Valhallan neatly dodged another round of gunfire, which ricocheted off the road surface. It was then that he spied an escape route. He met a short straight and opened the throttle.

"He's going for the tunnel; we have him now."

Koller could also see that his pursuit was at an end, and he swung round onto 1st Avenue and levelled off, then flicked the missile switch.

"We will have a firing solution in moments."

"Weasel, your father's a man of faith right?"

"Yeah."

"Well start praying for both of us because we're going to need all the help we can get."

Valhallan ripped back the grip and opened up with all the power he could muster. He cruised past the 150 mile-per-hour mark, weaving back and forth to make them difficult to lock onto. Though he had plenty more power left, this type of driving wasn't his bike's strongest suit and he sensed the BattleCopter closing in.

Koller heard a sudden loud sound from the missile guidance. BRURRH. Then it gave him the green light.

"Firing..."

WHOOSH! The RX-13 cut straight across the nose of the BattleCopter, going at just over Mach 1. Remus climbed, did a barrel roll and performed a tight turn.

Alarms started blaring, and then the wake of the sound barrier swallowed the BattleCopter. Crawford was smashed into the door. It held, but he was injured badly. The joystick lurched violently and Koller struggled to maintain control, only his vast experience would delay the inevitable defeat. He saw RX-13 returning, which confirmed his worst fears.

"We are going to take a hit."

He remained cold and calm even while making this negative assessment. He had restored some altitude, but the RX-13 had already looped round over the East River and used the darkness behind it to deliver hundreds of invisible laser pulses at the BattleCopter. It took the full force of the attack on its port side and though the re-enforced panels absorbed the energy, it was blown sideways and began hurtling uncontrollably downwards.

Koller knew they were lost and fired his missiles in a vain attempt at self-defence. The rockets missed their target, but they did cause Remus to divert his course and abort the next volley. As he was correcting his flight path he saw the BattleCopter crash into the water and sink slowly without trace.

As the RX-13's on-board infra-red cameras transmitted the evidence that Crawford Montgomery III was no more, Levengrove, Alleyne and Athena were watching the situation room screens intently when Remus sent the mission complete acknowledgment.

Levengrove responded immediately with a return to base command, but he did not feel triumphant as he turned to face his colleagues.

"What about the sapphire?" Alleyne asked.

"I will re-assign Remus to retrieve it. The BattleCopter has sunk and he will require another mode of transport for recovery, so I will programme him to return to the scene immediately after he disembarks here. Of course, we could divert Mr Valhallan."

Athena immediately intervened, saying "no, MJ, we are uncertain of the two director's wounds and I believe Weasel has taken severe physical abuse this evening. He is the priority, is he not?"

"Of course, you are right, Dr Jones."

"I will go to the infirmary and prepare two observation beds. Coco, would you assist me please?" Alleyne nodded, and the two directors left, Scud following.

MJ Levengrove was left alone with his liquid crystal wall of data. He could have waited to analyse the events of the evening, but he didn't want to: he thrived on information. This was true even in this case, when the information was about the death of his fiercest enemy, who had once been his oldest friend. The memories and feelings of hatred quickly surfaced once more. Never one for showing much emotion, Levengrove let out a long breath that evolved into a groan. Their long association had come to an abrupt and unsatisfactory end. And yet their relationship had started so well: Crawford had recruited Levengrove to Arion Industries; he had mentored him in tactics; it was Crawford who had helped Levengrove through his alcoholism and depression, after his young wife had been murdered by a petty criminal during a break-in at his home.

For this reason and many others, Levengrove had found it difficult to begin assembling evidence to show that Crawford should be removed from Arion. However, he had known that the trading of Arion secrets and technology to known criminals throughout the world had to be stopped. For many years, Levengrove had regretted his actions, but then, one day, while searching the archives for something so insignificant he now could not recall what it was, he found CCTV coverage of a clandestine meeting between Crawford and Shull Coburn: the man who had slaughtered Crawford's wife. Tying in times, dates and materials that were taken from Levengrove's safe, he had connected Crawford to the crime and he swore revenge. Crawford had already disappeared into the ether, but he had found Coburn and with a score of slashes from his wakizashi sword, had brought his own justice down on the villain. He had hoped that one day he would complete his task, but now it was clear that day would never arrive. He would have preferred that Crawford had survived so he could take vengeance on him, but alas, that was not meant to be. He wiped the tear from his face and transferred his attention to retrieving the sapphire and the totem.

Athena returned to the Situation Room.

"MJ, I have decided that after this evening's events, I will be leaving Arion to search for the other four Zenstones. It was my mother's obligation, and I promised Terrance that I would continue the quest."

"Dr Jones - Athena - this is not your mission alone. It is now the responsibility and primary objective of this organisation to retrieve those precious stones and the totem that empowers them. We will place every resource at your disposal and support your mission with our greatest zeal. Now if you will excuse me, I need to inform Mr Valhallan that the Arion 8 cell has taken heavy casualties this evening - he will not be pleased."

The BattleCopter began sinking, but Koller managed to struggle free of his harness. Blood ran down his face and pain seared through him. He fell onto the roof of the cockpit and slowly stood up inside the watertight bubble. He moved the broken pilot's chair and slid into the rear to see his master crumpled against the ceiling of the wreckage. He reached down and lifted Crawford up. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain to his leg and realised that Crawford had the totem in a death grip that he could not loosen. His Stasi survival training kicked into gear. He would have to blow the doors off before the pressure became too great. He grabbed the fire extinguisher, placed it against the internal door hinge and, reaching around the broken seat, fired all six rounds from his sidearm. The explosion was deafening, but it created the required result: the door moved ajar and water gushed inside. He furiously kicked it open, and they were both immersed in the freezing cold river.

It took a great effort to reach the surface; the current was violent, and all he could do was let the tide take them. He tore every muscle trying to stay afloat until, as the flow became weaker, they were steered toward the shoreline before eventually finding their passage halted by rocks in the shallows. Koller lay for a moment; his lungs were burning and his veins full of lactic acid. He tried to carry Crawford further onto the craggy bank but exhaustion took over, and he was forced to drop the corpse to the ground.

The Balzinium totem fell flush on its end and instantaneously the Shambhala Sapphire fired into life. Light as bright as a pulsar burst out of the third aperture and bathed Crawford in a brilliant blue aura. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the light went out, and Koller was left sitting open-mouthed as his master's cadaver opened his eyes and pulled himself up into a standing position.

He looked so young, fit and agile, and when he started speaking, his tone was one of command.

"Major Koller, we must leave this place. We have plans to make for the mission of a lifetime."

With one hand he pulled Koller to his feet, and together they disappeared into the darkness.

# Epilogue.

Remus Knight joined the Hudson River via the North Cove Marina tunnel. His single-seat Poseidon submarine travelled steadily at seventeen knots. Since it was 4 a.m. on a cold winter Monday morning, there was no river traffic to speak of, and movement on the surface was not an issue he had to worry about. As he arrived in the vicinity of the crash site he submerged smoothly and found the wreckage easily. The submarine's anti-collision lights guided him in perfectly. He thoroughly surveyed the BattleCopter and the surrounding riverbed, but did not find any corpses, the Shambhala Sapphire or the Balzinium totem.

Levengrove thought it was possible that Crawford and his pilot had been swept away by the river's lethal current; it even occurred to him that, against all odds, they might have survived.

Remus had been programmed to pursue such an event, and so the Ghost Hunter went in search of his prey.

# Acknowledgements.

Special thanks to my friends and family for their continuous support and encouragement. I would particularly like to mention Helen Corner of the Cornerstones Literary Agency for helping me start the process of becoming a writer and also my editor, Dinah Ceely, who was excellent and helped me with all aspects of the manuscript.

The author would like to give credit to the following companies for their inspiring products: Chevrolet, Colt, Dodge, Ford, Harley Davidson, Heckler & Koch, NASA, Ruger, Sikorsky, SOG and Smith & Wesson.

The author would also like to acknowledge the cover illustration for this book is a vector file originally created by Kuzzie (Indonesia). It was paid for by the author and downloaded from Shutterstock in 2015, then manipulated in Adobe Photoshop.

# The five Zenstone phases are...

Phase One: The Pursuit of the Shambhala Sapphire

Phase Two: The Storm Diamond Ascends

Phase Three: The Race to the Rubicon Ruby

Phase Four: The Imitation Emerald Compulsion

Phase Five: Armageddon and the Vishnu Pearl
