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  ‘She’s not here now, is she?’ Stuart said. He sat back in the chair.

  ‘No, she isn’t. So all decisions rest with me. This world will make you a man soon enough. Stop wishing it to happen sooner,’ Gibbs said.

  Stuart stood up and walked off without looking back.

  ‘That young man’s nearly kicking Smithy’s arse in the unarmed combat sessions,’ Warren said. ‘He’s already a man, mate. You cannot stop what is evolving naturally.’

  ‘Shut up, or I’ll shoot you in the other bloody knee.’

  • • •

  Sheryl’s face lit up as he approached. She had her long black hair in a ponytail and had just tied a yellow apron around her waist to start her shift in the canteen. The blue dress she wore was figure-hugging and highlighted her hourglass figure, something Warren had noticed on many occasions. She usually wore looser outfits, but he guessed it was for Gibbs’s benefit, not that the idiot would notice. Warren sighed and smiled back at the woman who was never far from his thoughts.

  ‘Hello, Warren,’ she said, stepping in behind the serving table. ‘You want some more? We have a little potato stewpot left.’

  ‘I’m full, but thanks for a great meal, and especially for the cake. My apologies that Gibbs wasn’t overly excited.’

  ‘It’s okay. I know he has Maddy on his mind. Caring for so many of you is a tough job, I’m sure.’

  ‘We all try to chip in when and where we can.’

  ‘I’ve noticed how much you look after Stuart. You’re obviously close. It’s good to see, especially if something happens to Gibbs out there. All the women were commenting on just how much of a treasure you are for being there for him.’

  Warren felt the warmth starting on the back of his neck. It moved to his cheeks. He looked down into the bubbling stew. ‘I’ve been with Gibbs and Smithy for a long time. Stuart is like a little brother to me.’ Her smile was so infectious. He felt lost in her gaze. ‘Don’t worry about Gibbs. Nothing will happen out there.’

  ‘I hope not,’ she said, the smile disappearing from her pale white face ‘We need him so much right now.’

  Warren nodded.

  ‘Let’s change the subject and talk about something more uplifting. Like when are you going to take a wife?’

  Warren’s mouth dropped open. ‘There are several women here, all widows, who’ve asked me to talk to you about a possible pairing. Some are only interested in falling pregnant, but one or two of them do want a man in their life.’

  Warren’s mouth and throat went dry. ‘I haven’t given it much thought.’

  ‘You must. We need the population in the enclave to keep growing, and you are a young man so must be able to have children. You can have children, can’t you?’

  ‘Um…’

  ‘Has nobody asked you to help with this before? You’ve been to so many hamlets and enclaves.’

  ‘No one has ever asked me anything like that.’

  ‘Think about it, and please come back to me with a decision.’

  Warren looked towards the door. ‘I have to go now, to meet up with Gibbs, but I’ll give it some thought.’

  ‘Promise me. The girls are eager to know.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks again. Gibbs is still waiting.’

  ‘You’re so loyal, Warren. Why is that? I mean I get why all the women are drawn to the Hooded Man. But why do you follow him on this crusade instead of settling down?’

  ‘I knew Christina, his late wife, before I met him.’

  ‘She must have been beautiful. You only have to look at Stuart to see the good genes he got from her. And Gibbs, of course. Good genes indeed,’ she said, straightening the front of the apron. ‘It would be such a shame if he died.’

  Warren’s eyes widened. ‘He’ll be fine, Sheryl.’

  ‘He is risking so much to save that little waif of a girl. There are so many others who need him.’

  Warren wrung his hands together.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean anything bad by that comment,’ Sheryl said.

  Warren forced a smile. ‘Sheryl, just enjoy having him around while he is here, but don’t go getting too attached.’

  ‘I’m afraid it may be too late,’ she said.

  Chapter 8

  Eagleton Village, Maryville, Tennessee, USA - 2043

  The lavender scent from the coarse white cotton shirt filled his nostrils. Small smudges of charcoal from Luka’s body-makeup on the garment filled Rebus with dread. Feelings of abandonment, long since forgotten, long since suppressed, came back in waves. Dark places with evil people covered in blood. Could he survive without another soulmate and live with the fact that he hadn’t done everything he could to stop Luka going out there? Too many had been taken away from him in his life.

  ‘They will not keep Luka away from me,’ Rebus said, standing in front of the mirror.

  ‘Did you say something, my love?’ Enyo called from the bedroom.

  Rebus smelt the shirt one last time and then hung it over a small chair. ‘We are going to destroy them all. If they treat my Luka badly, I will kill them slowly. The Hooded Man will pay.’

  Enyo walked out of the room, dressed for battle. Her usual flowing robes that could seduce the gods from Olympus, replaced with leather shorts, boots and a brown cowhide waistcoat. The usual white feathers in her Mohican replaced with red bits of ribbon and plastic. A white, painted eye-mask replacing her usual black one. She smiled, her teeth white against her smooth brown skin. Placing her hand on his bare chest, she slipped the other one around his waist.

  ‘We will need more men and a lot more weapons. And that is what this afternoon is all about.’

  ‘The meeting is still a while away.’

  ‘No, lover. You slept for a few hours. The meeting is upon us, and you need to prepare yourself.’

  ‘I hate that I have to go through with this traitorous meeting. It goes against everything I stand for and what we have achieved so far.’

  He felt her arm tighten around his waist. Fierce dark brown eyes stared into his. ‘Pull yourself together. You are the leader of the 38 Street Roadsters. You have to do what it takes to keep us all safe. You have to ensure that the 38s stay alive and remain successful. You either put your game face on and do this shit, or you and I can abandon this quest to conquer this region. And that would mean abandoning Luka.’

  • • •

  A piece of metal roof-sheeting bounced up and down on the hot afternoon wind. The squeaking sound was all that could be heard in the desert silence. A cough from someone behind Rebus raised his temper up a notch. Nausea in his gut was subsiding, an effect of the cocaine. His eyes narrowed as the snake of a man moved in front of him.

  ‘What kind of respect do you show me by arriving at this gathering without the leader of the Bisons? I think it’s best you fuck off back to the gopher hole you crawled out of,’ Rebus said.

  The tall man in front of him smirked then turned to the man next to him and gave him an exaggerated eyebrow raise. The brute next to him remained motionless, his arms folded across his tattooed bare chest. The blond-haired Bison gang member looked back to Rebus, his ponytail trailing down his left shoulder covering the Bison patch on his black leather waistcoat. Bulging biceps flexed as he folded his arms. If he was scared, he didn’t show it. The Bisons had entered the warehouse, leaving their fusion vans parked at the enormous main door. Additional gang members stood guard so no 38s could gain entrance and surround them.

  Mottled light lit up the visiting gang via dirty corrugated fibreglass panels in the ceiling. The warehouse was empty except for Rebus’s battle truck and motorhome parked in an L-shape. Three large tents had been erected nearby for his personal guards. In a dark shadow and behind them all was the other large sliding door. In front of that was the entire 38 Street Roadster contingent backing up their leader.

  The Bison negotiator took a step forward, ahead of the similarly dressed gang members. He took another step forward, and one of Rebus’s generals undid the clasp of
the strap of his holstered sidearm. He extended his arm across the general to calm him down.

  The blond Bison smiled. ‘You called this meeting with us, Roadster. Out of desperation, from what we hear. Why would you waste this opportunity to talk?’

  ‘Where is Max? Why am I talking to some sidekick instead of your leader?’

  ‘You get to talk to whoever Max decides you will meet with. It’s not your decision. You are nothing to him.’

  ‘And I don’t need to tell you that you are hopelessly outgunned and outnumbered here. One signal from me and you will all die where you stand,’ Rebus said, glancing over their heads to the single battle truck the Bisons had brought.

  The man laughed out loud, arching backwards at the force of the sound coming out of his mouth. He turned back to his men, pointing to Rebus. They all started laughing.

  ‘A naïve and stupid reaction like that will bring the full force of the country’s largest gang down upon you. All our energy will then revert to crushing you and your little team of desert rats. We are not your enemy, Rebus, so don’t do anything stupid. My leader brokered the peace with Septus, your predecessor, who we know was murdered by you as he slept.’

  Rebus felt his anger rising to the surface, and his fingers started to tap against his leather pants. Tapping ten times as Enyo and he had practised. Ten times then speak.

  ‘The terms of the meeting with Max and myself have been set. It will be here in our territory as prescribed in that peace agreement. We need cash, drugs, and more arms and ammunition. You Bisons are the best dealers in those.’

  The blond man nodded. ‘And, you are the best supplier of Scavenger and Floodlander slaves there is. We want to keep that trade agreement in place, so why the hostility about who attends this meeting? I’m sure we can agree that it’s not in our mutual interest to break that agreement.’

  Rebus nodded.

  ‘Max feels that you have a few problems that need to be fixed before we have that meeting.’

  ‘What problems?’

  ‘Your drug supply chain seems to be compromised and at risk. I have it on good authority that you have NAG captains who are working both sides of the fence.’

  ‘As do you, Bison. We have our spies in your territory too.’

  The man bowed his head. ‘Then we need to discuss this at the meeting with Max. Reinforce our commitment to getting these traitorous NAG men out of the way of our wealthy clients getting our product.

  ‘On that, we agree,’ Rebus said.

  ‘What about the Hooded Man?’

  Rebus looked at Enyo, who was staring at the Bisons. Rebus felt the calmness coming back to him. ‘Holed up in a big enclave to the south of us.’

  ‘He’s in your territory now, so it falls to you to kill this fucker.’

  ‘You failed in so many attempts in other states, and now you need us to take care of this,’ Rebus said.

  ‘He’s a common enemy so must be taken care of in the region that he is in, as the agreement states.’

  ‘It also states that a coalition may be set up if the enemy is proving too difficult to neutralise. You’ve already failed to kill him on your turf, so now we’re calling for your men to join us.’

  The man stared at Rebus for a few seconds. ‘And you’ll vouch for their safety?’

  ‘As per the agreement, I have to guarantee their safety.’

  ‘I bloody hope so. We all know your habit of going off half-cocked and doing stupid things without thinking.’

  Rebus tapped his leg again.

  ‘Let’s shake on the agreement here and now as a pledge to honour the peace between the two gangs,’ the gang member said.

  ‘I will only shake Max’s hand,’ Rebus said, the anger simmering upwards again. The cocaine was wearing off. Rebus looked at the hand the man was extending and then across to Enyo. He nodded his head, and she walked forward and shook the blond man’s hand.

  ‘Get your men here by morning. They’re welcome here as part of the agreement. Tell Max, we will meet in five days to discuss our drugs business and your need for slave Scavengers and Floodlanders.’

  The man nodded, leering at Enyo. ‘You could throw this one in to help persuade Max.’

  ‘We’re done here, Bison. Now fuck off,’ Rebus said, unclipping the strap to his hip holster.

  Enyo walked back, a large smile on her face. She leaned in and kissed him, her lips soft and moist, the taste of mint flooding Rebus’s senses. Her hand slipped over his hand, clasping down on the holster.

  ‘We need these arseholes right now. It’s an impossible coalition to justify, but we need money and ammunition to get more slaves. That way, we will become wealthier and more powerful. Then once we’re ready, we can kill the Bisons and take it all.

  Chapter 9

  Kremlin Armoury, Moscow, Russia– 2043

  Ice was forming on the Moskva River heralding the start of another season of arthritic pain for the hunched-over man. Resting his battle-weary hands on the wooden windowsill, he looked across the crumbling Kremlin wall to the Floodlanders, who were scurrying around to make a final trade before nightfall. Darkness brought out the Scavengers, gangs and other nightly ghouls, and it was fatal to be out and about. In the depths of the armoury, his soldiers would be getting ready to go out on patrol again. He yearned for his youth to join them in the hunt on the flooded streets, fighting against the scourge of his city. Instead, the Warlord of Moscow had to sit behind guarded walls, moving between spells of gout, arthritis, and increasing piles of paperwork.

  ‘Warlord? May I make you some tea?’

  Andrei Kirilenko stood upright again, groaning with discomfort. He turned to the lovely Russian rose who was his assistant. Her blonde hair was pulled back tightly into a ponytail, and she was wearing thick mascara which contrasted with her pale complexion. Her pink lipstick was lightly applied as he’d asked her to do. He disliked red lipstick because it reminded him of the dubious women in his past who had plastered the red stuff on. This girl was more classy than most beyond the wall with her tailored jacket and matching knee-length skirt, all a little tight thanks to privileged living. She enjoyed the trappings of the more fortunate Floodlander lifestyle and tolerated the age gap in their relationship for the benefits.

  ‘No. Coffee.’

  ‘Warlord Kirilenko. You know the doctor said you’re not allowed not have it. Only green tea is allowed for you, so please don’t ask me to get you coffee.’

  Andrei lumbered over to his marble-topped desk, with its gold frame and wooden legs. He too filled his dark grey waistcoat and pleated trousers a little too much nowadays. A white-collared shirt was finished off with a red handkerchief in the pocket of the waistcoat. Sitting down on the velvet and gold chair, he dismissed her with a flick of the hand. Reaching for the phone, he dialled a number and waited. ‘Bring me a strong mug of coffee. Now.’

  A man of his stature should be able to do whatever he liked. Andrei, however, was a man of power without any actual power because all decisions for Moscow, and Western Russia, now came out of Hamburg. The New European Government or NEG called all the shots. Russia was now part of the New Europe since the demise of Lord Francis Butler, the evil mind behind Kharon.

  Andrei touched his shoulder, rubbing the four-inch wound from Butler’s revenge on him. Looking up at the two photo frames on his desk, he smiled a tired smile. For all the things he’d done in his life, marriage to his late wife was his best achievement. The black and white photo from their wedding day was all that remained of his life with her. The photo next to her was of a tall blonde woman holding a smiling four-year-old boy. Next to them was a tall man, almost smiling, although that smile would be long gone by now. Andrei reached for the frame just as someone knocked on the office door. His assistant, carrying a pot of coffee, walked over to his desk. She poured some into a tall brown mug in front of him.

  ’You never talk about the people in the photos. Who are they, warlord?’

  ‘There’s no one else us here, Katy
a. Please call me Andrei as I’ve asked you so many times.’

  She walked around the desk and stood next to him, placing her hand on his neck to play with his hair. It warmed his soul, and he put his arm around her legs, looking up at her.

  ‘They don’t look Russian,’ she said.

  ‘No, they’re not. This was taken in England. Many years ago.’

  ‘Are they friends?’

  ‘The best I’ve ever had. She is no longer with us, and he and the boy are somewhere in New America.’

  ‘There is so much happiness in the photo.’

  ‘They were good together. Sadly, it wasn’t long after this was taken that she was murdered.’

  Katya gasped, her hand going up to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, Andrei.’

  ‘It’s okay. We all die, don’t we? They suffered extreme hardship at times but got to save the world from a madman and stop a greedy assembly of billionaires. She was an incredibly strong young woman, and we wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for her sacrifice.’

  Katya patted his shoulder and leaned forward to kiss the top of his greying hair. The moment was shattered by the shrill of the old phone on her desk.

  His assistant took the call at her desk, which was to the left of the huge hall-like office that his position in the Kremlin commanded. It was a simple metal and wood chair with a cluttered table. Simple like her. A proud young Russian woman who had to sleep with a decrepit older man of position so she could have a semblance of a life. She returned the receiver and looked across at him.

  ‘The doctor is here for the appointment.’

  ‘Let him wait for a while.’

  ‘Just get it over with, Andrei.’

  He raised a single eyebrow at her, and she returned to the paperwork on her desk. Papers demanding more food and wood to be sent to Hamburg, no doubt.

  Reaching into his black overcoat, he produced another filter-less cigarette, hand-rolled at a small vendor within the safety of the Kremlin. A Zippo lighter with the old British Union Jack on the side was masterfully flicked open, and the wheel rolled in the blink of an eye. The warmth of the smoke filled his lungs, and he looked up at the gold-framed picture of his wife and son. They were better off dead than existing in this world with him.