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  A TRAITOR’S WAR

  THE METAFRAME WAR: BOOK 2

  Graeme Rodaughan

  Published by System Zero Productions Pty Ltd, 2017

  Copyright © 2017 Graeme Rodaughan

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organizations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-0-9945952-3-2

  Kindle Edition ISBN-13: 978-0-9945952-4-9

  EPUB Edition ISBN-13: 978-0-9945952-5-6

  Cover art by Huw Jones

  For Linda, she knows why.

  I would like to thank a number of people who have assisted with my progress as an author, including Alex, Tim, Lisa, Lena, Marie, Eldon, Michael, Christopher, Perry, Nick, and my many friends and followers on Goodreads. You have all contributed more than you know to my craft and your support and encouragement are invaluable for this journey.

  Other books by Graeme Rodaughan

  The Metaframe War Series

  A Subtle Agency

  A Traitor’s War

  The Dragon’s Den

  The Day Guard

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Bonus Material – The Enforcer

  Prologue

  Port-au-Prince, Haiti, December 24th, 1857, 20:25

  The scent of aniseed laced rum filled the air as drunken revelers spilled out of the port tavern. The foul odors of sweaty, unwashed bodies clashed with the salt tang of the ocean and fought battles with the reek of bales of goatskins and mahogany stacked in piles along the docks of Port-au-Prince. The lush warmth of the night fed the ambiance of celebration as children carrying oil lamps sang carols in the street, and people sang, danced, drank and feasted.

  Pools of light from taverns, shops and warehouses illuminated the packed earth of the street, and the people moved through the soft lights and dim shadows as they mingled, shouted in semi-delirium and loved wildly.

  The people of Port-au-Prince celebrated Christmas Eve. Above them, an entirely different ceremony was well advanced in the top floor suite of the Ivory Moon hotel. The rooms had been cleared of furniture the week before, the bare floorboards lay exposed, and thick black curtains draped the windows.

  Jean Philippe Allemande, Voodoo Sorcerer, and his student sat opposite each other within the confines of a magic circle. The circle was three yards across and drawn in fresh human blood. Both men were stripped to the waist, wearing simple dark cloth trousers. They were wet with perspiration, the student’s pale skin, long limbs, and lean musculature were covered in a fine sheen that glowed like gold in the candlelight. Jean Philippe’s mahogany skin, burnished in the candlelight, dripped sweat onto the floorboards where it soaked into the dry wood. The air was thick with the scent of black candles wrought from the fat of human cadavers. Flat copper bowls of slowly congealing blood lay at the eight cardinal points around the bloody diagram on the floor.

  The student had arrived in the winter months of 1846, a bargain had been struck, power would be swapped for immortality. In the following years, the student had visited, time and time again. To participate in training, the mind, body, and soul to confront the Divine Engine of Thoth and draw from it a tiny fraction of its true power.

  The student’s agents had delivered Jean Philippe to the Americas, the Far East, Turkey, Europe, and England, where he had aided the student in the acquisition and binding of a circle of five servants of great power. Tonight’s service would be the last one that he would provide, and it would bring him a step closer to the fulfillment of his greatest desire.

  Jean Phillipe’s craving for the Key of Ahknaton threatened to break his deep concentration. The wondrous artifact that granted full access to the Divine Engine was often in his thoughts. It was why he sought immortality, a gift the student bore within his blood. With immortality, he would have the time to find the Key of Ahknaton, and with the Key in hand, he could remake the world in his own image.

  Jean Philippe had explained the ceremony to his student. The protections were necessary to defend themselves from the raw power of the Divine Engine. It was only with strict adherence to the rules that the precautions would work. The slightest misstep would bring utter catastrophe. The student had insisted that despite the risks, they should proceed, and finally, the time had come to complete the greatest sorcery that Jean Philippe had ever attempted. From bitter experience, he understood the boundaries of what could be asked of the Divine Engine. He had brushed against those limits once before and had spent many months cowering in madness before a semblance of sanity had returned.

  Jean Phillipe watched his student intently. He speculated on the power the student had asked for. He wondered what might happen if the powers of the Divine Engine were ever pitted against each other. Would an irresistible force meet an immovable object? He admitted to himself that he no longer had the courage to attempt such a thing. He thought it best to keep his concerns to himself lest the student leave without making payment.

  The student was ready - residing in a place of perfect stillness. Jean Philippe tightened his concentration to a single point. The air shimmered within the confines of the circle, like summer heat rising off sunbaked stones. An awesome presence filled the room. The candles dimmed, the shadows thickened, and a glimmering rainbow flickered in the center of the magic circle. The rainbow solidified, resolving into a swirling mass of multi-colored lights the size of a melon hovering two feet off the floor.

  He uttered a single phrase. “Grant the power of foresight.”

  Gleaming dust motes halted in their flight before Jean Philippe’s eyes and time itself seemed to pause, then the Divine Engine disappeared.

  Intense disappointment cut him like a knife. The promise of limitless power remained tantalizingly out of reach. Without the Key of Ahknaton, all he could practice were petite sorceries, and he could never satisfy his lust to consummate a union with the Divine Engine and become one with the Gods.

  He glanced at his student. The student’s face was lit with a terrible wonder, his eyes focusing on empty space a yard in front of him.

  “Mr. Crane, what do you see?”

  “The many future paths before me.”

  “That is a potent gift.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I have delivered what I promised, five binding curses and an unlimited sorcerous power for you.”

  “You shall have your reward.”

  The student’s mouth trembled. He smiled hungrily, fangs gleaming wetly in the candle light. He lunged forward, sinking his razor-sharp teeth into Jean Philippe’s throat.

  With his blood rushing out of his body, Jean Philippe’s gaze lit upon the lone spectator to the ceremony. A young woman, her body warm and luxurious, struggling frantically against her bindings, her eyes wide above the cloth gag filling her mouth. Her companion lay dead on the floor, his blood used to draw the magic circle and fill the copper bowls. She would be his first true meal, the fruit of the earth, destined to satisfy his immortal needs.

  A succulent fruit, the first of many to be savored on his island home.

  Chapter One

  Progress Report - The Day Guard Program Phase V

  Report#: 134

  Date: June 11th

  Summary begins:

  The development of the Day Guard serum has now entered its final stage. The success rate is now more than 50% (50.4%), with enhanced effects proving persistent beyond thirty days without degradation. We conclude that administration of the serum will produce permanent enhancements without side effects within 3 hours in one of every two healthy, adult subjects.

  Current averaged measured results across the twelve successful test subjects are as follows,

  ● Strength increases by 304%

  ● Motor speed increases by 315%

  ● Agility increases by 294%

  ● Endurance increases by 515%

  ● Reflex speed increases by 324%

  ● Pain tolerance increases by 312%

  ● Healing rate increases by 524%

  ● Motor skill increases by 378%

  These results represent a doubling in activation of the System Zero epigenetic factors when compared with the Phase IV subjects, yet still fall about 50% short of the theoretical maximums.

  The symptoms of serum failure continue to manifest as berserk rage, followed by progeria, and catatonic depression with onset 24 to 48 hours after the administration of the serum with inevitably fatal results within two days of the onset of the symptoms.

  All test subjects have been terminated using the TEF-4 neurotoxin. Final wrap up of this program has commenced and can be expected to be completed within two weeks. All technical details for the design and production of the Day Guard serum, the TEF-4 neurot
oxin, and their associated delivery systems have been committed to secured data vaults on the Panopticon cloud.

  The primary active ingredient of the Day Guard serum is derived from the Ophiocordyceps diabolicus fungus. A substantial quantity of the fungus has been harvested from the Amazonas region of Brazil - sufficient to compose five hundred doses of the Day Guard serum.

  The fungus has been sent by secure courier to Shadowstone Research Facility #19, Fort Dix, New Jersey.

  Summary ends:

  - Quantum encrypted email from Shadowstone Research Facility #34, Brazil.

  * * *

  Boston, June 11th, 20:53

  General Chloe Armitage ran her fingers through her damp hair.

  She glanced into the police cruiser’s rear-view mirror. The heavy bruising on the right side of her face had disappeared, her eyes were clear, and she glowed with health. Feasting on a young Boston police officer would do that for a vampire. She drew her hand down her face and nodded - pleased with her perfection.

  Chloe was fully healed from the pair of .50 caliber bullet wounds, katana chest thrust and Nightfalcon helicopter crash that had occurred less than half an hour before.

  Exiting the car, her smartphone vibrated with the arrival of a text. Drawing the phone from her pocket, she read the message, “Ramin Kain - quantum signature attached.”

  Only one person could have sent that message - the Raven.

  Chloe grinned broadly, filled with exhilaration. She put the phone away. With the quantum signature of Ramin Kain’s phone, she could penetrate his information defenses. She was certain it would not be long before she would know everything there was to know about the Head of the Order of Thoth.

  She determined to ensure that Shabbah al Ahmar’s agent within Francis Mirovar’s force team never discovered who she was. The Raven was too valuable a prize to lose and finding out the supposed second agent of the Red Empire in North America was general Chloe Armitage of the Vampire Dominion would do exactly that.

  Chloe took in her surroundings. She was standing in the first level parking garage of the Boston Risk Investigation Security Consultants building. There were two stairwells, one elevator, another lower level parking garage, and eight cameras, two of which were trained on her.

  The nearest stairwell echoed with the quick footsteps of men rapidly descending toward her. Pausing next to the police cruiser, Chloe sardonically saluted the nearest camera. The stairwell door burst open, three Shadowstone operatives dressed in suits and carrying FN P90 submachine guns fanned out into the parking garage.

  “Halt!” shouted the lead operative.

  The second operative said firmly, “Put your hands up.”

  The third operative moved sideways. The barrel of his gun aligned perfectly with the middle of Chloe’s chest. His gun’s red dot sight sitting steady on the matte black of her battered and scarred chest plate.

  Chloe turned toward the lead operative, arching an eyebrow quizzically, she said, “Which is it, halt or put my hands up?”

  The men suddenly recognized her, a flash of confusion shadowing their faces like clouds passing over the sun, they lowered their weapons.

  The lead operative stepped forward contritely and said, “My apologies, Ma’am. We didn’t recognize you wearing combat armor and with all the chaos tonight -”

  Chloe frowned. “Don’t justify your overreaction, I expect better from Shadowstone operatives.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. What are your orders, Ma’am?”

  “Do you have a Nightfalcon?”

  “No, Ma’am. We have a light transport chopper.”

  “It will have to do.” Chloe sighed. “Order the pilot to begin immediate pre-flight checks, I need to be back in New York as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. It should be ready for take-off in ten minutes.”

  “Let’s make it five.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he said, tapping his earpiece and giving urgent commands to scramble the R.I.S.C helicopter.

  “One other thing,” Chloe said, glancing back at the car.

  “Yes, Ma’am?”

  “Dismantle that police cruiser and dispose of the two bodies in the trunk.”

  “… Two bodies? … Dismantle a police cruiser?”

  Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to make me repeat myself?”

  “Ah, no, Ma’am,” the lead operative said, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. “I will make sure it’s done.”

  “Tonight - no delay.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Chloe dismissed the men with a nod. Turning she entered the stairwell. Once out of sight, she blurred upward before any of the operatives could follow her. In moments, she reached the top of the R.I.S.C building and stepped out onto the helipad. The helicopter rested in front of her, a sleek, black, civilian model, with R.I.S.C written in bold white letters on its side. The letters sat beneath a red lightning bolt that arced to the nose of the craft. The helicopter’s pilot was sitting in the cockpit, rapidly flicking switches. The single turbine switched on, started to spool up and the rotors began slowing spinning. She bent low, jogging over to the open cabin door, climbed in and sat down directly behind the pilot.

  She tapped him on the shoulder.

  He jerked half out of his seat, screeching as he twisted around, “HELL!”

  Chloe tilted her head slightly, smiling at the pilot with quiet amusement. “New York - The R.I.S.C Tower.”

  “I assume you’re the VIP Carter told me to scramble for.”

  “You assume correctly.”

  The pilot hesitated for a second, non-plussed. He turned back to his controls, muttering under his breath, “How did she get up here so quickly.”

  Relaxing back in her seat, Chloe strapped herself in. She considered her options, composed a brief message on her smartphone, and sent it to Cornelius Crane.

  * * *

  The boardroom dominated the north side of the 101st floor of the R.I.S.C Enterprises Tower. It was here that Cornelius Crane, King of the Vampire Dominion, played the part of the mysterious and reclusive owner of the privately-owned R.I.S.C Enterprises Corporation. The public face, hidden amongst thousands of ordinary corporations, that masked the Vampire Dominion and Cornelius Crane’s Citadel.

  Cornelius stared out of the boardroom windows at the brilliantly lit skyscrapers of midtown Manhattan and the dark swathe of Central Park beyond them. The windows resembled regular commercial glass but were composed of transparent armor that could stop a direct hit by a 30mm anti-tank round. The windows were slightly darker than normal, hiding a broad-spectrum electromagnetic shield laminated within the armor. The boardroom was encapsulated in an information cloak that was proof against any known method of spying.

  He blinked and sighed, pressing a button on a hand-held remote as he frowned at the vibrant city laid out before him. It had been decades since he had witnessed such losses in the west. Four praetorians had been killed by the Red Empire, and the Shadowstone facility in Jerusalem had been destroyed. Two more praetorians had been killed in Brazil by an agent or agents unknown, and now six had been killed by the Order of Thoth in Boston.

  Cornelius turned and studied the large monitor and multiple screens filling the far wall. He watched the wreckage of a suddenly hot war burn in silence. He had muted the sound to help himself think. He glanced at the bottom right hand screen, dominated by several digital timers. There was one, in red, just ticking over eighteen minutes. An hour ago, it was registering over nine years of continuous, uninterrupted operation of the Panopticon.

  Cornelius cursed out loud. “How the hell did they haze all the nearby cameras and the satellite over Boston. I’ve got a seventeen-minute black hole three miles wide centered on that damn warehouse, and during that time - everything goes to shit!”

  For the first time in decades, an unsettling sense of creeping chaos wormed its way into his mind. The sudden and severe loss left him staring incredulously at the screens. The initiative had clearly shifted to his opponents, and he vowed silently to get it back.