Cam, it seemed, was a gypsy originally out of Romania. He was a hard, bare-knuckle fighter with crazy skills, especially for one so young. Drake guessed his age at twenty-one or twenty-two. He was a blond, tousle-haired boxer who didn’t like to read, didn’t like to fire a gun, and didn’t know where he belonged in this world. Since he fled his family home he’d been running, always seeking the next horizon, putting the past to his back as firmly as he possibly could.
Which reminded Drake of one person: Alicia.
Alicia had returned from Mexico with a new attitude, a new goal, and a new friend. A friend, it seemed, who’d just joined Strike Force One.
Drake rode in the back of an unmarked police van, sitting across from Alicia and Cam. Alicia had only been back one day, and everything had passed in a crazy blur. Strike Force had been forced to act fast. Grigori’s contact and information retrieval had happened quickly and smoothly while the rest of the team planned for whatever was coming next. Alicia dove right into the thick of it, not doling out orders but helping wherever she could. During all of this she’d introduced Cam.
When Hayden suggested he stay at a nearby hotel to be introduced properly later, Alicia had shaken her head in anger, her expression telling Hayden to shut the hell up. Later, she had explained that she didn’t trust Cam’s mental health after witnessing his sister’s murder. She couldn’t leave him alone.
Now, Drake leaned across the gap between himself and Alicia. “No distractions,” he said.
Alicia glared at him. “Is that why you didn’t let Luther come along?” she pouted.
Drake sat back, sighing. “You know what I mean.”
“If you’re referring to me,” Cam said. “Don’t worry. I haven’t got a clue how to use this thing anyway.” He turned the brand new HK in his hands, pointing the barrel at Drake twice.
Drake reached out and pushed the barrel toward the floor. “Careful with your fucking gun. That’s the first lesson.”
Alicia frowned. “Steady on, Drakey.”
“This mission is too vital to make mistakes.”
“I get that,” Alicia said. “So does Cam.”
“You trust him in warfare?”
It was a loaded, straight question, and spoken with Drake glaring into Cam’s eyes. The gypsy didn’t flinch. His face didn’t change expression. He didn’t wait for Alicia to speak up or defend him but leaned forward so that he was just a few inches from Drake’s face.
“I’ve fought in battles you could never imagine, mate. In mud and blood, in pitch darkness, pulling broken bones through torn flesh to use as weapons; using tin can lids on noses, ears and eyes. I’ve blinded rich men and poor men and soldiers gone bad and never lost an ounce of sleep. Until three days ago, my only loyalty was to Ruby, my sister.”
Drake studied the odd newcomer, trying to weigh him up. “And now?”
Cam bit his lip. “I got no fucking idea.”
Drake understood. Cam’s world was upside down, his past, present and future shredded into a million emotional shavings, each one surrounded by chaos. But that in itself was a very good reason for Cam to stay behind.
“He’ll come through.” Alicia placed a hand on Drake’s arm. “Trust me.”
And that was enough; because he did trust her. If Alicia was willing to put her faith in Cam, at least for today, then so was Drake. He nodded and turned his focus to the mission.
“Where are we?”
“Constitution,” a helmeted officer said. “We’re blind.”
Drake swore to himself. Not twenty minutes ago they’d raided the hotel where the Blood King’s men had been staying. The place had been empty; the terrorists all gone and on their way to plant the low-yield nuke. Drake’s heart had jumped into overtime, his adrenaline levels soaring. The fourteen-strong team had raced out of the hotel and jumped back into their vans.
“Get plain clothes to the Lincoln Memorial! Now!”
Officers and captains had screamed orders into their communications devices. From Grigori, they knew that the plan was to detonate the nuke right at the heart of Washington DC and the tourist center. Somewhere between the Lincoln Memorial and the Reflecting Pool, the long, narrow stretch of water that ran between the memorial and the Washington Monument.
Drake held on tight as their vehicle came to an abrupt stop. Doors were flung open. He jumped up and followed an armed police officer out in the daylight, jumping onto a sidewalk and turning to get his bearings.
He couldn’t see the White House but knew it was away to his right. To his left stood a swathe of well-manicured grass and an assortment of statues, gardens and memorials, all bordering the long, narrow stretch of water that was the Reflecting Pool. The Lincoln Memorial stood in all its glory, rising above its surroundings, a white, Greek Doric temple standing almost 100 feet tall, with thirty-six columns at the top of the main steps.
Tourists crowded the whole area. Locals ate their lunches in the gardens, on the many benches and grassy mounds. Drake felt a cold breeze pass by and shivered. So many souls in the balance.
“Spread out.” The order came through his comms.
No longer hiding their guns, the team entered the gardens, waving at anyone not carrying a backpack to leave. The grass was soft underfoot, the going easy. Drake saw tall, gray memorials ahead and to the left. Men grabbed everyone wearing a backpack and threw them to the ground, covering them with weapons. Drake headed straight for the Reflecting Pool and its sparkling, still waters. So far, the noise was at a minimum, nobody screaming or shouting as they sighted the armed officers. Drake knew that President Coburn, not far away, was already deep inside his bunker, the decision having been made to keep him in DC for now since they couldn’t be sure exactly when the nuke was planned to detonate.
The comms system in his ear was in constant use. He felt rather than saw Alicia running at his side as he approached the pool. He stopped and looked left and right, scanning the walkway. If the Blood King’s men were here, they would soon start to panic.
Drake ran in the direction of the Lincoln Memorial. Tourists jumped out of his way, one falling into the Reflecting Pool itself. Alicia was with him, Cam running several steps behind. Drake knew part of the reason this felt wrong was because the team was separated, chasing down three separate nukes. But that didn’t help.
Ahead, a gunshot rang out. Drake broke into a sprint, scanning the broad steps that led up to the Lincoln Memorial.
A tall man with a beard and a backpack stood there, aiming a gun in one hand . . .
He held a detonator in the other.
CHAPTER FIVE
“It’s not a dead man switch,” Alicia said.
Drake didn’t hesitate. He lined up the bearded man’s head in his sights and pulled the trigger, his complete trust in Alicia in full evidence. The bearded man’s head exploded in a fountain of blood. He fell back, marring the white steps, landing hard on his own backpack. Drake was already running, Alicia two steps ahead.
They reached the bottom of the main steps and started up. Armed police were converging from left and right. At that moment a group of mismatched figures ran down from the top of the steps.
They opened fire.
Drake saw men wearing jeans, jogging bottoms, T-shirts, shirts and big jackets. He saw long-haired and short-haired individuals. No common denominator connected these men. They were white and black and everything in between. And there were women too.
Drake flung himself at the steps. A bullet glanced off the concrete close to his head. He fired up at the figures racing down. One man was struck in the shins, another in the right knee. They came down fast, tumbling head over heels down the steps. Before their forward rolls had stopped, police officers had shot them five more times.
Drake shot another man in the stomach. A quick glance behind showed Cam on one knee, covering the empty spaces to the left and right of the broad steps and those higher above. It was an intelligent move for the young man and proof that he’d been yanking Drake’s chain ea
rlier. He knew full well how to use the weapon.
Drake set off running once more, trying to reach the black backpack that held the nuke, still trapped beneath the bearded man’s dead body. The descending attackers were closer. Bullets flew from all sides; from the rapidly approaching police and special teams, from the terrorists, from snipers positioned up high. Drake saw eight enemies fall, many shot through the head, but still they came in a mad, crazy rush over the top of the main steps.
He ran straight at them, gun aimed, firing on full auto. He took a swathe of them down. He was three meters from the backpack.
A bullet smashed into his chest, stopping him in mid-stride, sending him to his knees then laying him flat-out on the steps. A sharp pain burned through him. The worst thing was trying to catch his breath. He was desperate to be up and running, desperate to grab that backpack, but his body wouldn’t respond.
Alicia felled two attackers before diving up the steps in the direction of the dead man with the backpack. She was closest. She landed beside him, spun with both feet out, and swept three enemies off their feet. They bounded past her, unbalanced, right into a volley of bullets fired by police officers.
She spun on her ass, coming to a stop facing the dead body. Three more attackers landed on the steps above her. She saw only their boots and opened fire, taking their legs out. She reached forward, grabbed the backpack and pulled, but its straps were still caught around the dead man’s shoulders. It was a bloody melee.
Police and Special Forces shot at the men above her, wounding and killing them. Bodies fell to left and right, some crashing right over her. She was before their surge, in the firing line of their attack. She leaned forward, unhooking one strap from the dead man’s left shoulder. Blood coated her fingers and wrist. She ducked to one side as another body fell past and tumbled down the steps.
Drake was at her side now, firing upward. She’d counted more than twelve enemy dead. Looking up, she still couldn’t see the front of the Lincoln Memorial through them. There had to be another dozen at least. She planted her right knee in pooled blood to lean over and unhook the far side of the backpack.
Drake wheezed a little as he opened fire. A dead attacker collided with him, full on, pushing him back down the steps. He rolled a shoulder to shrug the dead body off. A man kicked him in the ribs half a second before his chest exploded, and he went down, shot by a sniper.
Alicia pulled the backpack free and unbuckled the straps. Inside, she saw a silver housing with one bulbous and one flat end.
“Shit,” she said. “It’s a fucking dildo.”
Drake peered over her shoulder. “No,” he grated, “it’s the nuke. Get it to the bomb techs.”
Easier said than done. Alicia closed the blood-soaked flap and hoisted the bag over her shoulders. A man hit her from above, striking with a machete in one hand and a Glock in the other. The machete struck her shoulder, the Glock fired point blank at her stomach. She felt the blow like a sledgehammer and fell back down the steps, unable to stop her descent. Drake shot her attacker and scrambled after her.
Alicia couldn’t breathe.
Cam ran upward at full pace, hitting Alicia’s back as she fell, arresting her momentum. She stopped. Cam rested his gun over her heaving body and sighted on the men above.
He fired two shots.
Two enemies went down. A return volley sent bullets whizzing past his skull.
Alicia gasped beneath him as she recovered enough to speak. “Get the fuck off me. Do I look like a fucking tripod?”
“You’re welcome.”
Alicia struggled away, crawling. Drake scrambled and slid to her side, skimming down the steps. By now there were more than twenty police and plain clothes agents advancing on the terrorists from below, left and right.
Drake counted eight adversaries remaining. They were afforded no mercy. Bullets sliced in from all directions.
Drake leapt to his feet, arms up in the air. “Stop, stop! We need some alive!”
He grabbed one by the legs and pulled, saving the guy’s life. Cam leapt at another. Alicia slid down more steps, away from the confrontation, and then jumped to her feet.
The bomb techs were standing at the edge of the Reflecting Pool, signaling her.
Alicia sped toward them, bounding down three steps at a time. She fell to her knees as she approached, skidding and unhooking the backpack at the same time. She held it out.
“Whatever you do,” she said. “Don’t fuck this up.”
Three fresh-faced men and one grizzled veteran gave her the cold eye but plucked the backpack from her hands, laying it gently on the ground. Alicia was left as an observer, the pool’s waters catching her eye as they rippled and glimmered with sunlight. She turned to see that the battle on the main steps was over, but didn’t relax, not for one moment. She knew what the Blood King was like and wouldn’t reduce her concentration level until all threats had been neutralized.
The bomb techs were on their knees, lifting the metal housing out of the backpack.
Drake slid up to her, Cam a step behind.
“Threat resolved,” he said, referring to the terrorists.
“You know the Blood King,” Alicia said. “Don’t let your guard down.”
Cam scanned left and right. “Who is this Blood King person?”
“Long story,” Drake said. “Luka Kovalenko. Son of the original murdering bell end. Following in his father’s footsteps.”
“You know what he wants?”
“Basically . . . to destabilize the first world so that he can take control, with a couple of revenge attacks along the way.”
“You guys?”
“Yeah, and President Coburn. He sees us as responsible for the death of his father. Which is true.”
One of the bomb techs lifted the steel casing in the air, studying the underside. Drake saw a control panel and the numbers: 0:00. Clearly, the bomb hadn’t been activated. The tech struggled with the weight of the device then and made to place it back on the ground.
Drake swung his gun up as the bomb tech was flung backward, a bullet smashing through his throat. The nuke bounced once on the ground. A second bullet hit the same tech, plowing through his stomach. Drake fell to his chest, aiming up and right in the direction from which the bullet had come.
A third bullet glanced off the concrete in front of the silver casing.
Then Cam dived right on top of it. “They’re aiming for the nuke!”
“Cam!” Alicia cried out.
Drake fired, without a target. The volley would distract the sniper at least. Alicia pulled her trigger too, and the armed forces at their backs shot into the trees that bordered the pool to their right.
Drake used his rifle scope to scan the greenery. One of the spare bomb techs had now fallen across Cam’s back. Men were scrambling forward to kneel in front of the nuke. Drake had no idea if the device would detonate when hit by a bullet—and maybe neither did the shooter—but they weren’t going to risk it.
Another shot. A police officer spun, wounded. Drake saw the muzzle flash, zeroed in and fired a volley. A man fell from a tree, crashing through branches to hit the ground face first.
Breathless, they waited.
There was no precedent here. The Blood King might have one or fifty men up in those trees. He might have been a sniper or purely a spotter, ensuring all went as planned before getting obliterated in nuclear fire.
“The problem with the Blood King,” Drake said, “is you never know what he’s gonna do next.”
There was no more gunfire. Police ran over to the trees and scouted for more terrorists but found nothing. The bomb techs turned once more to the silver casing.
“It’s rudimentary,” the older man said. “Easy to build. Easy to transport. Easy to detonate. There’s no more danger here though.”
He ensured the bomb was safe.
Drake nodded at Cam as the young man rose to his feet. “Diving over the bomb like that was a brave thing to do.” He didn’t
know what to make of the kid.
Alicia smiled. “Now you see my predicament.”
Cam shrugged. “I was in the right place at the right time.”
Drake nodded and turned away. Without wasting another second, he contacted the Strike Force HQ.
“Where are we?”
Though the HQ was merely a central, computerized hub, for this mission only the man called G—the man that managed it—was there to answer all queries in person.
“Dahl’s team has neutralized the bomb in Philly,” G said. “Before it left the apartment.”
“Of course he did,” Drake growled. “I’d expect nothing less from the Swedish superhero.”
G didn’t laugh. Instead, he went on: “But Hayden’s team in Chicago are struggling.”
Drake closed his eyes. “God, no.”
“I’ll come back when I have more news.”
Drake stared at the northern skies, his thoughts with the four remaining members of Strike Force One and part of the group of his greatest friends.
CHAPTER SIX
There are secret parking areas and warehouses full of supercars and million-dollar hypercars, sitting under most of the major cities of the world. Tens of millions of dollars’ worth of expensive metal sat in storage, unfortunate caged beasts waiting for the one or two days per year when their privileged owner would unleash 10 percent of their potential.
Hayden hadn’t known this before. In fact, the only member of her team that might have known was Matt Drake, who was a bit of a car freak, a hobby he’d sharpened when very young. Hayden guessed Drake would probably rather be here in Chicago now rather than over in DC but that was how the cookie crumbled.
She waited for the bouncing, swaying SWAT van to come to a halt.
It weaved through traffic, sirens blaring. It was followed by a long stream of police cars, blasting through red lights that hadn’t been held on green by their HQ, speeding across junctions where cordons had been raised, zeroing in on their target.
The Blood King Takedown Page 3
