“The Commander of Special Operations in New York, a man named Harry Hodge, reports that his men witnessed the Strike Force team leading Kovalenko away from them and Madison Square Garden after they found out about the final nuke.”
Coburn stared. “Are you suggesting we have a problem with Strike Force One? I sincerely hope not.”
“Just stating the facts, sir.”
Coburn glared until Brooks sat down. He was aware that his fondness for the team that had saved his life on several occasions might cloud his judgment. He was also aware that any other president might treat them more harshly. He had a personal attachment to them. He trusted them.
Brooks looked up from a phone he’d just answered.
“It’s them, sir,” he said with surprise evident in his voice. “It’s the Strike Force team.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
“Talk to me,” Coburn said.
“Sir, this is Hayden Jaye. We have Kovalenko with us, en route to the nuke. We’re up against an unknown number of enemies. Two camps, sir, made up of Kovalenko’s own people and those trying to kill him. It’s proving . . . rather tricky, sir.”
Coburn caught something in her voice, something guarded, and plucked the phone from its cradle, taking it off loudspeaker.
“Tricky?” As he spoke, he walked to a far corner of the room where he wouldn’t be overheard.
“The police detail that Hodge sent, tried to kill us. We can’t trust them now. We’re on our own.”
“Kovalenko’s doing?”
“No. He was the target. He says it’s the old school Russians trying to reassert power.”
“He’s talking to you?”
“He’s irritated, sir. They’re messing with his plan.”
“Just drop the sirs for now,” Coburn said. “I have platoons of Army and Marines coming to your aid as well as local specialized teams.”
“We have to keep the numbers down,” Hayden said with regret. “Kovalenko’s threatened to detonate if he sees an abundance of soldiers of any kind.”
“This is Manhattan, Jaye,” the President reprimanded her. “You’re saying that we take no action other than yours?”
“Kovalenko holds the trigger, sir.” She said it softly, but with deep meaning behind her words. Truly, the city was in the grip of a madman.
“What exactly is his plan?” Coburn asked.
“Truthfully . . .” Hayden sighed. “We don’t know. As you know he’s slipperier than fresh fish. But the nuke’s definitely in play and judging his state of mind is next to impossible.”
“You think he’ll detonate if we call in the Army?”
“He has men everywhere. He’ll know. And I think the threat is real.”
“By my count you have less than ninety minutes. Where are you?”
“In the pub actually.”
Coburn shook his head, sure he’d misunderstood. “You’re where?”
“We’re on 41st Street, twelve blocks from the nuke. And we’re preparing for a last, all-out run.”
“So you are in a bar?”
“Yes, sir.”
Coburn considered their situation. Who was compromised? Kovalenko was famous for blackmail at all levels, and if blackmail didn’t work the Blood King was a master of coercion. The only thing Coburn knew for certain was that he hadn’t been compromised and that the pressure that was about to be placed on him by his generals to flood New York City with soldiers would be overwhelming. But they had to understand—Kovalenko was unpredictable. Nobody had said they couldn’t use the police to evacuate people along the few blocks remaining.
He glanced up at the room and noted the names of the people watching him. He turned back to the call.
“Put Kovalenko on the phone.”
Hayden was silent for a long moment. Coburn knew he’d surprised her. It wasn’t every day the President of the United States asked to speak to the world’s most sought after criminal.
A moment later Coburn’s lip curled to hear the Blood King’s deep, accented voice.
“Hello, Mr. President.”
“Kovalenko. I know we’re enemies, but you are in a defective situation. You can’t control your environment. You’re a prisoner. And to me, it sounds like half of Russia is trying to kill you. If you only do one good thing in your life, turn off that damn nuke.”
“That’s a nice request but I think I’ll pass. The team with me, this Strike Force, as you now call them, owe me their deaths. And you, Coburn, you owe me your life too. I will take that before I answer to anyone.”
“You’re not getting anywhere near me or my family ever again. And the team holding you now—they’re the best in the world. You owe them. You’re lucky they’re the ones protecting you now.”
“Oh, am I lucky?”
Coburn paused. The Blood King couldn’t possibly have engineered all this. He was toying with them. “I choose which Strike Force team I send into action. Their remit is to me. They exist on my order alone.”
“I know that.”
“Then I ask you once more: Turn off that nuke, Mr. Kovalenko and let our armed forces deal with the Russians.”
“You have faith in your people. So do I. I trust that they will get me to my destination in time.”
Coburn thought it was an odd choice of words. Destination? But it didn’t matter. He was banging his head against a Russian wall and wasting time. He told Kovalenko to put Hayden back on the phone.
“With pleasure, Mr. President. See you soon. Oh, and keep your armed forces out of the goddamn way unless you want to be the first President responsible for a nuke going off on American soil.”
It was an idle, impossible threat. Coburn ignored it. When Hayden came back on the phone, he asked a simple question.
“What do you need?”
“Honestly? Total blackout on our movements. Stop looking for us. Don’t send help. We’ll get this done.”
Coburn agreed and ended the call, staring hard at a blank wall. Who could he really trust down here? In the White House. In the government. Who was plotting against him, and who worked for the Blood King?
He turned and then noticed the entire room watching him.
Friends? Or foes?
Coburn called for a secure phone.
*
Hayden stared thoughtfully at Kovalenko and the ever-present Kinimaka as Coburn put down the phone. Mano’s face was strained, his body language showing immense tension. Hayden knew they’d been through hell already today but found herself growing anxious.
“I think you’ve done your time guarding the trash.” She told Mano. “You should switch with someone.”
“I’ll happily do it,” Kenzie said, slipping her knife from its sheath. “And my eight-inch friend here will make sure he never misses a step.”
Alicia’s head whipped around from side to side. “What friend?”
Kenzie brandished the knife.
“Ah.”
Hayden half-turned, thinking that the decision was made, but then Kinimaka spoke up. “I’m good, Hay.”
“Mano—”
“We know what we’re doing now. I know how he moves. We can walk, run, sprint and fall together. It’ll take anyone else an hour to learn all that.”
Hayden didn’t like it, but had to agree. When you were guarding someone, running and fighting with them, you tended to gain a sense of familiarity. You knew what they would do and vice versa. Considering the circumstances, she had to give in.
“All right.”
She turned to the rest of the room. Drake, Alicia, Mai and Luther were seated at the bar, drinking bottles of water and eyeing the spirits behind it. They were chatting, each one telling a story one of the spirits reminded them of. It was a good game; a game that put their mental acuity at rest for a short while. It was what they needed.
“Cannon Blast rum,” Alicia was saying. “My favorite to be fair. I was gutted when I had to break a bottle over Reece Carrera’s head.”
“The actor? He was getti
ng frisky with you?” Drake asked.
“No. He was drunk and dared me to do it. You remember his bald dome? Well, you don’t dare a girl like me. He should have known that.”
Everyone nodded in solemn agreement. Nobody asked what had happened next. The answer was pretty clear. Hayden walked across to them.
“You ready to get the hell gone?”
“Twelve blocks.” Alicia untied and retied her hair. “If we run, we’re there in ten minutes.”
Hayden thought it was wishful thinking, the kind they needed right now. “Damn right we will be.”
The team started to move and stretch, making ready. Kovalenko rose from the edge of a table he’d been perched on.
Hayden eyed him. “I have one more question for you.”
“I can’t wait.”
“The Devil.”
She studied Kovalenko as she said the name, and spotted the instinctive flinch he didn’t quite manage to hide.
“What about him?”
“He scares you.”
“He’s the world’s greatest and most unusual assassin.”
Hayden tended to agree with that statement and didn’t push. “You’ve seen him. Met him. Spoken with him. It would help you to help us.”
“I see. You want my help dealing with the Devil?” Kovalenko narrowed his eyes. “I may be able to do that.”
“Let’s do it on the hoof then.” Hayden rolled her shoulders and neck, working out the aches.
The whole team started for the street.
But then their entire world exploded.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Hayden reeled as men crashed through the door they’d been about to leave by. Surprise knocked her back. Timbers shattered and glass exploded. The team were showered in debris. She saw eight men backed up by more figures, all holding weapons. They’d used a grenade to enter but now aimed an assortment of guns.
Hayden hit the floor. She saw Drake and some others leap for the bar. She saw Kinimaka shielding Kovalenko with his own body. Kenzie grabbed Cam by the shoulders and threw him into a corner of the room, away from the line of fire, and followed. It was mayhem. Hayden knew their only chance of survival was to open fire first.
Which she did. She emptied a magazine in a matter of seconds and then switched it out. Her hair and shoulders were covered in debris. Molokai was on the floor beside her, also firing. Their attackers ducked and dived, wading through broken glass and timber. The weather outside flew inside, rain coating everything it touched, a brisk breeze cooling the air down. Hayden rolled.
And fired. Four attackers were already down. Some wore Kevlar, others seemed to think their leather jackets would be enough. Street thugs. Enforcers hired for their muscle and lack of imagination rather than their ingenuity.
But they could pull a trigger.
Bullets flew over Hayden’s head, pulverizing the bar where Drake was hiding. The rows of liquor bottles shattered and danced, spilling their contents in countless colorful hues. Hayden rolled again, ever moving, as Drake, Alicia, Mai and Luther sprang up from cover, their heads and shoulders covered in shards of glass, their jackets soaked through with liquor, and sent four lead volleys at their enemies.
Hayden winced as men died. Even the undoubted fact that these men would have killed them if they’d been given chance didn’t stop her from feeling upset at the loss of life. But she couldn’t dwell now. She had to move.
Rising, she followed the path cleared by the bullets. It led outside. The team ran and formed up around her. They were coming out on the main street once more. Several cars had slewed left and right, probably in reaction to the explosion. Rain slanted through the air, slashing into their faces. It was so dull out here that their eyes took a few moments to adjust.
A man came at them from the left, backed up by two more. Hayden turned, took a punch to the jaw and spun 360 degrees. She came around facing the same man, only now with her knife free. She thrust its blade up under his chin and let him collapse. Alicia and Kenzie took care of the other two. Drake and Dahl were shooting to the right. Luther pointed dead ahead.
“That’s north.”
They ran as one, taking advantage of the blocked road. As they crossed its broad length, they were bathed and blinded in the glow of headlights. It was still only mid-afternoon but felt like night. They reached the other side unscathed.
Luther turned left, still heading north. Hayden checked behind to see a bedraggled crew of perhaps seven men in pursuit. There would be more coming. The mob’s resources were huge. Ahead, two cabs idled at the curb.
Luther slowed. Hayden saw his intent. Before she could say anything, he was in a back seat, dragging Mai with him. The others followed, seeing a clear road ahead. Kinimaka shoved Kovalenko head first into one and followed. Hayden brought up the rear with Alicia.
“Get in,” the Englishwoman said. “I’ll scare them.”
Hayden obeyed as Alicia opened fire, giving them a few extra seconds. Bullets whizzed through the rain, down the dim street. Men in wet leather jackets dived in all directions; to the curb and the sidewalk, to the middle of the road; to the safety of parked cars and vans. Hayden rested the butt of her weapon on the floor as the taxi driver hit the gas.
The cab shot off as the driver panicked. Luther shouted at him to slow down. Its front end smashed into the one in front of it but then that one roared off too. Their driver braked but Luther shouted at him relentlessly, ordering him to keep going. It hadn’t been a bad shunt. The cabs sped down the road, zipping in and out of traffic. Hayden was thrown left and right, head striking the glass at her side and then Alicia’s shoulder at the other. The driver braked hard as the cab in front came to a sudden stop.
Hayden’s forehead struck the back seat. It took her a moment to focus. Alicia was peering through the gap between the front seats.
“Traffic,” she said.
Hayden went for the door handle. The team exited both taxis quickly, taking advantage of the block and a half they’d gained over their pursuers. Dahl had taken the brief respite to study the area using Google Maps.
“If we run one block over—” he pointed to the east “—towards Sixth Avenue, there’s apparently a one-day street exhibition of art happening. We can lose them properly in there.”
Nobody questioned it. There were Russians chasing them, coming closer. They could hear sirens and see police lights flashing on buildings. There were helicopters in the air. Eyes were everywhere. The taxi drivers they’d just used might rat them out. There was no safety in New York today and people, everywhere, were trying to find shelter.
The team followed Dahl along a cross street, passing through crowds of civilians, bright shop fronts selling everything from souvenirs to paperbacks and deli food. They kept an eye out in every direction, not just to the rear. The enemy were everywhere. They ran hard, staying in formation as best they could and arrived at the exhibition two minutes later. Hayden saw rows of pop-up stalls standing in front of tall office blocks, littering the sidewalk and temporarily closing off the street.
“Straight through,” Dahl said. “Don’t stop.”
They moved as a group, threading through the stalls that covered at least a city block. They struggled to find a way through fleeing people and shattered stalls as people continued to panic and run in the wake of gunfire. Hayden found herself whipping toward the noises left and right, thinking it might be an attacker or someone witnessing a shooter. The stalls that remained intact were wide and high, standing well over Hayden’s head, effectively shielding her. Dahl’s plan was sound.
But there were spotters everywhere. Hayden knew this was nothing more than a respite, a way to gain a little more ground before the next attack. They were heading north again, which was good, slowed by the jam of shoppers but at least making progress. Dahl was at the head of the pack, Drake and Mai just behind. Kinimaka was shepherding Kovalenko, trying to hide the fact that the man was cuffed. Molokai and Luther also hemmed the Blood King in from the other sid
e, which helped. They didn’t move aside for anyone, which caused a small amount of consternation at times.
They reached the far side of the market.
“Eight blocks, nine?” Drake asked.
“Nine,” Hayden said. “Eighty five minutes left.”
She moved up through the pack, reaching the front, and was jolted by the strong aroma of alcohol. “You guys reek of booze,” she told Drake.
“We’re actually bathed in it,” Mai said.
“Could be worse,” Alicia said. “And it masks the stench of Russian Wanker. There’s always a plus side.”
Kovalenko smirked at her. Hayden chose to ignore the hidden knowledge contained within that smirk. It didn’t mean anything. Kovalenko loved messing with them.
As they moved out, crossing another busy street, Hayden was struck by a pang of anger. They hadn’t been able to find time to properly grill the Russian. She was in no doubt that he was a treasure trove of information and she wanted a go at him. Imagine the good she could do by making the Blood King spill his guts.
Dahl headed for a dark alley, cutting down its length to minimize their profile. At the other end he saw a mini-shopping arcade and cut through that too, running its entire length. Hayden saw windows on every side with shop names like Abercrombie and Fitch, Aeropostale and American Eagle. The floors were tiled. She saw their reflections in the glass, ten soldiers trying to keep their guns hidden at their sides and failing, and one evil Russian in their midst, looking like he was out for a jog.
Never, in her wildest imagination, had she imagined she’d be escorting Luka Kovalenko through the streets of New York, closing in on a primed nuclear weapon. Even now, she found it hard to digest. Her thoughts dwelled on what would happen after they reached the nuke.
What then?
Would Kovalenko bargain for release? Did he have men guarding it? What was the Russian bastard really up to?
Hayden knew they would find out soon enough.
The Blood King Takedown Page 12
