Matt Drake Book 9 - The Plagues of Pandora

by David Leadbeater

  The woman, Claire Collins, was a force to be reckoned with, a multitasker, absorbing everything around her and commenting or acting with a leader’s confidence. Drake saw she wore the new bruises and cuts on her face without emotion; perhaps they would heal, perhaps not, but either way it wouldn’t matter to her. She had withstood a firestorm whilst taking down the Moose—that was what counted.

  Radford and Silk were different again. The first a good-looking, scrawny individual who tried hard not to stare at all the ladies in the room; sporting an intellectual look that might well fool most people into underestimating him, and put them at his mercy. Drake wasn’t sure if the look was purposeful or just coincidental, but it no doubt worked for him. Silk, the roughest looking member of the Razor’s Edge, was an easy man to read—brought up hard he played hard and fought hard. Accustomed to nothing he took what he had to. Silk was Drake’s kind of man and the first the Yorkshireman naturally gravitated to.

  “Drake,” he said, holding out a hand. “Matt Drake.”

  “Adam Silk.”

  “Great job over in LA. I hear you guys kicked major ass.”

  “LA is personal for us, man, and especially me. I grew up on those shitty streets. Ain’t no criminal organization gonna use some kinda bioweapon there.”

  “The Pythians are more than just a one-hit wonder.” Drake took a sip from his bottle. “We will have to destroy them totally to beat them: head, body, tail. And when they’re dead it’s immolation. Crushing. Burial. No mercy.”

  “If I had my way it’d be the same for all criminals and terrorists.”

  “Are you ex-military, Silk?”

  “Not exactly. I was recruited into the CIA at a very early age. Trained. Sent to black spots. I guess I earned my stripes in the field.”

  Drake nodded, saying nothing. Silk had been a CIA black-ops specialist. Those guys were ghosts, slick, lethal and smart. He nodded toward the other three members of the Razor’s Edge.

  “They all as good as you?”

  “Nah, but they think they are.” Silk grinned. “Trent comes across as remote, stand-offish, but that’s just because he’s always been a leader and shouldered all the responsibility. I couldn’t ask for a better man to guard my back. Radford—childish, makes every mistake in the book at a personal level, but in the field? He’s top dog. And Collins?” Silk smiled fondly. “A few months ago I wanted to shoot and bury her. Now . . . I’d have her babies if she asked. She’s diamond-cut, man. Hard, reliable, trustworthy. And more fun than Johnny Depp on a mad bender. Believe me, I’ve been there.”

  Drake raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what all Angelinos say? That they know some kind of famous star?”

  “Nope. Not really. But when Collins has done chewing you out, busting your balls for an afternoon, she’ll take you out to the Sunset Strip and dance with you till dawn. Viper Room. Skybar. We’ve done ‘em all. And the next working day she’ll come right back and take your head off again.”

  Drake couldn’t help but stare at the baby-faced, black-haired FBI agent. “Maybe we could trade her for Dahl.”

  “The big Englishman over there? He looks tough.”

  “Ah, he’s Swedish. And not too bright. Our weakest link. Make sure you tell him I said that.”

  Silk gave Drake a knowing look. “Yeah, I’ll get right on it. So, what’s the plan, action man?”

  Drake laughed. “I think Hayden and Crouch over there are laying something out. We’ll have tech support from Caitlyn Nash—” Drake pointed the blond girl out, “And Karin Blake. Both based in the field.”

  “Isn’t that a little risky?”

  “Normally, yes, but with this super-plague about to hit hard we’re guessing that there’s no longer any ‘normal’. We’re up to the whacked-out, do-or-die leagues now, mate, and the risk is . . .” Drake paused. He’d been about to say “acceptable”, but memories of friends that had died along the way hit him abruptly, and hard.

  He turned away.

  Silk, a soldier in arms, knew the look and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m right with you, bud. Right with you.”

  Hayden walked to the front of the conference room and called the meeting to order. “Hey guys, thanks for being here. This will have to be quick so we’ll save introductions for the celebration party later. For now, let’s focus on survival. The Buffalo FBI and Niagara Falls DOJ have been running CCTV operations and physical black-and-white sweeps for about twelve hours now. Nothing relating to Nicholas Bell has come up, but Callan Dudley was spotted by a traffic camera about twenty minutes ago.” She tapped an extending pointer against the wall where a large map of the city had been projected. “Here. Kister Road. It’s a tree-lined, open-plan industrial area with several large warehouses and businesses. Wide roads. Big junctions. Hard to approach without being seen. My guess is the Pythians have rented a plot there for their second facility.”

  “Could he just have been passing through?” Trent asked quickly.

  “Doubtful. He passed the traffic cam both ways in a matter of minutes. There’s a small strip mall in the direction he went.”

  “Still . . .”

  “We’re watching the area in unmarked cars and through civilian walk-bys. We have guys on industrial lawn mowers, that kind of thing. There aren’t any sidewalks as such, but it’s still a popular area for locals to get a good deal,” Hayden said. “Techs are scrolling back through the last few days of camera footage. In truth, Aaron, we have little else.”

  “Any word on the Pythian HQ?” Collins asked.

  “All we have are the testimonials from Lauren Fox’s associates and this sighting of Dudley. We also know that General Stone made several visits to Niagara Falls in the last few months, overnight stays each time. Facts like this appear much clearer when you have something concrete to back them up. My guess? If we take out the second facility the Pythians will burst out of the woodwork.”

  “It would be helpful to know the identities of the rest of the Pythians,” Dahl said. “We know Le Brun is dead, but how many more are there?”

  “Not many,” Drake said. “Webb is one, whoever he is. They’d want to keep it exclusive.”

  “Maybe,” Hayden acknowledged. “But this is the new breed of secret regime. Who knows how screwed up their agenda is? Or even if they have an ultimate goal.”

  Saint Germain, Drake thought, but said nothing. That was a conversation for another day.

  “We go in one group?” Trent questioned. “That’s going to be hard to manage.”

  “Blitz them,” Hayden said as Kinimaka nodded at her side. “Caitlyn and Karin can handle the operational logistics.”

  “Speaking of which,” Karin spoke up. “Our vehicles are fifteen minutes out along with an ensemble of Canadian authorities. We might wanna wrap this up.”

  Drake noticed the soldiers in the extreme gathering starting to assess their clothes and belongings, taking an inventory of what they needed and checking the status of what they had. Alicia, quiet since their last little exchange, meandered over just as Mai came up.

  “Good luck, you two.”

  Drake saw a fire in Alicia’s eyes, a reminder of the days when she and Mai had been enemies. Was Alicia challenging Mai? Or was she merely urging the Japanese woman to get a fucking grip and see what was right in front of her?

  Mai didn’t hesitate. “Now isn’t the time, bitch. Test me later if you want to stay upright.”

  Alicia just smiled, content in the knowledge that she’d ruffled Mai’s composure. Again. Drake ignored them both and began a weapons check of his own. In front of him, Smyth had whipped out his cell, firing off another text.

  “Lauren?” Drake asked.

  “Yeah. The, um, nurses are having to text for her now.” Smyth’s glum face held its downward position.

  “She’s safe here at least,” Drake said. “And close to the antidote.”

  Hayden stopped next to them. “C’mon guys, we gotta get moving. They say Lauren has about an hour before she’s be
yond help.”

  Drake flinched. “Bollocks. Maybe we should—”

  He later thought the attack succeeded merely because the three teams were so intent on absorbing information and making ready to move out. It was certainly true that they hadn’t deemed it essential to place a guard around their perimeter, rather every member of their group would function better if fully briefed.

  And besides, no one knew they were there.

  The mercs hit at air and ground level, a devastatingly huge two-pronged assault. Reactions were instant and effective within the room, every man and woman organizing their efforts into decisive action. Drake ran to the windows as cars squealed into the car park and choppers thundered overhead. Kevlar-clad men leaped out of the still-running vehicles, machine guns panning left and right. He counted twenty in three seconds.

  Looking up, he saw a flock of helicopters gathering overhead. All bore civilian markings and could probably even produce tourist licenses, but no doubt belonged to the Pythians. Could this be part of their exfil plan?

  Quickly he headed for the rear-facing door. Dahl was already there. “Clear for now but they’ll be coming.”

  “Go.”

  The company rushed out onto the concrete balcony that ran around the outside of the hotel’s first and only floor. Bright yellow rails stood before them with featureless doors stretching to either side. A tattered seat stood outside every room.

  “Up!” Dahl made the decision, jumping so that his boots hit the top of the narrow rail, balancing with his arm against a tinny upright. Flinging his gun over his head he sprang upward, catching the lip of the roof. With one easy maneuver he was over. Drake quickly followed, Mai at his side.

  Mercs were abseiling out of open helicopter doors, the machines’ flamboyant colors and cheerful appearance undermined by the falling men and their wicked-looking guns. Dahl opened fire as he began to sprint, catching the men as they touched down. Those he hit twisted and fell, screaming. Others jumped from above, riding their luck. Still more leaned out of the open doors and returned fire.

  Drake sensed Alicia at his back. He saw Trent out of the corner of one eye. The Disavowed man looked grim. “The others are racing both ways along the balcony. Shots from below. We’re split three ways now.”

  “Have faith,” Drake yelled. “We’ll not be apart for too long. And we’ll run all the way from this rooftop right to the goddamn facility if we have to!”

  Men struck the ground inches to his left.

  Alicia fired upward, forcing the choppers to veer and sway. Dahl was already approaching the edge of the roof. Mai darted into a merc who had somehow escaped a bullet, making him wish he hadn’t as she crushed his windpipe and cheekbone at the same time.

  With a deft movement she stole his gun.

  Drake ducked a hail of fire and shot a man leaping toward him straight off a rope that swung in the air.

  For better or worse, good and evil, they were all fully committed now.

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  Drake saw eight rope lines dangling from the assembled choppers. The combined thunder from their rotors was more than deafening; it was a sheer onslaught to the senses. Keeping his sense of balance as low as possible he ran hard, following Dahl, hoping the mad Swede had some kind of plan.

  Dahl skidded to a stop at the edge of the roof. “Whoa, didn’t expect that.”

  Balls.

  Drake tackled a merc around the waist, forcing him to the ground. Alicia’s weapon barked. Mai peppered pilots with devastating ammo. Two choppers jerked violently as their pilots reacted, sending men tumbling from their ropes.

  But still more men landed than the five could deal with.

  Trent smashed his stern visage into a merc that landed just in front of him, then faced three more. A wild shot skimmed his midriff. Mai vaulted in gracefully from the side, using hands and feet to raise bruises and break bones. Trent joined her in the melee, battering his opponents with heavy strikes.

  Dahl stared over the edge of the roof. Alicia skidded up to him. “What the fuck’s up, Torsty?”

  Drake ground his teeth. “That’s a long drop, mate.”

  “No!” the Swede said. “There!”

  He sidestepped several times to a new position, right above a bright red soft drinks machine.

  “Ya thirsty?” Alicia wondered. “Or in need of caffeine?”

  Dahl jumped three feet to a lower thin brick ledge, then to the top of the drinks machine and, without pause, leaped off and landed with a roll across the grass. Then he was up, gun raised.

  Drake shook his head. “It better be as easy as it goddamn looks.”

  Alicia turned, opening fire as several men converged on their position. Mai and Trent were steps away, the west coast man flinging a struggling merc face-first to the floor. Even Alicia almost winced as the man bounced.

  “Nice move.”

  “Where to?”

  “Ah, down . . .”

  Drake jumped, landing briefly on the ledge and using it to spring forward so that he landed atop the drinks machine. From there he bounced and rolled just as Dahl had, becoming slightly tangled in his weapon’s strap but still retaining dignity.

  Alicia covered Trent as he jumped down. Then she waved Mai forward but the Japanese woman smiled sadly.

  “You first, Taz. This is part of my burden, I believe.”

  Alicia shot a looming merc. “You looking to die, Little Sprite?”

  “My own fate is out of my hands now.”

  Mai sprayed the mercs, giving them much to consider as Alicia made the jump. As she fired she plucked a smoke bomb from her vest and flung it. Mercs shouted and dived for cover, not knowing the type of grenade she’d used. Mai used the distraction to skip stylishly to the floor.

  “A tad better than Yorkshire style,” Dahl observed.

  “One thing I’ve thankfully never been accused of,” Drake said, “is having too much style.”

  The Swede moved to the side of the building just as men approached from the front parking lot. Before they could blink, the team were under fire again.

  Sirens wailed in the distance.

  *

  Crouch sprinted the length of the balcony as men shot at them from below. Caitlyn ran behind him, sheltered by Healey and Russo, both returning fire. Behind them raced Silk, Radford and Yorgi. The remainder of the company jogged in the opposite direction, splitting the enemy forces.

  Crouch reached a door and yanked it open, herding the others through. Healey headed straight for the stairs.

  “Move it,” Crouch told Yorgi, the last through. “There are civilians here. We have to vacate asap.”

  The Russian made eyes at him, probably wondering “Ya think?” and slipped one leg over the staircase handrail, passing their frontrunners as he slid down. Not the best of decisions, since he was a non-soldier and that put him first in the firing line, but one he couldn’t now change. Yorgi flew off the end of the handrail and landed face-first onto the carpet of the hotel lobby. Crouch flew down after him but Russo, seeing the danger, leaped three steps at a time and hit ground level almost simultaneously.

  Mercs were entering the front doors, spilling into the lobby. Russo saw a side door, yanked Yorgi up with one hand and headed right for it. They were halfway across the lobby before they were spotted.

  A shout went up. Guns swiveled. By that time Crouch and the others were behind Russo and already firing.

  The hotel lobby erupted in a hail of gunfire. Potted palms disintegrated and turned into dust motes flitting through the air. Plaster exploded from the walls in large white chunks. Glass shattered, raining to the floor. Crouch and his team dived and rolled and crawled through it all, covered in debris, faces turned away from the worst of the flying wreckage. Most of the mercs remained upright and paid the price, struck by jagged pieces and razor-sharp shards, badly aimed bullets and falling candy-bar dispensers. Others fell back through the doors they had just entered, sprawling outside. Crouch hit Healey’s scrambling
feet but rolled on, falling through a fragmented hell, blood trickling from a dozen cuts and gashes. Russo lumbered through the side door without even thinking of stopping to open it, the man-mountain tearing the hinges right off. Staggering outside, he still held the entire door as mercs descended on him. Russo swung it to and fro, knocking assailants aside like bowling pins.

  Crouch was the last to enter the parking lot as his team covered their flanks. Some way off to his right he had already spotted Drake’s impromptu team, keeping pace with them. His mind turned to thoughts of the others.

  *

  Hayden led the team that ran across the balcony in the other direction, followed mostly by SPEAR members with the addition of Special Agent Claire Collins. Kinimaka was beside her as always, positioned between her and the exposed railing. Hayden pushed her body hard, wondering if she’d feel any discomfort from the now relatively old gunshot wound, but felt nothing. Great news, considering the position they were in. Hayden slammed open the door, ducked as a stray bullet shattered the glass, and slipped through. Karin came next, pushed by Komodo. Smyth and Collins brought up the rear, untroubled by the mercenaries below.

  “Bastards are aiming at the other guys,” Collins barked. “Even after I wounded two of them.”

  “I know one way to help.” Hayden hastened down the staircase, finding it led to the rear of the property. On cracking the door she had a side view of the enemy. Quickly she turned back.

  “Ready?”

  Many weapons were raised in answer. Then Komodo said: “Wait. Where’s Smyth?”

  *

  The irascible Delta soldier muttered only three words in repetition as he pulled up in the line of fire.

  “Comin’ for ya. Comin’ for ya.”

  The room number jumped out at him, the sight of her lying so vulnerable, so drained it would be forever seared into his mind. Bullets sprayed the wall above, stitching a new line there. He smashed in the door with a kick as his comrades sprinted out of sight.