At that moment a blue and white chopper bounced down lightly in the road before them. All three cars came to a sudden halt. Military helicopters were visible on the horizon, approaching the scene, and more Humvees and other vehicles raced up behind. Drake climbed out and stretched, taking stock of their surroundings. The teams came together again, congratulating each other on still being alive. A tall, broad, haphazard array of green trees and hedges stood all around the eastern side of River Road; dwellings could barely be seen through the dense foliage; the Niagara River flowed to the west. They were stood staring at a corner plot.
Crouch tapped at a tablet as he came toward them. Caitlyn took it off him so he could prepare weapons. “Okay,” she said. “The helicopter came down there.” She pointed toward the plot. “Twenty eight thousand square feet of real estate, last valued at eight million dollars. Currently owned by Imogen Enterprises, whoever they are. Not enough time to dig, I’m afraid. A one-of-a-kind waterfront estate mansion. There’s lake access, three pools, a basement, a dock on the Niagara, a theater, wine cellar, grotto, a goddamn ranch. Everything your well-prepared self-important dictator needs to make good his escape. Even access to a golf course beyond the ranch. It lists farmland separately too. Jesus.”
“What’s that?” Drake pointed at a tall, brick-built structure. Its walls appeared to have been painted as much to camouflage its presence as anything.
“Some kind of viewing tower?” Dahl commented.
Hayden looked back. “Maybe it offers a view of the falls?”
Alicia cleared her throat. “Are we waiting for something? ‘Cause Santa’s already been.”
Drake fell in beside her. “Do you even remember Christmas? In Hawaii? With Mano?”
“Yeah. And you pining after the Little Sprite. How’s that working out for ya?”
Drake threw a glimpse toward the Japanese woman. “Today? Not so bad. Tomorrow? Who the hell knows?”
“What’s her problem? Her latest problem?”
“A long story. We don’t have time.”
Alicia paused as the entire company came up alongside her, readying for one last tremendous assault against the Pythians.
She looked along the line, both ways. “I have time for you, Drake, as much as I have time for everyone who now stands alongside me. If you’re interested.”
Crouch and Hayden led the way. Drake didn’t have time to assess Alicia’s underlying meaning—if indeed there was one—before the company came under heavy fire. The mercenaries’ last chopper sat beyond the high fence and gates, in the house’s grounds, and around it were arrayed a dozen men. Drake ducked behind the wall, watching as Dahl happily relieved a Canadian trooper of his rocket launcher.
“I’ll just borrow that for a tick if you don’t mind.”
The Swede hefted the weapon, grinned toward Drake, and then walked to the lofty wrought iron gate, pointing the barrel between the uprights. If the chopper hadn’t been there or the mercs had chosen a different place to stand he wouldn’t have had a shot. As it was, the perfect target presented itself.
Dahl fired. The grenade blazed a trail through the air, impacting against the side of the still-ticking, bullet-riddled chopper and bursting into flame. Dahl stepped back and allowed Trent and Radford to deal with the gate. Moments passed and then the wrought iron latticework was falling inwards, bouncing off the concrete. As one the company raced into the grounds, followed by Canadian troops. Bodies lay sprawled around the chopper, most unmoving. Drake headed straight for the picture window, higher and wider than any set of French doors he’d ever seen, and shot over two hundred small panes out, creating a gap wide enough for them to enter. Inside, the house was vast, high-ceilinged with wooden timbers and archways.
He picked his way through the debris, Dahl and Alicia at his side with Mai trailing them, and crossed a polished wooden floor. Through the door lay the entry hallway, as wide as any sitting room Drake had ever seen, and poised above it a railed balcony that led to the second floor. Jam-packed with men.
“Back!”
He ducked back into the room just as a grenade bounced down from above, detonating almost instantly. Shrapnel stabbed the walls. Dahl was already up and inspecting the partition near the door frame.
“Aim there,” the Swede told the accomplished soldier with the rocket launcher, pointing just below the vee of the horizontal and vertical wall above the door. “It’s plasterboard. Drywall. Gypsum, you know?”
“I’m Canadian,” the soldier said. “Not French.”
“Sorry,” Drake told the soldier. “We’re trying to trade him for a girl.”
“Sounds like a good deal.”
Dahl coughed. Collins leaned over. “I hear on the grapevine that that girl was me?”
Drake blinked. “Um, really? Who told you that?”
“Whatever you say,” Collins told him. “I will find out. I know everything.”
The soldier fired, sending his rocket blindly through the wall in the direction of the upper balcony. A hole blasted in its wake, giving the accumulated company a view of the mercenaries hit and killed by the blast. Part of the balcony disintegrated but the staircase remained intact. Drake was up and running instantly, heading toward the second floor, confident that Hayden would organize a search of the ground and the basement. Two bursts from his rifle and the coast was clear.
Dahl pounded at his heels, holding the rocket launcher.
“You took that from that poor soldier?”
“Last rocket.” The Swede patted the pear-shaped grenade. “Thought I’d make it count.”
Alicia was close by. “I hope you guys aren’t thinking of replacing me with that Agent Collins. Chick’s a big-time ballbuster if ever I’ve seen one!”
Mai snorted with laughter, drawing a grin from Drake. All three of them stared at Alicia and shook their heads as they ran.
“What?”
Drake took stock before storming the second floor. Corridors stretched both ways, dissected by still more. In addition to the four of them, following fast, were Trent, Collins, Crouch, Caitlyn and Smyth. Hayden must have literally put a hand out like a nightclub bouncer to chop the team in half.
Drake moved on.
Trent hissed, “Wait!”
Drake froze. The ex-CIA agent was pointing to a shimmering red laser stretched across the corridor. Drake had been about to break it. “Good call. Move back,” he said. “We’ll have to test it with something. Grab one of their jackets.”
Instead, Dahl picked up a dead merc and flung him down the corridor.
Alarms wailed, nothing more sinister. The team headed out, checking every room. Mercs came at them from all angles, so fast and dangerous that they were forced to regularly change their point men to stay fresh and alert. A grenade tore away two structural walls, another blew out part of the side of the house. Timbers groaned. Smyth and Alicia fought hard to pull information from wounded men but all they got was that the Pythians were here, somewhere.
And their boss, it was readily revealed, was here too. He was waiting for them.
Drake shook his head. Crazy bastard. What on earth could he gain from such provocation? Notoriety? A boost to his ego? Narcissistic glee?
Probably all three, and more.
They proceeded, listening all the while to Hayden’s commentary on events transpiring below. It was only when they reached the far end of the house opposite the high tower that a figure presented itself in a dark, arched doorway.
“Greetings,” it said. “I am Tyler Webb. Leader of the Pythians. And . . .” he chuckled “Soon—the world.”
*
Hayden pushed her team hard through the first-floor rooms. This was no time for hangers-on and fortunately she didn’t appear to have any. The mercenary attacks were sporadic and hard to gauge. Some of them were die hard fanatics, sacrificing themselves in a hail of bullets, others gave up and laid down their weapons with comparative ease.
Didn’t sign on for this shit, and anything you need to k
now were phrases uttered regularly by those they captured. When Hayden quizzed three of them separately about which man led the mercenary arm of the Pythians the harmonious answer was Callan Dudley, always Dudley.
Good news, bad news, she thought. To have the leader of the Pythians’ war division in custody was a fantastic coup, but it also left the door wide open for reprisals and escape attempts. She knew immediately that looking at the situation in such a way was beyond cynical but had felt the consequences too many times before.
Komodo, Russo and Healey took point, engaging the enemy and working as a team. Silk and Radford covered the rear. By the time they reached the narrow basement entrance they were on top of their game, attentive, determined and expecting to win. Russo pursued a final mercenary, kicking the man firmly into the door itself, cracking the timbers.
It was then that they heard a weak voice. “Stop them! Stop them I tell you!”
And Hayden realized they were right on the tail of a fleeing Pythian. Planned or not, fortune or otherwise, they had caught the last man in a rush down to the cellars. It was time to teach these animals a real lesson.
“Take ‘em out,” she hissed through the comms.
Russo lobbed a grenade down the cellar steps, listening to it bounce twice before the explosion sent his large hands up to cover his ears and stony face. Instantly Komodo and Healey took his place, checking out the top of the steps. Shots were fired from below. Komodo swept his weapon from side to side, unleashing a deadly salvo. Hayden moved to his side.
“There!”
Healey’s shout was brimming with enthusiasm. The youngest member of the company leaped down the steps, careful to step across any that were damaged. Hayden caught a glimpse of a tall, thin man with gray hair disappearing into a dark space below. Damn, do they have tunnels too?
They clattered down the steps, Healey firing as he went. Another merc collapsed. And then came a weak cry and the resultant grumble of a seasoned, paid mercenary.
“Oh, my ankle. I think I broke it. Help me!”
“If you can’t run, asshole, I ain’t carrying you. Here.”
Hayden leaped off the edge of the staircase and rolled, coming up on her feet and jumping ahead of Healey. The young man’s thwarted shout made her smile. At ground level she spied a ragged archway, stone walls beyond. And a man lying on the ground. A man wearing a suit and tie, with gray hair and a pistol waving unsteadily in one hand.
“Put it down!” she cried. “Down, or I will shoot you.”
“I can’t,” the man moaned. “I just can’t. After what I’ve done they’ll string me out to dry.”
“Who the hell are you?” Kinimaka blurted.
“Robert Norris. I don’t suppose you could let me crawl out of here? I have about 10K in my pocket.”
“How money solves all problems,” Yorgi commented, peering around everyone else. “How it makes world such better place.”
Robert Norris? Hayden was thinking. The Robert Norris? If this was the same man that sat on the board at SolDyn then that company, one of the richest and most influential in the world, was heading for serious trouble.
“Now wait . . .” she began.
But the shot rang out. Norris, being a certain kind of man, didn’t immediately take his own life but tried to take another. His shot flew wide. Both Russo and Healey fired back at the same time.
Beyond the slumped form of the SolDyn man there came a rumble and then the collapse of the tunnel. Hayden knew that whoever had escaped that way was more than likely going to get away.
“Back upstairs,” she said. “Let’s see if there’s any more mischief we can get ourselves into. And bring him.”
*
Drake evaluated the self-proclaimed ruler of the world. Tyler Webb was broad-shouldered and well-muscled. He leaned against the wall with smug confidence. Drake had seen the same kind of confidence exuded by short wiry men when faced with big brawlers they knew they could take down without breaking sweat. This man’s confidence though, he imagined, was more likely due to a god complex and a carefully laid plan.
What that might be . . .
“Don’t come any closer, Matt. Or you, Mai. And Alicia . . . have you put on weight? Oh, Torsten, why so glum?”
The only reaction came from Alicia, who retorted enough for them all, uttering a string of curses and threats that would make anyone blanch. Not so Tyler Webb. He just grinned even wider.
“The game is certainly on now, huh? Are you ready for what’s next?”
“This is you done, Webb,” Collins barked. “Get down on your goddamn knees.”
“Ah, and you would like that wouldn’t you, Claire Collins of the Fucked-up Bureau of Ingrates? No pleasure without pain, eh Claire?”
Collins stopped as though she’d hit a brick wall. Drake didn’t know her past but saw that Webb had purposely dredged up some tragic memory. It then occurred to him that the leader of the Pythians had collected dirt on each and every one of them. But no matter . . . it wouldn’t save him.
“Michael Crouch,” Webb went on. “Failed leader. Aaron Trent. How’s the wife? You and your so-called Razor’s Edge took out my second greatest asset—the Moose. How could you be so cruel?”
Drake glanced sideways at Alicia. Second greatest?
“And next, Caitlyn Nash—oh, did your father love your mother, Caitlyn? Did he? And finally—Smyth. Do you even have a first name?”
“C’mere, Tyler. Let me whisper it in your ear.”
“We have two of your so-called world leaders already,” Caitlyn said, voice trembling with emotion. “Le Brun and Norris are dead!”
“Oh dear. Oh no. Well it’s a good thing I have a waiting list then.” Webb laughed. “So here we are. Let me ask you again—are you ready for the next level? Tesla of Niagara Falls? I mean, why the hell do you think we’re even here? Or the apocalypse of Saint Germain?”
“Look.” Alicia stepped forward, seeing no reason why this asshole should be allowed to ever talk again. “I think we’ve given you all the—”
“I have endless resources.” Webb held up a hand. “I have a video of you.” He nodded at Drake. “And her.” He nodded at Mai. “Which you had no idea was taken. I sent men to visit each of your homes and hotel rooms—nothing nasty—just to move things about. Why? So that the next time it happens you’ll think of me. Freaky, eh? And so when you just don’t know if you left that deodorant out on the dresser or if that toothbrush just fell on the floor by itself—you’ll think of me. I’ll be with you. Always. The stalker of your dreams. The vision in your nightmares. I have text on all of you. Volumes of information. Everything from Internet favorites to Facebook pictures to career evaluations. Did you know a clever man can piece together the entire layout of your house, garden, doors, windows and furniture from putting together the pictures you post on social media? Think about that the next time you upload a selfie. Habits. Routines. I know you. I know all of you.”
“Forgive me.” Mai’s voice was a susurration. “Are you a stalker or a tyrant bent on ruling the world? I forget amid your endless prattle.”
Webb blinked, shocked for a second, then caught himself. “Oh, very good. All right then. It’s been a blast. Until next time—” He made to move away and then stopped. “Oh, and pictures too,” he added. “I have thousands. Of every last one of the dead bastards that thwarted my very first endeavor!”
With this final, raging outburst, Webb ducked away into the hole in the wall at his back. Before Drake could move a metal door slammed down in his wake, clicking and whirring as it engaged dozens of locks.
“What’s that?” Trent wondered. “A panic room?”
Collins ran to the nearest window. “No. It’s the door to a sky-walk that leads directly into that tower. In truth it looks like the only way in.”
“Hayden remarked on the comms that there’s some kind of tunnel network,” Crouch stated.
Drake joined her, then looked back at Dahl. “You know what I’m thinking, mate?”
/> The Swede had carried the rocket launcher without complaint and now grinned widely. “I knew this bloody thing would come in handy.”
Drake backed away. Dahl positioned himself at the window, spread his feet apart and hefted the launcher over a brawny shoulder.
“Looks like your reign is already over, Tyler.”
The blackest of shadows fell among them. It plunged from where it had been clinging to the high roof, its limbs chopping and whirling and smashing. Dahl was hit first, two feet lancing into his shoulder. The Swede went down with a crash, winded and bruised, and the grenade launcher tumbled away. Drake was next, still trying to comprehend what had happened, struck in the kneecap and throat and left in agony. Mai reacted quicker than the rest, but still she wasn’t fast enough, midriff bruised with a flying kick and legs swept mercilessly out from under her. Still the black shadow spun among them. Trent, Crouch and Caitlyn were standing very close, and suddenly found themselves smashing into each other; heads colliding, legs tangling, all ending up in a writhing heap.
Only Smyth and Alicia remained.
Seconds had passed. Smyth loosened his gun, discharged it, only to find his target as elusive as smoke. The black-clad figure was there and then not there and then suddenly right up in Smyth’s face.
“What are you—” A fist smashed him in the mouth, silencing his sputter. A foot hooked his ankle, sending him to the floor. The same foot stomped on his chest, making him wheeze.
Beauregard turned to Alicia. “I could have used killing blows. I didn’t.”
Alicia crouched in readiness. “Only for the sake of speed.”
“Not true.”
“You’re not that good, Beau. Just tricky. And decent at hide and seek.”
The Frenchman appeared to pull a face under his mask. “I am on your side. You will see.”
Drake was back on his knees by now. “Let’s see how you fight without the shock and awe tactics shall we?”
He stood up, discarding his weapon, fists clenched. Beauregard gave him one stare and then turned back to Alicia.
“I will not go far from you.”
“You’re working for the goddamn Pythians!” she cried into the black, faceless mask.
Matt Drake Book 9 - The Plagues of Pandora Page 26
