The Matt Drake Series Books: 7-9 (The Matt Drake Series Boxset 2)

by David Leadbeater

  Hayden leaped out the moment Kinimaka squealed to a halt but she was a step behind Smyth. Like a bulldozer the soldier smashed aside hanging clumps of brick and mortar and reinforcement bars. Like a maniac he tore open the front driver’s door and took hold of the merc positioned there.

  Smyth shook him wildly. “Antidote!”

  Then, beyond him, clasped in the trembling hands of the passenger, Smyth saw a clear transparent cylinder, about the size of a tin can, jammed full with small phials.

  “Is that it?”

  “Save me,” the mercenary whispered. “I don’t want to die like this.”

  Smyth reached out and took hold of the cylinder. The moment he did so his heart began to quake, his pulse raced like never before. Are we too late? Is Lauren already too far gone?

  Gritting his teeth, he ran like hell.

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  Holding the cylinder as carefully as if it held his own soul, Smyth jumped into the Lexus’ back seat. Within moments he sensed everyone gathering around him. Hayden, at his shoulder, whispered, “This is for all of us.”

  He quickly detached the accompanying bags of syringes and upended a phial, drawing clear liquid inside. A squirt to dispel air bubbles and he leaned toward the motionless, white-faced woman that had been robbed of her great vitality, so unbelievably depleted.

  “This is from me,” he said and jabbed the needle through her skin.

  “How long?” he heard somebody ask. Karin’s voice.

  “How is she? Has anything happened?” Collins’ voice.

  Smyth discarded the empty syringe, leaning over Lauren’s mouth. He didn’t care that he might contract or have already contracted the disease. A serious, more aloof head might have, but Smyth was incautious and fiery and, above all, a soldier. He would see this through to the bitter end, for good or bad, and he would not leave any person down.

  No breath came from Lauren’s mouth, no life crossed her lips.

  Drake’s voice came through the comms. “We’re following a chopper to what we believe is the Pythian HQ. They seem to be panicking and on the run. Or it could be some other kind of misdirection. Anyhow, we have both aerosols and the last sample now. How’s Lauren? Did you get the antidote?”

  Smyth hung his head, unable to speak.

  Hayden’s voice was less than whisper. “We’re waiting.”

  Kinimaka added, “Smyth administered it. But it may be too . . .”

  Smyth placed a hand on Lauren’s cheek, as gentle as a feather landing. “Please,” he whispered. “Don’t die on us.”

  Hayden took a deep, juddering breath. Though intense noise and activity surrounded them not an iota penetrated their team’s cocoon. It was only when Lauren’s face twitched under Smyth’s touch that anyone thought to take a breath.

  “Lauren?”

  Her eyes fluttered, her body gasped air. Her whole frame shuddered. Far too weak to move she nonetheless forced breath through her lungs and opened her eyes.

  Smyth leaned in so close he couldn’t focus. Relief flooded him, a liberating fountain. For the first time he could remember, he didn’t feel anger in his heart.

  The others crowded around, congratulating and rejoicing.

  Smyth stayed put. No way was he going to let them see the tears in his eyes.

  *

  Drake joined Alicia, Dahl, Mai and Trent in the race to catch up to Crouch’s choppers. The Augusta had developed a fault after his mistreatment back at the warehouse so they were now crammed into a military Humvee, following Crouch’s directions. The roads of Niagara Falls were filled with the noise of wailing sirens, K-rail barriers and rows of police. Drake already knew the Canadian authorities were cooperating fully with the international effort, and was grateful for it; no way would they want to be the ones that dropped the ball on something of this magnitude.

  “There!” Drake pointed at the skies. “Two o’clock!”

  Dahl approximated their position on a map. “They’re following the Niagara River. Can you make this thing go any faster?”

  “We’re trying, sir. We’re trying.”

  The vehicle roared onto the Niagara Parkway and then River Road, racing past a colorful place called Daredevil’s that promised ice cream, pizza, popcorn and fries. Alicia moaned as she went past.

  “God, I’m hungry.”

  “Here.” Drake broke out a Mars bar. “You remember? The SAS used to swear by them. A sugar rush before battle. Trouble is, nowadays they’re so small you need two.”

  Alicia sat back in fond memory. “I do remember, Drakey. I remember much more than you think.”

  The Humvee blasted on, following the curve of the river, a low stone wall to their right and thick clumps of trees hiding real estate to their left. River Road was a prime location, its properties large and mostly hidden by the treeline. Crouch’s voice crackled across the comms.

  “We’re hanging back now. Yes, I know they’ve already seen us but we’re not going to fly right into a trap. The Pythian chopper is slowing, banking, going down! It appears to be a house right here on River Road. We’re kind of level with Oakes Park, can you see it?”

  Dahl drew a line with his finger across from Oakes Park to River Road. “Got it. We’re ten minutes out.”

  “Good. Because we’re putting this baby down right in the middle of the highway.”

  Drake glanced around the interior. “Why would they lead us right to their lair?”

  Trent frowned. “Could be a dozen reasons. Megalomaniac disorder mostly. Their leader believes he can’t be caught. That fits our profile, considering how open and willing to take responsibility these Pythians have been so far. They’ve practically invited us to take part.”

  “Some say this is only their opening salvo,” Mai said.

  “Judging by their behavior so far,” Trent said, “I guarantee you their leader wants to meet at least one of us. My guess is that is what this is all about.”

  Drake narrowed his eyes, finding the whole scenario hard to believe. Yes they had come up against some evil, crazy masterminds in the past, but someone like this?

  “It’s their escape plan I’m worried about,” Trent said.

  Alicia cocked her weapon. “They’re not going to get the chance.”

  Trent looked unconvinced.

  At that moment a red Lexus and a light-green Alfa Romeo sped alongside the Hummer. Trent leaned forward to check out the occupants of the Lexus. “Everything okay?”

  Collins replied immediately. “Nothing broken.”

  “Looks like you got hit by a Gatling gun.”

  “They showed us theirs, we showed them ours. Ours was bigger and harder.”

  “Y’see,” Alicia nudged Drake, “size does matter.”

  “Oh, balls. Is this another Beauregard thing?”

  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 ranc
h. 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 know 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.

  Ru
sso 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’m not 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.