The Matt Drake Boxset 6

by David Leadbeater

  Hayden closed her eyes. There were no words.

  “Obviously, they found car. They drove away. We ... well we died ... one by one.” Yorgi still could not clearly articulate the details. Only the heartbroken misery scored into his face revealed the truth of it.

  “I was only survivor. I was strongest. I tried. I carried and dragged and cuddled, but I failed. I failed them all. I saw life leaving every one of my brothers and sisters and I vowed to survive. Their deaths gave me strength, as if their departed spirits joined mine. I hope they did. Still do. I believe they’re still with me. I survived a Russian prison. I survived Matt Drake,” he managed a weak smile, “and breaking him out.”

  “How did you make it back to the village?” Kinimaka wanted to know. Hayden and Dahl gave him the discreet look, but it was also clear Yorgi needed to vent.

  “I wore their clothes,” he hissed in an achingly low voice. “Shirts. Jackets. Socks. I stayed warm and I left them all alone in the snow and ice and I made it to road.”

  Hayden couldn’t imagine the heartache, the assumed guilt that should not be his.

  “A car passed by, helped me. I gave them a story, returned to the village a few days later,” he took a deep breath, “and let them see the ghost of the sorrow that they wrought. Let them see and feel how deep his anger was. So yes, I murdered my parents in cold blood.”

  A silence fell that should never be broken. Hayden knew the bodies of Yorgi’s brothers and sisters lay in the place they fell right now, forever frozen, never laid to rest.

  “I turned thief.” Yorgi eased apart the heartbreaking resonance. “And later was caught. But never tried for murder. And here we are.”

  The pilot’s voice came over the airwaves. “Thirty minutes to Chinese airspace, kids, and then it’s anyone’s guess.”

  Hayden was pleased when Lauren called up the DC think tank at that point. A diversion was the only way forward.

  “We’re close,” she said by way on introduction. “Anything new?”

  “We’re working the four corners, the Horsemen’s birth date references, Mongolia, the Khagan and the Order themselves, which do you want first?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Ooh, ooh,” Alicia said excitedly, acting the part. “Let’s hear the birth date numbers thing. I just love figuring numbers out.”

  “Cool. Good to hear it from a field grunt.” The voice went on happily, raising a few eyebrows around the cabin but blissfully unaware, “So, Hannibal was born in 247 BC, died around 183 BC. Genghis Kahn 1162, died 1227—”

  “That’s a lot of numbers,” Alicia said.

  “Problem is—” Dahl said. “You’ve run out of fingers and toes.”

  “Not sure what that means,” the geek continued. “But these wacko cults do love their number games and codes. Bear it in mind.”

  “So Hannibal was born 1400 years before Genghis,” Kenzie said. “We get it.”

  “You’d be surprised at the number of shitbirds that don’t,” the geek said conversationally. “Anyway—”

  “Hey, pal?” Drake interrupted quickly. “You ever been punched in the face?”

  “Well, as a matter fact, yes. Yes, I have.”

  Drake settled back. “Good,” he said. “Now you can carry the fuck on.”

  “We sure can’t work with these figures yet since we don’t know the other Horsemen. Though, I’m guessing even you guys can figure out the fourth? No? No takers? Oh, well. Now, there sure is an awful lot of firepower heading for the Mongolian Republic at this point, folks. Seven, or is it six? Yeah, six teams of elite soldiers representing six countries chasing down the Horseman of Conquest. Am I right? Ooo-rah!”

  Drake stared over at Hayden. “This guy’s the best spokesperson in DC?”

  Hayden shrugged. “Well, at least he wears his emotions on his sleeve. Not hidden beneath the many folds of a deceitful cloak like most of Washington.”

  “On to the Horseman of Conquest. Clearly the Order have their own agenda, so conquest could be anything from a kid’s toy to a video game ... ha ha. World domination can come in many forms, am I right?”

  “Just get on with the briefing,” Hayden said.

  “Sure, sure. So let’s get straight to the Order, shall we? Though the Israelis were oddly reluctant to furnish us with any information on the Nazi war criminal cult they wiped out in Cuba, we found out what we needed to know. Once the dust settled, the Nazis clearly decided they were the ones hard done by, and came up with this elaborate idea to control the world. They created an Order, along with a crest of arms, secret codes, symbols and more. They worked out a plan—quite probably one they’d been working on for years under the Reich. They buried the four weapons and came up with this puzzle. Maybe they meant to make it more obscure, who knows? But Mossad took ’em out without a trace and a little too quickly, I think. The hidden bunker lay undiscovered for thirty years.”

  “Fifteen minutes,” the pilot said laconically.

  “And these weapons?” Hayden asked. “Where did they get them from?”

  “Well, the Nazis were about as well connected as anyone is ever going to get. The big gun is an old design, updated for space and accuracy. They could absolutely get their hands on anything from the forties to the eighties. Money was never an impediment, but movement was. And trust. They wouldn’t trust a soul to do this for them. Probably took the little weasels years to hide all four weapons and a few dozen favors. Trust factors in also as one of the reasons they hid the weapons in the first place. Couldn’t keep them in Cuba now, could they?” The DC man burst into laughter, then somehow managed to sober.

  Alicia rolled her eyes and grasped both hands together as if they might be around somebody’s scrawny neck.

  “Anyhoo, you guys still with me? I realize time is short and you’re itchy to get into the muddy field and shoot something, but I do have a little more information. Just came in ...”

  A pause.

  “Now that’s interesting.”

  More silence.

  “Care to share?” Hayden prodded the man, staring toward the solid side of the chopper as if she could see their landing point approaching.

  “Well, I was gonna get into the four corners of the earth—or at least the way we see it—but I see we’re running out of time. Look, give me five, but whatever you do—” he paused “—do not land!”

  The connection was severed abruptly. Hayden glared first at the floor and then around the chopper’s interior.

  Drake held both hands up. “Don’t look at me. I’m innocent!”

  Alicia laughed. “Yeah, me too.”

  “Don’t land?” Dahl reiterated. “What on earth does that mean?”

  Alicia cleared her throat as if to explain, but then the pilot’s voice barked over the speakers. “Two minutes, folks.”

  Hayden turned to the old faithful for help. “Mano?”

  “He’s an ass, but still on our side,” the big Hawaiian rumbled. “I’d say take him at his word.”

  “Best decide quick,” Smyth put in. “We’re descending.”

  Instantly, the comms blared into life. “What did I say? Do not land!”

  Drake rose and keyed the chopper’s internal comms to life. “Back off, pal,” he said. “New intel on the way.”

  “But we’re inside Chinese airspace. No telling how long before they spot us.”

  “Do what you can but don’t land.”

  “Hey bud, I was told this was going to be a quick in and out mission. No bullshit. You can be sure if we hang around for more than a few minutes we’re gonna have a couple-a J-20s up our ass.”

  Alicia leaned in to Drake and whispered, “Is that a bad—”

  The Yorkshireman cut her off, seeing the urgency of the situation. “Well, clearly the knobend from DC can hear us even when the comms are off,” he said with a meaningful stare at Dahl. “Ya hear that, knobend? We’ve got about sixty seconds.”

  “This is gonna take longer,” the man came back. “Be brave, peo
ple. We’re on the case.”

  Drake felt his fists clench. Such a condescending manner only provoked confrontation. Maybe that was the intent? Ever since they found Hannibal’s gravesite Drake felt that there had been something off about this mission. Something undisclosed. Were they being vetted? Were they under surveillance? Was the US government evaluating their actions? If so, it came down to what happened in Peru. And if so, Drake wasn’t unduly worried about their performance.

  He was worried about the plots and intrigues and conspiracies those listening might cook up after the review. Any country governed by politicians was never as it seemed, and only those behind the people in the seats of power knew what was really going on.

  “Fifty seconds,” he said aloud. “Then we’re outta here.”

  “Trying a trick,” the pilot told them. “We’re already so low you could step out of the door onto a tree, but I’m ducking the bird inside a mountain valley. If you hear anything scraping the bottom it’ll either be rock or a yeti.”

  Alicia gulped loudly. “I thought they hung out around Tibet?”

  Dahl shrugged. “Vacation. Road trip. Who knows?”

  At last, the comms fired into life again. “All right, people. We still alive? Good, good. Well done. Now ... remember all the controversy regarding the resting place of Genghis Kahn? He personally wanted an unmarked grave. Everyone who built his tomb was massacred. The gravesite was stampeded by horses, planted with trees. Literally, it is unobtainable, save for chance. One tale, which I find poignant because it so simply undoes all these madcap schemes, is that Kahn was buried with a young camel—and the site was then pinpointed when the camel’s mother was found weeping at the grave of her young.”

  The pilot cut through harshly. “We’re almost at the point of no return, bud. Thirty seconds and we either chase our tails outta here like they’re on fire or send the kids in.”

  “Oh,” the DC man said. “Forgot about you. Yeah, get out of there. I’ll send you the new location.”

  Drake winced, sharing the pilot’s pain, but shot back, “Jesus, man. Are you trying to get us captured or killed?”

  He was only part-joking.

  “Hey, hey. Calm down. Listen—these Nazis—the Order of the Last Judgment—were looking for the Horsemen—the resting places—between the fifties and the eighties, yeah? Clearly, they found them all. Something tells me they did not find the tomb of Genghis Kahn. I do believe more would have been made of such a find. Then there is the Order itself and the words: ‘But all is not as it seems. We visited the Khagan in 1960, five years after completion, placing Conquest in his coffin.’ For certain, Kahn didn’t have any tomb built in 1955. But, largely because of the lack of a tomb and to assist worshippers and increase the tourist trade—China did build him a mausoleum.”

  “Is it in China?” Hayden asked.

  “Sure, it’s in China. You’re thinking through the whole four corners thing, aren’t you? Good, keep the gray matter active. There may even be a job here for you one day.”

  Hayden swallowed a choking sound. “Just explain your theory.”

  “Right, cool. Genghis Kahn’s mausoleum was built in 1954. It’s a large temple built along a river in Ejin Horo, in southwestern Inner Mongolia. Now, the mausoleum is in fact a cenotaph—it contains no body. But it is said to contain a headdress and other items belonging to Genghis. Always associated with this mausoleum idea rather than a known tomb and gravesite, Genghis was initially worshipped from eight white yurts, the tent palaces where he originally lived. These portable mausoleums were protected by the Darkhad, the kings of Jin, and later distinguished as a symbol of the Mongol nation. Eventually, it was decided to abolish the portable mausoleums and move the ancient relics to the new, permanent one. The timeline fits the Order’s to perfection. Whatever weapon they chose as Conquest is inside Genghis’s coffin, in that mausoleum.”

  Hayden measured his words. “Dammit, mutt,” she said. “If you’re wrong ...”

  “Mutt?”

  “It’s the best you’re gonna get.”

  “The Order had access,” Dahl said. “It explains the line in the text.”

  Hayden nodded slowly. “How far out are we?”

  “Twenty seven minutes.”

  “And the other teams?”

  “No way to tell if they’re as clever as yours truly, I’m afraid. It’s probable they have a whizz-tech advising them.” A pause for appreciation.

  “Fucking mutt,” Alicia growled.

  “No.” Hayden kept her temper. “I meant—what’s the latest on the internal chatter?”

  “Oh, right. Chatter is loud and proud. Some teams got their asses handed to ’em by higher-ups. Some were tasked to dig around Hannibal’s site again. I know the Russians and the Swedes were headed to Burkhan Khaldun, as you initially were. Mossad and the Chinese are pretty quiet. The French? Well, who knows, right?”

  “You’d better be right on this,” Hayden said in a voice laced with venom. “Because if you’re not ... the world will suffer.”

  “Just get to that mausoleum, Miss Jaye. But do it fast. The other teams may already be there.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Ejin Horo Banner,” the pilot said, still nervous. “Eight minutes out.”

  Arrangements had been made for the team to drop outside the town and trek in. A local archaeologist had been procured to help them, and would lead them into the mausoleum. Drake assumed she had no idea what would then likely happen.

  To this end the chopper would remain hot and ready, despite the pilot’s continued misgivings about Chinese stealth jet fighters.

  A bounce and a curse and then the chopper stood stationary, allowing the team time to jump off. They found themselves amid a cluster of brush, a tangle of dying forestation, but easily saw the way forward.

  Downhill, a mile or so, the outskirts of the large city sprawled. Hayden programmed her satnav for the right coordinates and then the team made themselves as presentable as possible. The Chinese wanted tourists, so today they had gained nine more. Lauren was persuaded to stay with the chopper and pick through the unremitting chatter.

  “Next time,” she called as the team hustled to depart, “Alicia can do the networking bit.”

  The Englishwoman huffed. “Do I look like a bloody secretary?”

  “Umm, do I?”

  Drake nudged Alicia and whispered, “Well, you did last week, remember? For the role play?”

  “Oh yeah,” she smiled brightly, “that was fun. I doubt Lauren’s role will be quite the same.”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  The two shared a warm smile as they exited the makeshift shelter and headed down the slow-rolling hill. Sparse foliage and desert soon gave way to roads and buildings, and in the distance several high-rise hotels and office buildings began to take shape. Reds, greens and pastel shades warred with the blue skies and pale clouds. Drake was immediately struck by how clean the streets and the city were, how wide some of the thoroughfares. Future proof, as they said.

  Appearing odd at first but unable to help it, the tourists made their way to the rendezvous, making sure their hands were never far from their overlarge backpacks. The archaeologist greeted them in the shadow of a large black statue depicting a man riding a horse.

  “Fitting.” Dahl nodded at the horseman.

  A spare, tall woman with scraped back hair and a direct gaze confronted them. “You are the tourist party?” She spoke carefully, picking her words. “Excuse my English. It is not good.” She laughed, her small face scrunching up.

  “Not a problem,” Dahl said quickly. “It’s more understandable than Drake’s version.”

  “Funny fu—”

  “You do not look like tourists,” the woman said, stopping him. “You have experience?”

  “Ah, yes,” Dahl said, taking her arm and leading the way with a magnanimous gesture. “We travel the world, seeking new sights and cities.”

  “Wrong way,” the woman said quite graciously
. “Mausoleum is that way.”

  “Ah.”

  Drake laughed. “Forgive him,” he said. “Normally, he just carts the luggage.”

  The woman led the way, back stiff, hair hanging straight in its tight wrap. The team spread out as best they could, again not wanting to cause a stir or leave any lasting memories behind. Dahl discovered the woman’s name was Altan and that she had been born nearby, leaving China in her youth and then returning only two years ago. She led them directly and courteously, and soon indicated that they were nearing their goal.

  Drake saw the top of the mausoleum rising ahead, the statues and steps and other iconic elements all around. Death could crouch anywhere. Working together, the team slowed the woman down as they checked for other teams and other soldiers, all the while pretending to admire the sights. Smyth checking behind bins and benches might have fazed Altan, but Drake’s description of him as a ‘very limited edition’ only served to increase her curiosity.

  “Is he special?”

  “Oh yeah, he’s one of one.”

  “I can hear you through the fucking coms,” Smyth snarled.

  “In what way?”

  “In car terms he’s the Pagani Huayra Hermes edition, designed for Manny Koshbin by Pagani and Hermes.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what all that means.”

  “Understood.” Drake sighed. “Smyth is one of a kind. But tell me your favorite hobby.”

  “I do enjoy camping. There are some lovely places in the desert.”

  “In camping terms imagine Smyth is that wonky tent pole. The one that constantly causes you problems but still works well once you kick it into shape, and always, but always, manages to piss you off.”

  Smyth spluttered through the comms, having completed his recce. Lauren fell into an uncontrollable giggling fit.

  Altan regarded the Yorkshireman with suspicion, a look she then turned upon the rest of the team. Mai, in particular, shied away from the woman as if trying to hide her own heritage. Drake understood where others would not. One thing led to another and Mai did not want to be discussing where she came from and how she ended up here. Altan gestured toward a set of steps.