Wu grunted. “Three behind.”
Karin waved her gun. “C’mon guys, what am I missing?”
The first mountain, a bald-headed individual, grinned. “There’s a radar, girl, and we stay under it.”
“I see. So, knowing Tyler Webb as I do—a man that relishes making noise at the right time and place—this is his garden of tranquility? Meditation? Well, we’re unlikely to disturb him now boys, are we?”
“A gunshot will have the cops here in ten minutes,” the man said. “SWAT in twenty.”
“And building security?”
The man laughed. “Whatever.”
“Thanks for the info.”
Karin shot him in the arm without warning, saw him stagger. She shot the next too, a round to the stomach, and waited for him to fall to the floor before leaping over his back and using his spine to push off.
A baseball bat swung close to her head, missed, and smashed through a door, shattering the glass and framework. She ignored it. Wu was behind her, with Dino dealing with the other direction. A third obesity blocked her way. She fired two shots into the general mass, ducked a hefty swing and then had no choice other than to hit the immovable bulk head on.
She bounced back, shaken.
She held on to the gun as she fell back on her spine. Looking up, she saw the enormous round face staring down at her—a numb, cruel giant with bullet holes he didn’t feel, blood flows he didn’t see, and the biggest razor-blade-spotted, wooden club she’d ever seen.
“Fuckin’ caveman.”
Karin fired upward as the club came down. Two bullets fired through the overhanging belly, striking the ceiling, but the club kept on coming down. Karin averted her skull. The club landed beside it, splintering the floor, drawing sparks from the glinting blades. For a second it lay there, then the arm holding it strained and it began to pull away from the floor.
Karin scooted back, saw the terrible face and fired straight at it. This time the owner felt it and staggered immediately, luckily falling to the right and straight through another colleague, trapping the lesser man beneath.
Wu jumped over her, firing into two more hefty bulks. These men fell to their knees. A club slapped Wu across the bicep, making him yelp. Karin turned to see the first man—the bald guy she’d shot through the leg—dragging himself alongside her, leaving a trail of blood.
“You just fucked it up real good, lady. For everyone.”
“Oh, so now that I’ve shot you I’m a lady, yea? I take it you know what we’re here for?”
He scrambled for his club, and a knife that hung at his belt.
“You kidding? There’s only the one thing here, you know that.”
Karin nodded. “Sure.”
“But you’ll never find it.”
She glanced quickly at the many, many rooms full of computer terminals, all no doubt working, running some kind of program, and all the same as their neighbors.
But she knew better. “Oh, I think I might.”
She also knew a man like Webb would never consider installing a kill switch. Not after all the hard work he’d put in to acquire such material, not when every sweet stalking he’d ever undertaken lived right here.
She dodged the bat, stopped the knife strike, and left the man with a second bullet hole. She jumped up and followed Wu, then glanced back to see how Dino was doing. All was well. The only problem they had now was the police.
Wu hesitated; the hallway was clear. “Where to?”
Karin ran past, the location seared into her memory. “To the lair of one of the worst monsters that ever lived,” she said. “So keep it frosty. This way, boys.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The room itself was obnoxious, the last vestige of Tyler Webb, crawling with external imagery manifested of a malignant inner madness. They destroyed the locks in seconds, saw the framed pictures on the walls—favored victims and stalkings, before and after shots—and a bizarre collection of spy-gadgets from all over the world, sitting on tables all around the room.
Karin ignored it as best she could, hearing sirens already through the glazed windows. Wu and Dino stood guard whilst she dashed over to the terminal.
Double-checking, she confirmed it was the very one that had received enormous streams of data, plugged in a specially formatted flash drive, and looked for a small green light that would confirm automatic download of the terminal’s contents. Karin had anticipated a large amount of information might be transferred and had configured the stick accordingly. It was as fast as she could make it.
“How we doing?” She glanced up.
Wu shrugged. “All quiet here.”
“Apart from the moaning,” Dino said. “Plenty of that.”
Part of their plan was to leave casualties. It would confuse and delay the cops. Karin was happy that they were, at the very least, thugs and deserved their upcoming new lot in life. She glanced at the flashing green light, saw it was blinking fast, and knew it was almost done.
“Get ready.”
Sirens shrieked outside the window.
The light stopped flashing, signaling all was complete. She withdrew the tiny drive and zipped it inside an inner pocket. “Time to go.”
Instantly, the boys moved out, stepping carefully around the fallen, bleeding men and kicking two that tried to rise up. Karin threatened them with her gun, but wouldn’t have used it. There might still be some confusion as to where the gunfire had come from. Already, they would be manning the surveillance cameras and asking myriad questions. The key to escape was not to be quick, not even to be careful.
It was to be unexpected.
They unbuckled their backpacks, withdrew their contents and then threw the empty bags away. Staring at each other, they nodded.
“Officer.” Wu saluted Dino.
“Officer.” Dino nodded smartly at Karin.
“Sarge,” she exaggerated her British accent and headed for the service elevators.
In her pocket, the key to power, to government and royal manipulation, to coup upon coup, to financial freedom and law enforcement control.
All they needed was a safe place to start it up.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Another day, another plane journey, and Matt Drake was feeling seriously jet-lagged. Takeoff had happened only an hour ago and they were chasing the day toward the Atlantic, en route to the United States of America.
With no clear idea of where to go.
The third Horseman—Famine. Drake dreaded to imagine what kind of warfare the Order had dreamed up for famine. They were still highly engrossed with figuring out the first weapon—the space gun and, in particular, the second weapon—the linchpin code. Hayden still held all the information to it, but the pressure to share was immense. Only the sudden scramble and unclear destination were making her lack of action acceptable.
The linchpin code engineered events carried out across half of Europe, and finally America, to bring down the world’s heads of states, the country’s infrastructures, hobble their armies and free the psychos—those that wanted to send Earth back to the dark ages. It appeared frighteningly real, and frighteningly easy. Once that first domino toppled ...
Hayden stayed quiet as she read through. Drake allowed his mind to cruise past all the recent revelations: SEAL Team 7; the Special Forces teams engaging with each other; the French losses, due mostly to the Russians; and now a Native American connection. Of course, the tribesmen had been superb horsemen—possibly the best that ever lived. But where did famine come into it all?
Alicia snored softly at his side, getting a little shut eye. Kenzie tried her best to video the event, but Dahl managed to hold her back. Drake noticed it wasn’t gentle physical persuasion, but rather words that changed her mind. He wasn’t sure about Dahl and Kenzie getting close. None of his business, of course, and he was essentially traveling the same train tracks but ...
Drake wanted the best for the Mad Swede, and that was all.
Lauren sat up front, wi
th Smyth as close as he could get without making her feel too uncomfortable. Yorgi, Kinimaka and Mai spoke in quiet tones toward the plane’s rear; the cargo hold they were in not much more than a high-ceilinged, drafty, rattling shell. Just once he’d like to fly first class. Even coach beat luggage class.
Lauren concentrated on the feed they still had going between themselves and DC. The chatter was bland and unfocused right now, more a brainstorming session that a real discussion. That many geeks though? Drake had no doubt they would find exactly what they were looking for.
The hours passed and the States drew closer. Lauren became interested in the various feeds coming in from rival nations. The Israelis, it seemed, had worked out the American connection almost at the same time as SPEAR. The Brits too. The Chinese were silent and the French quite possibly out if it. Drake knew they’d hear nothing from the SEALs. They weren’t really there, of course.
“Interesting to see if they’ll fly these teams into America under the radar,” Dahl said. “Or use internal teams.”
“People already insinuated into society?” Hayden looked up. “I doubt it. Sleeper agents take years to build.”
“And it ain’t hard to fly in unseen,” Smyth said. “Drug dealers have been doing it for decades.”
“Any clue as to this worst Indian that ever lived?” Mai asked.
“Not from DC, and if our rivals know they’re keeping the lid on it.”
“Bollocks.”
Drake checked the time and knew they were nearing the States. Gently, he shook Alicia awake.
“Wah?”
“Time to wake up.”
Kenzie leaned in close. “I have your bottle ready, baby.”
Alicia flapped at her. “Shit, fuck! Get that thing away from me!”
“It’s only me!”
Alicia pulled away as far as the bulkhead would allow. “Bloody circus clown fizzog.”
“What’s a fizzog?” Kinimaka looked genuinely interested.
“It’s English for ‘face,’” Drake said. And in response to Kenzie’s apparent downheartedness he said, “I don’t agree. You’re a reet bobby dazzler.”
“Really?” Alicia growled.
“A what?”
“Means you’re not bad to look at, love.”
Kenzie frowned as Alicia began to snarl and Drake realized he’d probably overstepped the mark with both women. Well, at least with Kenzie. Quickly, he nodded at Lauren.
“No way. Are you sure?”
Attention switched to the New Yorker.
“Oh yeah, I’m sure.” Lauren was quick enough to cover her surprise and jump straight on the comms for an update. “Give me something.”
Immediately, as if by fate, some good news came back. Lauren put it on speaker. “Hey people, good to see we’re all still kickin’.” Mr. Obnoxious back on the line. “Well, the good news is whilst you boys have been getting your share of zees, I’ve been slaving away over a red hot computer. So, first the second Horseman and Conquest. Miss Jaye? The big dogs are barking.”
Hayden shook her head. “Speak American, asshole, or I’ll have you fired.”
Drake glanced across, knowing she was still playing for time. At the end of the day the linchpin code was in their possession and the Americans knew it. A thought struck him then and he signaled for her to join him at the back of plane.
Together, quietly, they huddled.
“Would it be possible to simply lose one of the sheets?” he asked. “The crucial one.”
She stared. “Sure, if you wanna paint a target on us. They’re not that stupid.”
He shrugged. “I know, but look at the alternative.”
Hayden sat back. “Well, I guess we’re already fucked. What harm could one more act of insubordination cause?”
“Let’s ask SEAL Team 7 when they get here.”
The two stared at each other for a while, both wondering just what exactly the other team’s orders were. The secrecy of it all worried them. Hayden heard the obnoxious man start to speak again and turned.
“Agent Jaye, Washington wants to know the exact details of the Conquest box.”
“Tell them I’ll get back to them.”
“Umm, really? Okay.”
“Do you have anything new?”
“Yeah, yeah, we do. Give me a sec.”
Hayden turned back to Drake. “Decision time, Matt. All the way in?”
Drake rocked back on his heels and offered a grin. “Always.”
Hayden plucked a sheet of paper from the pile.
“You already found the right sheet?”
“I thought of this two hours ago.”
“Ah.”
Together, and without another second of agonizing, they destroyed a crucial clue in the linchpin chain. Hayden then tucked all the sheets back together and deposited them back in the Order’s box. The rest of the team eyed them both without comment.
Together, they were as one.
“All right.” The man from DC had returned. “Now we are well and truly cooking on gas. It seems the Order of the Last Judgment were spot on with their descriptions of the third Horseman—Famine. The Worst Indian Who Ever Lived and that he’s surrounded by guns.”
“A Native American?” Kinimaka asked.
“Oh yeah, born in 1829; that’s seven hundred years after Genghis Kahn and fourteen hundred after Hannibal. Almost exactly ...” He paused.
“Odd,” Kinimaka filled the gap.
“Maybe, maybe,” the geek said. “Somebody once said there are no coincidences. Well, we’ll see. Anyways, I’ve re-routed the plane and you’re now headed for Oklahoma.”
“Do we know who this old horseman might be?” Drake asked.
“I’d say he’s the most famous Native American of all, not the worst, but what do I know?”
Alicia shifted, still half-dozing. “Not a whole goddamn lot.”
“Why, thank you. Well, Goyaale, meaning ‘the one that yawns’, was a famous leader of the Apache tribe. They resisted the US and Mexicans throughout his lifetime, his raids becoming a terrible thorn in America’s side.”
“Many Native Americans did,” Mai said.
“Of course, and rightly so. But this man was revered as a superb leader and strategist, the archetype of raiding and revenge warfare. Does that sound familiar?”
Drake nodded along. “Same as Hannibal and Genghis.”
“You got it, kiddo. He surrendered three times and then broke out three times. They made several movies of his exploits. He was then treated as a prisoner of war and moved first to Fort Bowie along with many others.”
“And he escaped again?” Alicia looked like she’d like to think so.
“No. In his old age, Geronimo became a celebrity.”
“Ah, now I see,” Drake said. “Along with Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, he’s probably the best known.”
“Well, yeah, and did you know those three used to get together? Pow wow around the campfire. Plot this and that? Talk about choosing your favorite celebrity to go get a coffee with—I’d choose those three.”
Alicia nodded. “It’d be an experience,” she agreed. “Of course, assuming Depp and Boreanaz weren’t free.”
“In 1850? Probably not. But that Depp guy? He never seems to age, so who knows? Remember the story about medicine men that could shift their manitous—their spirits—through time? Anyways ... Geronimo appeared at the 1904 World’s Fair and several other lower key ones. The poor guy was never allowed to return to the land of his birth and died at Fort Sill, still a prisoner of war, in 1909. He’s buried at the Fort Sill Indian Cemetery and surrounded by the graves of relatives and other Apache prisoners of war.”
“Guns.” Dahl said. “Braves.”
“Yes, and the many guns of Fort Sill itself of course, which today serves as the United States Army Artillery School. It remains the only active fort of the southern plains which played a part in the so-called Indian Wars and has participated extensively in every major conflict since 1869.
” The geek paused before adding, “The Order chose this place and this horseman for a reason.”
“Apart from the guns?” Dahl asked.
“Notoriety, too,” came the reply. “Initial raid on the Indian territories were led, from here, by Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill Hickok. The fort included the 10th Cavalry, also known as the Buffalo Soldiers.”
“So, to recap.” Dahl sighed. “Geronimo’s grave is inside Fort Sill. The Order managed to secrete the plans to a devastating weapon inside it at least forty years ago and now half a dozen of the deadliest Special Forces teams on the planet are rushing headlong toward it.”
Into the deep silence the geek said cheerily, “Yeah, man, cool stuff, eh?”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
As the airplane banked into its final leg of the flight to Oklahoma, the team discussed what they knew so far—most of the revelations around the four corners of the earth, the Horsemen and the deadly weapons that the Nazi war criminals had buried inside old military leader’s graves. The plot was vast, complex, and necessarily so—because the Order had wanted it to be viable for a hundred years. And even now, according to the text, the fourth Horseman was the ‘true last judgment’.
In light of the weapons discovered so far, what the hell could that possibly be?
Drake pondered it. First, they had to get to Fort Sill and stop everyone getting their hands on the weapon of Famine. And worry about others heading straight for the fourth Horseman—the Scourge of God. I mean ... what kinda title is that?
“Can I ask a question?” he said, as the plane began to descend.
“You already did,” the geek guffawed, causing Hayden, Alicia and Mai to close their eyes, their patience worn.
“How did Geronimo come by his title?”
“Geronimo was a true fighter. Even on his deathbed he confessed his regret at his decision to surrender. His final words were: ‘I should never have surrendered. I should have fought until I was the last man alive.’ He also had nine wives, some simultaneously.”
“But the worst Indian that ever lived?”
The Matt Drake Boxset 6 Page 13
