The Matt Drake Boxset 6

by David Leadbeater

  “And neither will we.” Hayden was breaking out the rear window in the following car, preparing to shoot.

  “Wait,” Dahl said. “This man, notwithstanding his reputation, is a government employee, sent by the Americans, carrying out a mission. Do we know his orders are to kill, or capture? Do we know who sent him? Certainly not President Coburn. Do we know if he wants to talk, or shoot?”

  Drake tended to agree with the Swede. Luther was a soldier under orders, not a mercenary taking dollars for blood.

  “Meatballs has a point,” he said. “Surprisingly.”

  “Call me one more Swedish export and I’ll set Kenzie on you.”

  “Ooh,” Drake cackled. “Promises, promises. Ow!”

  Alicia removed her fist from his ribs. “Careful, boy.”

  “Shit, I can’t even crack jokes anymore?”

  “Listen,” Crouch cut across them. “Let’s have the verdict. What are we going to do?”

  Dahl took a careful squint through the rear window. “I have an idea.”

  Drake threw a hand up to either side of his face. “God, no.”

  “Believe me,” Dahl smiled, “you’ll like it.”

  With that he told Crouch and Kinimaka to stamp on the brake pedals. Both vehicles came to a quick stop, jarring the occupants. The chasing Hummers slammed on too, the closest impacting gently with Kinimaka’s rear trunk lid.

  Dahl was out of the car, the others bemoaning the sanity of the plan but forced to follow. The Swede chose to climb up onto their Jeep’s hood, then climbed the windscreen and ran across the top of the car.

  Jumped onto Kinimaka’s, still running.

  Drake followed, and then Alicia. The others chose the low route, using the roadway. Dahl jumped onto the second Jeep’s roof and ran harder. Doors were opening further back, four men with weapons climbing out. By then Dahl was leaping through thin air, hitting the first Hummer’s hood with both boots and continuing his run. Drake was three steps behind. At floor level the rest of the team were keeping pace, weapons kept low but at the ready.

  “Hold there!” a voice boomed out, augmented by some kind of tannoy system built into the Hummer.

  Dahl, atop the vehicle, paused. Drake stopped outside the windshield, staring in at the speaker himself.

  Luther.

  Their eyeballs fused, unable to wrench one from the other. Drake saw a muscle-bound man in his early forties, a man with a head as big as a bear’s, with a millimeter of bristle for hair, with hard, purposeful black eyes and with a well-lined face set with formidable, granite-like determination. A terrible white scar ran from his lips to his temple.

  “Hold right there,” Luther spoke into a radio. “Turn yourselves in. We’re taking you in, Drake. Dahl. All of you. Put down your arms and surrender.”

  Drake had to try even though he guessed it would be hopeless. “You’re being manipulated, mate. We’re not the enemy they’re painting us to be. And this . . . this is a really bad time.”

  “Not my call,” Luther boomed. “I gotta deliver every last one of you, dead or alive. Now . . . lay down your arms.”

  Dahl glanced at Drake; they had their answer. Alicia jammed a finger into her right ear. “Wow, man, even your voice is loud.”

  “Sorry, dude,” Drake said. “But we’re laying down nothing.”

  Dahl leapt from the roof on top of a soldier, bringing a forearm across the bridge of the man’s nose. He went down, groaning. Dahl wrestled his weapon away and threw it up to Drake.

  Drake threw it back to Hayden.

  One more to the tally.

  Alicia rushed to help Dahl. A shot sounded, loud in the narrow road, signaling Luther’s lack of knowledge or respect for all they had previously accomplished. Drake slammed a boot on the windshield right in front of Luther’s face.

  “Get your old, moldy ass out here,” he said. “I got a beating for you.”

  Luther unfolded his body from the car seat, slammed the door open, and jumped out. Drake met him head on, giving no mercy because he knew none would be given. Luther was a rock, a solid rack of beef. Drake’s knuckles jarred as punches landed. Up close, he put the gun away and tried to take Luther down.

  The huge soldier was fast, as fast as Drake and stronger. He took the punches without flinching. As he fought he kept an eye on his men, on Drake’s team, and much of the terrain around. Drake found no weaknesses. The Hummers disgorged five figures in total, four men and one woman who all immediately fought nose to nose against Drake’s team.

  Hayden came over the top, dropped down and implored Luther with a gaze. “We’re the good guys. You gotta listen to us!”

  Luther simply turned his back on the fight, even took a punch to the kidneys, and shouted at his own team.

  “Turn it up a level.”

  All hell broke loose.

  A soldier slammed a door into Smyth’s face, forcing him away, reached inside the Hummer and took out a fully prepped rocket launcher. On the far side of the car another man did the same, using Crouch as a punch bag. Two RPGs lined up on opposite high walls that bordered the street.

  “No!” Alicia’s cry was in vain.

  Grenades flew from the small barrels, streaking across the small space. A loud explosion filled the street and concrete debris showered down on top of the Jeeps. A large chunk buckled the hood of one and a persistent cascade shattered the windshield of another. Blocks bounced off onto the floor. Debris blocked the road.

  “Light ’em up,” Luther yelled.

  Drake leapt hard at him, striking the bull-like neck and pushing him face-first into the very wall he’d just ordered bombed, drawing forth a grunt. Drake pushed in hard but Luther used his own forehead to lever away from the wall. He slammed an elbow around, first to the left and then the right, catching Drake, then again and again. Hayden stepped in, but Luther leaned to the side and kicked out, smashing a boot into her chest and stopping her in her tracks, gasping for breath.

  From his pocket he produced a Glock.

  Drake jabbed at the hand, raining punches down until Luther dropped the gun, flexing bruised fingers and revealing that the gun had been a ruse. A knife appeared in his other hand and jabbed hard at Drake, completely fooling his defenses. The six-inch blade struck without any obstruction, hitting hard.

  Drake grunted and fell back. Hayden saw it and jumped in, her own Glock leveled at Luther’s face.

  “Drop—”

  The man moved faster than she could see; her Glock there one minute and falling to the floor the next. Blood trickled down between her fingers.

  Drake, on his knees, somehow managed to collect both fallen weapons then scramble back. The knife had struck his stab vest, saving his life, but jarring and throbbing so much he was seeing double. A bullet hammered into the wall above Luther’s head, another close to Hayden. Dahl threw a man at the wall, and was shocked to see him bounce right back with a flying front kick. Mai tripped her female opponent and turned for the knockout blow, only to find a backhand slamming her across the face. Kinimaka’s face was bloody. Smyth tried to pick himself up off the floor. Only Kenzie looked in control, and that was because she fought with wild abandon, shaking the blood off in a stream of droplets and diving, snarling, right back for more.

  “More!” Luther snarled.

  Drake brought a flying elbow down on the man’s neck, finally staggering him. The returning punch stopped him though, making him wheeze. Hands on knees, bent over, the two regarded each other.

  “Give it up, Drake.”

  “I . . . can’t. Too much at stake.”

  “We’re taking you to justice.”

  “The people you work for haven’t a clue about justice.” Drake’s chest eased and his breathing began to come a little easier. “When Coburn finds out, it will put them and anyone that has helped them in the firing line.”

  “The President doesn’t know half of what happens out here,” Luther growled. “And that’s for his own good. Don’t try to manipulate me or my team.”


  “Another time, another place, we would have been teammates.”

  “Maybe. I read about SPEAR. Shit, I followed you in three times, though you never knew. Babylon.” He nodded. “Hawaii, and New York. I was part of your backup.” He dropped his eyes. “I knew Komodo. Good soldier.”

  “And still you think we’re rogue? I don’t get it.”

  “Not me. I admit I was surprised, but you’re going down, Drake. You and the rest of SPEAR.”

  “Not today.”

  Drake raised both guns and aimed them at Luther. “Even that mountain you call a head wouldn’t deflect a bullet.”

  Luther stared impassively and then turned his head slightly. “2015.”

  Drake found it hard not to gawp, impressed, at the fifty-millimeter scar. “Shit. But do you wanna gamble on that pony twice?”

  Luther went to back away, but Dahl was at his rear, also a gun in each hand, one of which lodged into the small of Luther’s back. The battle was at a stalemate, guns aimed, nobody giving an inch. It was entirely clear to Drake that Luther would never concede out loud.

  “We’re leaving,” he said. “Catch us later.”

  Crouch called over from the far side. “Can’t go forward.”

  Drake waved a gun. “We’re taking the Hummer.”

  Steadily, with incredible care, the team inched their way inside the oversized military vehicle, weapons unwavering. Luther and his team didn’t give an inch, never said a word, but made no aggressive moves.

  “Now that’s spooky,” Alicia whispered over the comms. “What is that? Extra sensory perception?”

  Nobody spoke, trying not to break the spell. Crouch found the starter and checked the rearview.

  “Moving now,” he murmured. “Stay frosty.”

  Drake realized his eyes were still welded with Luther’s. He watched the larger-than-life figure until they were out of sight and saw not one flicker in the man’s frame, not a single movement.

  Apart from the eyes. They spoke a grim and dangerous vocabulary.

  Crouch heaved a huge sigh as they drove away. “Everyone okay?”

  Affirmatives were received, so the team settled in a little, combing the Hummer for useful items.

  “He’ll find out where we’re going,” Crouch said.

  “You said yourself—it’s huge,” Hayden said. “We’ll be careful.”

  Crouch looked unconvinced.

  Drake, beside him in the front seat, said: “Now I know what you mean.”

  “That the guy’s a walking apocalypse?”

  “Yeah. He’s relentless; crazy; clever. I can see why the Americans send him in.”

  “Good guy to have at your side.”

  “Oh yeah, and a monster to have at your back.”

  Drake stared out the window, wondering how they could possibly hope to deal with the new threat, especially on top of those that already existed. Luther was acting on orders, but if the guy threw any more missiles at them Drake knew they would retaliate in kind. Not to do so would be fatal.

  “You know something,” he said. “When Lauren left to carry out her plan I wasn’t entirely sure it was the right thing to do. But now . . . now . . .”

  Hayden nodded in agreement. “She feels like our last hope.”

  “Depends on the bloodhound.” Alicia pointed her thumb back at the town. “And how far he wants to take it.”

  “Don’t be fooled,” Mai said. “He’ll follow your own creed, Taz. He’ll go all the way, every time, hard in, as often as he can. And he’ll take no prisoners.”

  Drake saw worry even in Dahl’s eyes.

  It was reflected in his own.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Another hour of the day and another safe house—this one in the center of Luxor City, as close as prudence would allow to Hatshepsut’s temple. Once the capital of Ancient Egypt, Luxor, then called Thebes, was situated close to many of the famous sites—Karnak, Hatshepsut’s Temple, and the Valley of the Kings. The main city was modern and shining bright under the midday sun as the team arrived; with wide through-roads lined with rows of trees and a variety of transport. In sharp contrast, within the contemporary environs lay the remains of the old city, the temple ruins of Karnak and Luxor still standing inside the new city. Before they arrived Crouch told them he had visited Luxor many times, likening the city to one large open-air museum, a fantasy theme park for an old archaeologist like him.

  The Nile cut through, and across the west bank Necropolis lay the Valley of the Kings, and the Valley of the Queens.

  “Feels even hotter down here.” Alicia fanned her face, trying to bask in the air-conditioning.

  “It doesn’t get much hotter than this,” Crouch agreed. “Or sunnier. We’ll be at the safe house soon.”

  “Please tell me it has air-con,” Smyth pleaded.

  “Well, it has decent sized windows.”

  “Crap.”

  Ten minutes later they were ensconced in their apartment, a modern block this time with three different rooms and a modicum of comfort. Hayden walked over to the TV and switched it on, searching for a news channel.

  “I was hoping this would be prime news.” She threw the remote down.

  On screen, a reporter spoke live from the streets of Cairo, a government building in the background. It was a BBC broadcast and came across in English.

  “With the deadline fast approaching, officials in Egypt, Turkey and Greece remain steadfast but nervous. A terrorist organization that call themselves FrameHub continue to hold these countries hostage, reiterating just an hour ago that the first country to capitulate wins.” The reporter enunciated the last word and the picture cut to an image medley of each country as a robotic, unidentified voice spoke over the top.

  “We will send the other two countries back to the dark ages. Your missile sites will be used against you. Network disruption will cripple you; roads, hospitals and all crucial services will be rendered useless. You have two hours to comply or we will be happy to give you a small taste of what we can accomplish.”

  Hayden sat down heavily, still watching as the picture cut back to the reporter. Most of the team watched with her as they rechecked weapons and reloaded. Drake changed his stab vest; the team wiping sweat away with towels. Kinimaka found the air-con unit and switched it on; though the feeble machine barely managed to huff out a decent blast of air.

  “Awful, brahs,” he complained. “If we got Lancelot Smyth upset we’d get better airflow.”

  Smyth was studying his cell and quickly returned it to his pocket. The look on his face told them he hadn’t heard Kinimaka—his mind was in an entirely different place. Dahl shrugged back into his gear, eyeing the covering T-shirt with trepidation.

  “Just once,” he said. “I’d like to step out of the door in a hot country in just my T-shirt.”

  Alicia raised a brow. “Really? I’d pay to see that.”

  Dahl sighed. “You know what I mean.”

  “Cool it,” Drake intervened. “That’s my bird you’re stirring up there.”

  “She wants to see a real man.” Dahl flexed a few muscles. “Leave the poor girl alone.”

  “And they’re mine,” Kenzie said with a salacious smile. “Or soon will be.”

  Dahl found a space to sit and watch the TV. “Don’t bet on it, Kenzie.”

  Hayden raised a hand to shush them as the reporter wound up.

  “So here we are; just a few hours until this unknown group threaten to unleash some kind of warning attack on the countries of Egypt, Turkey and Greece. A source in the Egyptian government tells us that, so far, they have been unable to unearth any information on the so-called FrameHub organization threatening to send at least two countries back to the dark ages.”

  Hayden checked her own weapons. “That’s what we’d be involved with if we were still operational.”

  “Don’t fret,” Dahl said. “I’m sure they’ll have someone working on it. Another team.”

  “That’s what worries me
too,” Hayden said. “They shut us down, disavowed us all. How many other teams have they disowned?”

  Drake hadn’t thought of that. “You’re think there may be more?”

  “Well, we surely can’t think we’re the only ones. That’d be naïve. I’m thinking if we could contact them . . .” She let the idea hang.

  Crouch was listening. “I could help with that,” he said. “I haven’t heard anything that supports such a theory, but I agree it’s unwise to assume you are the only ones. I’ll make some calls.” He slid out his cell and flicked at the screen a few times.

  “Well a little more information now. As you know I tasked a couple of contacts with finding out more of this FrameHub. They might be new to the world, but they’re an old unit, together at least two years. Apparently they’re made up of super-geeks and, by turns, considered myths and then supposedly proven bona fide. Nobody has ever proven their existence. Nobody has even met anyone involved—” Crouch paused, looked up with an expression of exasperation on his face. “Nobody has ever met anybody who’s met anybody involved. They’re ghosts, people, just ghosts.”

  “Put ’em on a shelf,” Alicia said. “And we’ll exorcize ’em later. Is everyone ready?”

  Crouch’s face changed instantly to excitement. “Moving out?”

  “Yeah, and let’s make this one quick. The last thing we want is those mercs turning up in such a busy place. And the same goes for Luther.”

  The team grabbed water and snacks and headed straight for the door.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Hatshepsut’s Temple is an ancient funerary shrine situated on the west bank of the Nile, close to the Valley of the Kings and dedicated to Amun, the Egyptian sun god. Its beauty is unmatched, one of the most outstanding monuments that remains on the earth today. Drake heard Crouch state all this and more, but didn’t fully understand until he saw it with his own eyes.

  He stopped in his tracks, stunned. First, he noticed the enormous cliffs rearing up behind, sandy colored, as if tasked to protect the ancient shrine. The building itself, whilst huge, was dwarfed by the cliffs and the bright blue spread of sky above. Drake saw three levels, a wide ramp leading up to the second. Rows and rows of pillars fronted the shrine, evoking a sense of classical architecture. The ramp and the second level were crammed with tourists and the noise level swelled as they approached.