The Matt Drake Boxset 6

by David Leadbeater

  “Michael!”

  Crouch was dragged down into the arena and thrown among them. He was bloody, bruised and barely moving. Drake wasn’t even sure he was alive at first, until Dahl checked for the pulse and nodded. The guards that had brought him down parted.

  Another figure revealed himself.

  The team ignored him, concentrating on making Crouch comfortable. Alicia acted as a prop for his back and head. Drake tried patting his cheeks to bring him back to reality.

  “Michael. It’s me. You okay, mate?”

  “What did you do to him?” Hayden hissed, confronting the new figure.

  “I questioned ridiculous English ponce,” a long, drawling Russian accent came back. “But he . . . he has balls? Yes? For now. Same as all of you.”

  “I thought we were here only for revenge,” Hayden said. “Your guy Saint there said as much.”

  “Revenge, amusement,” the Russian intoned. “Diversion. We are happy with down time before next phase begins.” He shrugged. “We get bored.”

  He came among them without fear. “I am Vladimir.”

  Drake ignored the figure, the words. He was staring between Crouch and Mai, alarmed for both. Mai had taken a whip-crack to the bicep, intent on catching the lash and reeling her opponent in, but Ronin had been a tad too quick for her. Another attack resulted in Saint striking at the same time, partially unbalancing her, enabling Ronin to land another strike across her back. Mai’s scar was already red, standing out angrily as the blood rushed through her body.

  “I want to know what is the fourth symbol,” Vladimir said. “I want to know it now or I will kill one of you. I will crush you underfoot as my men guard your friends with orders to shoot if they move. I want it now!”

  Drake looked up at Vladimir, about to explain to him his place in the world. Crouch’s eyelids fluttered open and he took a moment to study proceedings. “You are fighting for your lives now?” he muttered. “In a pit? God help us.”

  “That’d do,” Dahl said. “We’re open to anything right now.”

  Vladimir punched Smyth point blank in the face. Blood exploded from the soldier’s nose. Vladimir kicked him in the side of the head. Hayden and Kinimaka made to move but gun barrels swiveled toward them. A bullet kicked up dirt once more. Vladimir kicked out at Smyth again.

  “Tell me. You can stop this. Tell me.”

  Drake rose, ready to finish all this madness with one last all-out assault. Dahl read his mind and rose with him, the two shoulder to shoulder, head to head. Nobody could pick the time of their death, but right now, in this moment, they could pick who they decided to meet it with and how they went out.

  “You stop that,” Drake said. “Right now.”

  “You will tell me!”

  “Yes,” Crouch finally said through a hacking cough. “We will tell you.” He caught Drake’s eye. “It makes no difference to us. And it will buy us time. Rest. Respite.”

  Vladimir came over to him, a bull elephant charging through a pack and knocking everyone out of the way.

  “Crouch, you are asshole. You do this now. I will make all deaths quick.”

  The ex-British soldier nodded wearily. “Deal.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Mai Kitano ducked and sprang around the ring. The whip was a constant thrashing, side to side and occasionally across her body. Every time she got close to Ronin, Saint joined in but now she had learned to ignore him. He never made impact, but she thought she’d figured out a way to win. It was hard concentrating though, as Crouch was returned and then the new man—Vladimir—appeared, making his threats. She wasn’t sure if she would be needed over there or here, or even among the crowd in the next few moments so she dallied, waited, prepared to move.

  Then, something was agreed. Vladimir ordered a man to fetch an iPad and Crouch sat more upright, back to the wall. Hayden and Yorgi crowded around him. Mai saw it as an opportunity to finish this. The T-shirt she wore was already ripped and sweat dripped into her eyes. As Ronin swung the whip hard, sending all three lashes toward her, Mai dropped and spun under them, balanced on one leg, the rotation of her body bringing her to within an arm’s length of her opponent. With the whip arm at full length, he was off balance. Mai was a flash of forked lightning, rising up and striking again and again with her clenched fists, eight times before he cried out. The last two were crushing throat strikes.

  He collapsed, choking. Mai walked away from him.

  Saint tried to calm the baying crowd.

  *

  Drake watched Crouch flick at the iPad. “It would have made better sense to wait until we found the bloody thing,” he said to Dahl with Vladimir listening.

  The Russian gave him a deadly look. “I work with what I can get,” he twanged thickly. “You allow them special bikes to help with their mission, they get carried away.” He shrugged. “What can you do?”

  Crouch spoke as he worked, giving the Russian no chance to doubt him. “We cleared the upper level,” he said. “Then went all the way down to the bottom to start there.” A white lie to extend their time. “Your men came before we got started.”

  He studied the photographs of Hatshepsut’s Temple carefully as Vladimir and his men looked on.

  The SPEAR team took rest, managing to get four more bottles of water between them. Vladimir even allowed them bread to eat. Drake felt a surge of energy as he finished and his stomach begged for more. The intense heat was declining now, making the whole area a little more comfortable. With Dahl, Alicia, Kenzie and the others he sought a way out.

  Crouch took an hour to search through the temple photographs they’d already studied. Then inexorably, he came to the final level, the level they hadn’t examined.

  “Last chance.” He looked at Vladimir but the words were for his friends.

  “You had better find it, English.”

  The team stirred ever so slowly, wondering what might happen next and not enthusiastic about throwing more of their number into the ring. The mercs, gathered around the stands, were like restless children forbidden to play.

  Crouch looked up. “Got it.”

  Vladimir was already staring, having seen Crouch’s initial hesitation. He studied the picture now, carved upon the base of a column at the bottommost level of the temple. “What is that?” he intoned. “A pyramid? Which one?”

  Saint was watching them closely. “We can determine that,” he said. “But now, you have to end this.”

  Drake and Dahl made ready. The team jumped to their feet.

  “Throw these animals into the ring,” he growled at the guards that held guns upon them. “Boys!” he shouted up into the stands at the hundred-or-so assembled mercs. “Have your way!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Before they could even think the guards were upon them, shoving and pushing, with guns raised. The team were already depleted, bruised and battered; the day’s exhaustion slowing their reaction times as well as everything else.

  Drake felt a boot to his spine, folded and rolled into the ring. Bodies fell all around him; his friends, sprawling head first or staggering left and right. Crouch was hurled in with them and lay groaning. The guards backed away and up the first few tiers of stands.

  Mercs roared in their seats, grabbed weapons and started jumping and running down the steps and the channel, all converging on the fighting arena.

  Drake struggled to his feet.

  Alicia dragged herself up too. “This is not a good day.”

  “What is it they say?” Drake watched the oncoming blood pack. “Live every day as if it might be your last.”

  Dahl shaded his eyes. “Well, time to knock a few heads together,” he said. “This should be fun.”

  Drake looked askance at the Swede. “A little warm up before taking Saint and Vladimir down?”

  Alicia shivered. “And don’t we bloody need it.”

  Drake smiled, the camaraderie lifting his spirits as they faced down a hundred mercenaries. “You guys fancy takeaway
tonight?”

  “Chinese,” Alicia said. “And beer.”

  “Italian,” Dahl said. “With wine.”

  Drake shook his head. “We’re gonna have to work on that since my own choice would be fish and chips and Pepsi.”

  The entire team readied themselves as the mercs attacked.

  *

  Bodies struck hard, muscled men swinging in with everything they had. Drake blocked a blow, sidestepped another and kicked the first man in the chest. It did no good. He took the blow, grinned and came on. Drake used the only weapon he had—a rock he’d grabbed from the side of the ring—and smashed his adversary across the face. The man’s nose smashed and blood flew, blinding a nearby merc so that Mai could get a couple of incapacitating blows in.

  Great teamwork, Drake thought before a forehead flashed down into his own.

  He fell back, seeing stars. The ring was large but not large enough for over a hundred people. The saving grace was that only about thirty mercs could attack at one time, but even that was more than enough.

  Drake shook his head, ducking another blow. A boot struck his knee, folding his leg. He went down, caught himself, and threw his body clear of another attack.

  Straight into an oncoming merc. The man brought a knee up. The non-stop blows were dizzying Drake, causing his focus to wane. Figures came and went through his vision. Dahl, slamming mercenaries from side to side. Mai, using her speed and size to precise purpose. The downed bodies of their enemies, in double figures already. Yorgi, on his knees, bleeding but still trying. Hayden, meeting men blow for blow and watched over by Kinimaka.

  Was this SPEAR’s last stand?

  Drake pushed off one man to regain his balance. The arena was a total melee, just a chaos of men and women all trying to fight or defend or die. Guards had been stationed around the steps, just in case anyone tried to escape. Drake saw only death here.

  But it wasn’t his way to give up.

  Yelling to fire even more adrenalin, he front-kicked a man into his partner, sending both to their knees. The first he kicked in the throat, the second he landed on with an elbow to the spine. Rolling off, he came up and headbutted another attacker under the chin with the top of his head. The guy never knew what happened: instant lights out. A blow came in from the left; Drake took it and jabbed at another nerve cluster, but the man evaded, coming in strongly again. Drake took more punishment.

  Dahl started throwing mercs around, but found even his incredible strength was sapped to a dangerous level. With the first three bowled over, he made sure they wouldn’t get up. A crushing blow took even more of his energy, stopping him in his tracks, but that man was useful in defending against another. Dahl ensured both ended up with broken bones and writhing on the floor.

  Alicia and Mai fought as one, moving forward slowly and protecting each other. Hayden and Kinimaka did the same. Kenzie helped protect Crouch and Yorgi with Smyth, but the duo were fighting a losing battle.

  As were they all.

  The attack flow was unrelenting. The merc weapons were inviting, but everyone knew with the first shot the guards would take no chances. They would pick the SPEAR team off one by one. So guns littered the floor, a temptation gleaming wickedly.

  Drake and Kenzie found knives, and it aided them a little, but the bodies coming at them were still too many. It felt like they’d been fighting for an age, or at least until sundown, but Drake knew it was probably less than twenty minutes. The exertion was killing them as much as the telling blows.

  Yorgi and Crouch were at the center as the SPEAR team instinctively came together in the middle of the ring. Smyth and Kenzie, Kinimaka and Hayden protected them. Dahl, Drake and Alicia moved around them. They held the attack back for longer than they could have imagined. The minutes ticked by.

  Then someone stumbled. A merc struck a crippling blow, putting Alicia to the floor. Drake found his punches weren’t filled with venom anymore. A headbutt to the face sent him falling back, landing in the grit, head spinning.

  He crawled over to Alicia.

  “Get up,” he gasped. “Get up, get up.”

  She protected her body from blows, still recovering from the potent attack.

  “I’m guessing no takeaway tonight after all,” she said softly.

  Drake reached out to her, touched her shoulder and held her gaze even as someone’s boot rocked his ribs.

  “We never could agree anyway.”

  Dahl dealt with Drake’s aggressor, reached down and pulled the Yorkshireman up. Drake held on to Alicia, dragging her up too.

  “Not the time for a bloody shag,” the Swede growled.

  “There’s always time for a shag.” Alicia palmed off a smaller, greasy man. “Just ask Kenzie. She knows what’s important.”

  Dahl knuckled a twisted face, glanced over at the Israeli. “You know,” he said. “The most important thing in life? Family. Or friends. Or both.”

  They held fast as a knot of four men hit at once. The impact rattled Drake’s brain inside his skull. He blocked a punch, took another to the face, stopped a man getting past them. Kenzie threw her knife at Alicia, or so it seemed. The blade whickered past, embedding itself into the face of a man she hadn’t noticed—a man that was about to smash a fist-size jagged rock into her skull.

  “Helluva throw,” Dahl said.

  “And now she’s defenseless,” Alicia grunted. “Dumb as a bedpost.”

  But the nod she gave Kenzie was resolute.

  Drake saw the mercs still lining up, over two dozen, all fresh, all desperate for a chance to get into the fray. A dozen more surrounded him. They were behind and to the side; they had put up the best fight they could muster.

  “Guys . . .” he said, knowing he was battling with his very last reserves of strength.

  “Don’t say it,” Dahl breathed, right there at his shoulder. “Team SPEAR will not go out this way.”

  “Cool.” Alicia staggered under another strike. “What’s the last-minute plan?”

  The Swede knocked a man into unconsciousness with a single blow. “Last chance,” he said. “We’re done. Pick up the weapons and start shooting the fuckers.”

  “Good plan.”

  Drake spied a SIG Pro semi-auto and dived for it. Before he got there a random leg slammed into his right ear, sending him off-balance. The world turned. He landed, rolled and tried to push up.

  The SIG was gone, kicked away.

  Despair fought to take control of his mind. In that moment a shot rang out and he dived away, thinking it came from the guards. The arena floor scraped his flesh once more, or rather scraped the wounds where flesh had once been.

  A merc fell nearby, shot through the head.

  Who got the gun? Alicia?

  With the mercs distracted, he rose, swaying in place. The scene was chaotic but also unbelievable. Men dressed in black, wearing jackets, helmets and carrying serious weapons were entering through the cave entrance. Fanning out, they raced down the steps and the channel, pumping bullets into every merc that turned to face them. Drake could tell from the way they held their HKs and fired with an economy of movement, from the way they moved, the way they signaled, that they were professionals at the top of their game.

  Another team?

  What the . . . ?

  Smyth had found a handgun and fired three bullets into three mercs. Those still around looked around and took note. They saw their colleagues being killed in the stands, enemies pouring through the only exit.

  Drake pulled Alicia back. Dahl followed. Together, the SPEAR team stood or sat in the center of the ring, watching proceedings with wary and unsure eyes.

  The black-clad soldiers moved with deadly efficiency, picking off mercs even as they assessed their own danger. Some quicker ones engaged in the gunfight, but they were not allowed to leave. A few scattered standoffs emerged, but Smyth and Hayden helped by putting down those mercs they could reach from their vantage point. No bullets came flying their way, but only because the mercs were inte
nsely focused on the newcomers.

  Then Drake saw a familiar figure. “Oh, bollocks. That’s not good.”

  He brought the thunder. The muscle-bound man they knew as Luther leapt down the arena stands throwing grenades left and right. They exploded at his back, framing him with fire and smoke but he never flinched nor lost momentum. Mercs cringed, fell away. The grenades were replaced with machine guns that smashed attackers aside like they were reeds in the wind. He cut a path right through the mercenaries, his men mopping up, and to the very front of the SPEAR team’s new circle.

  “You’re coming with me, Drake. You and your team. Now move.”

  Desperate for anything but this, for shade, for water, for food, for a chance to recover, Drake and the others complied without even the slightest hint of reluctance. Luther herded them along as his men cleared the arena.

  “Get these soldiers some refreshment,” Luther ordered his men as they were approaching the cave entrance. “They’ve been through agony today.”

  Grateful though he was, Drake wondered if they’d just left the blazing furnace and fallen right into the raging gates of hell.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  The battle raged.

  Luther and his men, twelve in total, may have had the element of surprise back at the arena, but Vladimir’s men had regrouped by the time Luther broke back out and gave immediate chase.

  The prospects weren’t good. Drake had been herded into the back of one of two trucks—standard military with canvas covering the back—and told to sit on the floor. Half his team followed and half went in the other truck. Drivers stepped on the gas and they were away. Drake was thrown water and chocolate and then tied by one hand to a metal strut.

  “Oh, love.” He chomped hard at the thick bar. “This has to be one the best things that ever went in my mouth.”

  Luckily, Alicia was in the other truck. He sipped the water slowly, not surprised with the sudden vigor that entered his body but knowing it would take a while yet and some good food for everything to return to normal. One by one, they began to catalogue their wounds and the seriousness of them, sounding off to each other and yelling out to Luther’s men that they needed antiseptic and bandages.