The Matt Drake Boxset 6

by David Leadbeater

  “Who did you sell it to?”

  “Joseph Berry,” Theodore said. “The oil man from Dallas.”

  Kinimaka was peering over her shoulder. “I heard of that guy.”

  The interviewer confirmed the name and soon Cambridge came back onto the secure line. “This man, Joseph Berry, lives less than three hours west of Dallas by chopper. We have all his addresses and liaisons, more coming as we speak. I suggest you head that way right now.”

  “Tempest have a day’s start on us,” Hayden said.

  “So it seems. I’m activating all Texan contacts now. Stand by, Miss Jaye, and I’ll soon have more information for you.”

  Hayden relayed their destination, guessing they were about two hours from Dallas itself. The rest depended on where Joseph Berry had his home and where he was right now. She studied her companions—Mano, Yorgi, Molokai, Dahl and Smyth. More than enough muscle to take down Berry and take on Tempest. Of course, she had no idea how the new terrorist angle would present itself, but speed, valor and vast experience would see them through, she was sure of it.

  Theodore Brakski, the archaeologist inside the interrogation room, had been captured in Stockholm by a small cell connected to the British SAS. It was sad to see they had been a day late, otherwise they may have whisked him away. Hayden thought that might be a good idea even now, but then Cambridge was back on the comms, ruining her thought process.

  “Obviously, Mr. Berry is wealthy. He’s a troubleshooter for a very large oil company and often stays in Dallas for weeks on end. We’re using credit card information and CCTV to track him right now, but online presence shows him at home in Arizona just a few hours ago. He bought a last-minute economy class train ticket to Dallas and right now, I’m looking at him boarding a train, carrying a backpack about an hour ago. As we speak, he’s on that train.”

  Hayden thought it through. “So this wealthy guy buys a cheap ticket to Dallas and boards with a single backpack. Is he running?”

  “Could be he got wind of Theodore’s arrest. Maybe he knows about Tempest and is running to Dallas to collect his more influential belongings before scarpering for good.”

  “Well, let’s ask the guy nicely,” Hayden said. “Let’s get to that train.”

  “How are we with the second GPR device?” Cambridge asked.

  Yorgi held up a black box. “Technically it’s not GPR,” he said. “But Dahl left detailed instructions. It’s more of a cross between a GPS and a long-range metal detector. But we’re not searching for the world’s most precious metals here—not rhodium, extremely rare and valuable, or platinum, gold or iridium. We’re looking for the unknown element and we can only calibrate it by taking readings from an object that contains the same. Hence, these shavings I took from the Key of Hades.”

  Smyth shifted uncomfortably. “Was that a wise move?”

  Yorgi shrugged. “We shall see.”

  Hayden gazed at Yorgi. The young Russian had become more distant over the last few weeks, ever since he revealed to them the tale of his past and why he killed his parents in cold blood. Something was brewing there, Hayden knew. Something that retelling the tale had resurrected. Yorgi still needed closure, and Hayden could think of only one way he might achieve it.

  “Set us on the path of that train,” she told the pilot. “We’re ready back here.”

  Cambridge’s voice suddenly snapped into life. “Damn, we have a big problem. Local authorities are reporting that terrorists have taken over the train and hostages taken . . .”

  Hayden closed her eyes. Were they already too late?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “What exactly are we looking at?” Hayden asked Cambridge.

  “It’s bad. The terrorists are threatening to drive the train into Dallas Union Station and explode it. They have hundreds of hostages on board, who they’ll kill if the authorities try to stop them. Double-edged sword. If you didn’t know it by now this is what we call deep shit, people.”

  “Details?” Kinimaka asked, always the inquisitive agent.

  “Eight hostages, all with bombs. Possible suicide vests. Our man, Joseph Berry, should be in the third car from the front. There are eight cars, so I’m guessing one terrorist per car. But that’s a guess.” He let out a ragged sigh. “I hate to think this is all Tempest’s doing.”

  “It sounds like it could be,” Hayden said. “They have had a full day to prepare this terrorist cell, for starters. Enough time to make plans. They steal the dagger and let the train burn. Cover up a theft with an atrocity. It won’t be the first time.”

  “Why not nab Berry at home?” Smyth asked.

  “I don’t know,” Hayden admitted. “Time? Surprise? Other issues. Maybe they failed and the train is their penance. Cambridge, are they diverting the train?”

  “They won’t. There’s hundreds of hostages on board and they don’t wanna risk it.”

  “So they’re letting it ride straight into Dallas?”

  “They’re working on it.”

  “Change tracks?” Molokai suggested.

  “Trains can be tracked by any cellphone,” Hayden said. “The terrorists would know.”

  “Dead man’s switch?”

  “Not feasible without killing the driver.”

  “Kill switch?”

  “Again, stopping the train would alert the terrorists. The hostages are the risk element. Cambridge, tell me, have the terrorists made any demands?”

  “Just that they will in due course.”

  “They’re searching for the dagger,” Hayden said. “They have to be. Pilot, how close are we to that damn train?”

  “Just arriving now.”

  The chopper swooped over the railway tracks, and then veered back around, trying to follow the sweeping line of rusting rails. Still flying high, but with the nose angled downward, it approached the rear of the racing train.

  Gunfire came from below. Two bullets clanged off the chopper’s metalwork, making the pilot veer away. He backed off to a safer distance, but Hayden and the others could still see everything that they needed to.

  “We can’t wait,” Molokai said in a soft growl.

  “Oh my God.” Kinimaka gripped a portion of the bulkhead so tightly it buckled.

  Hayden saw a passenger shot and pushed out of a window, then another shoved alive through a door. Others were being herded to the roof. This was not a hostage situation. It was a terrifying killing field.

  “Dagger or not, we have to act,” she said. “Get us down there now and don’t fuck about. We need to get on that train.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Chain of Aphrodite was causing them trouble.

  Drake spun his head as Alicia dropped face-first at his side. “You okay?”

  “No, I’m fucking dead.”

  “Is that all? Stop whining then, and get on with it.”

  Alicia raised her head, blood smeared within the lines that crisscrossed her forehead. “What the hell happened?”

  “I think we took a hit.”

  “Ya do? Wow, Drakey, you got some major extra-sensory perception going on there.”

  “Extra-bollocks what?”

  “Lookout!”

  Drake ducked as rubble exploded all around them. “Where are we?”

  “Greece.”

  “Funny.”

  “Glyfada. It’s a beach resort.”

  “Yeah, I know that, love, but where the hell are we?”

  Alicia sighed. “Shit, man, I have no bloody idea.”

  “Tempest hit us.”

  “There was that report . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, Tempest are in the area, I know. But Hayden said they were training terrorists, not using mercs.”

  “Maybe they’re doing both.”

  “Maybe.”

  At that moment Kenzie and Mai crawled up. “Street’s too narrow,” the Japanese woman said. “We can’t move without being targeted.”

  “Well, if we stay right here we’re sitting ducks,” Alicia said.
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  “Where’s Luther?” Drake asked.

  “Behind the overturned Bentley. See?”

  “Oh, yeah, I see him. Is he okay?”

  “I hope so,” Mai said quickly, then changed her tone. “Can’t see any blood.”

  “Ooh, good save.” Kenzie laughed. “Not.”

  “Where are they?” Drake asked.

  “This would be easier if the comms hadn’t gotten knocked out,” Mai said. “I spotted one with a semi-auto there.” She pointed. “Third story of that building, and another with a handgun there, first floor. He’s pinning Luther down.”

  “High buildings to both sides, narrow road in the middle,” Drake said. “Doesn’t bode well. Are there others?”

  “Reckon so,” Alicia said. “I heard four different guns firing.”

  “Me too,” Kenzie said with a nod of respect. “Good call.”

  Another burst of gunfire shattered the silence that had fallen over the street, a precursor to a hail of rubble that spattered their shoulders and backs and the screams of fleeing pedestrians. Windows fractured. Car alarms started their incessant whine.

  “We still have our weapons,” Mai pointed out.

  “They got us pinned down pretty good,” Drake said. “Where does that bloody archaeologist live?”

  “One block over,” Mai reminded him.

  “Are we sure it’s him?” Kenzie asked. “I’d hate to wade through this battle and then find we got the wrong man.”

  “Whitehall struggled with this one,” Drake admitted. “They couldn’t discern where the archaeologist in question made the hand-off. No money trail either. Turns out, he kept it. Right here in Greece. Adrian Doukas keeps the Chain of Aphrodite in his home.”

  “Crazy, right?” Kenzie muttered.

  “Takes one to know one,” Alicia said, shifting position.

  “I guess all relic hunters have a little crazy in them.”

  “All relic hunters?” Drake asked. “You know others?”

  “I know all the best ones. It was my business.”

  Bullets rattled the Bentley sheltering Luther, but the big man shifted to his right a little, now hunkering down beneath the engine block, barely moving. His eyes moved across to them.

  Drake waved. “Good job with the car, mate. I’ve never seen anyone overturn a Bentley before.”

  “Ideas?” The bellow scared at least one remaining civilian into fleeing their hiding place.

  “Retreat,” Mai said. “We don’t have to fight every battle. That’s life. Let’s go.”

  “Every second we wait, our archaeologist friend may decide it’s time to run,” Kenzie said.

  “No way he knows we’re coming for him,” Drake said. “But I guess Tempest could beat us to it. Mai’s right. The job comes first. Is everybody ready?”

  Whilst they complied he signaled their intentions to Luther. Alicia watched with some amusement.

  “If that were me behind that car, I’d be thinking you were asking me which pizza I wanted to order.”

  “Then we’re lucky it’s a real soldier,” Mai said. “He’s ready.”

  “Wanna blow him a cute kiss first, Sprite?” Alicia teased.

  The answer was silence.

  Drake stretched the muscles that had been stuck in the same position for so long. “Okay, good to go.”

  And then, actions spoke louder than words.

  *

  Drake broke cover first, firing up at the third-floor shooter. Mai rolled along the ground. Aiming her gun at the first floor, she fired to keep her gunman occupied. Kenzie sprinted back down the street, taking cover behind another vehicle. Luther dashed from behind the cover of the Bentley past them all to join her. In seconds he had another car, a small Seat Ibiza, on its side.

  “He’s very quick to flip his vehicles onto their sides,” Alicia commented. “Wonder if he’s like that with his women.”

  Mai rolled back into cover and Drake ducked. Together they endured another round of aggressive gunfire, reloading as they waited. One look passed between them and then Alicia rolled out, Drake rose, firing, and Mai ran to Luther. Kenzie was already sprinting away toward the next cover, a deep alcove that formed the doorway of a shop.

  In the next moment, the three runners stepped out and laid down covering fire so that Drake and Alicia could join them. By now, they had pinpointed all four shooters and were peppering their hiding places with heavy fire. Kenzie left the alcove and found another vehicle, and then the end of the street, the others following her in turn. Their guns were never inactive, bullets constantly flying at their enemies.

  When Kenzie reached the corner, she laid down hails of gunfire and soon they were all around it, safe for now, pocketing weapons and sprinting headlong for the next, parallel, street. The archaeologist at the very least was in danger. It took just a minute to reach his street and much less time to spot his address. Steps led up to his front door. Drake hit them at a run and kicked at the white paneling, splintering it. Luther arrived a moment later and smashed it off its hinges.

  “Nice,” Drake said. “Good job I weakened it for you or you’d have taken a leg off.”

  “Yeah, thanks man.”

  Luther pounded on, going for the narrow staircase, heading for Doukas’ first floor flat. They knew the man lived alone. They knew he was a freelance archaeologist. They knew he was currently working part-time for a small, local museum and that he was sixty two years of age.

  Less than two hours ago a local contact had seen him entering his apartment with a coffee-and-bagel breakfast take-out.

  Drake reached the first-floor corridor, saw another staircase at the far end, and thought: crap, there could be two exits. No time for that now. He backed up Luther as he smashed through Doukas’ door without offering any kind of warning. The door resisted a little so the big soldier just tore it from its hinges and threw it several feet up the corridor.

  “That works.” Alicia watched the door bounce gradually to a stop.

  “It fought back,” Luther growled. “And like everything else—it lost.”

  Drake pushed him into the apartment, the team fanning out as they entered. A quick search revealed it was empty and that the Chain of Aphrodite was not present.

  “Shit.” Drake halted. “All this for bloody nothing.”

  “We’d best move,” Alicia said. “Or prepare a warm welcome for the Tempest boys.”

  “Maybe they’ve already been,” Kenzie said.

  “Nah, they’d have smashed this place to pieces.”

  “Agreed,” Drake said. “And see there? The remains of Doukas’ breakfast. I think he left this place of his own free will.”

  “Hey.” Luther walked over to the phone and switched the answering system on, replaying the last message. It was a brief request that Doukas help out for an extra few hours at the museum that afternoon.

  Drake shook his head. “It’s never easy, is it?”

  “Could be just what we need,” Mai said. “Kill the answering machine and then let’s head over to the museum. Hopefully, we’ll get this man to ourselves.”

  Drake glared at her. “You had to say it, didn’t you? Now we’re gonna have a fight on our hands.”

  Luther grinned as he deleted all the messages, outsize digits threatening to smash the plastic every time they pressed down. “Music to my ears.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Hayden held on, every muscle tensed, as the helicopter swung from side to side, trying to evade errant gunfire. The train raced along the track below them, a fearsome, destructive metal titan already frighteningly close to being out of control. Bullets resounded off the chopper’s exterior despite the pilot’s dexterity, and one window was smashed. In truth, the chopper’s presence had distracted the terrorists from their bloody deeds, but Hayden knew it wouldn’t last.

  “They ain’t blowing up that train,” she said, “until they find the dagger. Get us down there.”

  The pilot dived. Terrorists screamed up at them, brandishing weap
ons and hurling captives from one man to the other. When a captive objected or fought back they threw them off the top of the speeding train, laughing whilst they did it.

  “Let me lie down,” Molokai snarled murderously. “You don’t know it but my main job used to be sniper, just like the man on the island. It’s another reason I wear all this crap; I’m used to it.” All the time he was shifting and rolling, getting comfortable, lining up his shot.

  The terrorists yelled and waved the chopper away. Hayden could only see their eyes over brightly colored scarves, their faces were obscured and they wore bulging jackets. It was hard to tell their gender, let alone identify faces. When one terrorist dropped to a knee and lined a Beretta up with their cockpit, Luther opened fire. His shot took the terrorist high in the forehead, avoiding the vest, and released a gout of blood. The man toppled backward instantly, his gun flying away, the body then flopping off the top of the train. His companion looked aghast, then turned and ran, throwing his gun up into the air and leaving a captive behind.

  Hayden listened to the chatter.

  “This train is thundering toward Dallas!” a sensationalist reporter eagerly told his loyal followers.

  “Authorities are gathering,” another said. “Trying to work out a plan to stop this train in its tracks as the minutes tick down.”

  “Passengers tell of terrorists with bomb vests, handguns and knives,” someone else stated. “Photographs from inside the train are flooding social media. The terrorists don’t appear to care. The challenge has been issued and now America must watch helplessly to see what happens to the train, its passengers and crew, and the city of Dallas.”

  On quieter channels, Cambridge reported without emotion: “The ideas being floated range from ludicrous to extreme. Someone is trying to talk them into blowing the train off the tracks.”

  Hayden shook her head sadly. “Have they mentioned us?”

  “You’re barely on their radar right now, but somebody did order that the damn idiot reporters should be cleared from the airspace. You don’t have long.”