Matt Drake 8 - Last Man Standing

by David Leadbeater

  Drake pursued hard, his eyes set on Santino as the assassin walked among families, long-bladed knife held flat along the side of his leg, not instantly noticeable but still poised to be used.

  The group entered the carnival again, pushing through crowds and stopping errant children from getting too close to the assassin. The man paused once, at the back of a long queue at a donut stand, and fixed Drake’s entire team with a black stare; the stare of a soulless man, a merciless killer. Children formed most of the line in front of him. Carefully, unobtrusively, he raised the knife and placed its tip at the bottom of a boy’s spine. The warning was clear.

  Drake stopped immediately, along with Dahl. Mai forced herself not to cry out a warning. Alicia was nowhere to be seen. Santino nodded and left the queue, twirling the knife on the tip of his finger. The only woman that noticed pulled her children closer, but laughed along with them as they watched, caution in her eyes.

  Santino veered his ambling gait toward the carnival’s exit.

  If the assassin noticed Alicia was missing he gave no sign. In Drake’s opinion the man must know she was AWOL. They had underestimated this assassin, and probably how good most of the participants were in this little charade. It would never happen again. Indeed, Drake wanted to live and tear apart the clouds that roiled between Mai and himself. And he wanted to unravel the many mysteries they’d discovered at Zoya’s place. The Russian monster had hoarded myriad secrets. And he wanted to slide a dagger into Coyote’s neck. For all these dreams to come to pass he had to survive this night.

  Last man standing.

  At any cost.

  Now, he flicked his head at Mai. The Japanese ninja read his intent loud and clear. She melted into the crowd, flitting along its edges like silent, unseen death. Drake and Dahl increased their pace. Santino glanced back at them once more, eyes barely widening when he noticed what had happened.

  Now the decision was his. Try to carry out his threat and die, or run to live. He chose the latter. He broke quickly for the exit, not anticipating the turnstiles. Though they were open they still clogged the path and the milling people did nothing but get in his way. After several moments of frustration Santino lost his temper and pounded toward a nearby collection of games and amusements stalls. Drake was well aware of the need for discretion. The last thing they needed now was a carnival brawl that brought cops from far and wide. He moved fast after Santino, then stopped in amazement as a carnival-ground basketball flew through the night and connected squarely with the assassin’s face. Santino halted as if he’d run into a brick wall, blinking and dazed. The basketball bounced away amidst chimes of young-sounding laughter.

  Alicia appeared from the middle of a crowd, spinning another ball on the tip of her finger.

  Santino fixed her with a glare of hatred. He leapt at her, snarling, but again experienced only pure shock as he landed face-first in the dirt. Mai had stepped in from the side, tripping him before he even got started.

  Drake and Dahl stepped in, hauling him up by the armpits and laughing at the nearby people. Drake imitated a man downing many pints as Dahl scooped up the discarded knife and tucked it away. Santino fought and struggled but the combined strength of the men holding him gave him little room to maneuver. Fathers laughed. Mothers looked stern. Even those working the stalls smiled.

  Drake and Dahl manhandled Santino past the last stall and into the shadows that surrounded the fence around this place. Tall trees stood alongside and hung their high branches overhead. The lights and laughter seemed far away. As they turned Santino around and flung him up against the fence, a couple jumped up from the overgrown brush not far away, both in states of undress and fleeing with clothes unbuttoned and pants around their ankles. Alicia chortled after them.

  “I’d put that away before I reached the carnival, little man.”

  Drake stood back from Santino, giving the assassin air. “We’re fighting in a tournament that I intend to win, dickhead. So here’s your chance. Go for it.”

  Santino didn’t need to be told twice. Fast as a striking snake he struck at Drake; jab and punch, jab and sidestep, another knife appearing in his left hand, then more thrusts, feints and sharp punches. Drake ducked and dodged, letting Santino’s blade tangle in the side of his jacket.

  Santino wrenched it free. The heave unbalanced him.

  Drake pounced, breaking down the assassin’s defense in seconds and leaving him writhing on the ground. Blood coated the grass all around.

  Dahl looked sideways at him. “You intend to win?”

  Drake smashed Santino’s face into the dirt with his boot heel. “Who else is there?”

  Alicia and Mai were staring too, perhaps waiting for the punch line. Drake didn’t have one and wasn’t about to make one up. Not on this day. Not when Coyote was so close.

  Santino gurgled. Drake started to pile brush over him. Mai finally hunkered down alongside him. “He’s done. Let’s move on to the town and finish what we came here to finish.”

  “Sure. I can do that.”

  Alicia kicked at the slow-moving mound. “This is actually better than he deserves.”

  A quick weapons search had found a utility knife, a military blade, and two powerful but small handguns. Drake handed the weapons out and consulted the map. Alicia swatted it aside.

  “Let’s just get away from this piece of dying shit,” she said, “and worry about the damn town when we get there.”

  She walked off. Drake looked at Mai and Dahl, sharing a moment of startled bewilderment. One thing only was Alicia Myles’ constant—she was never predictable. Numb to the visual delights and mouth-watering smells of the carnival, the four made their way through the crowds and the temporary stalls toward the heart of the town of Sunnyvale—their own personal Ground Zero.

  It had begun.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Mano Kinimaka surveyed the new safe house, unable to shake the deep-rooted feeling that they weren’t secure. It might have something to do with what had happened to most of the previous safe houses the big Hawaiian had stayed in; it might have something to do with the fact that Kovalenko had always found them—and they were still trying to shake off that damned Blood Vendetta. And it might have something to do with the woman he loved being so fragile, so vulnerable at the moment that his heart stilled every time she missed a beat, every time she coughed.

  His nerves rattled like skeleton bones.

  When Smyth burst into the room to inform them that all was okay with the world, Kinimaka almost drew his weapon and shot him. In his mind Smyth was immediately a new killer, a new threat. Then he recognized the man and let out a deep, heavy breath. I need a break. We all do.

  For so long now they had been constantly fighting.

  When the telephone rang he caught the movement of his hand just before it reached his shoulder holster. Not that the piece of inanimate plastic would have minded being shot to pieces, but the caller might.

  Robert Price—the new Secretary of Defense.

  “I wanted to touch base,” the man said on speakerphone. “To tell you all that your country needs you, and that your country will wait for you. I do have plans, new plans, but I will not proceed without you.”

  Kinimaka, feeling clumsy as ever, reached for the phone before remembering it was on speaker. “Thank you, sir. We’ll be ready.”

  “And the rest of the team?”

  “They will return in a few days.” Kinimaka said with a heavy heart. “Once the funeral is over.”

  “The British Ninth Division has been destroyed. Did you know that?”

  “Yes, sir. I heard.”

  “A silly question, I imagine. Well, we’ll talk soon.”

  The Secretary was gone, not even having asked about Hayden. Kinimaka stood up carefully and walked over to the window, staring down across DC. Their current safe house was at the very top of one of DC’s tallest buildings, with as many as seven escape routes at their disposal. Smyth was acquainted with every one. Kinimaka should have
been, but could only remember five—Hayden had started coughing toward the end of the briefing.

  Now the dying afternoon sun washed across the Capitol, sparkling off the roofs of cars and the windows that lined the sides of buildings. From up here, you could imagine a world at peace down there; a companionable, compatible environment that was not at all fake.

  Kinimaka knew better. The true monsters of this world kept their claws and terrible hungers hidden far away from the eyes and ears of real men. They struck from the shadows into the backs of their mightiest opponents. They used wicked, powerless cohorts to do their dirty work. They crouched unseen, laughing among themselves at their horrific achievements, craving the next one and the one after that.

  His eyes swept DC, from the Capitol building to the Lincoln Memorial and further afield. Out there—monsters lay in wait. The world would never be safe and Kinimaka knew that a handful of heroes could never hope to keep up.

  Hayden whispered his name. He turned to see her watching him, eyes as sharp as ever, a faint smile drifting around the edges of her mouth.

  “Is Washington still safe?”

  Kinimaka rolled his eyes a little. “For now.”

  “Spring is coming.”

  “And with it unsettled weather, I know.”

  “Business as usual then.” Hayden’s smile grew broader.

  “Business as usual.” Kinimaka crossed over to the bed and leaned in, planting a kiss on her forehead.

  “Tell me what’s happening, Mano.”

  The Hawaiian brought her up to date, knowing that Hayden thrived on new information and the act of moving forward. Becoming stagnant, she often told him, was what got you killed in the end, no matter who or what you were.

  Hayden didn’t look happy. “And this girl, Grace? How do we know she’s not a damn assassin? A spy?”

  Kinimaka shrugged. “That decision is on hold until Mai returns.”

  “I see. Is Mai in charge now?”

  “No. Of course not,” Kinimaka said. “I am . . . for now.”

  “Then take charge. Find out who Grace is and why she’s here. If she’s above board then at least we’ll know.”

  Kinimaka nodded. “I’ll have the Bureau step up the investigation.”

  “And Lauren Fox? Yorgi? They won’t stay with us for long if we don’t give them something to do, Mano. Get them involved. As for Sarah,” Hayden closed her eyes briefly. “She should probably be allowed to drift away.”

  “As soon as the vendetta is finished.”

  “Which brings us full circle,” Hayden said. “To this odd tournament Drake and the others have been called to. I guess there were threats and ultimatums issued by this Coyote or the team would have found another way. So how do they all intend to complete it and still survive?”

  “They’re our four best operatives,” Kinimaka said unassumingly. “And not without help. Karin and Komodo are close. Michael Crouch of the Ninth Division is also involved and mightily pissed off. The contestants going up against them will be formidable, but if anyone can come out of a tournament called Last Man Standing with four living contestants it’s Drake, Dahl, Alicia and Mai.”

  “Good point,” Hayden conceded. “Is—”

  At that moment, Smyth smashed through the door. Kinimaka stayed his hand as it reached rapidly for a weapon. But Smyth’s quick words made the hand reach again and froze the blood in his veins.

  “Mercenaries!” he shouted. “Or assassins. They’re here now, coming fast. We need to get the hell out.”

  “How?” Kinimaka cried in frustration. “How?”

  Hayden reached up from her hospital bed. “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Could be any of dozens of runt infiltrators or a man like SaBo, the computer genius that helped Kovalenko attack DC. Could be a chance sighting. Smyth’s whining heard through the walls. Text message tracing.”

  “All right, all right,” Smyth snapped. “Stop yapping and start moving. Where to?”

  “One of the seven escape routes.” Kinimaka started to unstrap a few of Hayden’s less important tubes.

  “All compromised,” Smyth said.

  Kinimaka stared at him, fear threatening to engulf his chest. “What?”

  “Every one gone. Dozens of men are coming, man. First four are about a minute away. What’s your plan?”

  Kinimaka looked around the room, fear for Hayden threatening to overwhelm his mind. “Draw weapons,” he said.

  “We can’t make a stand,” Smyth bit at him. “There’re dozens of the bastards.”

  “I don’t intend to,” Kinimaka said and fired.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Drake hugged the uneven wall that formed the row of stores leading up a short, curving hill and onto Sunnyvale’s main street. Every few feet another storefront protruded out, another hanging sign creaked, and another set of steps descended into the storage basements below the stores. Windows, though covered with hand-written signs and special offers, gave alternate views up the hill. Mai had been given the job of watching the rooftops, Dahl of watching the many winding alleyways that dissected the town, and Alicia of covering their rear. It was Drake’s job to move them forward.

  He hissed suddenly and the group crouched low, all with weapons raised. But it was only the shadow of a cloud scudding across the moon in a window three storefronts away; a miniscule movement but still one that required instant evaluation.

  Darkness hung all around, painted by a master using darker hues in the most dangerous vantage points. And although the stores were closed and the carnival had attracted many townsfolk, the pubs were still noisy and frequented by many, the streets and side-streets echoed to occasional laughter and footfalls. Lone men and women walked by with their dogs; a man sat on a bench staring into space; a middle-aged couple played tonsil-hockey in a doorway, not even noticing the team pass close by them.

  At the top of the hill a dark, narrow alley led away to the left up to an expansive graveyard and large church. The main road crested the hill then swooped down at a sharp angle, widening to create an impressive thoroughfare with stores to either side and market stalls all along the bottom. Little cafés with names like Frog Restaurant and Little Mo’s and Penny’s Coffee Bar revealed Sunnyvale’s small-town nature as much as the tiny stores, community boards and handmade signs. Another sharp hill led off to the right toward the castle, Drake knew, with still more dissecting it.

  Their opponents could be anywhere. They embraced the shadows for a time, letting their eyes wander and delve, and then begin all over again. The fact that it was still early and people still roamed the streets would not deter a master assassin. Collateral damage was a factor of their occupation, and one sometimes used to their advantage. So whilst Dahl was muttering about passers-by being so frivolous and devil-may-care, Mai was watching the shadows behind the passers-by and the ones that lurked ahead of them.

  Dahl finally broke out the tracker. Its tiny flashing lights actually caused a potential security threat to the user, as they could be seen for yards around, but might also be useful.

  Mai made a face. “Thing’s pretty useless.”

  “Not entirely,” Dahl disagreed. “We can fix their positions every twelve minutes and see if we can’t figure out a pattern.”

  “And they’ll be doing the same to us.”

  “Won’t help ‘em,” Alicia pointed out. “I have no pattern.”

  “It is pretty useless,” Drake said. “Every shift on that screen, every movement, can be second guessed to be a ruse or a threat. But hey, if you wanna feel important, Dahl, then go right ahead.”

  The Swede ignored him, taking stock of the flashing lights then turning the device off.

  Drake spoke up again. “You think Coyote will make good on her threat? The nano-vest thing?”

  “I do,” Mai said. “She has never given us any reason to doubt her cruelty.”

  “We would be best served by thinning out the field before her arrival,” Dahl said.

  “Don’t get ahead of yo
urself, Torst,” Alicia said. “We need to find the crafty bastards first. Killing ‘em will be a whole new ballgame.”

  Mai shrugged. “One of your favorite pastimes, I hear.”

  “Killing?”

  “Ballgames.”

  “Fuckin’ sprite. Focus. Y’know. Drake, your bitch sounds frustrated to me. You not performing regular enough to keep her tame?”

  Mai’s eyes flashed even in the dark. Drake held up a hand. “There.”

  It seemed their patience had paid off. A shadow slinked up the hill past a few doorways and passed out of sight, a shadow wearing all black and moving like a prowling panther.

  “Move.”

  They crept forward. Mai cautioned them that it could still be a trap. Newly procured weapons ready, they inched ahead until an unlit sign stopped them. Painted white and in the form of an arrow it pointed to the left, down an alley to a flea market. Darkness pooled down there like the midnight waters that swept the Mariana Trench, but at the far end a wide glass door reflected distant light. The image it reflected was still, lifeless.

  “Looks like a bloody trap,” Drake said.

  The faintest of scrapes echoed up the alley, something that could have been mortar crumbling, a crisp packet rustling, or a killer drawing a blade. Drake readied himself and hugged the near wall, taking Dahl with him. Mai and Alicia slinked along the other. Closer to the flea market’s entrance they crept, passing a stockade of trash cans and a row of wall-mounted air-conditioner units.

  Drake put his hand on the flea market door.

  “Open,” he said. “Someone’s inside.”

  “We’d be stupid to follow,” Alicia said.

  “Agreed,” Dahl whispered. “I believe we should—”

  The door slammed into Drake as a figure hit it hard from the inside. The Yorkshireman stumbled back, surprised. A black-clad man squeezed through the gap and was suddenly among them; striking, punching, kicking with lightning speed, pushing his sudden advantage to the max. Drake stumbled beneath a flying kick. Dahl deflected a killing blow with a lucky uppercut. Mai reacted faster than even their assailant had imagined, stopping the blow that might well have fractured several of Alicia’s ribs.