Matt Drake 8 - Last Man Standing

by David Leadbeater

  Komodo climbed out of the car.

  “Stop,” the guard said, carefully listening to a walkie-talkie and watching the big American.

  “Karin Blake?” he asked.

  “Not me, dude. She’s in the car.”

  Not impressed, the guard turned away. “Follow me.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Tyler Webb took his seat at the head of the table to chair the second meeting of the Pythians. It came hot on the heels of the first, only days apart; the frequency not a part of his future intentions but necessary to start with.

  “We are the Pythians,” he said. “Welcome.”

  His five partners looked suitably smug.

  “News,” Webb said, sipping from a fluted champagne glass. “What do we have?”

  “The grand entrance we spoke of.” General Stone spoke up first. “The ‘house on the hill’ scenario is favored by all and will take a few weeks to prep. Are we pushing ahead?”

  Webb was so surprised that they’d all agreed that he caught every eye. Nobody looked away. Stone’s scenario was somewhat ruthless, but still, their entry into the game should be a memorable one. “How many casualties?”

  Stone shrugged. “No more than three hundred.”

  “Set it up,” Webb said. “But keep the casualty rate down. I don’t want an international manhunt to be our first contact with the greater populace. We should show restraint as well as great viciousness when required.”

  “The only question is—where? Maybe I’ll stick a pin in the map.”

  Webb looked to Robert Norris, executive of SolDyn. “Where are we with Pandora?”

  Norris bit delicately into a canapé. “Mmm, exquisite. Please congratulate your chef de cuisine for me.”

  Webb waited patiently.

  Norris got the hint. “Our web spreads well. Manpower is growing. The London plague pit is confirmed but its location still eludes us. More of the puzzle is required, I fear, to narrow it down. At least two other plague pits or sites do exist—in Paris and the US. I still ponder over the US site, though it is apparently confirmed. These other pits are purportedly ancient . . .”

  Nicholas Bell, the builder, laughed, spraying a chunk of tasty canapé across the table in front of him. “America didn’t just pop up when the Redskins wanted it to,” he said, practically choking. “Bubonic plague’s been in and out for centuries. Still is.”

  Several members regarded the builder with distaste. Webb didn’t blame them. His antics weren’t exactly in keeping with the group. Only General Stone came close to the commoner’s low status and even he knew when to adopt the correct protocols. Webb wondered again about resigning the builder to video calls only.

  Still, he thought. The man does offer some amusement.

  “As before,” he said. “Work harder. Pandora is everything for now. It will assert our stranglehold on the world. Anything else?”

  Clifford Bay-Dale, the officious prick and energy lord, spoke over the top of Miranda Le Brun, the oil heiress. She allowed it with a bored smile.

  “How about some of those perks you mentioned, Webb? I believe the shadow rulers of a planet should be receiving bonuses by now.”

  “We are not the shadow rulers yet,” Webb said. “Work first, play later. There is much hard work still to do, Clifford.”

  Bay-Dale frowned. Maybe it hadn’t occurred to him before that his requests could be denied.

  Webb swept the table with questioning eyes. “Are we together on this?”

  Miranda Le Brun spoke for all of them. “The Pythians are here to stay.” She continued in her wearied tones, “There comes a time when those with wealth and power find they have nothing left to learn. No more to discover. No new experiences nor encounters to enjoy. I think, within this group, new horizons may open up. My expectations are high.”

  Webb smiled. He couldn’t have put it better himself, thought did not fully share Le Brun’s views. The sum of his life’s ambitions were in this group. He was not only committed, he would die to protect it.

  “Our day has already begun,” he said. “The world just does not know it yet. Put the first strike in position. Oh, and how did Beauregard do in the UK?”

  General Stone smiled.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Kinimaka finally breathed a huge sigh of relief. The effort caused him pain; soreness and aches that throbbed from bruise to bruise like phone calls pinging around a network, but he felt the last few hours had answered several worrying questions in the affirmative.

  Following the safe house fiasco Robert Price, the new Secretary of Defense, had taken personal charge of the SPEAR team’s safety. At first, Kinimaka had felt a jolt of alarm, Smyth had been slightly more vociferous and Hayden’s eyes had pinched a little, but they all knew this moment would come sooner or later.

  “Better sooner,” Hayden had told them. “But don’t let your guards down.”

  Following a clever extraction and a journey in the back of a dark van equipped with medical necessities for Hayden, they arrived at their new destination.

  Kinimaka saw it as he opened the van door. His mouth fell open. Smyth voiced his thoughts precisely, “You’re shitting me.”

  Hayden actually sat up. “Now that’s more like it.”

  The Pentagon loomed before them, an imposing concrete structure that, in the flesh, looked nothing like it did on television, which was usually an aerial view. Of course, close up, most visitors only got to see two sides at any one time, some only one.

  Inside, they were assigned a room for Hayden and an adjoining office. Kinimaka lost count of their floor number, so concerned was he for his girlfriend. In the end, Hayden had to shoo him away. Kinimaka flinched as he straightened his body.

  “Go get some pain killers or something.”

  “Yeah, and a new penis,” Smyth said snappishly. “Your boss has taken charge of your last one.”

  Hayden snipped at Smyth too. “I’m still in charge, Smyth, so fall into line. I won’t listen to that kind of insubordination. Got it?”

  Smyth only smiled. “Good to see you’re recovering so fast,” he said.

  Hayden put down the file she’d had her nose in ever since the Secretary of Defense handed it to her, on his way out of the room. “Take a look,” he’d said. “Could be your next assignment.”

  Hayden flapped the file. “Wait, Mano, just a few minutes. This is important. While we’re offline, so to speak, other agencies have been monitoring the kind of events that might have fallen within our radar. This is the biggest yet. We’ve heard talk—” she made a face. “More like chatter that an organization called The Pythians is starting to make a few waves. Now, we’ve heard the name before, I know, but never attached to anything more than conjecture. Mystery. It’s all been a little cryptic.”

  “Until now?” Kinimaka asked.

  Hayden shrugged. “Nothing concrete. But the NSA reports chatter has increased in all the world’s hotspots regarding the Pythians. That means something. CIA are poking around too.”

  “Is that it?” Smyth asked.

  “NSA believe they’re recruiting. For what, we don’t know. Figures that have been approached and then rebuffed the offer, and there are only a handful we could find, make mention of being able to take their pick of three destinations—London, Paris and California.”

  “For what?”

  Hayden sighed. “I guess we’ll find out. That’s all.”

  Kinimaka, heading out of the door, stopped in mid-stride as their new internal line began to ring. Very few people had gotten the landline number yet; indeed the circle had been intentionally limited to a select few.

  SPEAR members. Robert Price and other high-ranking figures. The people guarding Kono.

  “Yes?” Smyth was there first. “What is it?”

  The man’s face fell as he listened. He held the receiver out to Kinimaka. “It’s the FBI in LA. It’s about Kono.”

  Kinimaka’s stomach flipped. He snatched at the phone. “What happened?” />
  “Mano? It’s Special Agent Collins. I’m sorry to say that another attempt was made on Kono’s life earlier today. She-—

  “Is she okay?” Kinimaka all but screamed.

  Collins breathed. “She’s fine. We took them all out,” she paused. “With a little help. But we saved her. You owe me a dance, Mr. Kinimaka.”

  Kinimaka sat down hard. “Oh, thank God. Thank you. And what do you mean—a little help?”

  “Ever hear of Aaron Trent?”

  Kinimaka surfed his brain waves. “Trent. Trent? Wasn’t he part of that CIA group that was disavowed?”

  “You got it. Well, Trent, he owes me more than a few dances too and lately he’s finally gotten around to settling up. I received the alert from Kono’s detail and headed over there, but by the time we arrived on scene half of our team were wounded or dead. Aaron came with me—”

  Kinimaka blinked. “Was that wise?”

  “Oh, he’s good,” Collins confessed. “When I first got this LA gig I thought it was all about busting his team’s balls, and I came through, believe me. But they’re good people. Hard. Clever. Dependable. Damn, I wish half my colleagues were a quarter as good.”

  “Good to know.”

  “So, we come upon the scene and the whole house is going up in flames. Masked men can be seen through the windows. I head for the front door. Trent just races and leaps through the shattered window, lands and neutralizes two men before I get to him. The third I pop and we’re heading for the stairs. At that point Kono herself comes flying down, on fire. Flames literally blazing up and down her entire back.”

  Kinimaka closed his eyes, distraught.

  “Trent jumps on her, putting her out with his coat and his body. I shoot over the top of their hunched forms, taking down man after man. They collapse down the stairs, already catching fire. We back out. Trent throws Kono over his shoulder. I fend off an overgrown brute with a goatee. We head outside, grabbing what’s left of our team. At the start of the driveway we come under fire, bullets hammering the ground around us from the second floor windows. We’re trapped for as long as those goons realize the house is burning down all around them, until they get the message that they’re actually gonna die screaming.” She paused and took another breath.

  “Still,” she breathed. “Doesn’t help us. We’d be dead in about two more minutes. The goons have autos trained on us. The only reason they haven’t hit us is because they’re fucking useless shots and we’re crouched down low like a row of husbands during a brothel raid. All is lost. And then . . .”

  Kinimaka’s eyes were wide. “Yes?”

  “The rest of the Disavowed show up like fuckin’ super heroes. Silk and his new woman, a cop called Brewster, and Dan Radford. They peppered that house with 16mms, round after round, obliterating the goons from the face of the earth. Man, I’ve lost count of the number of battles I’ve fought with those guys, but they always take it to the max.”

  “Thank you,” Kinimaka whispered. “Thank them for me. Is Kono with you now?”

  “No, she’s at Radford’s place. Don’t worry, he’s back with his wife. Again.”

  Kinimaka didn’t know what to say. His most heartfelt thanks wouldn’t do this justice. Instead he gave her what he could. “Whatever you guys need. Anywhere. Anytime. Just ask. The SPEAR team is well connected in DC . . . for now,” he added as an afterthought. “Don’t hesitate to call me.”

  Collins laughed. “I won’t.”

  Kinimaka replaced the receiver in its cradle and looked around. “Kono was attacked again but she’s okay. By the Great Kahuna’s balls I’ll be glad when this is all over.”

  Hayden checked the time. “Won’t be long,” she said. “I wonder how they’re doing.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Drake checked his wrist. “Damn, I’ll never get used to not wearing a watch.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you with a timepiece on your wrist,” Dahl said.

  “Not since I left the regiment,” Drake said. “Long time now, mate.”

  “Are you hinting?” Mai asked lightly. “I don’t take hints very well.”

  “Hear, hear,” Alicia mumbled.

  The rumbles and bursts of arms had died away. The team had considered rushing to the aid of the locals, but had decided the four remaining assassins and the upcoming arrival of Coyote was the greater priority. Dahl was engrossed in his big piece of plastic.

  “I have two signals now at the castle,” he said. “Neither moving. On the one hand these two could have become trapped by each other, neither wanting to make the first move, which is kind of ironic. On the other they could both be dug in waiting for somebody to test them.”

  Alicia made a pretense of shielding her eyes and looking up at the castle. “Let’s not disappoint them.”

  Drake agreed. “It’s oh two hundred hours. Most of the town is asleep. The castle is a safe place to fight.”

  “Let’s hope none of the local youths think so too.” Alicia followed Dahl up a narrow alleyway.

  “If they do,” Drake’s disembodied voice said behind her. “It’ll either kill ‘em or cure ‘em.”

  Up they went until the alleyway opened onto a wider road, bordered by houses and garages. It was the kind of street where the front windows of a house practically sat above the sidewalk, not good for the privacy of residents or would-be skulkers. The four of them passed swiftly, soon reaching the top of the hill and approaching the castle walls.

  The battlements were high where they still stood intact, cracked and crumbled in other places. A shallow moat encircled the walls. Drake spied a gate to the left. Dahl pointed to the right.

  “Walls are so damaged over there we could sneak across.”

  Drake nodded. “All ways in are compromised,” he said. “We make the best of it.”

  It was all they could do. None of them wanted to be here, forcibly pitted against hardened killers, but it wasn’t in any of them to lurk and hide. Leave that for prowlers, cutthroats and gutter rats. Drake led the way across a deteriorated, jagged wall, squeezing between the broken stones and slipping down the other side onto a well-cut sward of grass. Instantly, he crouched down in the shadows cast by the wall, surveying the area. The castle was almost circular, its walls irregular. A tall keep sat in the middle, broken-down but with its remains standing on top of a high hillock. A manmade wooden switchback staircase led to the top. Beyond it was a delve in the earth, almost like a wide drain, that led to an original barred grating and several seemingly irregular portions of inner wall, most of them covered in rustling foliage.

  Drake cast around, feeling exposed. Dahl crouched next to him, tracking device in hand. “If they’ve seen us,” the Swede said. “Surely they will move.” He checked his watch. “Twelve minutes is up.”

  He switched the screen on, taking in the flashing dots. “Still two in the castle. Almost on top of each other, but the scale is relatively small. One of them—” he glared hard at the screen. “Is in the very center of the castle.” He looked up at the high keep. “There.”

  Drake searched through the gloom at the top of the grassy hill. To make matters worse the battered remains of the structure up there offered many low walls to hide behind and two tall, jagged rocky rectangles.

  “Any clues?”

  “Hey, Mai’s the bloody ninja,” Alicia hissed. “Send her up. I’d be amazed if she doesn’t come down with the assassin’s head and another small child. Ah, screw it.”

  With that Alicia started up the steep slope. Instantly, the challenge was accepted. From the murk above a heavy, sudden boom rang out, a deep, resonating twang like an industrial strength rubber band being fired and Drake saw something lift into the night.

  “What the hell—”

  “Move!” Dahl shouted, recognition in his voice. “It’s a Net Gun.”

  Drake scrambled. He did not want to be there when the thing landed. Like a spider’s web it arced through the night, tiny weights attached to its edges, dozens o
f individual threads glistening with a barely lighter shade of dark as they flew toward them. The net seemed to soar for ten minutes, hanging in space, but only seconds passed before it thunked down hard. Drake and the others were clear, an outside strand slipping over Alicia’s foot but not catching.

  “He’s had time to set up a good defense,” Dahl said.

  And then the assassin at the top of the hill proved it. Manic laughter rang out and small glow sticks were thrown haphazardly down the hill. Following them came actual bouncing bombs; grenades already primed and thrown at irregular intervals so they exploded at different times.

  The team scrambled for cover. One grenade exploded near the top of the hill, sending up a shower of sod and dirt. Another rolled for several more seconds, its boom resonating through the ground. Yet another passed by the team, detonating behind them. Drake hugged the ground as it discharged its deadly firepower, then looked up.

  “Crap. There’s more!”

  And still they came. Chance wouldn’t stay forever on their side. Drake pointed to the sturdy wooden bridge that led to the staircase up the hill and ran for it, seeing Mai at his side. Dahl had already broken the other way, circumventing the mound, heading for the assassin’s blind side, and Alicia had taken off after him.

  Drake reached the relative safety and impenetrable darkness underneath the bridge and stairway. Another explosion shook the castle’s foundations. Solid timber planks shook and dislodged flurries of debris, raining it over their hair and shoulders. Drake didn’t stay put for long. They had to keep moving forward.

  Mai grabbed his shoulder and pointed. The stairway led to the very top of the hill and provided great cover. Drake nodded. Their quarry would not guess how fast they could be. He set off, head down, scanning the ground as much as the dismal light would allow. Stones and clods of earth dislodged in his wake. Mai stepped lightly at his back. Behind and to their sides even more grenades were detonated. Twice, fragments of earth spattered under the bridge, stinging their exposed flesh. The structure shook, but held firm. Drake reminded himself that Dahl and Alicia were most likely assaulting the keep from another angle. The assassin would know he was under attack.