Matt Drake 8 - Last Man Standing

by David Leadbeater

  Mai studied the trees. “And I just wonder at which one we’ll finally meet Coyote.”

  Drake shared her sentiment. “It’s been a long time coming.”

  Crouch joined them, having untied the prisoner, directed him toward the open church doors and instructed him not to try to escape the town. “The British forces will be massing outside,” he said. “Readying a full-scale assault. We have to hurry. This town’s going to become a battlefield and no mistake.”

  Dahl shook the tracking device. “Ten minutes to the next vest, I think.”

  They moved off. Crouch reached for the nano-vest that Drake carried. It was the shape of a normal belt, but wider and with a plastic buckle. Made of leather, the vest had loops that helped it fit snugly over the shoulders and was extremely flat, so that it left no tell-tale bulges.

  “Incredible,” he said. “Our enemies would love to get their hands on this shit.”

  Dahl said, “I guess nanotechnology is the same as any other kind of technology. Helpful to humankind until some maniac thinks of a way to exploit its potential for war and personal gain.”

  “Nano-thermite—the explosive—is a cutting edge nano-particulate mix of aluminum and ferric oxide. The key is the extremely small particle size. They have more surface area in contact with the particles of the different chemicals that make up the explosive. After a reaction is initiated this greater surface area causes a faster rate of reaction, making for a more powerful outcome. And by making these things at the nanoscale engineers can actually custom design each explosive, enabling them to manufacture the perfect application for any desired event.”

  Mai shook her head. “That’s crazy.”

  “Conspiracy theories abound regarding nano-thermite,” Crouch went on. “The biggest of which, of course, is the twin towers. The photograph that shows the top of the towers starting to crumble—that’s a nano-explosion. The rate of collapse bears more similarities with a nano-blast than anything that might be caused by a plane.” He shrugged. “But that’s all theory, of course. We live in the real world, and we know that the unknown happens every day. Every hour. What appears to be real might in fact be a clever illusion and what appears to be false can in fact be true, just an unknown coalescence of unfamiliar reactions. Any man that disputes that is a fool.”

  Drake drew him back to the vest as they hurried along. “So why that?”

  “Seriously, I have no idea. Obviously, it’s custom made. It has a purpose. An engineer built this vest from a careful design, and that design, in my experience at least, was envisioned by his boss.”

  “Is this nano-thermite hard to get hold of?” Mai asked.

  “Almost impossible,” Crouch confirmed. “Outside of high-ranking military personnel with appropriate security credentials and the like.”

  “So somebody has an agenda,” Drake said. “And this is maybe just the start? I mean, it can’t have been manufactured only to be used in Sunnyvale, surely.”

  “Agreed.” Crouch said. “Nanotechnology is high stakes. World stakes.”

  Alicia had been twisting her head in a complicated movement, trying to scrutinize the vest. “So where are these bloody explosives? All I see is a leather belt.”

  “That’s the idea, dear.” Crouch gave her a devious smile. “Nano-thermite explosives are manufactured and modified on a micro scale. You certainly can’t see them.”

  “So they’re inside the belt.” Alicia let the ‘dear’ comment slide. This time.

  “Assuredly so.”

  Alicia slowed as Dahl held up a hand. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Why don’t terrorists use this kinda technology then?”

  Crouch breathed slowly. “They don’t have access to it . . . so far. The devil with staying ahead of our would-be murderers is that we have to be several steps ahead. The technology that beats nano-weapons also has to be realized. Recently, through nanotechnology, a liquid was developed that can totally neutralize explosive substances the kind of which the shoebomber tried to use. It can be sprayed on. All airports should carry this by now. Do you see?”

  “It never ends,” Alicia said. “I see that.”

  Drake agreed. “Long after we’re dead and gone there’ll be others out there saving the world. Because for as long as there are good men striving to use their skills to help advance the world, there’ll be schemers, cheats and fanatics that want to own it.”

  Dahl hissed for silence. Drake glanced over the Swede’s shoulder and saw that the flashing green signal put their next tormented civilian in the middle of a building under construction. It was a two-story affair, narrow and only two-thirds built, still with scaffolding on the inside and out, and with window and door frames open to the elements. A concrete mixer and rubble-filled skip stood in the front yard. Through the gaps Drake discerned various odd shapes, now becoming clearer as the dawn started to rise. In the surrounding houses people were starting to stir, some oblivious to the night’s events, others wise and staying low.

  Very soon, a reckoning would be reached.

  Dahl pointed through the gap where the front door would be. “Just a few feet down the hallway,” he said, “is my closest estimate.”

  Drake led the way, closely followed by Mai. When they passed the area indicated by the flashing dot, Dahl called out to them. When they passed it again, still seeing nothing, the Swede shook his head.

  “I don’t get it.”

  Drake surveyed the hallway. It was wide and high, with plasterboard to both sides. Empty doorways provided dark outlets further away. The ceiling was an untidy jumble of exposed timbers and hanging wires. Again, Dahl called out as they passed the correct location.

  Drake let out a breath. “There’s nothing here but floors and walls, Dahl. Is your equipment malfunctioning?”

  Dahl lowered the tracking device. “Floor and walls? Oh shit, remember the grave?”

  Drake caught on in the blink of an eye. Instantly, he turned and kicked at the plasterboard, his boot cracking the gypsum and going straight through. He pulled out a chunk with his hands, ignored the white plume, and kept going. To his side Mai attacked another eight-by-four sheet and Alicia another. Gypsum dust filled the air, making them cough. Mai curled one hand around a jagged hole beside her head and pulled hard. The piece came away, leaving her staring into the frightened eyes of another victim.

  “Here.”

  Crouch galloped over. He ignored the man’s silent pleas whilst checking under his shirt. “Same layout as before,” he reported. “Give me a minute.”

  “Not too long,” Dahl said. “We’ve taken over one hour to deactivate the first two. Even for a Swedish elite soldier that’s not a good start.”

  Drake pretended to choke on plasterboard dust, coughing, “Swedish elite soldier,” as he fell to his knees, head down. Dahl threw a black look his way.

  Crouch unhooked the nano-vest, holding it up to the light. Mai let the leather feed through her fingers.

  “Same as the last one. Exactly.”

  Alicia pursed her lips. “So. Did someone have a surplus of these things and sell them to the highest bidder?”

  “Coyote?” Crouch sounded doubtful.

  “The Blood King,” Alicia stressed. “This is his final curtain call.”

  “Perhaps. But the op is still Coyote’s. She’d have full autonomy. And the nano angle just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Well, if we can stop the debate and get moving,” Dahl said. “We might even be able to save the other two. Then you can examine the vests all you like.”

  The group prepared to move off, directing the civilian again toward the church. They didn’t want him going home, pointing out that he’d already been abducted once tonight. The church might be the safest place.

  Dahl held up the tracking device. “All right folks—”

  The streak hit him in the midriff, travelling at high speed and taking no prisoners. Dahl’s exclamation of shock was torn from his mouth. The tracking device flew into the air. The Swede fle
w back and slammed into the side wall, shattering apart even more plasterboard and landing in a heap, spluttering.

  A darkness detached itself from his body, a lithe, twisting darkness, every sinuous movement speaking of malice.

  It leapt at Alicia, making the Englishwoman squeal before she could catch herself. The attack was so sudden, so precise and hard, that it had disconcerted everyone. The single person in the team that wouldn’t have been disquieted was Dahl, and he’d been taken out first.

  Design.

  Drake ran to Alicia’s aid. His friend had recovered quickly, but the bruise along the top of her left eye was already coloring. She stumbled away, and Drake was in. The Yorkshireman stepped up hard, striking at the black-clad figure with tough, accurate blows. As he worked, Mai drifted in from the right-hand side.

  “Beauregard Alain,” she said softly. “Try me. I’d like to take you one-on-one.”

  Soft laughter issued from beneath the mask. No words, just the whispered sibilance. No arrogant return, only quiet confidence. Drake knew that kind of confidence and knew better than to push the kind of man that oozed it. They needed to take this enemy down, and fast. He struck even harder, but the Frenchman had other ideas. With a lightning quick rib kick he doubled Drake over and switched his attention toward Mai.

  The ex-ninja targeted the man’s knee with a side kick, his throat with a finger jab and his ribs with a flying-knee—all in the same movement. Beauregard caught them all and executed a comeback of his own. As Mai drifted past, he elbow-jabbed and back-kicked, striking flesh, then whirled with a reverse flying kick. The blow glanced across Mai’s skull, barely making contact.

  Dahl groaned, trying to extricate himself from the wall and the broken plasterboard and failing. Crouch had already retrieved the tracking device and was checking to make sure it was still working. Drake and Alicia had recovered and were looking for the best way to enter the fray.

  Beauregard’s head swiveled from side to side, the movement inside the mask giving him the appearance of a deadly predator; a black snake, a confident killer. Then he performed a feat Drake wasn’t even sure Mai could pull off. He leapt straight up, pushed off the wall at his back, and smashed both feet into Mai’s chest, using her as a way of deflecting his flight toward Drake and Alicia. Then, still in mid-air, he kicked Drake hard in the chin and Alicia right on the nose. He landed with a flourish.

  And rose with a semi-automatic in each hand. “Seems I won,” he said with a heavy accent but no bravado in his voice.

  Before he could fire, Michael Crouch moved to stand in front of the stunned team. “Not so fast,” he said. “You’ll have to go through me first.”

  “And you are?”

  But the hesitation was clear. The fact that he hadn’t pulled the trigger was obvious. He knew this man.

  “You know me, Beauregard. And I know you. We worked together, before you became greedy and went rogue. You were a good man back then. Fact is—” Crouch coughed. “I still am.”

  Beauregard still waited. The gun didn’t waver a millimeter. He seemed to be weighing up past impressions with current positions. Clearly, there were a lot of factors involved, both old and new.

  “Who are you working for, Beauregard?” Crouch suddenly asked. “What do you know of the nano-vests?”

  All of a sudden Beauregard moved. His gun arm flexed. Quickly, he saluted Crouch with the weapon. “For the past,” he said thickly. “One reprieve. Next time, it will go differently, Mr. Crouch. Do not get in my way again.”

  Then he was gone, a shadow blending with the retreating dark of the night. A ghost warrior, flitting beyond vision.

  “Shit and bollocks.” Alicia slapped Crouch on the back. “You do have some uses, old man.”

  Crouch nodded. “Once this is all over we’ll need to move fast. Beauregard is yet another deep mystery. The man wouldn’t stoop so low as to enter a tournament like this. Somebody is running him, a hidden party. Add Mossad and the nano-vests, and you’ll see that we need to finish this fast, then get back to MI6 to get the war cabinet involved. If James isn’t awake yet I’ll bloody well shake his head from his shoulders. The security of much more than a small English village is at stake.”

  Drake knew that Crouch was referring to the British Prime Minister, James Ronson, without hint or thought of vanity. Crouch was simply the most well-connected man he knew, and for good reason. If he wanted to he could topple governments and move mountains. In fact, Drake imagined, with the Ninth Division now defunct, Crouch could pretty much write his own ticket.

  What next for the eminent leader?

  Dahl had managed to climb upright and dust off. He retrieved the tracker from Crouch. “Now then. After that—short interlude—we can continue. Only thirty minutes left to rescue two people. Only one tracker. Are we ready?”

  Drake nodded, still reeling a little. “Stop yer jabbering and move!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  The third flashing signal came from over near the supermarket. Drake hightailed it that way, bruises aching, self-esteem more than a little bit battered.

  “If we see that bastard again,” he said. “We need to take him down hard.”

  Mai rubbed the top of her chest. “I believe I underestimated him. Being French and all.”

  “C’mon Little Sprite!” Alicia barked. “What are you? A country racist? Russians are bad because nothing works right. Frenchmen in tights are weak because they’re, well, French. Wow.”

  Drake shook his head. “I shoulda known, after all that just happened, you would mention the tights.”

  “What?” Alicia said innocently. “I mean they were rather tight. And that sexy high-kick near my face put his—”

  “No.” Drake put his head in his hands. “Please no.”

  “Oh yeah. He did it to you too, didn’t he?”

  Drake saw the supermarket up ahead and pointed with blessed relief. “How’s the signal, Dahl?”

  The Swede estimated the distances. “Puts our man inside the damn supermarket.”

  They hurried along as time ticked away. Twenty five minutes remained until Coyote’s deadline. Drake entered through the broken window and glanced around at the damage they’d already helped cause.

  “Cops are going to have fun with this in a day or two.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Crouch advised. “Cops are the least of our worries.”

  Dahl followed his tracking device, at last coming up against the rear wall. “Damn. Just another bloody wall. What is it with this thing?”

  Drake tested the construction. “Well, they can’t have put someone behind this thing and sealed it up again so fast,” he said. “Feels sturdy.”

  “Wait.” Mai was moving along the wall. “Here.”

  Drake paced to her side. “Coyote’s men are indeed bastards,” he said. “As if we needed more convincing.”

  A heavy metal door stood before them, featureless except for a handle and vision panel. Nobody needed to be told this was the supermarket’s storage freezer. One glance inside confirmed a woman lying prone on the floor, hands and feet bound. When Drake knocked she didn’t move to acknowledge them.

  “How the hell do we get in?” Alicia asked.

  Drake eyed the nano-vests Crouch carried. “What about one of those?”

  The Ninth Division man frowned. “Could kill the woman inside. And us. Could bring down the entire building.”

  “Bollocks.”

  “Wait.” Dahl stepped up and peered inside. “How far away is she from the door?” He stepped back. “Could work.”

  “What?” Drake asked. “What could work?”

  Dahl ran at a sprint through the supermarket and out the broken windows.

  Drake looked around at his companions, face to face. “I really don’t like it when he gets an idea in his head.”

  “Yeah,” Alicia said. “Forget the nano explosions. Here comes Torsten Dahl.”

  And here he did come, at the wheel of a Toyota Hilux, teeth gritted and f
ace set through the windshield, gunning the engine for all it was worth. The large vehicle smashed through the already demolished windows, shattering what glass and framework remained, then ploughed through the fallen shelves and piles of groceries. Drake and the team scattered. Dahl hung on grimly. Box displays and large baskets full of crisps and biscuits were destroyed, slithering under the wheels and smashing to left and right. The truck bounced, yawing over a pile of groceries. On an angle, the front bars struck the freezer door, pushing it back and shattering the frame. The Hilux came to a stop halfway through, and Dahl revved hard, slamming the vehicle into reverse.

  “Fuck!”

  Drake and the others, on their way forward, suddenly had to dive out of the way again.

  Dahl burned rubber as he reversed fast, taking most of the door with him and smashing even more of the supermarket to pieces. Once the front wheels were clear, Drake ran again, this time bouncing from pile to pile and into the demolished freezer. He dropped to his knees beside the trapped woman.

  Rolled her over. The eyes fluttered softly, the breathing shallow. He nodded at Crouch. “Do it.”

  He watched the man disarm the ignition mechanism. In truth, now that he’d seen it done there was nothing to it. A simple matter of disengaging a wire and a metal plate. But if Crouch hadn’t been around . . . the results might have been much different.

  If Crouch hadn’t been around . . .

  The thought gave birth to a deeper consideration. Did Coyote quietly control Crouch’s presence in order to help with the vests? In order to realize their wider potential and see what might be coming?

  But he was giving the woman too much respect, yet again. For some reason Shelly Cohen would just not transmogrify into the terrible mien of Coyote that he held in his mind. The match wouldn’t fit.

  Crouch held up the vest. “Done.”

  “Now, fast.” Dahl stepped down from the Hilux. “Number four is only at the village square, just a few minutes away. We have twenty minutes.”