Matt Drake 8 - Last Man Standing

by David Leadbeater

“The center of town.” Drake nodded. “Sounds crafty and sly to me. This is the one, guys. Coyote’s final play. Dial in your best game and turn it up to A.”

  Alicia was already moving. “Dude, that’s my only game.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Karin played a game of digital warfare against the great and notorious SaBo, only the risks and rewards involved were far beyond any ‘game’. They were life-threatening.

  Time and again she breached his system, only to be routed out. Komodo kept her going with coffee and Mountain Dew. When his eyes started to glaze over from trying to keep track of the scrolling code, keywords and flashing warning signals, he wandered over to a second bank of computer terminals where a man wearing an army uniform sat at ease.

  “How ya doin’?”

  “Good.” The man he knew as Sergeant Pearson gave him a perfunctory smile. “Feeling a little undermanned at this moment. But otherwise okay.”

  “Undermanned?” Komodo asked. Nobody had said anything about being undermanned.

  “Budget cuts. Recession. We’re two men down twenty four hours a day. Add that up, sir, and that’s a lot of slack.”

  “Damn straight.” Komodo nodded at the door. “How safe is this place?”

  “Well, it’s not Tesco, sir, but it certainly isn’t MI6 either.”

  Komodo grunted at the lack of real information. “Bud, we ain’t exactly got a great track record when it comes to safe houses. If there’s someone you can call I’d do it now.”

  The ex-Delta man walked away, returning to Karin’s side.

  “Sir,” the man called from behind. “This isn’t a safe house. It’s a joint government-private sector run building. We just rent the basement.”

  Komodo just stared. “Then call someone.”

  Karin glanced around at him. “What’s all that about, T-vor?”

  “Nothing special,” he said. “How you doin’?”

  “Wins and losses,” she said. “Nothing vital. SaBo’s reputation is well-deserved. It’s a dance, like combat, only we don’t get hurt like you do.”

  Komodo grumbled. “I never felt combat was much like a dance.”

  “You know what I mean. Look . . .” She tapped a button, executing a command. The picture flashed across immediately to the screen to her right, tracking the progress of her latest attack, showing circuits penetrated and firewalls breached. Several layers disappeared like confetti on the breeze, destroyed, but then a flashing grid-barrier stopped them and a net enveloped Karin’s point of infiltration. All of a sudden the screen went blank.

  Karin sighed. “And another attack is thwarted.”

  “What about your secret weapon?”

  Karin smiled. “Worming its way through a myriad of redundant circuits. It is most definitely the key to beating SaBo. I just have to keep him busy until it gets to where I need it to be.”

  “Got it.”

  The room’s single door swung open. Komodo, still thinking of Sergeant Pearson’s words, swung around with a hand hovering over his holstered weapon. A Glock was all they would let him keep, and that only as a courtesy. To Komodo, it felt a little like brandishing a lollipop, but he knew the effect would be somewhat different.

  Now, however, only Pearson came into sight. “We just received an update from the field,” he reported. “Our forces have assembled at Sunnyvale. The SAS are there, coordinating with elements of the British Army, Hostage Rescue, what was SO13 and SO12, now SO15, and CO19 along with the Special Projects Unit, which had actually been formed to combat hit men, or assassins, and several units of special police are ready to move. Hardware is on the ground and in the air. A full-scale assault will begin within the hour.”

  Karin bit her lip. “They are aware of the merc army, yes?”

  Pearson nodded. “We have civilians already in extreme danger. Their safety is the prime concern. The Prime Minister and COBRA have signed off on it. They’re going in, Miss.”

  Karin nodded, her eyes betraying her concern. Not only for her friends but for everyone involved. An assault would leave many dead. But if she could just defeat SaBo in time, she might be able to help save lives.

  In her distress, apprehension and determination she failed to notice that one of SaBo’s lesser signals had breached the tiniest part of her system. It would feed him nothing, give him no upper hand in their cyberbattle.

  But if he piggybacked a cell signal onto it he would instantly have their location.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Drake raced out of the supermarket, hitting the concrete running. The team pounded along at his side, Crouch already falling back. After only a minute’s sprint he pulled up short.

  “Wait!”

  Everyone reined it in around him. He held up a finger. “Listen.”

  The unmistakable sound of military choppers, of military might, and even the sound of a gathering force drifted on the breeze and beat a rhythm through the clouds. Drake made a face.

  “That is more than a slow assembly, my friends. That is the sound of a military force getting ready to strike.”

  “You’re right.” Crouch nodded as he finally lumbered up. “But they have to wait. They need to wait. Not just because they don’t know about the nano-vests, but because of their presence. What else could Coyote have up her damn sleeve?”

  Drake pointed to the rear of the supermarket. “You did it once, sir. Time to go again.”

  Crouch nodded. “Agreed. Oh, and Drake? I already told you I am no longer anyone’s boss. So stop calling me sir. Crouch will do. Or Michael.”

  “Mick?” Alicia piped up. “Mickey? Miks? Oh, I like that.”

  Crouch glared into her face. “Keep on talking, Myles, and I’ll be happy to blacken your other eye. No charge.”

  Alicia turned away. The black eye was a matter of pride. Or rather—injured pride. She glared at the town. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

  ***

  The four SPEAR team members approached Sunnyvale’s town square with extreme caution. The area was an open grid, lined with thick stone pavers and bordered by a waist-height stone wall. Several gaps in the wall provided entrances, each one marked by twin ornate posts. Above it all a pitched tiled roof provided shelter, held up by thick wooden columns. Flanking the square itself were two rows of stores and cafes, a large dilapidated-looking hotel with a ‘Closed for Refurbishment’ sign across the door and other businesses, a road leading toward the castle, and another leading out of town. A reddish light lit the skies above the square, casting a ruddy, almost fiery glow over the entire scene.

  Nothing moved; not an early riser nor even an inquisitive bird. No sounds intruded upon the deep blanket of silence.

  But a dozen men stood inside the town square. And another dozen stood around the outside.

  And one smaller figure stood before them all. Revealed at last for all that she truly was.

  Shelly Cohen.

  The Coyote.

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Drake saw no value in sticking to the shadows. He walked straight out into the middle of the road and toward Coyote.

  Life obviously continued during those next few minutes. Seconds passed. Minutes blurred. Men and women loved and cried and died. Governments plotted. Young children dreamed of being Elsa or Anna, as most young children did in those days. The whole world kept on turning.

  Matt Drake stopped not ten feet from the Coyote.

  “You have been on my mind, Matt Drake.” The sugary tones hadn’t changed. “And I know—dumb of me to keep up that kind of connection. But sharp of me to focus on my worst enemy.”

  Drake stared, trying not to let his mouth drop open. Even after all this, after everything he now knew, he still imagined someone else might pop out and start up some kind of manic laughter. It couldn’t be Shelly . . . could it?

  “I don’t get it,” he said honestly.

  Shelly shrugged, her long, dark hair falling across one tanned cheek. “Imagine my surprise then. When I found out I was a closet
psychopath and somehow needed to vent the urge. Every—” she shrugged again, “couple of weeks.”

  Drake sensed his team coming up behind. “What does that mean? You ‘found out’ you were a psychopath.”

  “It’s not something they tell your parents when you’re born, Matt. Not written on your birth certificate. You figure it out. More pleasure is gained from performing one act than another. The trick is—harnessing it.”

  Drake closed his eyes. “I’ve been looking for you for years.”

  “I’ve followed your trail,” Coyote said. “You know you gotta stay frisky. Maybe after this, you can let it go.”

  “You murdered my wife, and . . . and—”

  What would she do? Deny it? Say—“I know” and fuel his wrath? Apologize?

  But Shelly Cohen just stared at him, blank expression betraying no emotion.

  “And Michael?” Drake almost spat at her. “The Ninth?”

  Coyote’s gaze flicked away very briefly. “Only the second job of my career that I almost refused to do.”

  Drake guessed the first. “Why?”

  “What? Coyote? It’s my outlet and I enjoy it. Do I have regrets? Yes. Would I do things differently than I have? Yes. But, as you know Matt, to stay on top sometimes you have to do bad things.”

  “Like this?” Drake indicated the town around them. “Harming innocent people?”

  “Kovalenko was very clear when he hired me. Carry out his wishes regarding you four and the rest of your annoying little team. And listen to the instructions of Tyler Webb.”

  Alicia shifted a little. “Who?”

  Coyote said nothing, her eyes never leaving Drake.

  “So here we stand,” Drake said. “What’s next? You gonna get your goons to mow us down in cold blood?”

  “Personally, I’d like to gut every last one of you.” Coyote licked her lips and smiled lasciviously. “And taste the blood. But, again, Kovalenko’s orders were specific.”

  Drake heard the words coming out of her mouth. Like the rest of the Ninth boys he had known Shelly Cohen took on jobs of her own, but the sight of this cold-blooded, eager killer still grated on him. “How specific?”

  “You four must fight and die.” She smiled; the charming, monstrous host. “Last man standing. Remember?”

  Drake looked around, now truly stumped. “And how the hell do you intend to make us do that?”

  Coyote’s smile now filled her full face. Even a small chuckle escaped those full red lips. “I thought you might wonder about that. Interesting dilemma, yes? What to do? I agonized for hours. Then I realized the answer was right under my nose.”

  Alicia leaned forward. “You ain’t coming anywhere near me with those filthy lips, love.”

  Coyote pouted. “Ah, the rest of the team. Alicia Myles—looking for a real home ever since Mom and Dad fell to pieces. Never found one. The black eye suits you, by the way. Rather symbolic of your journey through life. Mai Kitano—so much potential yet so badly broken. Torsten Dahl—not much to say. Dropped out of private school to join the Army. My main Intel on you consisted of just two words—‘mad bastard’. You out of all of them I find interesting.”

  Drake never lost a single ounce of concentration. “And what of all the innocents, Shelly? Who cries for them?”

  Coyote sighed. “Psychopaths don’t have consciences, Matt. It’s one of the perks.”

  “Look.” Mai stepped up. “Why don’t we just say we fought and I won? There’s only going to be one winner here.”

  Drake looked askance at his girlfriend. “Only if you fight yourself.”

  Dahl stayed quiet, never the boastful one, except in banter.

  Alicia coughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, bitch.”

  Coyote stood back, watching them. The playful smile never left her lips and the now bittersweet tones never altered. “It’s good that you’re ready.”

  Mai was staring at the rest of her team, genuinely surprised. “Am I missing something?”

  Drake only had eyes for Coyote. “You’re sick. Get help. Don’t feed your infection into the lives of so many decent human beings.”

  Now Coyote’s face hardened. “Decent? You have got to be kidding me. I only ever took the bad ones. The child killers. The molesters. The drug pushers. Kingpins. I only ever took the worst of the worst, the most capable opponents. But one thing you learn—the more jobs you take, the more you’re in demand. And the more you’re in demand, the less you can decline. There comes a point, a turning point, when it’s stick or twist. You slowly decay—as in never pushing anything forward—or you move ahead. Test everything you think you know about yourself. Grow some balls and jump headlong into the arena. That’s when you live. That’s when you grow. That’s when you become the person you were always meant to be. And Matt—” She paused.

  And said sadly, “That was Alyson.”

  Drake felt his throat close up, the memories crashing down like killer waves. Time did not heal this kind of memory—he already knew that. The painful loss would be with him until his dying day. And Coyote just didn’t get it. The woman was a self-confessed psycho. A born killer. If Drake had been hoping for a reason, a confession, even a sliver of remorse, he would not find it here. And the worse thing was—he believed Coyote was regretful in her own way, but feelings like regret, compassion and love were sentiments she just couldn’t imagine.

  There were no answers here. Nor would there ever be. In life’s tribunal there were no real judgments, no major prosecutions. Just experience. And emotion.

  “So here we stand,” he said again. “What’s next?”

  “Where’s Michael?” Coyote suddenly said, as if realizing for the first time that her old boss was missing.

  Drake made a noncommittal gesture. “He didn’t want to see you.”

  “Michael Crouch would never avoid a confrontation. Do not play me for a fool. Where is he?”

  Drake drew a line slowly across his throat, undaunted by the firepower aimed at him. “Time’s almost up, Shelly. Make your play.”

  Dahl surreptitiously tapped the tracking device still clasped in one hand. “Number four’s time is almost up. Do something, Drake, or I will.”

  “Location?”

  “The hotel.” Dahl was referencing the tall, wide structure to their left which took up a good chunk of the main street.

  Coyote stepped forward, reducing the distance between her and Drake to a daring few yards. “You want my play? Well here it is! I knew there was only one thing that would make goody-goodies like you people fight. And here they are!”

  Drake experienced a foreign emotion right then—nerves. What the hell can she possibly mean? To what depths has Shelly Cohen sunk?

  Then he found out. And felt something die inside.

  Coyote’s mercs parted and allowed twelve civilians to be marched through their ranks. Every single one of them wore a nano-vest.

  Coyote snarled at Drake. “Fight to the death or they die. Fight or watch them explode. And all the rest of these pathetic townspeople. I know where they hide, where they cower in fear. I will burn them in their churches. I will destroy their homes. I will send them to their precious heavens with a rocket and a bullet in their backs. Them, and their precious children.”

  Drake felt his heart lurch even as adrenalin electrified his entire body. “You crazy, crazy woman. What have you done?”

  “She earned a pay packet,” Dahl said. “Do it, Drake. Take the fight inside.”

  Drake nodded. “The hotel,” he said. “It seems we have no choice. We will fight, but you will not win the day, Shelly. Nothing can save you now.”

  Coyote smiled back, sugary as ever. “The hotel is perfect. We have CCTV, of course. I want to see every blow, every broken bone. I want to live it with you, feel the pain and the exultation. And only one comes out alive. Or these cowards, and this town, dies.”

  Drake moved fast, crossing the sidewalk and hitting the hotel swing-doors as hard as he could. Inside, a huge entr
ance hall opened out and up, ending in an arched ceiling a hundred feet high. The reception desk appeared to be a mile away, across a set of thick Turkish carpets. Plush sofas, chaises longues, gleaming wooden desks and antique furnishings filled the room, interrupted randomly by several out-of-place, mock-Egyptian relics—a sarcophagus, a sphinx and a scarab clinging to the wall. Mirrors were everywhere, an attempt to make the outsize hall seem even larger than it was. To the right a bank of elevators stood waiting. To the left a curving staircase led to higher floors.

  Drake spotted the fourth man easily, strapped to the underside of a table.

  “Thirty seconds!” Dahl cried. “Give or take!”

  Drake launched himself, sliding the last few feet on his knees. “Give or take?”

  “Calm down.” Alicia was at his side. “No need to squeak about it.”

  Mai came in from the left. “Yeah. We’ve faced worse than this.”

  Drake unclipped the belt and separated the metal plates. The entire process took eight seconds. Once safe, they freed the man and directed him toward the door. A minute ticked by as they watched him go.

  Then Drake turned to Dahl. “I guess it’s time to see who’s best.”

  “Yeah. Sorry about the bruises.”

  Drake nodded. “Me too.”

  Alicia turned to face Mai. “Time for that rematch, Little Sprite?”

  “If you’re referring to that scrap we had on Waikiki Beach, Taz, I wouldn’t get your hopes up. That was . . . recreation.”

  “And now you’re serious?”

  “Mostly.”

  Alicia spread her hands. “Then let’s see, shall we?”

  On all four fronts, the battle was met.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Karin heard the door open for the hundredth time that night. She heard the faint rustle as Komodo turned around. She heard the voice of Sergeant Pearson.

  But this time it was different.

  Low. Harsh. Crawling with concern. Quickly, she tore her gaze away from the computer screen and the point of SaBo’s latest attack to listen.