Drake sensed an errant bullet whiz between them as he closed in on Coyote. It didn’t matter. This was all about vengeance. Coyote knew what she’d done to Alyson; thus she knew it was always going to come down to this.
A blow landed on his temple, his bicep. He ignored the pain, stepping in and pummeling Coyote’s midriff. He reached out to grab her throat, but she was wily and twisted away. She threw a succession of punches that Drake caught on his arms, deflecting the worst of the blows. She drove a knee into his stomach, taking the wind right out of him.
Drake fell to one knee, still deadly, by no means at a disadvantage with all the moves in his arsenal. His eyes never left those of his assailant and then he saw the shadow looming behind her.
Drake rolled away. Coyote, at the last instant, must have seen the shock or the figure reflected in his eyes, for she too threw herself aside. Beauregard, black-clad, reared up behind her but missed his deadly strike.
Drake scrambled away, creating space. Beauregard slipped between them. Coyote whirled and crouched in a ready position.
Three lethal adversaries, all poised to kill.
Explosions boomed out from the edge of town. Men screamed in earnest. Gunfire rattled. Drake saw the big wheel shudder.
Coyote didn’t hesitate. “Damn, it’s time!”
A moment later she was running, sprinting hard, not away from the battle at the edge of town, but right toward the heart of it.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Dahl stumbled from the wrecked hotel, Alicia at his side. Like Drake, the two of them bore the wounds and bruises of battle and were covered in dust and debris. Smoke had blackened their faces.
Dahl had been afraid the civilian they freed earlier might have decided to loiter in the kitchens rather than chancing the outside world, and had insisted they check. Luckily, he’d fled.
Now Alicia surveyed the scene around the town square.
“Crap. I didn’t expect that.”
The area around them was empty, save for several inert bodies, all mercs. Away toward the right, heading downhill, she made out the figures of Drake and Mai. Ahead of them was Coyote in full flight.
“What the hell? And where’s Beau?”
Dahl shrugged. “The assassin has shown her true colors,” he noted. “Cowardly to the core. They lurk, they hide, they kill, never manning up and joining the fight. This is our town now.”
Alicia set off. “I guess we should follow. Hey, what was all that about you dropping out of shiny school? Did Drake know?”
Dahl looked pained. “Nobody knew. It’s my business alone. Let it go.”
Alicia purposefully misunderstood. “That’s the new mega song, right? Let it go? Have you seen the marines singing it on YouTube? Put a tear in my eye it did.”
“No. I mean yes. I mean—that’s not what I meant.” Dahl sighed. “But you knew that, of course.”
“Torsty,” Alicia said. “Of all people, I get it. You should know that. If you don’t wanna talk about it that’s all right by me.”
“Thanks.” Dahl’s reply was a grumble.
“Drake’s observations are gonna be interesting though.”
Dahl nodded glumly. “And so sharply perceptive, I’m sure.”
Alicia laughed. “Yeah. That’s always been his Yorkshire way. Perceptive as fuck.”
Dahl sucked in his lips and said nothing. The decisions you made—simple or tough—they were the things that defined you. When faced with adversity you dug deep, finding the core to your heart and soul, and it was the choice you made at that time that changed you and turned you slowly and steadily into the person you would become. Dahl believed that was why hardships were visited upon men and women and their children.
To mold them.
If he’d chosen to leave and pursue an army career then it was that decision, among others, that had made him the man he was now. The craziness came from his rebellious side and he refused to reel that in. It was, after all, part of him.
The two were closing the gap now, the aftereffects of their tussle wearing off. Alicia even took a moment to untie the life sign monitor Coyote’s mercs had made her wear.
“Won’t be needing that anymore.”
Dahl’s face reverted to happy. “Oh yeah. Thank God for Karin Blake.”
Alicia nodded. The ‘battle to the death’ had been their plan all along, totally reliant on Karin’s ability to break through SaBo’s defenses without the hacker knowing about it. When Crouch initially left Sunnyvale to contact Karin, one of the things he’d related was that particular plan. It had been up to her to make it work, to take the SPEAR team’s monitors offline at the right time and fake their deaths, to fool one of the world’s greatest hackers without him ever knowing it.
Karin had told Crouch she had just the weapon—a virus stored away in some redundant system. She’d just hoped she had the smarts to pull it off.
Dahl ripped his own monitor away. The sounds of battle—the mercs holding off the main incursion team—intensified ahead.
“We’re walking into a war,” Alicia noted.
Dahl glanced sideways at her. “So what else is new?”
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
Drake raced headlong, recklessly, determined not to lose the Coyote. In his haste he did lose Mai. The Japanese woman, ever attentive, came across two mercs on their way out of town—deserters—and taught them that fleeing wasn’t necessarily the best idea. When Mai looked around, Drake was gone.
Still, all roads led to the battle.
Drake crossed the muddy path that led through the carnival’s gates and found himself inside the fence. Rides and stalls stood to his left and right, looking shabby, unpainted and tired in the light of day. A firefight raged ahead, stray bullets whickering everywhere. Mercs, Kevlar-suited special cops, and elite military units fought for ground.
But Drake knew the mercs were fighting blind. SaBo’s surveillance blanket had been taken down. Karin had won the battle of the hackers.
Now it was his turn.
But where was—?
Coyote hit him from a blind spot, an elbow to the neck, sending him face-first to the floor. Drake rolled, eyes never leaving her feet. Did she have a gun? He glanced up, thankful to see empty, flexing hands. Coyote jumped at him, stomping hard, but Drake rolled again. His movement brought him up against another pair of legs—those belonging to a merc.
The man stared down in surprise. “What da fu—?”
Drake rose fast, delivering a gut punch. The merc folded, grunting hard. When the man’s weapon came down, Drake grabbed it, reversed it, and smashed it across the man’s head. Lights out.
Before he could bring the gun back around, Coyote was on him. They tumbled to the cold, muddy earth—face to face, body to body—arms tight around each other.
“You always wanted me this way,” she breathed.
“The entire unit wanted you this way. But that wasn’t it. You were much more than that. Didn’t you know? Didn’t you know that just your voice and your way, the ideal that was you¸ brought more men back alive than their bloody grenade launchers?”
“I knew!” Coyote screamed point blank into his face. “Of course I bloody knew!” She threw a punch that he turned away from and heard it squelch into the mud next to his face. “But I couldn’t help it! Don’t you get that? I couldn’t . . . fucking . . . help it!”
She punched down again and again. The second one missed too, but the third caught him full on the nose, sending an arrow of agony into his brain. The fourth smashed into his temple, as did the fifth, and suddenly Drake was seeing stars.
“Shelly,” he said. “Shelly!”
“Not Shelly!” Her fists continued to rage down upon him. “Not Shelly! Just a psycho who couldn’t control it. A freak who learned to live with it.”
Drake twisted and brought his hands up, but was fighting a losing battle. Coyote, on top, possessed all the power, all the leverage, and a lifetime of fury.
“I didn’t want to be thi
s monster!” she screamed. “I wanted to be Shelly! Not fucking Coyote!” And now tears fell from her eyes, dropping like beads of rain onto his bloody face.
Matt Drake gave it up. Not the battle, but the vengeance. He saw now the way it had all played out.
“Stop,” he said, letting his hands fall to the sides and leaving himself wide open. “Stop then, Shelly. I don’t want revenge on you. I want to help you.”
Coyote’s next blow fell hard, stopping a hair’s breadth from the tip of his nose. The shock on her face transformed the animal within, restoring the woman he knew.
“I will help you,” he said to the woman that had killed his wife and unborn child. “Let me.”
For one second Shelly Cohen stared down at him. “Matt? I’m sorry. I—”
And then something hit her like a rocket; a black-clad figure that came out of nowhere and still fought for victory. Or was it something else?
Drake struggled upright. Beauregard and Coyote scrambled and rose, the Frenchman a millisecond quicker and thus gaining the advantage. Drake tried to shake off a foggy brain and blurred vision, and stepped up.
“Wait. Who the hell are you working for, Beauregard? Have they switched your orders? Told you to take Coyote out?”
The French assassin’s face was hidden behind the feature-hugging mask. “The Pythians want you both,” he said in his thickly accented voice. “All of you. They will remove anything that stands between them and the world. They will remove it with extreme and total prejudice.” The man laughed. “Just wait and see.”
With that he side-kicked Coyote’s knee, forcing her to fall, and came around, tumbling across the ground toward Drake. At the last minute he swerved and threw out a lightning punch that Drake didn’t even see.
But he felt it. The sudden agony in his throat made him reflexively send both his hands there, leaving the rest of his body open to violent, nerve-shattering attack. Beauregard was like Mai—one vital strike and you were dead.
Beauregard pounced.
And Michael Crouch took him down.
***
Drake flinched as Beauregard struck out, both fists flying, then let out a pent-up breath as Crouch landed on the man’s exposed back. The Frenchman slammed into the dirt as if he’d been poleaxed, mud exploding out from under him.
Drake breathed hard. “Nice move.” His throat was on fire.
Crouch shrugged. “I saw—” and suddenly disappeared. Drake blinked and saw Crouch hit the same mud as Beauregard, only the Frenchman was now standing upright, Crouch’s neck in his hand, fingers pressed deeply into his victim’s pressure points.
“You will die for that,” Beauregard mouthed at Crouch.
“No!” Drake shouted, knowing he wouldn’t make it in time.
The Frenchman flexed his fingers. Crouch screamed as if he’d been stabbed by a thousand daggers. His face turned instantly white, eyes glazing over.
And Drake could only watch as, unbelievably, Coyote leapt to the aid of her former boss. Her shriek of, “Michael!” was lost under the crunch of her body hitting Beauregard’s. Crouch fell away, gasping. Drake ran to his aid.
“Your word,” Drake heard Beauregard say to Coyote. “If your word can no longer be trusted, then you are no longer the Coyote.”
Drake heard another cry as he patted Crouch’s face. This one of twisted anguish.
Shit.
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
He whirled, but Coyote was already on him, striking again and again, a pure killing machine. This time he made his punches tell; breaking ribs, jabbing at eyes and behind the ears, but it made no difference. Coyote was above it, beyond it, transported from a singular hell into a world of sudden chance—the world where she could again be Shelly—and now back to a life of pure torment and terrible desire. Choice made, she gave it her all.
Drake wilted slowly. When Beauregard appeared behind Coyote—a black angel of death—he knew the game was up.
Last man standing? Beauregard would win the day.
“I’m so sorry,” Coyote muttered even as she pounded at him.
Beauregard’s knife glinted with the fire of the rising sun.
The noise Drake would never have expected, the one that changed it all, was the roar of a motorbike. From the corner of his eye he saw a trial bike, ridden by Torsten Dahl, ten feet off the ground, soaring above them like the veritable bat out of hell. Dahl dangled from the seat and plucked the very blade from Beauregard’s hands as he started to plunge it downward, then threw it back at the Frenchman.
Beauregard fell hard, avoiding the knife but hurting himself in the process. Dahl landed and turned the bike on a penny, mud and wet grass shooting from the spinning wheel. Coyote still struck out at Drake, but her attack was distracted.
Dahl shot between the two of them, blasting both their bodies and faces with dirt and thick sludge.
They fell back, opening a gap. Drake suddenly found himself with allies at his side. Standing in a line behind him had been Mai, Alicia and Crouch, now joined by Dahl on his bike.
Facing them were Coyote and Beauregard.
The titans of combat came together.
CHAPTER FORTY
All hell broke loose in the town of Sunnyvale.
The SAS had slipped around the flanks of the merc army and were among them. Paid mercenaries twisted every which way, fighting hard. SO units came at them from covered positions. Men fell, twisted and bled in the dirt. A high inflatable slide exploded and rapidly deflated among them, its flapping sides knocking three men off their feet. A funhouse, built on two levels of shaking walkways, distorting mirrors, screaming sirens and irregular steps exploded as two RPGs hit it. Timber and flame fired high into the air, debris shooting out like crazy fireworks, the whole thing lit like a blazing bonfire. Whatever snipers were inside died instantly.
Drake, Mai and Alicia ran at Beauregard and Coyote. Dahl revved his bike and shot forward like a bullet.
The big wheel, poised above the funhouse and littered with burning wreckage from its arms to its gondolas, shuddered and groaned for the second time that morning. Then, in slow motion, it started to tilt, the massive structure now leaning over. For a moment, as all eyes turned upward, it halted, hesitating as if deciding whether to hang on or give up the ghost. The morning was still for one precious instant, a span of tension and fear and a little regret, and then the circular edifice collapsed.
It came down among the men, bodies darting everywhere, some waiting until the last second and coolly stepping aside, others tying to gauge the structure’s fall and being slammed into by those in a panic. Mayhem reigned. Those that still stood in the aftermath tried to pick off their enemies, some never losing a beat. Those that were injured or crushed yelled out to their colleagues and, depending on which side they were on, received immediate help.
Drake slid into Coyote, taking her legs. Alicia feinted past Beauregard, drawing his attention.
“Get a little closer, Beau. I got a ruler in my pocket and, man, do I wanna use it.”
The Frenchman paused, as if confused. That gave Dahl all the time he needed to ram the speeding bike into his body, hurling him away from the handlebars. The Swede didn’t let up on the throttle one bit, knowing they had to take such a dangerous enemy completely out of the picture.
When Beauregard landed, Alicia jumped atop him, just to make sure.
Drake had slid past Coyote, put a palm on the ground, and used it to spin his body back around. Now, as Coyote scrambled up, he hit her at the same time as Mai. The double-headed attack left the assassin lying on her back, winded and trying to catch her breath.
“Give it up,” Drake said. “Tell your mercs to stand down. It’s over.”
Coyote spat at him.
“Shelly,” Drake tried. “There’s no need for any more loss of life.”
Crouch joined them. “We protect our people, Shelly. Not sacrifice them.”
Coyote snarled. “Shelly died when she was eight! When I made her torture her first sm
all animal. Innocent girl, long lost. Poor girl. Poor parents. They knew when she changed. They knew when the killer took root. Only it was me who learned to control it. To feed it slowly and never get caught. If Shelly ever came back . . . the animal would destroy her.”
Drake stepped back as Coyote kicked out and managed to regain her feet. Mai produced a pistol that she’d taken from a dead merc in anticipation of this moment.
“Stop,” she said. “This is over.”
Coyote smiled. The sugar-sweet tones slipped once more across Drake’s senses. “The nano-vests were an experiment for the Pythians,” she said. “In the event of my capture that was the last thing I was supposed to tell you. My job is over.”
“Experiment?” Drake repeated. “What kind of experiment?”
“I don’t know. When Kovalenko failed them in DC—he was supposed to put one on the President you know—it fell to me as the next person in line to try them out. My guess? It’s nothing fun.”
Drake felt his heart plummet like a falling star. “Kovalenko was working for someone? No way.”
“The Pythians helped bankroll him when he couldn’t get access to his money in prison. You think he did that? No way. They fine-tuned the op in DC. They gave him the drone that was used, the nano-vests.”
“Before today I never even heard of the goddamn Pythians.”
“You will,” Coyote said. “Very soon. Their agenda is global and lengthy.”
Mai waved her pistol. “Are you giving up?”
Coyote smiled a little wistfully. “Shelly will never let you take me alive.”
Drake looked around: At the battle behind them that still raged; SAS troops darting in and out of enemy positions; police officers crouched behind the dead, using their bodies as shields as they picked off more of their opponents. A central stall caught fire as he watched, hanging prizes melting and popping. A food stand fell over, crushing an unlucky merc. Mud glistened across the entire scene. Beyond where the big wheel had stood was a rollercoaster and now, spectacularly, its central supports buckled, making the entire metal track warp.
Matt Drake 8 - Last Man Standing Page 19
