He remained confident.
Now came the riskiest part of the mission. Two hundred yards of open lawn and meandering driveway straight up to the front door. They waited a little longer so that more darkness lay across the land. Then, black helmeted figures against a black, rolling landscape, they set off at a sprint.
Drake saw several cars parked along the driveway leading to the main house and outside house itself. These ranged from expensive Range Rovers to powerful supercars. He guessed there wasn’t a vehicle worth less than 100K in the place. Drivers sat inside or smoked, leaning on the hoods or chatting on mobile phones. None of them spotted the onrushing figures.
Drake saw an interesting sight ahead and keyed his comms.
“Guards on the doors. Armed.”
He’d spied three men wearing dinner jackets and bow ties. They looked ludicrous, not because of their clothing but because they also carried high-powered automatic machine guns and spare clips of ammo. Of course, if there were three on the door that meant many more inside. Drake followed Luther’s example and dropped flat on his stomach.
Unmoving.
They waited. The guards didn’t show any signs of agitation. All was well. Drake sighted on the guards through his rifle, noting the typical barrel-chested specimen with massive arm muscles almost bursting through the suit, and a middle-aged spread across the waist. It wouldn’t do to underestimate them though. These men had dealt death their entire lives.
“Moving,” Luther said.
As one, the team crawled across the flat lawn. They paused at a garden feature, a wide, well-lit fountain, taking cover on its blind side. When they were ready, they moved back into shadow, creeping around its far sides.
A hundred feet from the main house.
The lawn ascended here, which was helpful. It would help them maintain cover right until they reached the curb that delineated the tarmacked road. Then it was twelve feet to the wide concrete steps leading up to the front door.
Luther waited until they were all in place.
“Mission is about to kick the fuck off,” he whispered.
“About bloody time,” Alicia came back. “All this crawling about is giving me nipple rash.”
Mai jumped in. “You sound muffled, Taz. Not used to breathing at a different angle yet?”
Alicia growled back. Drake winced, knowing Alicia hadn’t had time to reset her nose yet. At this rate she’d have to go into hospital, and have it done professionally.
Not the best scenario. Not for Alicia. Hospitals were taboo for the Englishwoman. Once you started, she said, you never fucking finished. She often likened it to taking your car for a simple MOT. Two or three days later a new fault often developed.
Now though, he turned his attention back to the mission. Luther was preparing to move. In the next moment, the American rose soundlessly and ran for the front of the house, aiming for a point far to the left of the front door. Kinimaka and Hayden were with him. Kenzie and Molokai were lined up and ready to shoot any guards that happened to spot them.
It went well. Luther waited a moment and then started to creep toward the front door, hugging the front façade of the house. Drake checked the landscape behind them. The lawn rolled away and angled down to the drive. Drivers were down there, smoking their cigarettes, their positions betrayed by glowing bright red tips and gray plumes of smoke, without the slightest knowledge of the operation going on in their midst.
Luther reached a pillar of brick framing the front door, nestling behind it. Kinimaka and Hayden were with him. Luther held up a hand.
Mai threw a thick branch at the brick pillar that framed the other side of the door. It made a crash as it hit and then a clatter as it fell to the ground.
The guards looked up, listening. One of them signaled to another. They moved out, not raising their guns, complacent. Luther, Hayden and Kinimaka moved with a fluid precision. Luther slipped behind the two guards and, using a silencer, fired three bullets into the third. Hayden and Kinimaka moved around Luther to take care of the two who’d emerged. In less than three seconds it was over.
Drake broke cover, running hard now, reaching the steps in seconds. Dahl was at his side, a welcome backup. Mai was behind them. Once inside the main house they slowed and hugged the walls, moving forward.
The whole building was elegantly appointed. Carpets were thick and red. Fixtures were ornate and gold. Lampshades were diamond chandeliers. The lush décor helped smother the sound of Strike Force One’s movements, a nice bonus.
They darted through a wide lobby, heading to the right where a corridor branched off. The restaurant would be their first point of call and then the upstairs rooms which were used for wide-ranging activities from political meetings to bawdy encounters.
Wrought-iron tables lined the corridor, all black, all bearing either a sculpture or a vase or a crystalline statuette. Oak doors without nameplates stood to both sides. They came around a slight curve in the corridor and saw a man standing before closed double doors. He was dressed in a black dinner jacket and held a clipboard and a pen. When he saw the approaching soldiers, he dropped them and raised his hands.
“Don’t shoot me.”
Kenzie tied him up. Dahl watched her, remarking that she appeared to enjoy it a little too much. Half a minute later they were ready.
Luther faced the closed double doors, counting down with raised fingers from three to one. When he was done, he kicked the doors wide open and barged inside. Hayden and Kinimaka fanned out to his left, Drake and Dahl to his right. There were about forty tables inside the restaurant, but only four were occupied. Two by older, two by younger men. A waiter hovered over one of the tables. A server was winding toward another holding a round tray full of drinks at head height.
Everyone froze when the guns were leveled at them.
Everyone except one of the younger men, that was.
Drake saw him move. The man pulled away from the table and reached for his waist. His eyes were wild. Drake took the shot, blowing off a part of his head with the bullet, sending him backward to the floor. When the shot went off two more men acted. One rolled and grabbed for a pistol, the other ducked beneath his table. None of that helped. Molokai, Mai and Kenzie fired into them, instantly killing the first man and shooting through the table of the second until he fell lifelessly.
Meanwhile, Alicia, Dahl and Kenzie had veered off toward the kitchens. They knew the waiters and chefs would congregate there, and spent a few minutes neutralizing them.
Alicia’s voice came over the comms. “All accounted for here. No escapees.”
Drake confirmed. Nobody had to point out that they hadn’t found their targets yet. The next port of call would be the upstairs meeting and bedrooms. Above that was the third floor which, from the outside, sported smoked glass windows. Their suspicions were that that floor at least would be occupied.
They exited the restaurant and found the stairs. Racing up, they were confronted by another guard that they killed but couldn’t manage to stop bumping and clattering all the way down the stairs.
The whole place erupted into chaos.
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
To a man and woman, the Strike Force team was acutely aware that, from the moment they were discovered, their time in Russia was severely limited. Calls would be made. Officials would be requested. But, more importantly, the three old KGB men would be trying to escape.
Drake ran past Luther, relieving him of point for a while. Two guards ran out onto the landing above. Drake was only three steps away. As they raised their weapons to open fire, he squeezed his trigger and then hurled himself against the far wall. His bullet struck their shoulders; they passed him by. They flew back, one spinning and falling over the bannister to crash down onto the ground floor below.
Another guard emerged from a corridor. Drake grabbed his wrist and pulled, jerking him forward. The movement made the man discharge his weapon into the floor, bullets chewing up carpet and then concrete. Drake wrenched the gun
away and threw the man to his teammates, letting them deal with him.
He cleared the first room and then the second. Figures ran past him, clearing the rest. In less than a minute they had secured the entire second floor and made their way back to the central staircase.
“Up?” Dahl was waiting, covering the landing above.
“Up,” Drake said.
This time the Swede went first. Kenzie followed and then Molokai. Halfway up the landing, guards poked their heads out of corridors. Shots were fired. Dahl hit the carpeted risers fast, his body prone. Molokai wasted no time in throwing two disorientating hand grenades. A moment later they were up and running again. The guards were on their knees. One thrust upward with a knife. Dahl caught the wrist, held it tight and shot the man in the head. More guards were filling the corridor ahead.
“Looks to be an important area,” Hayden said.
“Noted,” Dahl said.
They opened fire down the wide passage. Bullets glanced off walls and ornaments and destroyed expensive quartz decorations. A painting was shredded as a man fell, his gun emptying straight at the canvas. Dahl stepped over bodies to push deeper down the corridor.
At last, they came to a sealed double door.
It was important as they’d guessed. Three emblems had been painted above it. Drake recognized them as medals offered by the KGB to agents who had carried out their orders especially well. They were the highest awards of their regiment. The doors themselves were thick and adorned by sculptures, writhing snakes and horned devils, cherubs and freaky faces, beasts with tentacles and fangs. Drake shook his head in wonderment.
“I dread to think . . .”
And there was more. Three words in Russian Cyrillic script had been painted in an arc over the door. They translated to: Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti, or KGB. One more word had been added underneath the arc: PRIVILEGIYA.
Privilege.
This then was the secret of all the secrets, the place where the old KGB came to mingle, plot and reminisce. Drake placed his hand against the door. There was no sound. They all knew they might come up against a barrage of fire in the next few seconds.
Drake heaved open the door and dropped to the floor. Dahl and Molokai didn’t leave anything to chance; they threw a smoke grenade and two flash-bangs into the room. Shots were fired back.
The team was low to the ground, pulling masks on. Drake spotted two guards and a gaggle of men off to the right. To the left was a scene he wished he could forever forget. Without dwelling, he killed a guard, seeing others fall, tagged by his teammates.
Then, he rose, pushing further into the room. It was huge, easily two-thirds of the third floor. At one end were plush, red leather chairs. The walls were composed of dark paneling. The place was lit by expensive-looking wall sconces. Dark paneling covered the floor, partially covered by rich Persian carpets. The place smelled of cigars and perfume, of sweat and mild despair. It smelled of some old rich man’s idea of heaven.
Drake forced himself to switch his gaze once more to the left. There, half-naked old men sat or stood or were lying down as naked women attended to them. To his mind, they were bloated white whales with shocked expressions on their faces. The women looked terrified.
“Go.” He waved them to the corner of the room. “Find some clothes.”
They ran in silence, their heads down, their bodies trembling. Drake felt the rage rise several more notches.
He took out his phone and clicked on to photos, refreshed the faces of the men they sought in his mind. Kenzie and Alicia had already raced down to the room’s far end and flushed out three men that had been hiding down there. None of them matched the photos. With so many naked and half-naked men around, he was momentarily at a loss how to proceed but then decided their mission held priority over his sensitivities and ordered them all to stand.
Guns leveled at the assembled Russians.
“This is privilege?” He nodded at the room, at the men themselves. He felt a pang of sorrow for the women. “This is evil little men trying to justify their inadequate, pitiful lives. This is sickening.”
And since he knew that his words would have no effect on men like these, he looked for their three targets. Morozov, Bakatin and Andropov.
“Police are coming,” one of the Russians said in thick English. “You are dead already.”
Kinimaka took a look out of the one-way glass windows and shook his head. “Clear.”
Drake punched the Russian in the throat to shut him up. At that moment he found a face that matched Morozov’s in the fifteen-strong crowd. Hayden found Bakatin and Alicia kicked Andropov forward.
“Hiding at the back.” Her voice dripped with disdain.
“You three dealt with the Devil,” Dahl said so that they could grasp the full severity of the situation. “You employed and helped this mass murderer. You hired him to catch Volkov at all costs. These actions put the lives of 200 people and countless others in rescue vehicles at risk. Actually, some were killed. Tortured. Hurt by Somalian pirates. Even children. Now, I know this doesn’t particularly bother you one way or the other, but it bothers me. And right now . . . it’s my feelings that count.”
Dahl fired three shots between the three men. Morozov fell to his knees. Bakatin hunched up, but Andropov didn’t move a muscle. No expression crossed his lined, harsh face. Drake saw the face of the old Soviet Union.
“Dealing with the Devil is a death sentence for you. Going forward, anyone who has any dealings with the Devil will be hunted and killed with extreme prejudice. Those of you who leave here alive today, it is your duty to pass that message on. We’ve beaten the Devil this time. And I want him to know it.”
Drake recalled with a heavy heart how close the Devil had come to murdering the Swede’s wife and children at the parade in DC. It was essentially this episode that had ended their marriage.
Dahl hadn’t finished. “And the Blood King. Any of you fuckers know what he’s planning next?”
There were no movements, no comments. Drake hadn’t expected anyone to shout up, but it had to be worth a try. Kinimaka checked the windows and again shook his head.
“Right. We’re gonna wrap this up,” Dahl said. “Anyone who isn’t a murdering KGB asshole can leave the room.”
The women ran. Most of the men stood there with guilty faces, moving from one foot to the other as if unsure whether they could get away with fleeing. Andropov hadn’t taken his murderous glare away from Dahl.
“You three,” Dahl said. “You have a choice. Either—”
At that moment two of the women came running back inside the room, breathless, their arms waving. “Men are coming!” one cried. “Soldiers!”
Drake cursed. Either someone had a place nearby with a decent armed guard or this house had a secret contingent of guards in case of emergency. Probably the latter. Kinimaka shepherded the women over to the window and told them to keep low. Alicia, Mai and Kenzie sidestepped and took cover behind the naked Russian men.
“Good cover,” Drake said.
“Ya think?” Alicia came back. “You wait and see what we have in mind.”
With no time for chitchat, Drake ducked one of the massage tables that had been in use when they entered the room, and dropped to his knees. He was just in time. Half a second later, nine soldiers burst inside. They wore military clothing including helmets and goggles, and carried powerful machine guns.
What they weren’t expecting was to be faced by a dozen naked old Russians, most with terrified expressions on their faces.
“Hold.” The leader held a fist up.
At that moment Drake saw something that stunned him. With his finger on the trigger, about to open fire, he froze, gawping.
“Fuck me, I don’t believe it,” Dahl said.
Alicia, Kenzie and Mai dropped to the floor, their automatic rifles aimed between the legs of the standing Russians. There was little margin for error and, when the women started shooting, the men screamed out loud. But they da
red not move. They knew what was happening. Bullets flashed between their legs and smashed into the shocked soldiers.
Drake fired from the right, Dahl from the left. A salvo of lead shredded their enemies’ ranks, taking them down. But there were too many of the enemy for them not to get some shots off. Those at the back were protected by those at the front and quickly defended themselves, shooting at the target they could find—the old naked Russians. Naked torsos twisted and fell, riddled with holes. On the floor Alicia rolled and found a new set of quivering, parted legs to use, firing through them and up at an angle to hit a soldier in the head.
“Oops.” The bullet came dangerously close to the man’s hanging fruit but did the job. The old man collapsed into a sobbing heap, begging for mercy.
Alicia crawled alongside his trembling figure, using him as cover. To her left, Mai and Kenzie were performing similar acts, ducking behind kneeling and prone white hulks of KGB flesh to take shelter from their enemies.
Drake slipped a new mag into his gun and emptied it. Dahl was firing from the other side. The last two soldiers made a break for it but then charged into the room at full speed looking for a new shooting angle. Handling them fell to Molokai and Hayden, who had been spare until now.
They dove in from behind a privacy screen, hitting the soldiers around their waists and bearing them to the floor. Knives flashed. The soldiers defended and reached for their guns. Molokai beat down upon his opponent, simultaneously breaking his nose and cheek bone at the same time. In agony, the man couldn’t stop Molokai’s next attack, which was a blow to the throat that broke cartilage. Hayden rolled away from her opponent, creating space and time enough to draw her trusty Glock. Before she could fire it, the soldier held out his hands.
“Stop,” he said. “Surrender.”
It was good enough. They hauled him up and tied him. Kinimaka shouted now that he could see vehicles approaching. They had about five minutes at the most. Drake took stock. Five of the standing Russians were dead. Three more were wounded, bleeding. Morozov was one of the dead, a lucky escape for him.
The Sea Rats Page 22
