In other words, Blakey’s weight toppled them over backward. Toward the abyss.
Drake deliberately fell sideways, throwing his entire body into the ungainly maneuver. Ben was grabbing frantically at the unyielding rock, but still gamely holding on to the rifle. Drake heard the sudden whip of the zip-line tautening and knew Komodo and Karin were already on it, zooming down toward him at bone-breaking speed.
The Blood King’s men were darting along the ledge toward the rear of the chamber now, almost in a position to make the final leap onto the vast rock plateau where the mysterious staircase began. The good news was he was down to a dozen men.
Drake dragged himself across the ledge before unbuckling Ben, then allowed himself a few seconds respite before sitting up. In a flash of motion, Komodo and Karin flew across his sight, the pair landing gracefully and not without a little sly smile.
“Kid’s put on some weight.” Drake indicated Ben. “Too many full breakfasts. Not enough dancing.”
“The band doesn’t dance.” Ben hit back instantly as Drake assessed their next move. Wait for the rest of the team or give chase?
“Hayden says when you dance you look like Pixie Lott.”
“Bollocks.”
Komodo was also staring after Kovalenko’s men. The zip-line went taut again and they all moved against the wall. In quick succession, two more Delta soldiers arrived, their boots grating loudly over grit as they decelerated to a quick halt.
“Keep moving.” Drake decided. “Best not to give them time to think.”
They raced along the ledge, guns ready. The Blood King’s progress was momentarily hidden from sight by the curve of the rocky wall, but when Drake and his team beat the curve, they saw Kovalenko and the remainder his men already on the rock plateau.
He had lost two more men somewhere.
And now it seemed they had been ordered to take extreme measures. Several men were breaking out portable RPG launchers.
“Damn, they’re muzzle loaded!” Drake yelled, then stopped and turned, heart suddenly falling through the earth. “Oh no—”
The initial pop and whistle of a muzzle-fired grenade rang out. The last two Delta soldiers were whizzing down the zip-line, zeroing in on the ledge when the missile struck. It hit the wall above the zip-line anchors and destroyed them amidst an explosion of rock and dust and shale.
The line sagged. The soldiers flew down into black oblivion without even a sound. Somehow, that was even worse.
Komodo cursed, rage distorting his features. These were good men he had trained and fought with for years. Now the Delta team were only three-strong, plus Drake, Ben and Karin.
Drake shouted and bullied them along the ledge, frantic with the knowledge that more RPG’s were about to be launched. The survivors raced along the ledge, guided by glow sticks and the abundance of amber flares. Every step took them closer to the rocky plateau and the strange staircase and the mystifying but incredible sight of the giant throne jutting out of the rock wall.
A second RPG was fired. This one exploded on the ledge behind the runners, damaging but not destroying the pathway. Even as he ran and pushed every ounce of speed from his overworked muscles, Drake could hear Kovalenko screaming at his men to take care—the ledge might be their only way out of there.
Now Drake came to the bottom of the ledge and saw the gap he had to leap in order to reach the rock plateau and confront the Blood King’s men.
It was big.
So big, in fact, that he almost faltered. Almost stopped. Not for himself, but for Ben and Karin. On first sight, he didn’t think they’d make the leap. But then he hardened his heart. They had to. And there could be no slowing down, no going back. They were the only people capable of stopping the Blood King and putting an end to his crazy plan. The only people capable of taking down an international terrorist leader and making sure he never got the chance to hurt anyone ever again.
But he still half-turned as he ran. “Don’t stop,” he shouted at Ben. “Believe. You’ll make it.”
Ben nodded, adrenalin taking his feet and his muscles and firing them with willpower, glory and strength. Drake hit the gap first, leaping with arms spread and feet still pumping, arcing over the gap like an Olympic athlete.
Ben came next, reaching, head all over the place and his sense of balance shot through with nerves. But he landed on the other side with inches to spare.
“Yes!” he cried and Drake grinned at him. “Jessica Ennis ain’t got nowt on you, matey.”
Next, Komodo landed heavily, almost turning his body inside out as he twisted immediately and looked for Karin. Her leap was beautiful. Legs high, back arched, oodles of forward momentum.
And the perfect landing. The rest of the Delta team followed.
Drake spun to see the most shocking sight he’d ever laid eyes on.
The Blood King and his men, screaming and wailing, most covered in blood and gaping wounds, were all charging straight at them and brandishing their weapons, like demons from hell.
It was time for the last stand.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Matt Drake stood strong and met the Blood King head on.
First, his men arrived, cries resounding as rifles clashed and knives flicked and flashed like swords, catching the amber light and glinting their fire in myriad directions. A few shots were fired, but at this range and in this maelstrom of testosterone and fear, none were properly aimed. Yet still there was a sharp cry from behind Drake, another Delta solider fallen.
Drake’s muscles ached like he’d fought a three-hundred pound gorilla. Blood and dirt coated his face. Nine men came at him, at them, but he took them all on because the Blood King stood behind them, and nothing would stop him from claiming his revenge.
The old soldier was back, the civilian now diminished, and he was back up there in the top ranks with the baddest motherfucking soldiers alive.
Point-blank, he shot three men, straight through the heart. The fourth, he stepped into with his gun reversed, completely pulverizing the man’s nose and breaking part of the cheekbone at the same time. Three seconds had passed. He sensed the Delta crew almost back away from him in awe, giving him space to work. He left them to contend with three mercenaries whilst he advanced on one man and Kovalenko himself.
Komodo head-butted a man and stabbed a second in one movement. Karin was beside him and didn’t back down. Not for a second. She used a face-palm to send the stabbed man stumbling back and followed with a jab combination. When the mercenary growled and attempted to rally, she stepped in and used a tae-kwon-do technique to throw him over her shoulder.
Toward the sheer edge.
The man slipped off, screaming, claimed by the abyss. Karin stared at Komodo, suddenly aware of what she had done. The big team leader thought quickly and gave her a thank you sign, instantly saluting her actions and giving them relevance.
Karin took a deep breath.
Drake faced the Blood King.
At last.
The last man had put up a short fight and now lay squirming at his feet, wind-pipe crushed, both wrists broken. Kovalenko gave the man a disdainful stare.
“A fool. And weak.”
“All weak men hide behind their wealth and the semblance of power it brings them.”
“Semblance?” Kovalenko drew a pistol and shot the writhing man in the face. “Is that not power? Did you think it a semblance? I kill a man in cold blood every single day because I can. Is that a semblance of power?”
“Like you ordered the killing of Kennedy Moore? And my friends’ families? Some part of the world may have spawned you, Kovalenko, but it was not the sane part.”
They moved quickly and simultaneously. Two weapons, a pistol and a rifle, clicking at the same time.
Both empty. Double clicks.
“No!” Kovalenko’s shriek was ripe with infantile rage. He had been denied.
Drake thrust with his knife. The Blood King showed his street smarts by dodging to one side. Drake threw
the rifle at him. Kovalenko took the blow on the forehead without flinching and, at the same time, drew a knife of his own.
“If I have to kill you myself, Drake…”
“Oh aye, you will,” the Englishman said. “I don’t see anyone else around. You’re not a full fucking shilling, mate.”
Kovalenko lunged. Drake saw it coming in slow motion. Kovalenko might think he’d grown up hard, might even think he’d trained hard, but his training was nothing compared to the severe demands and trials endured by the British SAS.
Drake stepped in from the side, striking with a swift knee that temporarily paralyzed Kovalenko and broke some ribs. The gasp from the Russian’s mouth was instantly stifled. He backed away.
Drake feigned a rush attack, waited for the Blood King to react and instantly caught the man’s right hand between his own. A quick downward twist and Kovalenko’s wrist snapped. Again the Russian only hissed.
Around them, Komodo and Karin and Ben and the remaining Delta soldier watched.
The Blood King glared at them. “You can’t kill me. All of you. You can’t kill me. I am a god!”
Komodo snarled. “We can’t kill you, asshole. You got a fuck load of squealin’ to do. But I sure am looking forward to helping choose which hellhole you spend the rest of your life in.”
“Prison.” The Blood King spat. “No prison will hold me. I will own it within a week.”
Komodo’s mouth broadened into a smile. “Some prisons,” he said quietly. “Don’t even exist.”
Kovalenko looked momentarily surprised, but then the arrogant veil cloaked his face again and he turned back to Drake. “And you?” he said. “You might as well be dead without me to chase half way around the world.”
“Dead?” Drake echoed. “There are different kinds of dead. You should know that.”
Drake kicked him over his cold, dead heart. Kovalenko staggered. Blood leaked from his mouth. With a pathetic cry he fell to his knees. A shameful end for the Blood King.
Drake laughed at him. “He’s done. Tie his hands and let’s go.”
Ben spoke up. “I recorded his speech patterns.” He said softly, raising his phone. “We can use special software to reproduce his voice. Matt, we don’t actually need him alive.”
The moment was as loaded as the last second before an explosion. Drake’s face changed from resignation to pure hate. Komodo hesitated to intervene, not through fear but through hard-earned respect—the only respect a soldier will acknowledge. Karin went wide-eyed with horror.
Drake raised his rifle and tapped the hard steel against Kovalenko’s forehead.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. I saw her die. I was there. He ordered terrorist attacks against Hawaii.” Ben looked around the chamber. “Even Hell will spit him out.”
“This is where you belong.” Drake’s smile was cold and dark, like the Blood King’s soul. “Beyond the Gates of Hell. This is where you should stay and this is where you should die.”
Kovalenko’s jaw set hard with forty years of death and hardship and bloody decadence behind it. “You will never scare me.”
Drake studied the fallen man. He was right. Death wouldn’t hurt him. There wasn’t a thing on earth that would scare this man.
But there was one thing that would break him.
“So we tie you up down here.” He lowered the rifle, much to Komodo’s relief. “And we go on to claim the treasure. It was your life’s quest and you’ll never know what it was. But remember my words, Kovalenko, I will.”
“No!” The Russian’s yelp was instantaneous. “Your claim? No! Never. It is mine. It always has been mine.”
With a desperate roar, the Blood King made a last despairing lunge. Pain racked his face. Blood flew from his face and hands. He rose and threw every ounce of will and a life of hate and murder into his leap.
Drake’s eyes glowered, his face set hard as granite. He allowed the Blood King to strike him, stood firm as the frantic Russian expended every last ounce of energy in a dozen blows, at first hard, but weakening rapidly.
Then Drake laughed, a sound beyond bleak, a sound both loveless and lost and caught halfway between purgatory and hell. When the last of the Blood King’s energy was spent, Drake pushed him over with a palm and stood on his chest.
“It was all for nothing, Kovalenko. You lost.”
Komodo rushed over and trussed the Russian up before Drake could change his mind. Karin helped divert him by pointing up at the near-vertical staircase and the mind-boggling sight of the black throne jutting out. From here it was even more staggering. The thing was enormous and perfectly sculpted, poised a hundred feet above their heads.
“After you.”
Drake appraised the next hurdle. The staircase ran upwards at a slight angle for about a hundred feet. The underside of the throne was lost in deepest black, despite the numerous amber flares scattered around.
“I should go first,” Komodo said. “I have a little rock climbing experience. We should climb a few lengths at a time, inserting carabiners as we go, and then thread a safety line to our team.”
Drake let him lead. The fury was still strong in his brain, almost overwhelming. His finger still felt good around the M16’s trigger. But to kill Kovalenko now would blight his soul forever, implant a darkness that would never lift.
As Ben Blake might say—it would turn him to the dark side.
He started up the wall after Komodo, needing the distraction as the incessant cravings for vengeance rose and tried to take control of him. The sharp climb instantly focused his mind. The Blood King’s wails and moans faded away as the throne grew closer and the staircase trickier.
Up they went, Komodo leading the way, carefully placing each carabiner before testing its weight and then threading the safety rope and dropping it to his team below. The higher they went, the darker it became. Each tread of the staircase had been hewn and shaped out of the living rock. Drake began to get a sense of awe as he climbed. Some incredible treasure awaited them; he could feel it in his bones.
But a throne?
With a sheer void at his back he stopped, braced himself, and looked down. Ben was struggling, eyes wide and scared. Drake felt a rush of sympathy and love for his young friend, something absent ever since Kennedy had died. He saw the remaining Delta soldier trying to help Karin and smiled when she waved him away. He extended a helping hand toward Ben.
“Stop tossing it off, Blakey. Come on.”
Ben looked up at him and it was as if a firework went off in his brain. Something in Drake’s eyes or in his tone of voice stirred him and a hopeful look fastened onto his face.
“Thank God you’re back.”
With Drake’s help, Ben climbed faster. The deadly void at their back was forgotten and each step became a step toward discovery rather than peril. The underside of the throne grew closer and closer until it was within touching distance.
Komodo climbed cautiously off the staircase and onto the throne itself.
After a minute, his American drawl caught their attention. “Oh my God, guys, you aren’t gonna believe this.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Drake swung across a small gap and landed squarely on the wide block of stone that formed the foot of the throne. He waited for Ben and Karin and the last Delta soldier to arrive before looking up at Komodo.
“What you got up there?”
The Delta team leader had climbed onto the seat of the throne. Now he moved to the edge and stared down at them
“Whoever built this throne included a not-so-secret passage. There’s a back door behind the back of the throne up here. And it was open.”
“Don’t go near it,” Drake said quickly, thinking of the trap systems they had passed. “For all we know it flicks a switch that sends this throne straight down.”
Komodo looked guilty. “Good call. Problem is—I already have. Good news is…” He grinned. “No traps.”
Drake extended a hand. “Help me up.”
Directly opposite, across the massive chasm, he saw the same stone balcony they had occupied earlier. The balcony where Captain Cook had quit. The balcony where the Blood King had most likely lost any last remaining thread of sanity he had possessed. It seemed like a step away but it was a deceiving mile.
Drake made a face. “This throne,” he said quietly. “It was built for—”
Ben’s shout interrupted him. “Matt! Bloody hell. You won’t believe this.”
It was not the shock in his friends voice that sent fear shooting through Drake’s nerve endings but the foreboding. The apprehension.
“What is it?”
He turned. He saw what Ben saw.
“Fuck me.”
Karin crowded them out. “What is it?” Then she saw it too. “No way.”
They were looking at the rear part of the throne, the tall upright that someone might rest against, and the part that formed the rear door.
It was covered by the now familiar whorls— the beyond-ancient symbols that appeared to be some form of writing—and the same symbols that were inscribed upon both the time displacement devices and also on the great archway under Diamond Head that Cook had called the Gates of Hell.
The very same symbols Torsten Dahl had recently discovered in the tomb of the gods, far away in Iceland.
Drake closed his eyes. “How can this be happening? Ever since we first heard about the nine bloody pieces of Odin, I feel like I’ve been living a dream. Or a nightmare.”
“I bet we’re not done with the nine pieces yet,” Ben said. “This has got to be manipulation. Of the highest order. It’s like we’ve been chosen or something.”
“More like cursed.” Drake growled. “And quit with the Star Wars crap.”
“I was thinking a bit less Skywalker, a bit more Chuck Bartowski,” Ben said with a little smile. “Since we’re geeks and all that.”
Komodo was regarding the hidden door with impatience. “Shall we continue? My men gave their lives to help get us this far. All we can do in return is find an end to this hellhole.”
The Gates of Hell (Matt Drake 3) Page 20
