Inca Kings (Matt Drake Book 15)

by David Leadbeater

  Inca Kings

  (Matt Drake #15)

  By

  David Leadbeater

  Copyright 2016 by David Leadbeater

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher/author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  This ebook is for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase any additional copy for each reader. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Thriller, adventure, action, mystery, suspense, archaeological, military, historical

  Other Books by David Leadbeater:

  The Matt Drake Series

  The Bones of Odin (Matt Drake #1)

  The Blood King Conspiracy (Matt Drake #2)

  The Gates of hell (Matt Drake 3)

  The Tomb of the Gods (Matt Drake #4)

  Brothers in Arms (Matt Drake #5)

  The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake #6)

  Blood Vengeance (Matt Drake #7)

  Last Man Standing (Matt Drake #8)

  The Plagues of Pandora (Matt Drake #9)

  The Lost Kingdom (Matt Drake #10)

  The Ghost Ships of Arizona (Matt Drake #11)

  The Last Bazaar (Matt Drake #12)

  The Edge of Armageddon (Matt Drake #13)

  The Treasures of Saint Germain (Matt Drake #14)

  The Alicia Myles Series

  Aztec Gold (Alicia Myles #1)

  Crusader’s Gold (Alicia Myles #2)

  Caribbean Gold (Alicia Myles #3)

  The Torsten Dahl Thriller Series

  Stand Your Ground (Dahl Thriller #1)

  The Disavowed Series:

  The Razor’s Edge (Disavowed #1)

  In Harm’s Way (Disavowed #2)

  Threat Level: Red (Disavowed #3)

  The Chosen Few Series

  Chosen (The Chosen Trilogy #1)

  Guardians (The Chosen Tribology #2)

  Short Stories

  Walking with Ghosts (A short story)

  A Whispering of Ghosts (A short story)

  Connect with the author on Twitter: @dleadbeater2011

  Visit the author’s website: www.davidleadbeater.com

  All helpful, genuine comments are welcome. I would love to hear from you.

  davidleadbeater2011@hotmail.co.uk

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

  Other Books by David Leadbeater:

  CHAPTER ONE

  Kenzie sat as demure and coyly as she was able, practically having to sit on her right hand which had begun twitching about ten minutes ago—just two minutes after she’d walked into this auction house—as it craved for the welcome weight of the hefty katana she preferred to be sheathed over her left shoulder. It wasn’t just an idle craving.

  Some of these assholes, they needed to see the glint of that blade, to blink in terror as the razor edge gleamed, to experience that touch of dread as the perfect steel rose before them.

  Kenzie managed to hold in an unladylike snort. Pretentious, wealthy assholes.

  It could be said that Kenzie harbored more than a single grudge against those in authority and those that had the power and affluence to sway them. But the katana would cut through all that, right here, right now—and put her in prison forever.

  Somehow, she calmed herself.

  The auction house sat right in the middle of Paris, along the magnificent Champs Élysées, inside a nineteenth century hotel built by one of France’s richest families. Kenzie saw glitz everywhere; from the gilded chandeliers to the ornate doors and paneling, and the glowing wall sconces. A soft hue illuminated the large room and the noise of conversation drowned out all other noise.

  The occupants were seated in rows, apart from those that stood at the back, their well-tended behinds parked on sumptuous leather, their jackets and ties clearly a step too far as the room began to warm up. Even the ladies looked uncomfortable in their tight sequined dresses. Kenzie saw more than one bead of sweat popping out of a distinguished brow and hoped the gathered array of Paris’s most expensive perfumes was up to the test.

  As for her, this morning she had purchased a little black dress, and tonight she’d slapped on some of Dahl’s aftershave. A quick comb and she was as glammed up as she was ever going to be. But no mind. Kenzie was no stranger to lavish auctions.

  The fossil beside her, squinting even through black-rimmed goggles, placed his hand dangerously close to her knee as he leaned across. “First time, lovey?”

  “Ah, no.” She tried to affect an English accent. “You?”

  The old man looked affronted. “Me? No, of course not.”

  He pulled away. Kenzie smiled to herself and took in the room, tuning out the hubbub. Once a trained Mossad agent, then a fierce fugitive, now a . . . she paused in her thoughts.

  What am I right now? Or rather—what am I doing with this struggling band of misfits that somehow still manage to come together to form one of the most effective Special Forces teams in the world?

  You’re lost.

  The answer was as clear as the decanters and glasses in use all around her. Life had taken her on a nightmare rollercoaster ride, and right now the latest pause on the latest loop was right here in Paris. If she knew what to look for she might stand a chance.

  But not today.

  Evening had fallen across the Champs, and the well-to-do packed inside the auction house were finally starting to settle. Kenzie half-turned in her seat and passed a glance across those who accompanied her—Torsten Dahl and Mai Kitano—and thought about those who didn’t, primarily Mano Kinimaka who roamed the outside. Misfit
s among misfits, she mused. Some lost almost as deeply as she.

  Several weeks had passed since their last mission ended; complex developments had taken place. But Kenzie was waist deep in danger here, and being the only archaeological relic hunter in the team, the one best placed in the very eye of this frantic storm.

  The clock ticked.

  Kenzie watched the patrons; seated as she was toward the back she could see 75 percent of the assemblage, although none looked familiar. She took a moment to consult the small booklet she’d been given on entry. They were interested in Lot 59, so time to spare yet. She breathed a little easier. The main worry they had was that one of Kenzie’s old “acquaintances” might be here and recognize her, thus destroying their undercover operation.

  Because—the trouble was—they had no idea who they were looking for.

  Kenzie considered the developing mystery that still surrounded the Incas and their lost treasures. Her fellow trio of misfits watched from the back and outside. At the front of the room half-a-dozen suited men appeared and mounted a stage. One approached a microphone.

  He started speaking in French, introducing the auction. Kenzie spoke the language well and listened as her eyes drifted. Directly behind him hung an electronic monitor upon which would be shown the current object up for auction and the value it attained in ongoing bids in euros, pounds, dollars and other currencies. To the man’s left a space existed for the actual object. Kenzie watched men wearing white gloves bring out Lot 1, a gaudy painting, and place it carefully upon a ledge for all to consider.

  Bids began to be fired out over the hushed chatter and the auctioneer pointed, nodded and shouted out each bid. The white-headed hammer clutched in his right hand indicated the current highest bidder during lulls in the bidding and then hovered for a moment. Kenzie saw that sometimes he was having to work hard to draw out another bid from men and women leafing through their booklets, maybe checking ahead to see what else they might buy. In the end though, the hammer came down with pomp and a flourish and they moved quickly on to Lot 2.

  Kenzie watched closely, noting the main players and those that left; newcomers and those that skulked in corners, cellphones to their ears. These were the most likely, and the ones the rest of her team would be focused on. But Kenzie found it hard to trust them completely, no matter their proven skills.

  She flashed across several noteworthy individuals and stored their faces in her memory for later. Again her fingers gave an involuntary twitch as the woman to her left flicked away an imaginary speck of dust, fingers and wrist jangling with high-priced ice.

  “Lot 22.”

  And the auction went on. Earlier they had reviewed the physical security and found it strangely lacking. Didn’t anyone ever rob auction houses? You would think not. In contrast, there were surveillance cameras everywhere. Kenzie grimaced. If the cameras were monitored by Interpol she might find herself in serious trouble.

  Still, the lots were tumbling nicely. Dahl stayed on the back wall and Mai, finely attired, glided to left and right, moving confidently among the stylish and the grand, whilst Kinimaka had stayed purposely outside, watching as many entries and exits as he could manage. No comms systems today. They were relying on plain, old-fashioned instinct.

  “Lot 50.”

  Kenzie took another look at the relevant page in the booklet. A dull golden cup stared back quite literally—the dour face that adorned one side of it glaring at her with uncaring, empty eyes. Just a golden cup then, and cleverly disguised by the seller, its true identity known only to a chosen few. Called here The Blind Man’s Cup, it could not be officially declared as hailing from Peru. The Peruvian authorities claimed everything of archaeological value from the region. The auctioneer would not know. The auction house may well have been fed expensive, forged documents as to its origin, but the sellers wanted its sale to be public—for unknown reasons—so here they were.

  Waiting for the bids on one single piece of one of the greatest and most notorious unfound treasures of all time.

  The eighth piece in the last decade.

  Kenzie looked up as Lot 58 was announced, studied the crowd one last time and then gave the auctioneer her full attention. Two minutes passed and then the hammer came down. The woman beside her squawked with pleasure, having obtained a near-naked Roman statue. Kenzie sat hard on her hand.

  The auctioneer took an inconspicuous sip from a bottle of water, then watched as the next item was brought out from the back.

  “Lot 59,” he said.

  Kenzie watched as the modest little item was brought into the room. The same man with the pristine white gloves handled it, placing it gently atop a gleaming pedestal, then arranged it so the light caught it just right.

  “Blind Man’s Cup,” the auctioneer said in French. “From the collection of Balzac and Baudier, recently made available after a fifty-year wait. I will start the bidding at one million euros.”

  Kenzie knew it was all a veil, something made up to conceal the real truth. The auction house wouldn’t dig too deeply. The well-heeled wouldn’t look too closely. Everyone’s a winner. She picked out the various players as the bid rose to two million.

  Behind and around her she knew, the team would be making ready. Having attended several auctions before, Kenzie knew hot items such as this moved very quickly once purchased. The trouble was, it was the seller they were after, not the buyer.

  As the price went north of two-point-five, the bids began to thin out. This was when the serious buyers usually came out of the shadows—or rather from the further corners of the room. Kenzie heard a new voice now and slowly drifted her eyes in that direction.

  He stood leaning against a shiny white pillar, partially concealed by the tall man at his side, but Kenzie recognized him in a heartbeat.

  Tremayne.

  The only name she knew him by, but a noteworthy one nonetheless. Tremayne was a relic hunter, just as she used to be, and was known to be just as ruthless. It was a rare day when Tremayne didn’t come out on top, and wasn’t protected by at least three expert guards. She frowned, and looked away. The gentle hubbub surrounded her but she distinctly caught Tremayne’s tones now that she knew he was there and knew where to look.

  “Three million.”

  A hush. People were surprised and took another long look at the unassuming artifact, perhaps re-evaluating. What did this bidder know that they didn’t? Kenzie had seen it before and knew that most wouldn’t take a risk. She fixed her eyes ahead, wishing the woman’s perfume drifting in from the left was a little less toxic and that they had employed a communications device after all.

  Tremayne was big trouble.

  Still, she waited. Moving would only attract attention. The animations of the auctioneer became more intense as the bid approached three-point-five, and they all took another look at the cup. Lights shone, gasps rang out, and excitement filled the air. Another bid flew and then another. Finally, Tremayne held up a hand and announced:

  “Four million euros.”

  The hammer was raised, the cup offered once and then twice. With no challenges the hammer finally came down and the auctioneer moved smartly on to the next lot. Kenzie watched Tremayne and noticed Mai hovering around the blind side of the pillar. The Japanese woman was too close, but Kenzie respected her skills.

  With difficulty, she stayed put and watched.

  Tremayne closed his booklet, laid it down on a table, and nodded to the tall man at his side. No awareness was drawn as the pair made a slow, circuitous route around the back of the room and toward the holding area. Clearly, they were here for one thing and now in a hurry to claim it.

  And then vanish. Kenzie knew the routine.

  As Tremayne and his guard negotiated the packed wall at the room’s far side, she rose gracefully out of her chair, cinched the little black dress, and forced herself not to tread on the whiffy woman’s toes. Once in the aisle she made eye contact with her team and headed toward the back.

  Dahl was already th
ere. “You know him?” His voice was barely a whisper.

  “Too well, I’m afraid. He’s the male version of me.”

  Dahl blinked. “That bad?”

  “That good. He’ll be on this like a cold-blooded divorce lawyer.” She paused. “Whoops. Didn’t mean that to sound so harsh.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Let’s go before we lose them.”

  Mai had already drifted past and now Kinimaka, having just entered, pushed through a crowd at the front of the room to catch up. Kenzie winced. Never one for subtlety, the big Hawaiian, he’d been even worse lately since Hayden took a million pins to his emotional cushion and decided to jab them all in at the same time.

  A chair toppled, with its occupant holding on. Kinimaka picked them both up, apologizing quietly, and accidentally shoulder barged the man with the white gloves. Luckily, he wasn’t carrying a priceless artifact at the time. Kenzie motioned to Dahl and the two meandered their way toward the holding area, which was at the back of the room behind a set of rich, crimson-colored curtains.

  Tremayne and his guard had pushed through twenty seconds ago. Mai held up a hand to her face, a subtle signal to wait. Then she proceeded to step through, sweet smile already being produced to help disarm the men and women she might meet.

  Kenzie leaned in to Dahl, feeling her head touch his broad shoulders. “Risky.”

  “Mai can handle it. She’s a total pro.”

  “I know. But so is Tremayne.”

  Dahl looked like he might agree. “Wait, here’s Mano.”

  She nodded at the approaching mountain, then looked behind him. “You know, you trampled a pink poodle on your way past.”

  “I did?” Mano looked stricken, then caught up. “Oh, funny. Are we waiting for Mai?”

  Kenzie was mission leader and made the snap decision. “No. We follow. We can’t lose Tremayne tonight, because I guarantee you if we do, we’ll never find him afterward.”

  Dahl stopped her. “But you could?”