Inca Kings (Matt Drake Book 15)

by David Leadbeater

  “Maybe. But the danger would be off the scale. As fraught as any Mossad mission. This is still our best chance.”

  They approached the curtain, still drifting, making a play of watching the latest lot. Kenzie knew it would be best to push straight through with confidence, but if Tremayne waited on the other side she had no doubt it would all end in blood and bullets.

  “You go,” she told Dahl. “Don’t be long.”

  Mai slipped through the gap in the curtain at that moment, almost colliding with Kenzie and ending up in her arms.

  “We must move,” Mai said sharply. “They wasted no time back there, but did not suspect me.”

  Kenzie started walking fast. “They’re already leaving? Damn.”

  Mai nodded as she pushed the gathered wealth out of her path. “Totally unceremonious. A wire transfer exchange and then the cup was wrapped and placed in the smaller guy’s back pack.”

  “And they’re headed out the back,” Kenzie finished.

  “Isn’t that what you would do?”

  “Well, yes, but . . .” She paused, giving herself a mental kick. The rigors of running with a new team and playing within the law were taking a toll on her focus. “I assumed wrongly that they’d leave by the front door.”

  “Don’t worry,” Mai said a little infuriatingly. “It’s your first mission in charge. You’re allowed a mistake.”

  “So long as you don’t get us killed.” Dahl pushed ahead, determined not to lose their one lead. Kenzie clenched her teeth together. The team left the auction room and followed an opulently furnished corridor into the main lobby. Even here, the tone was hushed, the patrons all standing and walking around with an air of sophistication. Kenzie made sure she led as they exited the hotel and walked down some steps onto the Champs Élysées.

  “At least we came prepared,” Kinimaka said.

  Kenzie cringed a little as she approached her battered scooter. It had been decided that the best way to carve through the nightmarish Parisian traffic and keep their quarry in sight was to hire four old scooters and cut through the flow. The locals did it all the time, barging through the traffic jams using inside and outside lanes indiscriminately at rarely less than thirty miles an hour. Amazingly, not many died.

  Embracing the local rationale, the team jumped aboard and fired up their low-powered scooters. Kenzie felt the engine ping to life, and looked around. Mai sat demurely aboard her cycle, looking ridiculous but determined, her dress all gathered around her waist. Dahl grimaced, clearly unhappy but willing to accept Kenzie’s recommendations. She gave him the raised brows.

  “Well one thing’s for certain. They won’t expect a special attack team looking like we do.”

  Then she noticed Kinimaka. Oh, if they only had time to take a cellphone pic she could blackmail him forever. If there was a straining scooter under the Hawaiian’s bulk it was barely in evidence. In another way though, Kinimaka looked ultra-cool—appearing to sit and glide above the concrete.

  They sped around the side of the building, Dahl taking the lead and heading straight for the underground parking garage. Sure enough, the high, wide metal door was just opening, raising outward. Headlights showed below—a car waiting to climb the steep ramp up to the street above. Dahl manhandled his scooter and told them all to back off.

  Soon, the car—a black Jaguar F-Pace—powered up the ramp and bounced onto the street. Dahl sat astride his scooter, taking a look at the occupants. As the vehicle passed he nodded to the others.

  Game on.

  Kenzie had made several risky but educated assumptions for tonight’s mission. She assumed she would know the middleman. She assumed he would take the artifact. And she assumed he would stay in Paris—hence the scooters. If Tremayne now peeled off on the motorways toward Lyon or further afield they would be left floundering. Now, the mission’s entire success counted on her best guess.

  Kenzie was rarely less than confident and felt the same now. Tremayne—or rather his bodyguard—took the F-Pace to the bottom of the street and pulled up to the curb. Kenzie saw three black-suited men climb in—more guards. Now they faced five, including the relic dealer and, in Kenzie’s experience, they would be no mere mercenary pushovers.

  The team did have a stash of weapons close by, but no time to reach it now. In single file they followed Tremayne, staying at a good distance, especially as the car turned back toward the Champs and entered the slow flow of traffic. Establishments closed for the night lit both sides with soft, golden glows beside restaurants and clubs, their facades alight. She saw a pub—Comptoir De L’Arc—where, a long time ago, she’d passed a happy night with friends. Long gone. Long past. An entirely different world now.

  Kenzie came up alongside Dahl, her ears filled with the straining wail of a youth’s scooter. “Now we wait. See where he ends up.”

  “My guess, somewhere quiet,” Dahl shouted back. “He’ll be calling the buyer and seller from the car.”

  They both turned as Kinimaka’s scooter let out a strange tortured shriek. The Hawaiian gave them a staunch wave, clearly ignoring his machine’s pain. Mai flicked in and out of traffic carefully as she kept the Jaguar in sight. Headlight beams shone all around, catching their clothes and fake jewels with sparkling light. Cars moved aside as they undertook. The streetlamps illuminated the way ahead as their target vehicle crawled along.

  “Bollocks, it’s that bloody roundabout.”

  Kenzie watched as one of France’s most notorious roundabouts came up near the Arc De Triomphe, along the Champs Élysées, the only place she knew where insurance companies refused to pay out 100 percent for an accident.

  The scooters proved easier than the cars though, and they soon had to back off as they approached a little too close to Tremayne. Kenzie found herself sat at the curb for half a minute, alongside Dahl.

  “How bad is this guy?” the Swede asked seriously.

  Kenzie let out a pent-up breath. “As bad as they come.”

  The F-Pace passed and they prepared to follow.

  “My kinda mission then,” Dahl growled. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kenzie tucked her scooter in behind traffic, weaving steadily in the same way as the locals. Dahl came alongside her for a while, then shot down the white lines in pursuit of a youth, blending in. The Jaguar crawled ahead, unhappy in the Parisian gridlock and making slow progress.

  After thirty minutes they peeled off the main road and headed down a tree-lined thoroughfare where hotels and restaurants made up the bulk of the buildings. Kenzie saw mostly young people sauntering about, students and shoestring tourists. Ahead, the road narrowed and she backed off, allowing Mai to take point and trail Tremayne.

  The journey continued for another twenty minutes and then Tremayne’s driver crossed a road bridge. Kenzie paused for a moment to get her bearings and realized they were approaching a more industrialized part of the city. As she had expected. In her experience a lock-up or private container increased anonymity, and was always useful if you had to leave town for a while. The F-Pace motored downhill, away from the busier roads, and entered an area comprised of warehouses, fast-food places and small offices. The team backed off fully here, watching the car’s progress by its taillights, then approaching the point where they last saw it.

  Eventually, it pulled into an empty parking area in front of an unlit building. Kenzie threw her scooter to the floor and took shelter behind a padlocked burger van. The F-Pace idled. The building’s stark, empty windows reflected the lights. The other members of her team drifted a little closer, hiding behind a landscaped hill that bordered the building. Kenzie took a moment to join them.

  “What’s happening?” Dahl deferred to her mission status, though probably not happily.

  Kenzie shrugged. “Could be a number of things. Still on a call. Or maybe they’re getting ready to stash the artifact.”

  “In an office building?” Kinimaka frowned.

  “Just because it looks like
an office doesn’t mean it’s a functioning one. To be fair, it’s a good front. They use a small team to man it during the day, make it look genuine, and then conduct a shadier business after hours. It’s what I would do.” She coughed. “Would have done.”

  Dahl shot her a speculative look. “But would you return to it?”

  Kenzie didn’t look away. “Ask me in a few more weeks. We’re all in flux right now.”

  It was honest and direct and the best he was going to get, though she knew he wanted more. The Swede was vouching for her among his esteemed friends. He saw the good in her—a good she barely believed in herself. All that was good and cheerful and optimistic in her had been wrenched out long ago.

  Mai crawled to the top of the small slope. “Car is switching off.” She looked around. “It’s now or never to catch them off guard.”

  Kenzie knew it too and nodded. The team crept over the slope and moved among some bushes until they could make out Tremayne’s features and those of his bodyguards. The blanket of darkness helped them. One of the guards leaned into the car’s back seat as Tremayne wandered over to the office.

  Kenzie broke cover, streaking toward the car, Dahl at her side. Mai and Kinimaka came a step behind. The first the guards knew of them were the black flashes approaching their peripherals.

  Kenzie hit her target with a flying knee, striking the ribs. He fell backward, but not down, hitting the car and grabbing hold. She struck again, a blow to the face. His head snapped left but still he did not go down nor make a sound. His face came around now, eyes narrow and furious.

  Immediately, she knew she’d chosen a deadly opponent.

  She barged him again, ensuring his spine hit the car. He rebounded and twisted away, grimacing, but gaining space. She saw a gun under his jacket, holstered, and a knife at his waist, pinned to his belt. But he reached for neither. He came at her with fast hands, first hitting her cheekbone, then her temple. The rest she caught on her wrists and elbows, dishing out some agony of her own. But she backed away.

  He circled.

  She grabbed a quick glimpse of how the rest of the team were doing. Kinimaka was absorbing blows like a punch bag, but not just taking them. Like a boxer he would accept his opponent’s best punch just to get inside their defenses. The man he fought staggered even as Kenzie looked away. Dahl traded clobberings with the tall guard, both refusing to give an inch. Mai skipped around her adversary and for a moment it seemed they were dancing, her dress now torn to facilitate the kicks, and her knuckles bloodied where they had struck his nose. The fourth guard was zeroing in on the Japanese woman too, and Tremayne was fumbling for keys, still holding onto the backpack that contained the cup.

  Kenzie dropped as her guard leapt. His trailing leg caught her forehead, making her see stars, but she delivered a much more telling punch to his abdomen. His gasp filled her ears with gladness and he fell to one knee. Kenzie was about to whirl, then saw the arsenal of weapons in the car’s trunk space.

  Shit. There’s enough hardware here to turn the streets into a war zone. She counted a dozen semi-autos and a boxful of handguns and other items. By that time her guard was standing again, regarding her.

  “I thought this was just about the relics,” she breathed.

  A shrug. “It’s about everything. Always is.”

  She hissed, not accepting it, then feinted but he didn’t fall for it. A smirk was her only reward.

  “You can’t hope to best me.”

  Kenzie caught a glimpse of Mai twirling around two opponents, their necks and heads snapping to and fro. “Maybe not, but she will.”

  The guard stared aghast as his colleagues fell to the floor. Kenzie lunged, hitting straight at the most vulnerable areas she knew. The guard took two blows and then tried to roll away, legs buckling. Kenzie was after him and never let up, kicking, striking, finally landing on his belly with the full force of her body, knees first. His groan told her she’d broken something.

  Dahl retreated from his opponent at last, but only to give himself chance to approach the side of the F-Pace. A quick maneuver and the man went head first through the side window, glass shattering, and then the Swede wrapped him up in the seatbelt, securing it to the steering wheel.

  Stood back and watched the feet kick ineffectively. “That’ll do. Who’s next?”

  Kinimaka stood toe-to-toe with a guard, neither man retreating but neither gaining the upper hand. As Kenzie rose and Dahl approached, the Hawaiian clearly decided he didn’t want to be the only one needing help. He rushed hard and fast, hit the man’s midriff and lifted him off his feet.

  Then came down hard on top of him.

  Game over.

  Kenzie directed Dahl to guard the car and its stash of weapons, then reached down to pick up her comatose opponent’s handgun. Tremayne stood calmly by the now unlocked door, black pistol in hand and pointed at the floor.

  Kenzie assumed he had some kind of plan. “Drop the gun.”

  “Damn it, girl, what the hell are you doing? Ain’t we on the same side?”

  Her reputation ruined. “Of the law? Maybe. Of a prison wall? Nah.”

  “They’ll never take me down. I ain’t done yet and you know it.”

  In truth, she knew Tremayne only by reputation. Their paths had crossed only twice and then only briefly. By what she’d heard, though . . . he was telling the truth.

  “Took your best guards down. Why not you?”

  Tremayne smiled, but said nothing. No bravado. No challenge. And that was worse.

  “We want the backpack, Tremayne, and we want to know who the seller is.”

  A faint flicker of confusion. “The seller?”

  “Ideally we want everything.” Dahl spoke from his position near the back of the Jag. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “I still have a gun,” The barrel of the pistol lifted an inch.

  “We have about a hundred.” Dahl nodded at the cache they’d found.

  “Good point there.” Tremayne shrugged at Kenzie. “So what do you want, girl? The seller, you say? That’s possible, but you can’t take the relic. If I don’t deliver this, I die.”

  Kenzie returned his gesture. “Live by the sword . . .”

  He grinned. “Such a perfect axiom for you, but I see they’ve stripped you of yours.”

  “I saw no real need for it here.” But Kenzie’s tones were dulled.

  “We’ll get it out of him,” Mai said.

  Kinimaka looked doubtful. “How?”

  “Any way we have to.” Mai raised the weapon she’d taken from one of the dead guards and sighted on Tremayne’s gut.

  “Wait,” Tremayne said. “I can only tell you what I know, and I meant it when I said that if I don’t deliver, I die. Even I don’t mess with my buyers. Not these guys.”

  “The buyers don’t matter,” Kenzie said a little too fast. “We want the seller.”

  “But why? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Mai moved so fast even Kenzie barely saw her move. Tremayne was standing one minute, then groaning on his knees the next, disarmed but managing to cling to the backpack. Mai was beside him, regarding the clutching hand as if she might happily break the fingers.

  “Whoa. That was fast,” Kenzie said, impressed. “Did you see that, Tremayne? Probably not.”

  “Wait . . . wait . . .”

  Struggling up, Tremayne cast a glance behind toward the office. Mai correctly guessed that the entrance held some kind of secure door and frame, and stepped around, pushing him further out into the night. In the end he spread both hands.

  “Look, girl, I don’t know who the fucking seller is, all right? I don’t freakin’ know. I’m a third party, facilitating the sale through the auction house. You know how this works. A phone call, a collection, and then a wire transfer into some obscure, untraceable bank. Happens every day. They know me. That’s their security. I don’t know them. That’s mine.”

  “How many times has it happened this way?”

  “With them? M
aybe five. Twice a year.”

  Kenzie made a face at Dahl. Clearly, Tremayne wasn’t the only outlet for the masquerading relics.

  “He’s hopeless,” Mai said. “We should rid the world of one more plague and have done with this business.”

  “No, we should take him in,” Kinimaka said. “Justice will decide.”

  Kenzie regarded Tremayne. “You are useless to us without your seller. We’ll take the cup and leave you at the mercy of your buyer.”

  She approached the backpack.

  “No. there is something else. Something I could help you with.”

  Kenzie jerked the strap from his hands, heard him gasp. “Fuck off, Tremayne.”

  “No, no, girl. Listen. The same seller is moving a different item next week. Assured me the same quality and provenance as this one. If you let me finish with my buyer I can take the next relic from the seller, maybe dig deeper.”

  Kenzie thought about it. As far as she could tell, Tremayne was on the level, but the logistics of sticking with the man and making sure he delivered were tricky to say the least. Only one person in the SPEAR team was qualified to go undercover as part of a relic smuggling team.

  “Shit.”

  She would be at Tremayne’s mercy.

  “Shit and bollocks.”

  Dahl came up and laid a large hand on her shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not going to happen. Too risky.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Kenzie whirled on him. “We’re stuck hard in one of the craziest, deepest and most dangerous missions your team has ever encountered and now, finally we have a lead. No way am I backing off. No fucking way.”

  “You will,” Dahl growled. “If—”

  And Mai now laid a small hand on his wrist. “I say let her decide. Don’t you?”

  Dahl drew away, a little embarrassed it seemed. “Well, yes. I guess. The danger though . . .” He shook his head.

  Kenzie flashed a seething glare at Tremayne. “Take me with you, boss.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The man in the white, tight-fitting Gucci T-shirt and jogging bottoms moved stealthily across the office, the odd, inconsistent chain around his neck clicking. The T-shirt—because he enjoyed expensive clothes for being expensive. The jogging bottoms—for freedom of movement. The chain—a lifestyle requirement.