Inca Kings (Matt Drake Book 15)

by David Leadbeater

  With liquid grace he sank into a leather chair and sighed. All was well on the mountain today. His people were content, satiated and loyal. Today could be counted on as a good day.

  Not quite yet.

  No, the call hadn’t come in. The man was not worried though. His connection always came through.

  With time to spare and the dawn yet early, he ignored the few notes that had been placed upon his leather-bound desk and looked into the small, round bowl of delicacies perched at the very edge. Immediately he spied something he enjoyed and began to nibble, rising and drifting over to the ceiling-length picture window.

  A deep valley stretched below, and then a sharp rise to the next mountain. High peaks stood sentry to left and right, their majesty immense, their summits lost in haze and drifting cloud. Narrow passes could be picked out meandering here and there, a route through the maze but not without natural perils and their own, more human set of watchmen. Solitude and peace held sway over all, and the man himself was content.

  The food was delicious, done just right. He scribbled a quick note to reward his head chef. They were a strong-knit community here, a family that thrived on togetherness and devotion. If one strand of their kinship became strained then it added tension to all the others. Wellbeing and happiness in one’s self was all he asked for, all he preached.

  And he was lord and master over all. The only lord and master. He was a solitary man, a loner it might be said. And this commune, this spectacular chateau perched on the side of a mountain, this growing family that practiced a most sacred and ancient ritual; every aspect was his brainchild.

  Of course, that which was buried below. That was happenstance.

  That which was buried below gave them all life. It gave them subsistence. It gave them security. But it also presented their greatest danger.

  The man finished his food and drank water, still devouring the grand view. He was the king of all he could see. He smiled after a fashion, not meaningfully or even happily. Just a smile untouched by emotion. He hoped the sentiment reached all the way down through the floor of his office at the highest point of his house, past the lower two floors and into the caves below where most of his people lived.

  Time sped on. The man saw a rigid working day ahead. As he turned back toward his desk, chest swelling with satisfaction, the single black cellphone atop the gleaming leather started to vibrate.

  Communications devices were few in his house, as were computers. And all detached from the Internet unless necessity dictated otherwise. This phone though, it might be plastic, but it was sheer gold.

  “Yes. This is Dantanion.”

  “Sir, this is Tremayne. All went as expected last night and the item has been delivered, the auction and supplementary monies exchanged as usual. No issues and I am ready for the next.”

  Dantanion picked a soft piece of tissue from between his teeth. “Good news. And the acceleration of our transactions, will that cause problems?” He was a soft spoken man and always to the point. No point saying three words when two would do.

  “It’s not a problem, sir.”

  “I rely on you, Tremayne.” A cold lie.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Dantanion thought of the trio of middlemen he had moving the artifacts. He doubted they would ever cross paths, but better to be safe.

  “I rely on others too.”

  A pause. “Understood then.”

  “Lyon next week?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s the next auction we can reasonably make. In reference to your earlier comment though—I should say something.”

  Dantanion paused. This was new. “Really?”

  “Only that the more frequently these . . . items . . . are floated, the more attention they will receive. Until recently the frequency was about right.”

  Dantanion accepted the slight warning. After all, the man was correct. “I do understand what you are saying, but Lyon has to go ahead.”

  Tremayne didn’t falter. “It will, sir. All is in place.”

  Dantanion killed the call and destroyed the burner, then replaced it with another. Any call from Tremayne would be rerouted half a dozen times before it clicked onto the new number; Dantanion’s main compromise to modern life. The next artifact would be lucrative, and imperatively so.

  Tending for, watering, and bringing up over one hundred followers took a toll on a single man, and on that man’s finances. In truth, Dantanion saw that which was buried below as a gift from some kind of god, a ritualistic idol that valued his offerings and the frequency in which he received them.

  Sumptuous offerings.

  Opulent, deliciously extravagant offerings that squirmed and cried and bled just right even as they were slowly being devoured.

  Dantanion reached back to the bowl of delicacies, this time choosing an item that had been cooked slowly, over days, marinated often, and then snipped free of the still-living, still-watching body. He remembered it well.

  Savored the taste.

  Wiped his lips as a string of drool spiraled down, then laughed, this time a full-on belly laugh. Tonight, he would send the monsters out again.

  Tonight would be good.

  He started to work slowly, methodically, sorting through the piles and the priorities. The cops in Cusco needed their cut. The captains both in Cusco and Lima needed more. The authorities that governed Peru took some small slices here and there, but remained almost oblivious.

  The legend of the Cannibal King was local legend only, not even old enough to be passed down from mother to daughter, father to son. But the locals believed it. They had plenty of reason to do so.

  Dantanion took his time finishing up and then rose. It was time to pay a visit to the caves, take in the thick ambiance, the stench, the sweat and the exultance, and bask deep in the heart of it all. It was time to pat the backs of his followers and join them in ritual. It was time to plan for tonight and give them purpose.

  And it was time to tread beyond the caves, delve deeper down, into the great vaults of the mountain where the greatest lost treasure of all time had been found. Extremely unsafe to say the least, Dantanion nevertheless ventured there alone.

  As in all things.

  With one more genuine smile he left the office and headed for the elevator that would take him down . . . down toward the bowels of the earth and the monsters that dwelled there.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Matt Drake flinched as Torsten Dahl’s face filled the video-screen set up on the desk before him. “Whoa, pal, they say the camera adds a few pounds but how many frogs’ legs have you been eating?”

  Dahl took the jibe stoically. “You’re saying I look fat?”

  “Well, not exactly. Fatter.”

  Alicia joined him. “And here’s me thinking you’d be slimmer since you’re all alone with Kenzie now.”

  “What does that mean?” Dahl demanded.

  “You want me to spell it out? Or act it out?”

  “No, no.” The Swede drew back quickly, then gave them a somewhat pained smile. “I am still married, guys.”

  Drake squeezed Alicia’s wrist as she opened her mouth to say something flippant like “not for long” and felt proud of her when she shut it with an audible click. He checked the office to see who else had drifted in.

  Hayden and Yorgi stood behind them, both seeming alone despite standing side by side. Drake nodded. A moment passed and in walked Kinimaka and Mai, freshly returned from their European escapades. More quiet nods. The only people missing were Smyth and Lauren.

  “We’d best get this done,” Dahl said, his voice distorted. “Kenzie’s due back any minute.”

  “How’s the trust between you two?” Hayden asked.

  “She’s doing well so far. Seems straight up. Honestly, I can’t fault her. She’s becoming more and more a vital asset.”

  Hayden coughed. “I meant between Kenzie and Tremayne.”

  “Ah, well, obviously he’s aware of who she is and who we are. He knows who backs
us. He knows our Interpol contacts. He might be slippery and he might be tough but the man knows when he’s in a lose-lose. He’ll come through and she’ll ensure it.”

  “High confidence.”

  “Well, don’t forget I’m here too.”

  Dahl backed away as they all heard a knock at the door. Presently, Kenzie’s frame appeared in screen and then she approached. “Everyone okay? Still fighting?”

  Drake assumed she meant in a general way, but ignored it just to be sure. “What’s the latest out there?”

  “Tremayne is all go. Made contact today with our target whom he only knows as sir, apparently. They arranged for the next artifact to be sold in Lyon.”

  “And Tremayne’s going to dig a little deeper into his client this time?” Hayden asked.

  “Yeah, that’s the idea. We’re working on the details.”

  “Did you hear this man speak?” Kinimaka asked.

  “I did. Sounded reserved, used short sentences, educated. No accent that I could read.”

  “We’re sending you a gift,” Hayden said. “CIA’s finest. You get this guy on the phone again, attach this baby, and it’ll trace anything pretty damn close in a minute no matter the safeguards they got in place.”

  “All right. I don’t wanna spook him though. Everything has to appear authentic. I’ll talk to Tremayne.”

  “Well, if the auction’s soon we might as well wait for their next communication,” Dahl said, out of picture. “The item has to be dropped off, exchanges arranged. Might be tomorrow or the next day.”

  “Sounds good.” Hayden walked over to pour herself a coffee. “Anything else?”

  “No, but we’re fully committed with this. Don’t worry.”

  Dahl signed off. Drake watched as his friend’s face disappeared abruptly, trying to force down a wave of gloom. The recent divorce filing from Johanna—Dahl’s wife—had left the Swede melancholy and his future uncertain. Would Johanna stay put in America? Would she take the children or make access difficult? These were the thoughts at the forefront of Dahl’s mind right now and the sole reason he immersed himself in hard work.

  Or at least, Drake assumed that was it. The Swede had been first to volunteer for the Europe mission after they all agreed Kenzie should take lead. He stared around the room.

  “Where the hell are Smyth and Lauren?”

  *

  Rain pelted sideways at them as they stood frozen in place.

  Smyth glared as water ran down his face, the droplets lit by an array of bright lights that fronted the office building. Not the Pentagon anymore, but an obscure frontage deep in the commercial district, it was far from the top-notch secret base they had been hoping for. It angered Smyth, but then everything usually did.

  “Nothing has changed,” he said shortly. “Nothing.”

  “This isn’t the place to discuss it,” Lauren said, her dark hair soaked and plastered to her shoulders. “Or haven’t you noticed?”

  “I know damn well that you’re avoiding all this. So let me lay it out for you right here, right now.”

  Thunder cracked overhead.

  Lauren narrowed her eyes, the New Yorker attitude taking over. “Oh, go ahead. You lay it all out for me.”

  “Stop visiting Nicholas Bell. I know there’s something between you. He’s a fucking prisoner. A terrorist.”

  “This is your ultimatum?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Nobody tells me what to do. Even when I was a hooker they didn’t tell me what to do. I told them. Now go on into the office, Smyth. And tonight? Get yourself a hotel room.”

  “This is a mistake.” He wiped water away. “Why can’t you talk about it?”

  “Because you don’t understand. You won’t. You can’t. He’s no monster; he was manipulated, dragged in deep, and you refuse to see it.”

  Smyth held up his hands. “Stop visiting the man. Move on. In truth he should die in prison.”

  Now Lauren blinked in shock. “You want him to die there? No proper trial? No reward for his help so far?”

  “Help?” Smyth reached out in despair. “The man’s looking for a deal. An easier life. A way out, God forbid. He’s desperate and so fucking dangerous, Lauren.”

  “I know him.” She backed away, looking to the car. “Y’know. I just can’t do this anymore. The missions. The chasing. The battles. This is where it all ends, Smyth, right here. I’m officially out.”

  He stared. “What? You can’t do that. Remember Jonathan. Remember . . . everyone. You can’t quit.”

  Lauren’s face streamed with tears, drowned with rain. “I remember them all and quitting does not taint their memories, or their actions. I’m done, Smyth. Just get the hell outta my life.”

  The ex-soldier glowered, almost marched off in anger, but something stopped him. “Just promise me you won’t see him again.”

  Lauren shook her head. “Goodbye, Smyth.”

  *

  Drake stared as Smyth came in, soaked from his head to his toes, face streaming and red. Alicia let out a playful guffaw.

  “You walk here, dickhead? Car break down?”

  “Something like that.” Smyth shook his body like a drenched dog and then glared at everyone.

  “Where’s Lauren?” Alicia went on. “Fixing the engine?”

  “Just get the fuck on with it. I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Oh well, excuse the nation and its needs. Best press on, Drakey, before Smyth implodes.”

  Drake saw something in the man’s face, but didn’t want to push or pry. The whole team had their secrets, some more so lately, and some destined to be revealed now that Tyler Webb had made such a bold statement. The man—now dead—clearly had a nasty little stash of information somewhere and had wanted it revealed.

  “Dozens of agencies and powerful individuals all around the world are watching this,” Hayden spoke up. “For good and bad, I’m sure. For wealth. For their passion. For reputation, retribution and respect. No, we don’t know all the details yet but there’s no doubt that the marketing of these artifacts will have far-reaching consequences.”

  “I still don’t see how you come to such a dramatic conclusion,” Mai said. “Relics are bought and sold on the black market every day.”

  Hayden frowned. “You’re right, to a degree. Like I said we don’t have all the details surrounding these relics yet, but I will paint you the same picture I painted Drake and Alicia recently from the latest information. Somehow the most valuable of all Inca treasures came to be in the same place at the same time. Somehow, they got lost to history. Now, almost as incredibly, these relics begin drip-feeding onto the market, starting over a decade ago. One a year. Then two. No real provenance. Disguised from the masses but revealed to just a few. Whoever sold them preferred even his middlemen not to be mired in shady, back-street deals where a thousand things could go wrong. He wanted it all in plain sight, and with less risk. Less chance of the relic being stolen by thieves even worse than himself. Perhaps then, he isn’t a career criminal, a dyed-in-the-wool gangster. Perhaps he has other vices. In any case, the regularity with which the Incan relics appeared increased until now we have one every two months. And today, one a week, it seems. The money could be running out. The sheer size of the treasure hoard might be an issue. Or maybe he just can’t hold his wad anymore. Either way, we have to track every single treasure that has been sold and we have to find the man behind the sales. We have to shut this down.”

  “Agreed,” Mai said, being minimalist on her reply to prove a point. “But why SPEAR?”

  “What’s up, Sprite? Scared they’re gonna try and sell little old you as a relic?” Alicia grinned.

  “I may be little.” Mai scowled. “But you’ll feel me any minute.”

  “Funny,” Alicia reflected. “I used to have a boyfriend who said that.”

  “Why SPEAR?” Hayden interjected quickly. “It’s a good question. I’ll answer with a few of my own. What would happen to a country, any country,
if a billion-dollar treasure was dumped among its criminal elements? What would happen if it was gifted to its bankers? Its politicians? Its agents. Believe me when I say—everyone is watching this.”

  “Global impact,” Drake said. “Hence—SPEAR.”

  “Ah, now I see.”

  “Funny. But there is something else too. It’s believed that this lost Inca treasure contained an item of such importance, such value, that it all but dwarfed the rest of the pieces combined. The impact and importance of finding it can’t be overestimated.”

  Drake turned back to the empty screen. “And it’s all in the hands of the Mad Swede and a sword-wielding bird on the run from Interpol.” He paused. “What could go wrong?”

  Alicia grimaced. Smyth glared daggers. Even Hayden blinked rapid-fire as she avoided a look from Mano.

  “Way to go,” Alicia muttered. “Ya just jinxed it all again.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Kenzie watched Tremayne as the illicit relic hunter watched her. In another time and place they might have been partners. In another—lovers. In still another—enemies trying desperately to kill each other.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Tremayne asked with a smirk.

  “I doubt it. Unless you’re wondering how you’d look with a katana in your neck.”

  “Oh, I could probably pull it off.” He grinned. “How is it that we never met?”

  Kenzie looked away, distracted as one of the new guards Tremayne had hired strolled past. It was a ridiculous question and he knew it. They were thieves; they valued little more than the dark, their own company and a great heist plan. “Why would I ever want to meet you?”

  “I have my uses.”

  She shook her head, wanting this to be over. She’d been watching Tremayne closely for days, watching his bodyguards, ensuring the path to the next deal and the next phone call remained free of obstacles. They had fail-safes in place. Tremayne knew they could make him pay if he failed to come through, but they sure as hell couldn’t watch him forever.