Once, she’d have welcomed it. Not today.
“Ya get bitch?” A nasty, simpering drawl, spoken in French.
Kenzie saw but a single chance and only seconds of her life remaining. Using every muscle that had taken intensive years to mold, she whipped her body upright in a single movement, used the momentum to slam her forehead into the guard’s and squinted as an explosion of blood covered them both. The guard collapsed, poleaxed. The gun slipped from his hands; straight into Kenzie’s.
And even then, even with such inventive, skilled accomplishments, she was too late. A guard came around the front, gun leveled. Cracktooth was headed around back. Tremayne pointed a pistol at her over the hood of the car, still wearing that infuriating smirk.
“Not. Good. Enough,” he mouthed.
The answer came in the form of a slicing, reverberating gust of wind, a high-pitched whine, and then a thick chunk of sound as a black, two-foot long Japanese blade somehow ended up lodged right through Tremayne’s throat. The man’s eyes bulged, his hands flexed and then he fell to his knees, already dead.
Kenzie didn’t miss a beat.
All around her men stared, gasped, and one man let out a whiny guffaw. The Israeli fired her gun, sending the guard in front of her flying backward, then slid over the front of the car in an attempt to recover her weapon of choice.
The vehicle was high, slowing her, and she left smears of blood and skin across its smooth metal nose. Cracktooth had barely missed a beat, and now fired again, shattering the front windshield and covering her diving body with shards of glass. She hit the ground again, swearing and cursing, and asking for at least one of her impacts to get a little goddamn easier.
Aware of another object blasting out of the shadows she glanced up. Torsten Dahl hit like an avenging angel, hurling a trash can at Cracktooth and then following it up with his substantial body. The villain flattened like wet paper, folding and then smashing into the car, leaving a man-sized dent, rebounding off Dahl’s muscle-bound structure and then folding again. Bones broke and that was the only sound. Cracktooth never uttered another word.
Kenzie saw two more guards, both looking unsure. Fighting the urge to grab the katana, she fired close to them and watched them run. Dahl appeared at her side.
“You okay, Kenz?”
“What do you think, Torst? That is no way to use a katana.”
“It had the desired effect.”
Kenzie found herself keeping an eye on the still-open metal roller door and uttered a silent congratulation. Here she was, a proper agent, watching their perimeter and looking out for her teammate. How the hell did that happen?
“So we really fucked it all up now,” Dahl stated as he retrieved the katana. “The seller just lost a middleman and our only contact with him has gone. Hopefully, the team will be able to pinpoint his base in Peru.”
Kenzie helped clean up, wrap the priceless Incan vase, and then walked with Dahl back to where he’d stashed a car.
“Tremayne may be gone, but he’s not the seller’s only buyer. And he’s just one of dozens of high-quality facilitators out there. Remember, Torsten, I know them all.”
The Swede offered her the katana, a nice gesture. “Tremayne’s buyer? He’ll be pissed. Maybe we can exchange the vase for information.”
Kenzie nodded. “Yeah, but putting aside the incredible danger, isn’t that a bit unethical? I mean, for a government-funded Special Forces team?”
Dahl waved it away. “Ach, nobody knows we really exist. Don’t worry about it.”
“Well then, the deeper we go, the worse, barely human animals we get in contact with . . . the more likely we are to learn more details about this mysterious seller. And who he previously sold to.”
Dahl opened the car door for her. “All right then, Kenzie. I’m ready to go all the way in.”
She paused, wondering for just a moment if he was flirting with her. Surely not. She met his eyes and wondered a little more.
The Swede offered a glint.
“What do you call ‘all the way?’” she asked.
“Balls deep,” he persisted.
“I do like the sound of that.”
“Clearly. So start making calls. The further we penetrate this criminal underworld that exists around the smuggling and selling of ancient relics the closer we will be to unraveling this conspiracy. Let’s get dirty on this one.”
Kenzie swallowed drily, finding it hard to concentrate on work. If the Swede didn’t stop using innuendos soon, welcome or not, she was going to have to jump his bones.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Drake trod the venerated streets of the historic capital of the Inca Empire, trying hard not to let his attention be stolen by the immense sight of the purple-blue mountains in the distance –sentinels guarding the Andes range around Cusco.
A man wearing a T-shirt beckoned the party as they approached a black SUV. The man appeared dubious, but then Drake knew they were probably a larger team than he’d imagined. The only person they had left behind was Lauren Fox, and then only at her request.
The breach between her and Smyth now seemed unrepairable. Drake would never pry, and had decided he was not qualified to offer advice; in fact he was most likely the one that needed it. So Smyth came and Lauren stayed. Drake didn’t want to spin the dice on the outcome of that one.
The man nodded as Hayden approached him. “You Jaye?”
“Yeah, and we’re SPEAR. You Eckhart?”
“Yup. I’d say ‘get in’, but y’all ain’t gonna fit.”
Alicia pointed at a nearby coffee shop. “We can catch up later.”
The team split, Hayden climbing into Eckhart’s back seat. Ordinarily, Kinimaka would have accompanied her but today the big man hesitated, unsure of his place anymore. Hayden closed the door behind her before anyone could react.
Drake decided Hayden shouldn’t be alone, and walked around to the other side, sidling in alongside her. Eckhart took one of the front seats.
“All right guys, you come with good kudos. What exactly can your motley local CIA crew do for you?”
Drake knew they would be far from motley. They were operating mostly undercover and behind enemy lines, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. They would be nothing less than outstanding agents.
“Nothing earth shattering,” Hayden said. “We’re interested in Cusco and the mountains around it. We have a vague tip-off that something bad is going down in the area.”
“Vague?” Eckhart interrupted. “So vague it brought seven of you out here?”
“It’s not the whole team,” Hayden said in a spry manner. “We need to know the local bad cops. The more corrupt the better.”
Eckhart let out a short laugh. “Y’all would be better off asking for a list of the good boys. It’d be a damn sight shorter.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Oh, they’re not so bad as a rule.” He tapped his fingers on the leather seat. “Petty, even. A few dollars here and there. A stint at the underground casino. A free wager on the ponies.” He stopped tapping. “Y’might be looking dubious. But the low wage not only breeds corruption, it makes us see the solution as taken for granted. Believe me, Miss Jaye, I know.”
“Owt worse than ponies, pal?” Drake asked.
“Man, you got a strange accent. You Australian? Anyhow, yeah, of course. The higher you go the worse the corruption.”
“Stolen artifacts?” Hayden pressed. “Maybe by someone based out of town?”
“Nah, all of that crap used to go on in town. Safer for ’em and easier to network. Sorry.”
Drake looked at a dead end, but Hayden urged Eckhart for more. “Give us three of the worst. The shadiest. The guys that you think might know more than you do.”
Eckhart looked swayed and reeled off a trio of names, along with the places they tended to frequent by night. In closing, he promised to send over their mugshots by email. Hayden climbed out of the SUV and turned to Drake.
“Best we coul
d do.”
“It helps. It has to.”
“Crap. Now you’re sounding desperate.”
“Odd thing, Hayden. I know this isn’t exactly a world-saving mission and there are probably more important things happening right now. I know we could be called back any time. But this feels right.” He paused. “Know what I mean? I feel like we’re supposed to be right here, right now.”
Hayden checked her watch. “You do? I wish I could agree, but I’ve been flying in and out of one mission or another for so long I can’t say I really belong anywhere. Right now, DC feels more like home than anywhere else.”
Drake stared at the coffee shop where Alicia made a face through the only window. He smiled, then remembered York, the place he once called home, and wondered if he’d ever return there. He still had the house and wanted to see inside it once again. See the old pictures, hear the croaking frog, look inside Ben’s old room and check out the attic.
“I don’t mean that I’m home,” he said quietly. “I also don’t know where that is anymore. One day though. One day.”
“Ya think? When you’re too old to fight?”
“When I’m too old to fight back,” Drake amended and headed for the coffee shop.
*
After darkness fell they moved out, hoping an afternoon of preparation was enough to weed out the crooked individual they were after. Not knowing who that might be did have its drawbacks, but Drake was willing to bet at least one immoral serpent could be persuaded to point them in the right direction.
The three worst. Out of how many? The man they’d narrowed it down to was an ex-cop, squeezed out for brutality but never charged. Eckhart understood this man now helped run things from the outside, giving the corrupt authorities a thick shield of deniability. If this were true, then this man would have a finger in every pie.
Called only Joshua, he had been described as a cactus—short, prickly, and able to thrive in adversity. After the day’s dirty business was done Joshua liked to retire to a seedy little bar on the dark side of the town, spending his ill-gotten gains until the place shut down in the early hours of the morning. From there, it was a short stumble to his apartment where he slept through the rest of the night and the next morning.
They found a quiet place to park and sent Yorgi into the bar.
Alicia gave him a parting pep talk.
“Yeah, Yogi, we’re sending you ’cause you’re a thief, you look like a thief and act like a thief. That’s the bright side. So you’re gonna blend in. Just try not to get chopped up.” She waved. “Oh, and if you do get made, try that weird building climbing thing you do. See ya.”
The Russian climbed out of the car. Drake spoke in Alicia’s ear. “Encouragement, inspiration and great advice all in the same speech. Nicely done, love.”
“He looked encouraged didn’t he?”
“Oh, yeah. For sure.”
Yorgi passed out of sight and checked his comms. This particular system allowed the microphone to stay open, so they heard everything in real time as it happened. Drake thought it useful since they were sending in a man alone.
Ten minutes passed in darkness, the only sounds the noise of the bar filtering through the comms. Only fifteen minutes to go before kick-out time. Drake heard Yorgi sigh. He heard men and women laughing drunkenly, the sound of a jukebox. Pricked his ears up at the sound of a scream, then relaxed when it turned into a fit of hysterics. A female spoke to Yorgi, no doubt propositioning him, forcing the thief to speak. Enquiries had revealed that this was a high-traffic bar, visited by out-of-towners, so Yorgi would be safe.
Soon, the warning came.
“Joshua is on his way.”
Drake cracked the door, heard the others following. Hayden drifted ahead, stopping at a dark corner. Brick buildings lined the streets in all directions, their windows draped, barely any lights blazing. Darkness pooled along the center of the road. The only man walking it was Joshua.
“Brave,” Kinimaka remarked.
“He does it every day,” Smyth shrugged. “Familiarity . . . and all that.”
“He won’t be doing it tomorrow,” Hayden said with grim determination. “Of that I am certain.”
“First things first though,” Drake whispered. “How to take him down quietly.”
But Alicia was way ahead of him, sauntering out of the shadows and approaching the man with a smile. “Hey. Fancy a shag?”
Joshua’s face was a picture, a goggling, staring, blinking portrait until Yorgi came up behind him and hit him over the head with a bottle. Alicia was on him before he could react, and the job was done.
Hayden nodded with satisfaction. “Let’s see how tough this asshole really is.”
CHAPTER NINE
Drake knew there were precious few times in a person’s life when the crossroads presented itself. A juncture when all outcomes and all futures were uncertain. A person made a choice.
And the rest of their lives changed.
If only we could see these crossroads coming. If only . . .
Not that night they didn’t.
Hayden dragged Joshua through the barely open doors and into the rear store of a shop the CIA used as a front. The store was sizeable, its corners obscured by towers of cardboard boxes. At one end sat a wooden desk, filing cabinets and a bookshelf replete with sheets of paper. At the other end, just a sink and kettle.
Hayden nodded at Smyth. “Grab that chair.”
She waited for Smyth to comply, then threw Joshua into it. The man’s head was bleeding where Yorgi had struck him with the bottle, and his eyes now swept every part of the room and every face before him.
“Who are you? Cops?”
“You speak English? Good. That’ll make this much easier.” Hayden again motioned to Smyth, this time to attach Joshua’s arms to the chair by way of plastic ties. Drake noticed that not once did she look Kinimaka’s way, and he fancied it wasn’t because of their recent break up. The Hawaiian wouldn’t be best pleased with what was about to happen.
Hayden’s track record was not good when it came to holding back.
Hayden stalked over to the sink and filled the kettle. Alicia and Mai checked the outside, walked the perimeter, and reported all was well. Drake and Yorgi considered the inside, noted CCTV cameras and listening devices. Drake pointed them out to Hayden.
“Cover the cameras. Find the tape. Kill the ears.”
He paused. “They already know we’re here.”
“I used to work for ’em, Drake. Believe me when I say—leave nothing incriminating behind. These things can hit you back years down the line.”
It reminded him of Tyler Webb’s menacing statement. He shrugged over at Yorgi and started on the main camera.
Hayden picked up a towel and stepped over to Joshua. His shortness forced him to crane his neck in order to look her in the eyes.
“You shouldn’t fuck with me. You don’t know who I am.” Hard words.
“Y’know, I’m not even gonna play the game,” Hayden said uncaringly. “I don’t give a shit. In sixty seconds, I’m gonna ask you a question. Your answer will determine how much pain I then put you through.”
Joshua hesitated, unsure. “In sixty seconds?”
Hayden wrapped the towel around his head, shutting him up and began to pour from the kettle. Water splashed all over the man’s face and then to the floor. The struggle began, arms wrenching against ties and drawing blood, feet kicking at the chair legs and into empty space. Hayden didn’t bother to hold him down and soon the chair had toppled over. She looked over to Smyth.
“Pick him up.”
The soldier complied. Kinimaka came over to help Drake and Yorgi as they finished removing all the spyware they could see. Drake pocketed a tape and then listened as Hayden spoke once more.
“We’re looking for someone from the mountains. Wealthy, prone to bribery, prefers to be left alone. Educated. A man of few words. Probably ruthless. Does it ring any bells with you, Joshua?”
A wid
ening of the eyes, ever so slight, gave him away. The vigorous shake of the head, though, did him no favors at all.
Hayden had bound his face with the towel again before the denials shot from his mouth. This time, Smyth took the kettle and poured for a while. Gasps filled the room along with the hushed but violent struggles of the drowning man.
Another respite. Another rebuttal. Drake shuffled his feet and looked over when Alicia and Mai came back in. The two drifted separately, and it seemed to Drake that no words had passed between them. Their feud appeared to have lost some of its fire, but no doubt only because Alicia had been gallivanting with the other team for a while. Now that she was back . . . He shuddered inwardly.
Smyth kicked the chair over this time. Joshua tried to scream but only a jet of water burst from his mouth. Then came the coughing, retching and chest heaving.
“Can’t hear you.” Hayden leaned in close.
“It-it’s . . . a—”
“Fuck’s sake.” Hayden didn’t wait, but nodded at Smyth and the water boarding began anew. Drake frowned a little.
“Wasn’t he trying to say something?”
“Dunno, Drake. Was he?”
The crossroads beckoned, a vast junction of possibilities, a multitude of outcomes. Drake saw what could be, but he didn’t see all of it.
Smyth poured. Kinimaka stepped into sight. “Give him a break.”
Hayden was already pushing Smyth’s arm away. Maybe it was luck, or maybe she sensed his movement. As it was, she ignored him and stripped the towel away once more.
Eventually, Joshua found a breath. “It’s not just me,” he gasped. “We are the Cusco Militia. We are twelve. I am leader, but we are strong. You will all die horribly.”
He spat at Smyth and then at Hayden, having no shortage of water in his mouth, and then spat at their feet. Rather than showing frustration or anger, Hayden only grinned.
“I’m happy that you wish to continue.”
Kinimaka grunted and headed for the door. Drake felt for the big Hawaiian, but saw the far-reaching picture, and all the horrendous things that could transpire. They should continue. The Cusco Militia were probably well organized and well trained.
Inca Kings (Matt Drake Book 15) Page 5
