Hayden and Smyth performed their routine again, beginning to look more streamlined and content in their work as the hour progressed. Joshua spat out water again and again, choked until he almost passed out, made some joke about all the water helping to cleanse his practically dried out liver, and went under again. Kinimaka came back in, saw the ongoing struggle, and disappeared some more. Mai and Alicia stood next to each other, arms crossed, looking like they wished they’d prefer a bloody battlefield than such close proximity.
Drake sauntered over to them both, knowing waterboarding could take a while. “ ’Ow’s it goin’? Don’t s’pose you saw a chip ’ole out there?”
Mai struggled, frowning. Alicia grunted. “Is that supposed to be an icebreaker?”
“Hellfire! Why would I do that?”
Mai put a hand on his arm. “Chip ’ole?”
“Chip hole. Fish and chip shop. Chippy. The house of the gods.”
“Ah, and I thought I knew all your jargon.”
“You don’t know the half of it, Sprite.” Alicia made a point of stepping between them to fetch the last bottle of water, removing Mai’s hand by default. “Have you heard the noise he makes when you twist his—”
Drake coughed loudly. “Alicia!”
“Finger,” she finished innocently, then started to remove the bottle top.
Mai, it seemed, had decided not to let Drake go lightly and, to be fair, why would he ever have expected her to? He guessed the only thing stopping her accelerating this feud into a full-blown battle was the fact that it was she who had left him, she who had needed time, she who hadn’t been able to say if and when she was coming back to the team.
The Japanese woman moved incredibly fast, closing down the space between her and Alicia and plucking the water bottle from the other woman’s hands. Then she took a long swig, smiling into Alicia’s shocked face.
“Icy.”
“That’s the last bottle.”
“Here,” Mai proffered the open top. “I’ll hold it still to make sure you don’t choke too much.”
“I don’t swop spit with bitches.”
“Oh, is that a recent lifestyle change?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Drake said and turned away. “Stop twisting me bloody lug ’ole.”
He hoped his disdain would have the desired effect and, for a while, it did. The team had been shaken hard lately. Dahl and Johanna splitting, and talking about divorce. Smyth and Lauren warring so badly that the New Yorker had elected to stay in DC. And then there was Hayden and Kinimaka, two people he’d thought were made for each other. He felt badly for them, seeing both sides and able to do precisely jack-shit about it. For right or wrong, couples made their own choices and moved ahead. It was just another one of those life-changing crossroads moments.
If only he’d known what was about to happen. Turning back then, he saw Hayden pouring and Smyth tugging on the towel. He saw Joshua’s feet kicking and then heard them drumming on the floor. He saw Kinimaka return again and nod the all clear.
At last, they allowed Joshua to breathe. Smyth moved around to the back of the chair and whilst the corrupt man tried to catch breath, he kicked it forward. The floor came hard; Joshua’s forehead striking concrete. Smyth pulled him back up, then bent down so he was less than an inch from the haunted eyes.
“You ready yet, or we gonna get started on the second hour?”
Joshua took a long shuddering breath. Blood from the gash across his forehead started leaking into his eyes. The man looked exhausted. Hayden made a point of heading back over to the sink and filling the kettle. About thirty minutes ago, on seeing her do the same thing, Joshua had asked for an Earl Grey. Now, he stared despondently at the ceiling.
“I will speak. You promise to let me go, I will speak,” The words were ragged, torn from a bruised throat. “Ah, my head hurts so much.”
Hayden spread her hands. “You sure? Don’t want to hold out for just a while longer? Want an aspirin?”
Kinimaka stepped forward. “Quit it with the intimidation. Just let the man speak.”
“Stand back, Mano. That way, you’re not involved.”
Drake moved to the Hawaiian’s shoulder. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”
Joshua wasn’t waiting any longer though, probably hearing the quiet friction all too well. He took one deep breath and began to speak. “We, the militia, see what goes on in town, we oversee most of it. There are many involved, from all . . . rankings.” He shrugged. “It is what it is. I know of man you seek, though he is very careful. Money does buy anonymity if that’s what you want and you have the deep pockets. He lives in the mountains, yes, but I don’t know where. There are so many deep mountain passes nobody ever visits, even unexplored regions out there.” He waved vaguely at the door.
“That’s not going to be good enough,” Kinimaka warned.
“No, no, I have not yet finished. He uses middlemen and his own people to pass messages, cash and other items. He buys from our town but sends only those sworn not to talk of what they know. Hey, guys, my forehead really hurts. Can you break bones in there? I mean, shit . . .”
“Wait,” Drake said. “Rewind. You said ‘his people?’”
Joshua cleared his throat noisily. “I don’t know arrangement, but they do not work for him. It is more like they belong to him. For life. Maybe he has house like Charles Manson, eh?” He tried a grin that didn’t even start to work, then continued, “The people that bring cash though, they not so clever. I talk, the militia talks, and they sometimes reveal too much, yes? I know they are closest to Kimbiri, and also know of Nuno and Quillabiri.”
“Kimbiri?” Mai asked.
“It is a small village out there—” again he waved at the door “—in the mountains. Mostly self-sufficient. Remote. Traditional. Old Incan ancestors. We don’t hear much from them.”
The way he dropped his eyes spoke a different truth.
Still, Drake became upbeat. “More like it, pal. This is what we need, guys, so let’s wrap it up. Wrap him up. And scram.”
“Wait.” Hayden lifted the kettle. “He’s lying. Something’s not right with his story.”
Smyth stood at the crossroads. “Want a little more, bud?”
“That’s all I know. All—”
Drake waved a hand in a delaying motion. “We got—”
Smyth was watching Hayden, who quickly nodded. He took a step back, raised a boot and kicked hard at the back of Joshua’s chair. A man tied so tightly and unable to move will go down hard, and onto the same spot he’d already hurt, and if the choices at the crossroads stood against you—then that man would stop struggling almost immediately.
Forever.
CHAPTER TEN
The journey to Kimbiri was made by vehicle and by foot, the village not completely isolated but far enough away to make the trek feel like a tough grind. Dahl was informed of their destination and Hayden put in a call to Lauren along the way. This was after Smyth tried and got no joy. Hayden’s call was answered on the second ring.
“Well, nothing looming,” Hayden reported after she ended the call. “And Secretary of Defense Crowe has passed a non-important message on via Lauren. The new HQ will be ready in a few weeks.”
Alicia perked up. “Really? The secret base?”
“Apparently.”
Drake concentrated on the path they trod—a dusty, gravel-strewn cutting that ran between high verdant hills. Mountains stood cloaked in shadow behind the hills and white clouds scudded across a blue sky. Drizzle threatened a worsening, harder rain but had so far held off. The temperature up here was far below that of Cusco, requiring warmer clothes, but the team had packed accordingly. Drake hitched his backpack higher, taking care not to disturb the generous cache of weapons and ammo the CIA had supplied them with.
Hayden shrugged as Alicia continued to stare. “Crowe didn’t say. Here’s hoping.”
“Yeah, we really do deserve a secret base.”
“Are we there yet?” Smy
th grumbled.
“Not yet, baby,” Alicia said in mothering tones. “Would you like to play I Spy to help distract you?”
“I’ll play anything if it warms me up.” Kinimaka shivered. “I’m friggin’ freezing up here.”
“Not quite Waikiki beach?”
“Not exactly. A tad cooler.”
The path led them across a flat plateau that stretched for a mile to all sides and then up the side of a steep, grassy hill. At the top they traversed past several rows of crumbled walls, an old settlement perhaps. Hills and mountains always lay ahead, and all around. Sparse trees dotted the landscape. The path was no wider than a horse, and for safety’s sake forced them to travel single file. Drake noticed Mai near the front and Alicia close to the back, a picture replicated by Hayden and Mano. How would they ever repair the rifts that had started to form in the SPEAR team? Should they even try?
Or break away?
But he didn’t want to think like that. Putting one step before the other, he walked with the men and women he’d come to view as family. The only family he could properly remember. A sad fact, and regretted. Everyone should remember their dad, the ways he helped and laughed and fought for you when you were young. Everyone should remember their mum, the times she cheered and uplifted you. Everyone should remember those eternal family moments.
But Drake . . . he didn’t. The past was past and gone.
More hills, more trekking. The team followed a GPS map toward a set of coordinates, having programmed in the easiest path. The readout finally declared they were less than a mile away.
Descending another extensive, rolling hill they saw a mostly flat plain below, its contours made up of shallow dips and long stretches of tableland. At the center of this plain a small village had taken hold, a hundred or more houses built from brick and tiles nestling within the dips or against the small slopes. Walls ringed each house and the village itself, some crumbled, others as high as a man’s chest. More houses were built together or closely adjacent as if space were a factor.
Within the village they could already spy people.
Hayden paused and studied the team. “We need a spokesperson.”
Alicia shrugged. “Don’t speak Inca.”
Even Drake cringed a little. “The predominant language is Spanish, though out here . . .” he shaded his eyes with his hand as the sun broke free for a brief, blissful moment.
Mai was making a show of staring at Alicia. “I fail to see any circumstance where you would be the best spokesperson.”
The Englishwoman opened her mouth, a retort already formed, but then hesitated. “Well, the Sprite has a point, I guess.”
“Maybe someone will speak English,” Kinimaka said hopefully. “Failing that we can use hand gestures. Or send someone back to town for a translator.”
Drake agreed with the Hawaiian. All they needed from Kimbiri was a helpful hint, an indication of where the mysterious man’s house might be. The mountains were too vast and dense to check any other way and the trails that crisscrossed them too treacherous and plentiful. Short of staking out Cusco for his next shopping trip, they really had no choice. And not enough time.
“Let’s try,” he said and walked steadily down the path. Surrounded by the vibrant scenery and bracing day he could almost believe the team were content with their lots, but nothing could be further from the truth.
Smyth walked alone, head down, having refused all offers of help or concern since Joshua died. Drake understood it was a testing moral situation that the soldier found himself in. On the one hand Joshua had been part of the Cusco Militia, no doubt immersed in more excessive endeavors than they would ever know, but it had been Smyth’s blow that killed the man. Joshua had been tied down—no heat of battle struggle. Hayden also seemed a little subdued, recently trying and failing to bring herself up and out of the doldrums. To Drake, it was a team problem; a great, blood-curdled whirlpool of moral decisions, repercussions and guilt. It couldn’t go unchallenged.
Drake knew the event was a big, barbed thorn of fate. The moral standpoints would be discussed elsewhere. Joshua was a cold-blooded criminal, a killer with no conscience. Drake tended to afford his kind less understanding.
As they drew closer to the village, several inhabitants scooted away. Others chose to hide. Drake watched them with concern. Surely they didn’t look that threatening. Weapons were concealed and flak-jackets were covered over. Kinimaka was at the rear; Hayden at the front. Those women he could see wore shawls, hats and skirts in a variety of colors; the men jeans and leather or denim jackets. Some wore baseball caps. They were a weathered looking people, happy with the elements and their place in the world, content with their community.
But today Drake sensed something was different.
Hayden paused on the outskirts, gave the team a warning look. “Something ain’t right here, guys. Be careful.”
Without any hint of threat, they prepared as best they could.
Closer still, they viewed the brick houses and carved out trails between. The strong walls, the livestock wandering around. Families sat huddled in the entrances to their homes. Men walked toward them down the wider main street and Drake recognized fear in their eyes. He saw a woman on her knees, wailing, head held in her hands. He saw a family gathered around her, misery so entrenched in their features it might have been carved there.
“Slow down,” Mai told them all. “Something has happened and we’re not a part of it.”
She pressed forward, concerned, as the rest of the party slowed. Drake stayed as close to her shoulder as he thought reasonable. Alicia unconsciously dropped back, joining Kinimaka. Smyth continued to show little interest, milling around the center with Yorgi and Hayden.
Mai addressed the approaching men. “We can help. What has happened here?”
Drake tried not to wince. It was natural that Mai would be the one openly concerned. She had traveled half the world to help Grace, Chika and find her parents. She had left everything behind, including him. Mai couldn’t stand to see innocent people persecuted, or in pain, only seeing her young self in those situations.
Confusion lit the faces of those closest. One said, “help?” in a halting voice, another nodded. It was the young that guessed the language and a boy that then ran off, presumably to fetch somebody. Suspicion still filled many eyes and the tears of the family never stopped. Drake understood they should not approach them. They couldn’t hope to know what had happened here. These people, despite their hardiness, were still a vulnerable folk; stationed out here in the wilderness and away from even a half-corrupt authority. Self-supportive they may be, but even independence attracted its own set of dangers.
In the end a tall, willowy woman approached, jet-black hair drawn severely back, a black hat atop her head.
“What do you want here?” Her voice was authoritative and high-pitched. “Who are you?”
“We came for your help,” Mai said. “But I now see you have some problems.” She then bowed slightly. “I am sorry. Who are you?”
“The children’s teacher,” the woman said. “Why do you think I always speak at the top of my voice?”
Mai smiled politely. “I am Mai, and these are my companions. We seek a man that lives in a house somewhere in these mountains. But now . . . our problems appear trivial. Can we help?”
“Why?” the woman said, then immediately looked embarrassed. “I am sorry. Forgive my impoliteness. If one of my children spoke that way I would inform their parents. Hello—” she held out a hand “—I am Brynn.”
Mai shook. “We are soldiers,” she said simply. “Searching for a lawbreaker.”
Drake saw no clear threat in these people, only fear and mistrust. He liked Mai’s basic, nondescript termination.
“No lawbreakers here,” the woman said instantly.
“We know,” Mai answered. “We came only to ask for help.”
“How ironic. On this day.”
Mai must have noted a shift in the woman’s e
yes, for she glanced over at the seemingly bereaved family. It occurred to Drake that they should probably back away from this place and leave for good, but that same odd feeling he’d been having since they disembarked in Cusco—that sense that they were in the right place, doing something important despite the overall status of this mission being marked as low—sparked up inside once again.
They were meant to be here.
“I’m Drake.” He stepped out from behind Mai and offered a hand. “Matt Drake.”
Brynn shook, met his eyes, and then stared back at the family. “You come to us on a sad, sad day.”
He took several moments to study the terrain, the village boundaries, and saw nothing untoward. It was the soldier’s instinct, assuming these people were under some kind of threat, but it could just as well be a personal loss.
“I am sorry,” Mai said. “We did not mean to intrude.”
Drake was so thankful it was Mai and not Alicia that had stepped forward to talk. The Englishwoman’s first impulse was always: head-lock, her second: ask questions. But then, she’d been forged by danger; in one threatening situation or another as far back as she could remember.
“Thank you,” the woman said. “We should move away from here.”
They followed her through the village, being watched from doorways and windows and by groups sitting by the side of the road. A goat wandered by and Brynn paused to let it pass. Drake turned from a cold gust that chipped at his face as the sun vanished behind an ominous raft of dark clouds.
“Here.” Brynn had led them to a roughly circular patch of ground that appeared to be the center of the village. Older people sat around on wooden stools or with their backs against gray stone walls. Brynn took a seat halfway up a slope, shading her eyes as she looked to the mountains.
“You seek a man who lives there?”
“We do.”
“I am no elder,” she said, then stopped talking. “No leader. But destiny does have its way.”
Inca Kings (Matt Drake Book 15) Page 6
