“Yeah. He’s relentless; crazy; clever. I can see why the Americans send him in.”
“Good guy to have at your side.”
“Oh yeah, and a monster to have at your back.”
Drake stared out the window, wondering how they could possibly hope to deal with the new threat, especially on top of those that already existed. Luther was acting on orders, but if the guy threw any more missiles at them Drake knew they would retaliate in kind. Not to do so would be fatal.
“You know something,” he said. “When Lauren left to carry out her plan I wasn’t entirely sure it was the right thing to do. But now . . . now . . .”
Hayden nodded in agreement. “She feels like our last hope.”
“Depends on the bloodhound.” Alicia pointed her thumb back at the town. “And how far he wants to take it.”
“Don’t be fooled,” Mai said. “He’ll follow your own creed, Taz. He’ll go all the way, every time, hard in, as often as he can. And he’ll take no prisoners.”
Drake saw worry even in Dahl’s eyes.
It was reflected in his own.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Another hour of the day and another safe house—this one in the center of Luxor City, as close as prudence would allow to Hatshepsut’s temple. Once the capital of Ancient Egypt, Luxor, then called Thebes, was situated close to many of the famous sites—Karnak, Hatshepsut’s Temple, and the Valley of the Kings. The main city was modern and shining bright under the midday sun as the team arrived; with wide through-roads lined with rows of trees and a variety of transport. In sharp contrast, within the contemporary environs lay the remains of the old city, the temple ruins of Karnak and Luxor still standing inside the new city. Before they arrived Crouch told them he had visited Luxor many times, likening the city to one large open-air museum, a fantasy theme park for an old archaeologist like him.
The Nile cut through, and across the west bank Necropolis lay the Valley of the Kings, and the Valley of the Queens.
“Feels even hotter down here.” Alicia fanned her face, trying to bask in the air-conditioning.
“It doesn’t get much hotter than this,” Crouch agreed. “Or sunnier. We’ll be at the safe house soon.”
“Please tell me it has air-con,” Smyth pleaded.
“Well, it has decent sized windows.”
“Crap.”
Ten minutes later they were ensconced in their apartment, a modern block this time with three different rooms and a modicum of comfort. Hayden walked over to the TV and switched it on, searching for a news channel.
“I was hoping this would be prime news.” She threw the remote down.
On screen, a reporter spoke live from the streets of Cairo, a government building in the background. It was a BBC broadcast and came across in English.
“With the deadline fast approaching, officials in Egypt, Turkey and Greece remain steadfast but nervous. A terrorist organization that call themselves FrameHub continue to hold these countries hostage, reiterating just an hour ago that the first country to capitulate wins.” The reporter enunciated the last word and the picture cut to an image medley of each country as a robotic, unidentified voice spoke over the top.
“We will send the other two countries back to the dark ages. Your missile sites will be used against you. Network disruption will cripple you; roads, hospitals and all crucial services will be rendered useless. You have two hours to comply or we will be happy to give you a small taste of what we can accomplish.”
Hayden sat down heavily, still watching as the picture cut back to the reporter. Most of the team watched with her as they rechecked weapons and reloaded. Drake changed his stab vest; the team wiping sweat away with towels. Kinimaka found the air-con unit and switched it on; though the feeble machine barely managed to huff out a decent blast of air.
“Awful, brahs,” he complained. “If we got Lancelot Smyth upset we’d get better airflow.”
Smyth was studying his cell and quickly returned it to his pocket. The look on his face told them he hadn’t heard Kinimaka—his mind was in an entirely different place. Dahl shrugged back into his gear, eyeing the covering T-shirt with trepidation.
“Just once,” he said. “I’d like to step out of the door in a hot country in just my T-shirt.”
Alicia raised a brow. “Really? I’d pay to see that.”
Dahl sighed. “You know what I mean.”
“Cool it,” Drake intervened. “That’s my bird you’re stirring up there.”
“She wants to see a real man.” Dahl flexed a few muscles. “Leave the poor girl alone.”
“And they’re mine,” Kenzie said with a salacious smile. “Or soon will be.”
Dahl found a space to sit and watch the TV. “Don’t bet on it, Kenzie.”
Hayden raised a hand to shush them as the reporter wound up.
“So here we are; just a few hours until this unknown group threaten to unleash some kind of warning attack on the countries of Egypt, Turkey and Greece. A source in the Egyptian government tells us that, so far, they have been unable to unearth any information on the so-called FrameHub organization threatening to send at least two countries back to the dark ages.”
Hayden checked her own weapons. “That’s what we’d be involved with if we were still operational.”
“Don’t fret,” Dahl said. “I’m sure they’ll have someone working on it. Another team.”
“That’s what worries me too,” Hayden said. “They shut us down, disavowed us all. How many other teams have they disowned?”
Drake hadn’t thought of that. “You’re think there may be more?”
“Well, we surely can’t think we’re the only ones. That’d be naïve. I’m thinking if we could contact them . . .” She let the idea hang.
Crouch was listening. “I could help with that,” he said. “I haven’t heard anything that supports such a theory, but I agree it’s unwise to assume you are the only ones. I’ll make some calls.” He slid out his cell and flicked at the screen a few times.
“Well a little more information now. As you know I tasked a couple of contacts with finding out more of this FrameHub. They might be new to the world, but they’re an old unit, together at least two years. Apparently they’re made up of super-geeks and, by turns, considered myths and then supposedly proven bona fide. Nobody has ever proven their existence. Nobody has even met anyone involved—” Crouch paused, looked up with an expression of exasperation on his face. “Nobody has ever met anybody who’s met anybody involved. They’re ghosts, people, just ghosts.”
“Put ’em on a shelf,” Alicia said. “And we’ll exorcize ’em later. Is everyone ready?”
Crouch’s face changed instantly to excitement. “Moving out?”
“Yeah, and let’s make this one quick. The last thing we want is those mercs turning up in such a busy place. And the same goes for Luther.”
The team grabbed water and snacks and headed straight for the door.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Hatshepsut’s Temple is an ancient funerary shrine situated on the west bank of the Nile, close to the Valley of the Kings and dedicated to Amun, the Egyptian sun god. Its beauty is unmatched, one of the most outstanding monuments that remains on the earth today. Drake heard Crouch state all this and more, but didn’t fully understand until he saw it with his own eyes.
He stopped in his tracks, stunned. First, he noticed the enormous cliffs rearing up behind, sandy colored, as if tasked to protect the ancient shrine. The building itself, whilst huge, was dwarfed by the cliffs and the bright blue spread of sky above. Drake saw three levels, a wide ramp leading up to the second. Rows and rows of pillars fronted the shrine, evoking a sense of classical architecture. The ramp and the second level were crammed with tourists and the noise level swelled as they approached.
“Any ideas where to look?” Kinimaka asked.
Crouch shook his head. “We may only get one crack at this. Time is short. Don’t rush, just cover every square inch, and�
�” he tapped the side of his head “—call in the moment you find something.”
Drake took a moment to stand at the top of the ramp, turn, and study the crowd behind them. Nothing suspicious presented himself so he turned toward the pillars and the darker, cooler areas within. It took a while for his eyes to adjust and then he started paying close attention to the walls, the ceiling, the pillars, just as before. The area back there was narrow, thankfully so as it gave them less ground to cover. The floor consisted of smooth, seemingly haphazard paving, gray in color, and what few depictions there were on the bodies of the pillars were worn and hard to make out. Still, Drake saw nothing even remotely looking like a capstone.
The team completed the outer sweep and moved into the inner courtyard, seeing another row of pillars and tired, sandy walls full of depictions. Again they split up and walked across to study every inch.
Drake kept an eye on the tourists and the locals, noting that Smyth and Kenzie were doing the same. The atmosphere inside was low-key and pleasant, everyone knowing what to expect and quietly awed by the ancient construction. The day stretched out ahead of them.
“Is this weird?” Alicia asked.
Drake frowned. “Is what weird?”
“Us. Like this. I mean . . . fugitives? Really? I know I’ve been on the run most of my life but not like this. Every uniform, every cop I see, even the sound of an approaching siren—it’s all suddenly a concern, you know?”
“I get it.” Drake nodded. “And if it wasn’t for Michael needing our help we’d be on top of it by now. I’m sure we would, love—”
“We don’t even know who burned us,” she interrupted. “Or why. Crowe would be a good place to start.”
“True, but I don’t think she’s behind it all. At worst, she’s compliant. Either way, they need taking down. Especially, as Hayden suggested, there may be more teams.”
Alicia nodded at that. “It would be naïve to think we’re the only ones affected.”
“We’ll get there,” Drake assured her with a clear, open look. “We will.”
“I know.” Alicia turned her attention to the wall and the pictures there. Drake stayed close, again scanning the crowd. A quick flick of the comms and a chat assured him that everyone was where they should be.
Crouch spoke up then. “Nothing here, I’m afraid. We should head down. Try the lower level.”
The team agreed, heading for the ramp again with its central stairs. It was mid-afternoon by now, the tourists out in full flow and the sunshine as hot as it was going to get. They took their time descending, broke out water and snacks, then looked at the lower row of pillars that stood before them.
A few minutes later they were in that shade again, searching, hoping to find the lost symbol.
Drake heard a distant roar, dull at first but gradually growing louder. It wasn’t the approach of anything airborne, nor a powerful car. It was something else.
“You hear that?” He turned and shaded his eyes, staring back toward the road and parking areas.
The approaching roar was not alone. Several engine notes could be heard.
“My ears tell me that’s a Ducati Panigale,” Drake said. “Anyone else?”
“It’s a motorbike, Drake.” Alicia shook her head. “You’re such a child sometimes.”
“Hey . . .”
Crouch was alongside him now. “It is a Panigale,” he said. “And an MV Augusta if I’m not mistaken. Others too. And they’re headed straight for the bloody ramp!”
Drake knew it couldn’t be a coincidence. The riders were large, double-teamed, the bikes the fastest of their kind on the planet that day. Five of them—ten men—and they were headed straight across the car park directly through two masses of tourists, sending them diving and screaming out of the way.
“What is this?” Hayden asked in surprise. “An assault? Here? Surely not.”
“Well, whatever it is, we should prepare.” Crouch unslung his backpack.
Drake scanned for guards, knowing the Egyptians would be entirely on their toes when it came to something like this. “The security?” he breathed. “It’s all gone. There were armed police there.” He pointed. “And there. A couple of undercovers I spotted too. But . . . now . . .”
“It begs the question,” Dahl grunted. “Who on earth are the mercs working for?”
“Someone with the capability to pull the guards away,” Hayden said.
Drake watched all five bikes, their helmeted riders and passengers using the machines to a great degree of their potential, approach the base of the ramp. Quickly, they slowed. Civilians dashed to and fro, desperate to get away from the area. Their screams were almost enough to drown out the roar of the Kawasaki Ninja that Drake had his eye on, but not quite.
“Let’s make ’em pay for this.”
He stepped out of the shade, around a column, and one of the bikers saw him. Shouts went up and helmet visors were raised. One man gunned the engine of a Honda Fireblade, the other opened the throttle of the Ninja. Both bikes spurted toward him.
The SPEAR team spread out around the far side of the bottom level of Hatshepsut’s temple, stood in the heat and beneath the cloudless blue sky, weapons ready, studying the terrain and the scene. Civilians were beyond the oncoming bikes and nobody would risk a stray bullet at this stage.
The fifth bike in the procession—Drake recognized it as an Aprilia RSV—also veered off the path and darted across the dried-out desert, closing the gap at rapid pace. Two bikes remained near the ramp, their occupants staring over at Drake and the team through black visors, surrounded now by angry, mystified people. The bikers ignored everything; they just stared.
Drake and the others had no choice; as the bikes powered closer, engines roaring, they raised weapons. Still no sign of the cops. What the hell is going on?
He sighted the Ninja’s rider, the very center of his pitch-black helmet. What were they up to? Something smelled decidedly off about the entire attack.
“I have a feeling we’ve been outthought,” Dahl said.
Then the Ninja’s rider held up a hand, slowing before Drake and Dahl. He stopped and then waited a moment, dust swirling around him. The other bikes pulled up too, all six riders holding gloved hands in the air.
The first rider climbed off his bike. Alicia held up her own right hand. “What the fuck is going on, CHiPs?”
The man took a moment to remove his helmet. A hard, Eastern European face presented itself, pockmarked and forever bereft of smiles. This man had grown up hard and had only known hardship.
“Who is your leader?” The accent was thick, the English perplexing at best.
“I am.” Hayden stepped forward.
At the same time, Drake said: “Me.”
And Crouch coughed. “Well, I guess you could say—”
“Stop!” the biker snarled. His colleagues were in the process of dismounting and gathering threateningly at his back.
“We’re an unconventional crew.” Mai smiled.
“It does not matter!” the man shouted.
“Then why did you ask?” Alicia said innocently. “C’mon, Barry Sheene, it’s too hot out here for foreplay. Give it to me right between the eyes.”
“You come with us.” The man took a breath and wiped his streaming brow. “You all come with us now.”
Drake stared. “I don’t think so, pal.”
“Then you will cause the death of all these people.” The merc couldn’t keep a vicious smile from lighting his eyes. “I do not care either way.”
Drake and Dahl indicated their gun hands. “You’re the one standing in the sights.”
“Maybe.” The merc pulled out a phone and turned the screen toward the SPEAR team. “Watch.”
Drake squinted as the rest crowded around. Slowly, the potential scenario became clear and Drake felt an ice-cold torrent of horror drop straight through his body.
“No,” he breathed. “You . . . you can’t do that.”
The merc smiled nastily
.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Drake couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen.
It showed the final two bikes, the ones that had remained near the ramp. The riders remained in place but their passengers had climbed down. Now, a man was taking a live video of those passengers and the bombs that were strapped to their waists underneath their thick jackets.
“Choice is yours,” the merc said. “But make it quick.”
Drake restrained a desire to lash out. Alicia couldn’t. She moved fast, but Dahl was ready. His right arm came out as she moved, encircling the top of her chest and holding her back.
“Don’t.”
Alicia fought, but Dahl held on. Smyth was also walking forward, hatred and hellfire plastered across his face. Mai stepped in front of him, pushed him backward, and caught a swipe of his arm. She twisted it back, stopping the soldier in his tracks. Kinimaka was red-faced, puffing, but unable to say a single word.
Crouch caught the merc’s attention. “Just stay calm. There’s no need for violence. What exactly do you want from us?”
“You come now. All of you. Right now. No more talking. Or the first bomber goes in.”
Drake let his Glock fall, dangling below his hand. Dahl did the same. The team stood down. Perhaps it was all a bluff, but the probability was that it wasn’t. Better Intel would have been great, but for now they were flying blind.
“You looked like tourists once. Do it again. Walk with us.”
Under the intense heat the SPEAR team walked alongside the bikes. Soon they joined the others, passenger-less now since they had joined the crowd. The initial appearance of the bikers seemed to have been taken as a prank. Tourists were laughing again and taking pictures, though Drake saw no evidence of locals.
“What’s this about? Who are you?”
“No questions. No answers. You will find out what they want when we get there.”
Drake glanced at Dahl. What they want?
“They’re mercs,” Dahl said. “Basically slaves.”
Drake nodded. He hated that they’d been forced into capitulation by a horrific but ingenious plan of attack. Nobody hurt, not even close. But the bombers were still back there, and the authorities, judging by distant sirens, seemed to have their hands full with something else.
The Seven Seals of Egypt (Matt Drake Book 17) Page 10
