Dahl started throwing mercs around, but found even his incredible strength was sapped to a dangerous level. With the first three bowled over, he made sure they wouldn’t get up. A crushing blow took even more of his energy, stopping him in his tracks, but that man was useful in defending against another. Dahl ensured both ended up with broken bones and writhing on the floor.
Alicia and Mai fought as one, moving forward slowly and protecting each other. Hayden and Kinimaka did the same. Kenzie helped protect Crouch and Yorgi with Smyth, but the duo were fighting a losing battle.
As were they all.
The attack flow was unrelenting. The merc weapons were inviting, but everyone knew with the first shot the guards would take no chances. They would pick the SPEAR team off one by one. So guns littered the floor, a temptation gleaming wickedly.
Drake and Kenzie found knives, and it aided them a little, but the bodies coming at them were still too many. It felt like they’d been fighting for an age, or at least until sundown, but Drake knew it was probably less than twenty minutes. The exertion was killing them as much as the telling blows.
Yorgi and Crouch were at the center as the SPEAR team instinctively came together in the middle of the ring. Smyth and Kenzie, Kinimaka and Hayden protected them. Dahl, Drake and Alicia moved around them. They held the attack back for longer than they could have imagined. The minutes ticked by.
Then someone stumbled. A merc struck a crippling blow, putting Alicia to the floor. Drake found his punches weren’t filled with venom anymore. A headbutt to the face sent him falling back, landing in the grit, head spinning.
He crawled over to Alicia.
“Get up,” he gasped. “Get up, get up.”
She protected her body from blows, still recovering from the potent attack.
“I’m guessing no takeaway tonight after all,” she said softly.
Drake reached out to her, touched her shoulder and held her gaze even as someone’s boot rocked his ribs.
“We never could agree anyway.”
Dahl dealt with Drake’s aggressor, reached down and pulled the Yorkshireman up. Drake held on to Alicia, dragging her up too.
“Not the time for a bloody shag,” the Swede growled.
“There’s always time for a shag.” Alicia palmed off a smaller, greasy man. “Just ask Kenzie. She knows what’s important.”
Dahl knuckled a twisted face, glanced over at the Israeli. “You know,” he said. “The most important thing in life? Family. Or friends. Or both.”
They held fast as a knot of four men hit at once. The impact rattled Drake’s brain inside his skull. He blocked a punch, took another to the face, stopped a man getting past them. Kenzie threw her knife at Alicia, or so it seemed. The blade whickered past, embedding itself into the face of a man she hadn’t noticed—a man that was about to smash a fist-size jagged rock into her skull.
“Helluva throw,” Dahl said.
“And now she’s defenseless,” Alicia grunted. “Dumb as a bedpost.”
But the nod she gave Kenzie was resolute.
Drake saw the mercs still lining up, over two dozen, all fresh, all desperate for a chance to get into the fray. A dozen more surrounded him. They were behind and to the side; they had put up the best fight they could muster.
“Guys . . .” he said, knowing he was battling with his very last reserves of strength.
“Don’t say it,” Dahl breathed, right there at his shoulder. “Team SPEAR will not go out this way.”
“Cool.” Alicia staggered under another strike. “What’s the last-minute plan?”
The Swede knocked a man into unconsciousness with a single blow. “Last chance,” he said. “We’re done. Pick up the weapons and start shooting the fuckers.”
“Good plan.”
Drake spied a SIG Pro semi-auto and dived for it. Before he got there a random leg slammed into his right ear, sending him off-balance. The world turned. He landed, rolled and tried to push up.
The SIG was gone, kicked away.
Despair fought to take control of his mind. In that moment a shot rang out and he dived away, thinking it came from the guards. The arena floor scraped his flesh once more, or rather scraped the wounds where flesh had once been.
A merc fell nearby, shot through the head.
Who got the gun? Alicia?
With the mercs distracted, he rose, swaying in place. The scene was chaotic but also unbelievable. Men dressed in black, wearing jackets, helmets and carrying serious weapons were entering through the cave entrance. Fanning out, they raced down the steps and the channel, pumping bullets into every merc that turned to face them. Drake could tell from the way they held their HKs and fired with an economy of movement, from the way they moved, the way they signaled, that they were professionals at the top of their game.
Another team?
What the . . . ?
Smyth had found a handgun and fired three bullets into three mercs. Those still around looked around and took note. They saw their colleagues being killed in the stands, enemies pouring through the only exit.
Drake pulled Alicia back. Dahl followed. Together, the SPEAR team stood or sat in the center of the ring, watching proceedings with wary and unsure eyes.
The black-clad soldiers moved with deadly efficiency, picking off mercs even as they assessed their own danger. Some quicker ones engaged in the gunfight, but they were not allowed to leave. A few scattered standoffs emerged, but Smyth and Hayden helped by putting down those mercs they could reach from their vantage point. No bullets came flying their way, but only because the mercs were intensely focused on the newcomers.
Then Drake saw a familiar figure. “Oh, bollocks. That’s not good.”
He brought the thunder. The muscle-bound man they knew as Luther leapt down the arena stands throwing grenades left and right. They exploded at his back, framing him with fire and smoke but he never flinched nor lost momentum. Mercs cringed, fell away. The grenades were replaced with machine guns that smashed attackers aside like they were reeds in the wind. He cut a path right through the mercenaries, his men mopping up, and to the very front of the SPEAR team’s new circle.
“You’re coming with me, Drake. You and your team. Now move.”
Desperate for anything but this, for shade, for water, for food, for a chance to recover, Drake and the others complied without even the slightest hint of reluctance. Luther herded them along as his men cleared the arena.
“Get these soldiers some refreshment,” Luther ordered his men as they were approaching the cave entrance. “They’ve been through agony today.”
Grateful though he was, Drake wondered if they’d just left the blazing furnace and fallen right into the raging gates of hell.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
The battle raged.
Luther and his men, twelve in total, may have had the element of surprise back at the arena, but Vladimir’s men had regrouped by the time Luther broke back out and gave immediate chase.
The prospects weren’t good. Drake had been herded into the back of one of two trucks—standard military with canvas covering the back—and told to sit on the floor. Half his team followed and half went in the other truck. Drivers stepped on the gas and they were away. Drake was thrown water and chocolate and then tied by one hand to a metal strut.
“Oh, love.” He chomped hard at the thick bar. “This has to be one the best things that ever went in my mouth.”
Luckily, Alicia was in the other truck. He sipped the water slowly, not surprised with the sudden vigor that entered his body but knowing it would take a while yet and some good food for everything to return to normal. One by one, they began to catalogue their wounds and the seriousness of them, sounding off to each other and yelling out to Luther’s men that they needed antiseptic and bandages.
Both vehicles raced along the desert, hills and dunes to either side, as the mercenaries geared up to follow, pealing out in pursuit with four trucks. Luther’s men had gained a five-minute head
start.
Luther himself sat with them, back to the cab where a driver and shotgun-man sat. Two more crouched in the bed of the truck, peering through the canvas to gauge the pursuit.
Luther made a point of attracting Drake’s attention. “You need us,” he said. “For now. Don’t fuck with us. Let us do our jobs.”
Drake nodded and carried on evaluating his new enemies.
Luther got on the comms, talking to the other truck and making sure they were following the plan. The desert rose and fell all around; mushroom clouds of sand and dust plumed into the air. Though the vehicles were traveling comparatively slowly it felt like they were moving at great speed, bouncing and jouncing around so that Drake’s wrist again started to chafe as they rubbed against the new chains.
Dahl nudged his shoulder. “Captured twice in two days. That’s a new low for me.”
Drake considered it. “Yeah, me too.”
“Really? Surely with the SAS it’s just a Tuesday.”
“Funny. Seriously though, this feels better.”
Dahl shifted his gaze across to Luther; the enormous head with its long scar and intelligent, black eyes. “Depends what he has in store for us.”
“The guy’s Army, through and through,” Drake said. “I’d like to know his orders.”
“Well, if his orders come from the same guys that disavowed us it won’t be a tea and biscuits invitation.”
Through gaps in the canvas they saw flashes of the other truck, where Alicia, Hayden, Kinimaka, Yorgi and Smyth lay in chains, Drake assumed. It jolted along a few feet parallel to theirs, the figures and frames of their friends visible only briefly. If Drake shifted again he could see through the back.
The mercenaries were coming up fast.
“You couldn’t get a faster truck, bro?” Dahl asked Luther.
A shrug. “White House is strapped for dollars these days. Everyone knows that.”
Luther moved to the back of the truck with such physical presence it was like watching a lion stalking. Drake did not fancy trading blows.
“Pal?” he said. “Any more of that chocolate?”
“It’ll make you fat.” Luther studied the oncoming vehicles.
“We’ll take the chance,” Dahl said. “The conditions in that cave were somewhat taxing.”
Drake snorted. “Taxing?”
“English understatement,” Luther said, signaling one of his men to comply. “I like it.”
Drake tuned it out as eating the sugary food became the highlight of the last twenty four hours. The engine roared in his ears, the tires rumbled like thunder across the desert. The heat was intense but frequent gusts of wind wound through the canvas gaps, making it more tolerable.
“Not good.” Luther turned back to the truck. “This is not good, boys. Break out the candy.”
Drake eyed Dahl and they both watched Luther’s men crack open the large black box they had been sitting on. Reaching inside, they rummaged and then withdrew two RPGs, grenades, smoke bombs and other military paraphernalia. Luther crab-walked over to heft the first rocket launcher.
“Snyder, you ready with the smoke?”
“Yeah, boss.”
“Do it.”
The truck rumbled on. Luther approached the rear of the truck once again, then suddenly stopped and threw the launcher to the floor.
“Grenade!” he bellowed.
The driver heard, stamping on the gas. Drake saw the black streak flying toward them and ducked just as the driver wrenched hard on the wheel. The truck slewed, slamming into its partner and bouncing hard on the dust and gravel. The missile flashed by, burying its head into a mound of sand and exploding. The screen of expanding sand it threw up blasted far and wide, showering the passing trucks. Drake felt sand striking his back.
Luther rose and took position. “Firing!”
A rocket flew, just missing the passenger side wheel of a gaining truck. Drake now saw the second in line.
“Balls, that looks like it means business.”
The truck sported a turret-mounted gun on top, like a tank, but Drake fancied it would move a lot quicker.
“Smoke.” Luther reloaded the RPG.
Snyder stepped past him and hurled two grenades. Exploding as soon as they hit the ground, they spewed out thick, white smoke, blanketing the area. Luther crouched and hefted the rocket launcher across one broad shoulder.
Drake caught a good glimpse of the other truck. A man waited there too. He switched his gaze back to the smoke screen.
Two missiles flashed through the thin veil, straight toward them.
“Fuck!” Luther cried.
“Evade!” Drake shouted. “Do it now or we’re dead!”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
To his credit, the driver moved instantly.
Flinging the wheel to the right this time, he made the speeding behemoth screech in protest. Joints rattled and clattered but held. Drake watched the enormous canvas cover tear free and flap off in the wind like a newly born pterodactyl.
A rocket impacted just behind their rear right wheel, sending up a large amount of dirt. The force of the explosion also lifted the truck at that side, forcing the wheel off the floor and the whole vehicle to tilt.
Drake held on with a death grip, more conscious now that the pursuing fighters would almost certainly kill them outright this time. Potentially, his life rested on the balance of the truck. The back end went high, sand and dirt following it in a rippling heap. His vision altered, now showing the sky. Luther tumbled back into the truck, losing his grip on the RPG. Worse, Snyder tipped over the side of the truck, tumbling over and smashing hard against the desert floor, unmoving.
Luther cursed as he moved against the truck’s upward inertia, gripping a strut and staring fixedly at Snyder’s clearly dead body. “Fuck!”
The big man then flung himself against the rising back of the truck, using his weight to help right the stability. The truck seemed to rise and hang in the air for hours as Drake held on but he knew it was mere seconds. The driver worked hard at the wheel, keeping it in line, and then it came down, ass first, back on the road.
Drake breathed in relief, then saw the other truck slewing left and right along desert mounds. “Looks like it evaded the missile and got stuck in sand,” he said.
Another of Luther’s men lay in its wake, dead.
The huge head fell. “Dammit, these kinda good men are hard to come by.”
Drake offered him the rocket launcher with his one free hand. “You dropped this, mate.”
Luther glared. “Give me the damn thing.”
Another rocket came out of the box, a man called Nielsen throwing the object over to him. Luther keyed his comms. “How long to the road?”
He didn’t like the answer, shaking his head again. “Time to light up the entire desert.”
Drake saw four chase vehicles in total. Two standard and two with the wicked-looking turret. The latter two were leading the pack now, their guns lined up.
“You have to get off this road,” Mai said tightly. “We’re lit up like Chinatown.”
“What I have to do is blow up one of those assholes,” Luther said, loading quickly.
Drake saw the problem here. Luther was a blood and fury old-schooler. This was what he did. Realistically, it would come down to who had the biggest, meanest weapons.
“What else you got in that crate?” Kenzie asked quickly.
“We could help,” Drake said. “We have as much riding on this as you do.”
Luther merely snarled. “Once I’ve bagged my meat, it’s let out only to be thrown into the oven. Sit tight.”
Dahl sighed. “I don’t think he likes you.”
“Really? And he’s such an accommodating guy.”
A shrug. “So says Alicia.”
“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”
“A joke.” Dahl and Drake watched Luther fire another rocket, missing the two lead trucks but hitting one of the followers. Flames and tearing metal m
arked the devastation, and a pump of the fist from Luther.
The loss only spurred the attack on. Both lead vehicles were close now, turret-guns trained and men visible in the back with rifles at the ready. Shells slammed out of the turrets, both missing by inches and sending plumes of dirt across both truck beds and the cabs. Luther bellowed crazily, picked up a semi-auto and started peppering the closest attacker with bullets. Nielsen ran to his side, the two men unleashing walls of lead and seeing them bounce off bulletproof glass and metal.
“Grenades,” Luther said.
When he turned to watch Nielsen fetch them, Drake saw a feral twitch to the side of his mouth, an agreeable expression across his face. Nielsen ran back and the two stood right on the back of the truck, lobbing grenades at their pursuers.
“Happy days,” Dahl said with concern. “This isn’t looking good, folks.”
“Need to get free,” Drake pulled on the cuffs again. “Nielson has the keys.”
Ignoring the grenades, prepared to risk injury to gain the rewards, the chasing vehicle ploughed through each explosion, coming closer and closer. When it was near enough to jump aboard Drake could see the expressions of the men driving and of those in the back. The gun turret swiveled, but it was a distraction.
Through rear rails, guns were propped. The sudden sound of gunfire was ear-splitting.
Luther staggered and fell to one knee, holding his side. Nielsen was shot through half a dozen times, the bullet ripping holes in his back and deflecting past Drake and Dahl to slam in the cab, as the unfortunate man tumbled backward and came to lay dead, right in front of the SPEAR team.
Luther turned. “I need more firepower.”
Drake saw the other truck under similar assault. Another hail of bullets struck right down the center of the truck. A scream from the driver sent everyone’s nightmarish fears into overdrive.
The truck began to veer.
Drake and Dahl dived to the floor.
Luther protected himself just as the offside wheels veered into a sandbank and the entire vehicle tilted, slowed rapidly and fell over. The world tilted, everything shifted. Drake hung on once more for dear life.
The Seven Seals of Egypt (Matt Drake Book 17) Page 15
