Brothers In Arms (Matt Drake 5)

by Leadbeater, David

  “I just told you, Gates. I know him.”

  A silence descended, frosted around the edges. Dahl was shaking his head at the both of them. “It really is a no-brainer,” he said. “It’s information about a threat to a US official. It has to be investigated.”

  “Agreed,” Hayden, perhaps seeing the need to exert some authority and remind everyone of who was in charge, tapped the side of her coffee mug sharply against a screen. “The question is—should we take it or pass it on?”

  “There’s not only the senator to consider,” Mai said patiently. “It is also the island that should be investigated. What is going on there?”

  Drake read it through again. The words European, experimentation, and weapons stood out like warning signs. “Special Response and Recon. Sounds right up our street.” And anything that added distraction to his days was worth pursuing.

  “But don’t trust Hibiki,” Gates insisted. “Not until you get him alone.”

  Mai stayed tight-lipped.

  Hayden allowed a half-smile to form on her lips. “New team. New mission. New rules. We respond. We don’t initiate. We’re recon. Not assault. And we’re official now. So keep it above the law.”

  “And if you can’t,” Alicia piped up, “make sure no one ever finds the bastards.”

  “There are people who want this team to fail,” Gates told them seriously. “Rivals on the Hill. I could name two without thinking. I’m just not sure yet how far they’re willing to go.”

  Drake understood but it was combat, not politics, that concerned him. “You take care of them. We”—he indicated the big screen—“will take care of this.”

  Hayden stepped in quickly. “Mai. Drake. You get the flight. The rest of us will start looking into Senator Turner.”

  Alicia blinked in surprise. “What about—?”

  Mano turned to her. “I think you’re classed with the rest of us.’”

  Alicia turned on him. “Really, Mano? Really? You’re taking the piss after all I learned about you in that bar?”

  The Hawaiian grunted and held his hands up. Truth be told, he couldn’t remember telling her anything the night they, along with Belmonte, spent drinking and spinning yarns as the Austrian night gave way to the red dawn of what might be their deaths. For one of them it had been, but Belmonte had gone down fighting.

  Kinimaka stayed cautious. “Well we won’t exactly be baking cakes here in DC.”

  Alicia shot a glance at Komodo. “Don’t count on it.”

  Drake checked his watch and walked over to Mai. “It’s a good plan. We’ll take a small team. No incursion, just surveillance. Maybe Mai will be able to contact Hibiki. He knows her. He would make allowances for her.” He headed for the door, shouting over his shoulder. “Send me the details in flight. About time we got some more bloody action!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Lockheed C-130 undertook many varied missions for the United States Air Force, but tonight, it transported Matt Drake, Mai Kitano and a small, four-strong team of Marine Force Recon soldiers over the North Pacific Ocean toward their destination—a small, nameless island off the coast of Korea.

  The atmosphere in the four-engine military transport possessed an air of subdued excitement. Drake and Mai spent some time in the communications area, but learned nothing new during the flight. The team back home had begun investigations, but with necessary discretion—a directive from Gates.

  And not Drake’s way. Nor was it anyone else’s way, but they were legal now and their benefactor, Gates, was being observed from all angles.

  Back in the main seating area, the four marines sat around, idly chatting. These men were at ease, but still nothing escaped them. When Drake and Mai returned their leader, a man called Romero, sat up.

  “All well?”

  “Could be better.” Drake grumbled.

  “Problems back home?”

  Drake blinked and stared. At first, he’d assumed the soldier meant back home in York, and was about to tell the grunt to mind his own friggin’ business, but then realized the reference was to the HQ. Christ, he thought, gotta stop mixing business with pleasure.

  And then Mai touched his arm, her presence and her contact immediately shattering even that small resolution.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Senators get death threats every day. It’s gonna take a miracle to convince him to lay low even for a couple of days.”

  “Maybe it’s just that. A threat.” Romero shoved his square-jawed face forward, testing the room.

  Mai strode toward him. “You think a Japanese agent who managed to dig himself in so deep with the Koreans would surface for no good reason, Romero?”

  “I guess not.” The American backed down. “But we’ll be sure to find out. We’re all on the same team here, miss.”

  “Call me Mai.” The wiry-framed operative passed so close she touched the Marine as she continued to the bar. “Drink?”

  The marine frowned. Drake looked momentarily hopeful, then forced himself to pretend he was joking. He wouldn’t drink again. Those nights spent in Hawaii in a drunken stupor, hunting down the Blood King’s men, still sat with him as a low point of his life. No way he wanted to go back to that.

  He watched Mai pour herself a straight whisky and knock it back. The marines regarded her warily. No doubt they knew something of her past and prowess, but they could never guess even half her story. Drake knew it all. They had been lovers once, inseparable, all their secrets laid bare.

  It would only take some chance lighting of the touchpaper to kindle the spark and make it all happen again. But was it too soon? Recent events were still raw. New revelations were cruel and new enough to cause constrictions in his chest.

  A shout rang out through the cabin. “Thirty minutes to target.”

  Drake collected himself. The plan was to fly over southern Japan and get as close to the unidentified island as they could without arousing any Korean suspicions. Then, the team would deploy amphibious craft and the airplane would head back to Japan. The return journey was, as ever, somewhat ambiguous.

  Wouldn’t have it any other way, Romero had said, grinning, when he heard.

  Drake had smiled. Romero had passed the first test.

  The other three members of Romero’s crew, Smyth, Wardell and Matthews now stood up and began final checks. Drake strapped weapons and gear around his body, hefting the parachute and making sure the Gore-tex jump suit was secure. After a few minutes, everyone turned and checked their partners. Drake knelt on a seat and pressed his face to a window, trying to peer through the midnight murk that blanked out most of the East China Sea.

  Heavy, dark swells undulated below him like the monstrous body of some mythic sea serpent.

  Romero was at their back. “Don’t worry.” He grinned “We’ve done this before.”

  At that moment there was a flash and an ear-splitting roar the like of which even Drake had never heard. The aircraft lurched. Time stood still for a second and then, as they turned, the entire far wall of the plane seemed to disintegrate.

  A fireball rolled through the sky outside, keeping pace. Chunks and shards of metal fizzed and zipped through it all. Romero cried, “Someone. . .someone shot us down!”

  Mai grabbed him and pulled him down. “Not yet.”

  Drake knew that, with plane crashes, Hollywood took a lot of artistic license. In real life a bullet-hole or a small hole wouldn’t suck you out to your doom, but a hole as big as this? They were going down. Fast. He took hold of a seat, wrapping his arm entirely around the armrest and clasping it tightly with his other. The pilot was shouting, screaming as he struggled to slow the descent. Even his most valiant effort raised the nose only a little. The C-130 hurtled inexorably toward the sea.

  “We need to get out of this fucker,” Drake said. “Prime altitude. Give the chutes time to work.”

  Mai nodded. They glanced around at the others. It was then they realized both Wardell and Matthews had been caught in the initial explosion. Both men
lay prone and torn apart on the cabin floor, and were now being pulled toward the big jagged hole.

  Drake felt the tug on his body. The wind whipped and whistled around the cabin. The noise was tremendous, like a freight train roaring in his face. It would be easy to let themselves be dragged out, but their escape had to be controlled like any normal jump. He spotted the other marine, Smyth, clinging to a fixed table in the middle of the cabin, eyes steady and locked on to his bosses, awaiting orders.

  Good, Drake thought. These men were among the elite of the US forces. The amphibious craft could be released too. They had three CRRC’s, Combat Rubber Raiding Craft, or Zodiacs to use the more popular term. It would take a huge effort. . .but sure as hell wasn’t beyond them.

  The pilot was the problem. They needed—

  —a second explosion shook the beleaguered plane to its metal core. A great shrieking, grinding sound spoke of unbearable stress. It rocked and shuddered through every joint. A fireball hit the cockpit, exploding through into the main cabin and taking out the pilot in the blink of an eye.

  “Move!” Drake reacted instantly. As the fire died away, he pushed Romero toward the yawning hole. Mai scrambled over to Smyth, using the chair backs as stepping stones, cat-quick and assured.

  The Zodiacs were stacked at the rear of the plane, big black inflatables with 55hp, two-stroke outboard engines. Drake knew from experience that a special fuel bladder and storage bag full of equipment would be housed at the front of the boats. He also knew that chasing after a Zodiac through thousands of feet of turbulent air into a raging sea wasn’t exactly the best way to go, but some evil bastard had taken that decision clean out of his hands.

  Drake grabbed something solid and made his way slowly toward the inflatables. It would be easy to just leap out of the plane, but that was a big-ass sea down there, and they would need shelter and even the meager security the Zodiacs offered. His head whipped back as a mighty gust of wind slapped him full in the face. A splinter of metal, flapping frantically in the gale, finally tore off and fizzed through the cabin, embedding itself deep into the far wall. Seat moorings began to groan as the pressure grew. It only took seconds, but Drake fought a lifetime to get within reach of the carefully stacked Zodiacs.

  Mai was waiting. “Ready?”

  “If I’m ever ready to do this shit, that’s when I’ll quit,” Drake yelled back at her.

  Then Mai unsnapped the security cables and the Zodiacs shifted. Mai and Smyth manhandled the first to the gap. Drake and Romero struggled with a second. The downward angle of the plane helped them heave the heavy boats into place. Only minutes had passed since the first explosion. Parts of the fuselage were on fire, streaking flames and fuel into the pitch-black night. Drake wondered what the pilot’s last communication had been. Did anyone know they were about to ditch? He double-checked his parachute.

  “Any last words?” Romero was breathing heavily at his side, eyes fully focused on the serrated gap that had been blown in the plane.

  “Just one.” Drake heaved his Zodiac off the plane. “Bollocks!” And jumped out into the furious, violent night.

  The rampant seas swelled, as if reaching up to claim their latest sacrifice.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The University of Baltimore had been chosen by Senator James Turner as the ideal place to host one of the most significant speeches of his whirlwind east-coast tour.

  By the time Alicia arrived, the crowds were gathering and the stage was in the last phase of preparation. The atmosphere was happy, expectant, the noise a slowly mounting swell. Alicia made her way to the outskirts, a little unsure of how to proceed. The team had still not confirmed any major threat to the senator. She had volunteered to take a quick inspection as much to get her out of the office and into the field as anything. Like Drake and Mai, she was a soldier. Inactivity did more than make her stale; it blunted her predator’s edge.

  She made her way to the top of a grassy knoll. The winter sun beat down, making her shield her eyes. A sea of people chattered and bobbed around before her, waving pamphlets and campaign flyers, texting friends and flicking at their iPads. The small stage in front of them was no more than a raised dais, backed by a curtain and fronted by a microphone and a couple of chairs. Senator James Turner required no luxuries. He was famous for his outspoken stance on gun control, his ties to the community and the consistency of his promises. A clever senator, and well-funded.

  Alicia could see movement on and around the stage, the senator’s many aides prepping for the speech. She glanced at her watch. About twenty minutes to showtime. Not much time to get up close.

  She skirted the crowd as best she could, bought a coffee from an enterprising vendor, and moved in. Any minute she expected a call from Hayden, telling her that they had verified the threat. Her faith in the team was high, and with Karin’s off-the-charts IQ, she fully expected someone to find something.

  So, with only three minutes to go, Alicia dropped the half-empty coffee cup and sent a worried gaze across the crowd. Perhaps this threat wasn’t any more substantial than a thousand others Turner had no doubt received. Maybe this wasn’t the time or the place. But the security here was shambolic. Any fruitcake could take a pot shot.

  She pulled out her cell and rang Hayden. “Any luck?”

  “We’ve got squat at this end. How’s it lookin’ over there?”

  “Busy.” Alicia said. “Dangerous.”

  “Keep at it. We’re still digging.”

  Despite their differences, Alicia trusted Mai’s instinct. If the Japanese woman said her old friend Dai Hibiki hadn’t been turned and was even now still providing dependable information, then Alicia believed her. She studied the stage, wondering if she should just mosey on up there and introduce herself to the guards. But that wouldn’t work. They hadn’t even been issued badges yet.

  Not that Alicia wanted one. In her time she’d worked for all sides—the good, the bad, and the motherfucking ugly. This field, this situation, was a little out of her comfort zone. Her usual tactics—intimidation, assault, and taunting wouldn’t work here. She had accepted the job out of curiosity. She didn’t expect to stay long with Drake and his team. Other than Drake himself, the only other person she could identify with was Kinimaka, and he was still in recovery mode, not to mention fawning helplessly over his bloody boss. At last, she reached the barrier that separated the stage from the crowd. Little more than a row of old sawhorses, painted and hung with leaflets and bunting. Not even a low fence. Apparently, the senator was a quick, lively showman. He’d take the stage, warm the crowd up, deliver his message, and be out of there before the dust settled.

  Much like most of her ex-boyfriends, she mused.

  Then a cheer went up. Men in black suits took to the stage and fanned out to both sides. A couple of aides ran out, smiling and waving. The curtain twitched. People around Alicia started to shout the senator’s name. A tumult of noise greeted the man as he stepped from behind the curtain and took center stage. His aides melted away into the background, still smiling.

  The senator basked for a moment before speaking. He was a tall, aging man with grey hair and a wiry frame. Dimples pitted the sides of his cheeks, giving him a cheery demeanor. He raised a hand.

  “My friends, my friends, thank you. What a turnout. Even the sunshine has greeted us today!”

  Alicia scrutinized the packed bodies as best she could. The sway of the crowd and the excitement of those in the front few rows made it next to impossible to make any kind of judgment. Maybe today wouldn’t be the day. . .

  But the timing of Hibiki’s message was disquieting. Why would the Koreans target such a low-key figure anyway? She shrugged it off, briefly wondering how Drake and the sprite were faring. Lucky bastards.

  The senator droned on to continued applause. If this was the kind of fieldwork the new team was all about, she couldn’t see herself lasting long. Her feet itched to chase someone. Her fingers kept reaching for a gun that wasn’t there. It had been sa
id before, but the problem with a “secret” agency was that no one knew it existed.

  Ironic, eh? She smiled to herself. But when the first shot was fired, she glanced instinctively to her right. The crowd quieted and ducked their heads. The second shot galvanized them to either hit the deck or bolt. On stage the security detail stormed forward, trying to cover the senator. The man himself stood in shock, mouth agape, as if trying to stare his would-be assassin into submission.

  Another shot. Another miss, but this time, one of the aides went down, clutching her neck as blood sprayed. All around Alicia there was suddenly a terrible uproar and she was jostled and knocked and almost tripped to the ground.

  But she had seen the shooter. In those frozen seconds, she had studied his face and stance and manner.

  It just didn’t make sense.

  By now, the senator had been wrestled to the floor and the security detail was leaping from the stage and rushing toward the shooter. Alicia maintained her ground, watching it unfold. The man with the gun was the most normal, all-American looking guy she’d ever seen. He was clean, well-dressed and well-groomed. The way he held the gun spoke of training, but the way he conducted himself spoke of something else all together.

  His eyes were blank. His movements slow as if he struggled through thick molasses. His mouth hung slackly. Even from where she stood, Alicia could see a string of drool hanging from his lips. The guy looked like a zombie. A real-life, bona-fide member of the living dead.

  And as the bodyguards closed in, the shooter slowly turned the gun around, aiming it at his own heart. Without a second’s hesitation, he pulled the trigger and fell to the ground.

  Alicia raced toward him, wrestling her cellphone out and appraising the situation on the stage as she ran. Two guards down. The aide down, not moving. And a shaken senator, happy to be alive and nestled underneath his security detail.

  Hayden answered immediately. “What happened?”