Brothers In Arms (Matt Drake 5)

by Leadbeater, David

  “What do you know?” Smyth asked, shifting position.

  “The patients arrive by warship.” Hibiki flicked his eyes in the direction of the harbor. “They are collected en masse in North Korea, but originate from Europe. I believe they have an abduction chain that stretches from Germany to Russia and through China. I have heard all the places mentioned, and more.”

  “Quite an operation.” Mai mused, then looked hard at Hibiki. “And quite a coup. For the agent who takes it down.”

  “Naturally.” Hibiki inclined his head.

  “Tell me more about the patients.”

  “It’s not good for them. They are already broken—most of them. Men and women from the streets. But the transformation is breathtaking. I have seen a down-and-out slob of an east-European, a broken-down wreck, turned into a fine American in months. The accent smooth with a Yankee twang—” Hibiki now couldn’t resist goading Smyth a little, it seemed. “Fit. Strong. Confident. Assured. And terribly obnoxious. The process must include a form of advanced brainwashing, I’m sure.”

  “But then what happens to them?” Mai asked.

  “Six months later. . .they’re gone. I don’t know to where.”

  “Is it always Americans?”

  “No. But mostly.”

  “Answer’s fuckin’ obvious.” Smyth swore. “They’re gone to America.”

  “They would fit right in.” Hibiki raised an eyebrow in the dark.

  Mai pursed her lips. “It seems a bit of overkill. Most people fit in America. It’s a country of many cultures.”

  “It is,” Hibiki said. “There is an angle somewhere. And a new operation has started from this end. I mentioned the American senator in my message. Something is happening right now.”

  “You need to learn more,” Mai said to him. “You need to stay in the craziness. You need. . . to take risks.”

  “Agreed.”

  “We’re going nowhere.” Mai indicated the island. “We’ll be around until you’re ready to leave.”

  “They will be hunting you, Mai.”

  The Japanese agent and the marine turned, smiled and spoke in unison.

  “I hope so.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Hayden was as pleased as she could be under the circumstances. Recently faxed through, they had received the schedules, movements and itineraries of the previous three victims and now they had what appeared to be a fourth attack, and a survivor.

  Lauren Fox appeared in the doorway of the conference room. Hayden saw immediately the woman was in need of more than just a Band-Aid. She offered a hand. “Cops’re busy,” she said, coming around the table. “And don’t like taking orders.”

  “Ditto.” The woman said. “Now where the hell am I?”

  “We are a. . .” Hayden experienced a momentary loss of vocabulary. “Different kind of government agency. Has a doctor seen you yet?”

  “They sent some guy to my cubicle, who prodded and poked around for a bit. Think he was a doctor.”

  “Nothing broken?”

  “Nothing physical.” The woman now turned a pair of intelligent eyes onto Hayden. “Look, lady. I’m not stupid. I know my rights and I know when I see a lack of procedure. Now. Where am I?”

  At that moment, bless her soul, Alicia Myles walked into the room. “This the hooker?”

  Hayden shook her head and walked to the head of the table. “Sit down, Miss Fox.” When the woman hesitated, Hayden repeated her words with more force. “Sit down.”

  The woman complied, clearly understanding that even now she walked a fine line with the authorities. Alicia plonked herself down in the chair right next to her, leaving nine other chairs empty.

  The woman took a deep breath and then turned to Alicia, meeting her gaze with a mix of conviction, smarts and venom. “Ya got something ya wanna know?”

  “Two grand an hour?” Alicia asked. “Really?”

  “Ya brought me all the way here—dressed like this—to ask me ’bout my earnings?”

  Alicia shuffled her chair back and peered under the table. “Nice legs, but two grand? I’d have to see the rest of you without the mac.”

  Hayden felt her control snap. “For God’s sake, Myles. Can it. Look, Miss Fox, I can only apologize for our. . . lack of attention. . . as to your attire, but this is an urgent matter.”

  “And it’s not like you’re not used to wearing so little,” Alicia added helpfully.

  “Jeez. Do you guys wanna hire me or something?”

  “Maybe later.” Alicia smiled. “But, for now, we have lots of questions.”

  Kinimaka and the rest of the team filed in. Hayden noticed right away that the only person missing was Ben. “Lauren,” she said, grabbing the woman’s attention. “It’s mainly about the man who tried to kill you today. Steve Quinn. Did you know him?”

  “Nope. And he wasn’t a regular either before you ask.”

  “Ever seen him before?” Kinimaka prodded. “Anywhere. Post Office? Coffee shop? Supermarket?”

  Hayden watched closely as Lauren Fox tried to evaluate the situation. The woman wanted to know more, wanted to be put at ease, but Hayden had no intentions of fulfilling either wish. Not yet. She needed answers right now.

  “So,” she said quietly, “take your time. Make sure you answer truthfully. I sure don’t want to have to send you back to the cops, Miss Fox.”

  The woman’s expression showed she understood. Here was a survivor, hardened by experience and making a tough but shrewd living out of staying alive.

  “Let’s start with the obvious.” Dahl spoke for the first time. “The man who tried to kill you committed suicide after falling three stories onto the concrete pavement and breaking most of the bones in his body. Why would he do that?”

  “Four stories,” Lauren said softly. “And over here they’re called sidewalks. You English should do your research better. Pity the asshole didn’t break his trigger finger.”

  “I’m not English,” Dahl began, then blinked. “Never mind that. Why do you think he tried to kill you?”

  “I don’t know. Aren’t you guys listening to me? Read my lips. I didn’t know him. I hadn’t seen him before. To my knowledge, I haven’t pissed anyone off lately. Okay?”

  “You told the police that he handled himself like he knew what he was doing. What did you mean by that?”

  “The cops asked if I noticed anything unusual about the guy. ‘Yeah’, I said. ‘He knew how to fight, knew how to hold a gun, knew how to shoot it.’ Like that.”

  “And what makes you the expert?” Hayden asked.

  Lauren shrugged. “I’ve seen all kinds. I grew up partly in foster homes and partly on the streets. I know the difference between a bully and a man with skill. You need to learn stuff like that fast to survive.”

  Dahl sat back in his chair, clearly impressed with her. Hayden heard his cellphone chirp and saw his eyes wander. The Swede had been spending a lot of time talking to the wife and kids lately—becoming more homesick by the day. It hurt her to think it, but she didn’t see the Swedish warrior sticking with the unit much longer.

  Hayden checked her own cell when it began to ring. The caller was Jonathan Gates. “Excuse me,” she said. “I have to take this.”

  Outside the room, she answered quickly. “Sir?”

  “This woman. What’s she like?”

  “Lauren Fox? We’ve only just got going, sir. Off the top of my head, I’d say she’s clever, capable, and knows how to take care of herself. Streetwise, would be the word.”

  “Good to know. Well, be sure to keep me up to date.”

  Gates ended the call. Hayden frowned at the screen for a second. It was good that Gates wanted to know as much as possible about the only survivor of this weird killing streak. Gates’ wife had been murdered mere months ago. The poor guy still continued to struggle through an ocean of grief and, at times, Hayden wasn’t entirely sure he’d make it.

  She walked back into the room in time to hear Dahl ask about the w
oman’s whereabouts during the last two months. This was it. She quickly crossed to her chair and opened a sheaf of papers.

  Somewhere along the line, these four strangers had to have crossed paths.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Matt Drake felt his stomach roll alarmingly as the old warship crested another rolling swell. “This is worse than being cast adrift in a bloody dinghy,” he complained. “With Smyth.”

  Romero gave him the stare. “Thought you were tough, SAS man.”

  “I used to be,” Drake told him. “But then a diet of daytime TV, rush hour traffic and alcohol turned me soft. Now, I just wing it.”

  Romero studied him as if trying to gauge how much of that was actually true, then gave up with a sigh. “You English and your sense of humor. I’ll never understand it.”

  “Neither do we.” Drake shifted to relieve a cramp in his leg. Both Romero and he had been sitting in the dark for hours. More though good fortune than skill, they’d located the holding cells where the “passengers” were kept when the ship sailed for the island. The rooms were dingy, dark and strewn with rubbish. Perfect for concealment as long as the voyage didn’t last too long or more “passengers” were picked up. In either case, Drake and Romero were prepared to disembark as soon as the ship docked.

  “Wonder how they’re getting on?” Drake said yet again.

  “That Mai, she’s something else, man. Where the hell did you find her?”

  “She found me,” Drake answered obtusely.

  “What’s her story?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “We’ve got hours, dude. Try me.”

  “It involves black assassins. Kidnapping. Ninjas. Clan warfare. Child trading. And the end of something legendary. Are you sure?”

  “Damn. Wish I had some butter popcorn and a bag of Twizzlers. Sounds entertaining.”

  “And that’s why you’ll never know. We’re talking Mai Kitano’s life here.”

  “Aww, dude, I didn’t mean anything disrespectful.”

  Drake nodded. “I know. But the Japanese, they take these things ultra serious. Family? History? If Mai heard you talk that way about her past, she’d kill you, mate. Colleague or not.”

  Romero opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, they both felt a sudden change in the ship’s momentum. Drake shifted again. “Is it slowing down?”

  Romero nodded. “Better eat and drink up, Englishman. It’s time to bug outta this bullshit cruise.”

  They rose, stretching. Drake checked his jacket and supplies, his weapon. They crept around the stacks of rubbish and paused by the unlocked cell door.

  “Clear.”

  Romero inched his way out, still shrouded in darkness. The crew hadn’t ventured down to this level during the entire voyage. No need to, Drake guessed. No need to assault their senses with the feral stink of unwashed bodies mixed with strain, fear and hardship that permeated the place.

  Above, they heard the sound of boots hurrying around the deck. Something was definitely going on. The two men retraced their steps of earlier. With a gesture Romero signaled that they should wait for the sudden activity to die down. Drake nodded and the two men crouched for a while, not speaking, not moving, seemingly unfocused and oblivious, but in reality, coiled and fully tuned in, listening intently in the way only Special Forces soldiers can for that unwanted footfall or creak that would tell them they had company.

  It never came. After about half an hour, the commotion subsided. Romero looked at Drake. “You ready? I’m gonna gamble on this one. A dollar bill says we’re docked outside Monaco.”

  Drake smirked. “I’ll take that bet, pal. My pound’s on Saint Tropez.”

  Romero cracked open the hatch and peered out. It was full dark outside. Lightning flickered across the horizon. A light drizzle infused the air. As Drake climbed higher, the surroundings began to piece themselves together, inch by inch.

  Romero let out a breath. “This sure ain’t Europe, bro.”

  The dark curves and jagged edges of high mountains encircled them. Both land and sea rested in pitch-blackness, apart from several rows of static lights to the left that appeared to mark a nearby town or village.

  “That there.” Drake pointed. “That’s dry land. Nothing matters more for now.”

  A cold wind sent a shiver through Drake’s bones as he clambered out onto the deck. But that was nothing compared to the sudden ratcheting of a gun being cocked and the sharp bark of command at their backs.

  “Jeongji!”

  Drake turned slowly, raising his arms. “And the same to you, my friend.”

  A lone soldier stood there, soaked to the skin, hair plastered to his skull as if he’d been using superglue for hair gel. Drake guessed he’d been left behind to guard the ship, a solitary man in a lonely port where there was no enemy.

  Romero stepped away so the man would have to shift to see both of them. “We’re port security, dude. And please keep the noise down. We don’t want the entire port to hear you jabbering away like that.”

  The Korean jabbed the air with his rifle. “Ani iyagi!”

  “Yeah, yeah, I like Psy too.” Drake glanced at Romero. “If we start dancing Gangnam Style, do you think it’ll fool him?”

  “Not really.” Romero looked horrified, as if he thought Drake was serious.

  The Englishman drifted forward another half-step whilst talking to his colleague. The Korean, angry, gestured again, stepping into range. . .

  . . .straight into a palm thrust, which sent his head back until his neck creaked. Blood sprayed from his broken nose. Drake twisted the rifle away instantly from his grasping fingers and Romero stepped in to finish the job. The Korean went overboard with barely a splash.

  Drake scanned the horizon. “Looks good. See across there?”

  Romero nodded. “A group of seamen walking toward a. . .barracks, I think. Soldiers going home.”

  “We’ll follow them,” Drake said. “And select one lucky fellow to explain where on Earth we are.”

  *****

  Drake was feeling bone tired by the time the pair had reconnoitered the barracks area and pinpointed a likely victim. The target was one of only a handful of soldiers who spoke English and came across as a leader of sorts. Romero grabbed him in the middle of a leisurely cigarette break and the two of them hauled him, kicking and mumbling, away from the barracks.

  Romero trained a gun on him whilst Drake took the lead. “Hey,” he said. “Hey! You tell me where we are. You tell me!”

  “Changjon. Near.”

  “Where in the world?” Drake thought it appropriate to punctuate his request with a punch and watched the man’s head slam back into a tree.

  “Korea.” The man gasped. “Kangwon-do province.”

  Drake considered that. “How far from China?”

  “Five hundred miles.”

  “Alright,” Romero muttered as if realizing he’d just won the bet. Drake ignored him.

  “And this?” Drake waved at the barracks, the warship, the faraway island. “What’s the story?”

  For the first time, the Korean looked scared. The guns hadn’t scared him, neither had Drake, Romero or the punch in the face. But this question sent a shadow of fear blooming across the man’s features.

  “I. . . don’t know,” he said haltingly.

  “That’s a big fucking gun, pal.” Drake made sure the Korean saw it. “Rammed anywhere, it’s gonna hurt. Question is—how much pain can you take?”

  “I have a wife,” the Korean mumbled suddenly. “I have a child. Please don’t kill me.”

  Drake stared, taken aback. Romero chuckled. “Who gives a fuck?”

  But Drake waved the American away. He stared at the Korean soldier as if seeing him for the first time. “You’ll see them again,” he said. “If you tell me what I want to know.”

  “Just a base.” The man’s arm trembled as it pointed toward the barracks. “For soldiers. The ship takes us to patrol. Sometimes we
are at sea, sometimes in another province. And sometimes. . .”

  “The island?”

  “Yes. We take on board many prisoners and deliver them to the doctors. Then we leave. That is all I know.”

  “You don’t collect them later?”

  “No. I have never seen one leave.”

  “They must have another way off the island,” Romero said.

  “There are graves,” the Korean volunteered. “All over the island. We are ordered to bury many bodies. Most of the prisoners, I think, never leave.”

  “How long?” Drake asked quietly. “How many years has this been going on?”

  The Korean searched his memory. “Past my time. I don’t know.”

  The man looked thirty plus. Maybe older. Drake thought hard. “How do they get these people?”

  “They use the Russians. There is some kind of chain across Europe. A child is kidnapped in Spain. Within hours, he has been swiftly transported through a handful of checkpoints—houses situated in Germany, and then Russia. From there to China and, later, to Korea.”

  Romero whistled. “That’s sophisticated stuff, my man. An op that big. . .we’re talking serious brass, and serious leadership.”

  “And serious payoff,” Drake added, thinking of Dai Hibiki’s original message. Something about advanced weaponry. They hadn’t seen any signs of it on the island. “Tell me—where is the HQ?”

  “The island.”

  Drake shook his head. That wasn’t it. Couldn’t be. The chain of command would stretch much higher than that, but then a soldier wouldn’t be privy to that kind of information. He tried a different tack. “Okay. Where is the European HQ?”

  “Germany.” The Korean spat the word out. “But I know most about the smaller houses in China and Russia. The big one, the important one, is in Germany, but now everyone talks of the Russian one because they have made some fantastic discovery. Something about gods and ancient towers. Something so big they say it makes the island operation a tiny speck. ”

  “And the rest of the HQs?”

  “I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me.”

  Drake listened as the man reeled off addresses in China and Russia, then shot Romero a look. “We could do worse than heading to China,” he said. “We need to get out of Korea pronto. China is as good a place as any round here.”