“You mentioned he’d get desperate.” Hayden nodded at Beau. “You were right. Webb is now on the trail of something else, another part of the quest. The guy’s injured, hounded by whoever those mercs are working for, and now hunted by us. Not to mention half of Europe.”
Beau nodded. “He has no choice.”
“He also knows the Dubai-run group will be waiting for him at every stop,” Drake pointed out. “I hope he’s a sniveling bloody wreck.”
“Not Webb,” Beau said. “He truly believes he is owed something. The man will assume he’s able to dodge bullets until this is over.”
Hayden laid her cellphone on the table and hit the speaker. “Go, Armand.”
The Italian Interpol agent let loose in characteristic fashion. “So, this Webb, he is running around like a boy chasing a mouse, yes? He seems to be following a trail, a map maybe, who knows? But until Versailles he kept it all very quiet, on the down-low as you Americans say.”
Hayden nodded agreeably. Drake stared at Alicia and then at Dahl, eyes wide and lips about to start flapping. Then the Swede chuckled. “Now,” he said. “Now you see what it’s like.”
Argento’s word-storm never abated. “So he’s back on the map, this Tyler Webb. Most wanted scum-sucker in the world, you say. I say there’s worse, but it matters little. Ever heard of the cannibal cult of Peru? No, well, never mind. Interpol knows all. You will catch up. Webb is no longer sneaking, he is in full-tilt, fully-exposed, pressurized mode, hounded everywhere. He needs every ounce of assistance, every last morsel of help he can muster. Clearly, he still has money, influence, a network of sorts.” Argento paused to draw breath before he died of asphyxiation.
The team realized they’d been holding theirs too and gulped air.
“And thanks to your pet Pythian—Nicholas Bell—we now have names, contacts, locations and files for all of them.”
Drake couldn’t help glance over toward Smyth and Lauren, conscious of their differences. The soldier sat tight-faced, eyes fixed dead ahead whilst the New Yorker made a point of shifting in her seat to stare right at him.
“Don’t say it,” Smyth mouthed.
“What? That I told you so?”
“Yeah, that.”
But Argento was forging ahead. “Everything’s monitored. Everything. Webb recently used fake IDs to buy a flight to Barcelona. We can’t intercept that because he only made contact after he landed to arrange something else, something very worrying for Interpol. We have no facial recs so he’s now hiding successfully. My friends, you have to get to Barcelona. Fast.”
“Why?” Hayden asked. “What’s so worrying?”
“He bought tickets and arranged to meet a contact at the Camp Nou tomorrow night. And knowing Tyler Webb, the distractions he arranges . . . well, that could be catastrophic. He has no sense of morality.”
Alicia was looking blank, and so was Mai. But Drake sat bolt upright. “The Camp Nou? As in the football stadium? Oh shit, is there a match planned?”
“Yes, mi amico. A big one. The stadium—it will be full.”
Drake was already on his feet. The rest followed as Hayden headed for the door, Argento’s voice urging them on like incessant machine gun fire. The pictures he painted were truly shattering.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The jet hummed along, thousands of miles above the earth. Darkness pressed all around, a dense cloak enfolding all the simmering secrets that traveled within.
Drake found himself seated around a table with Alicia, Mai and Beau and hours to kill. After eating they sat back and took advantage of the night flight, dozing and day-dreaming. Drake asked Mai about Grace’s welfare, and the ex-Ninja inquired as to Karin. Drake found himself floundering; Karin had been out of touch for weeks and a gentle enquiry had told him she’d almost finished training and was on some kind of special mission. Unhappy, but unable to learn more, he’d swallowed a bitter bullet—it was one thing pulling strings to practically force an unexpected recruit into a unit, it was quite another to then keep track of that recruit.
He told Mai as such.
“It will be hard for her,” she said. “But necessary, I think, if she is to stay with this team.”
After Komodo’s death she could have gone many ways. Drake was pleased she had taken this unexpected route, after losing everything she loved to war. The young woman had buried too many people for this stage of her life.
“She’s a fighter,” Alicia added. “My kinda girl.”
“Do not tell me you’ve kissed her as well,” Beau queried, only half-joking
Alicia shrugged. “Not that I can remember. But who knows? Some of the older things clattering around my mind are a little woozy.”
“Does that include Drake?” Dahl put in with a guffaw from across the aisle.
Drake narrowed his eyes. “You just keep on cozying up to your new bird, mate. You two look real happy over there.”
Dahl looked a little embarrassed, pulling away from Kenzie.
Drake gamely tried to include Beau in their conversation. “So, how did you meet Michael?”
“Crouch?” The Frenchman waved it away. “It is a long story. And not for idle chit-chat. I worked for Crouch and you by infiltrating the Pythians, yes, but the initial decision was not made lightly—” he paused “—or wilfully.”
Drake allowed his eyes to widen. “Bollocks. And here’s me thinking you’re a good guy.”
“No, my friend. Are there any left?”
“I’d like to think so.”
Beau settled back. “I see none. You think Crouch is all good? You ask him one day how he influenced my help.”
Drake found it hard to gauge just how upset Beau was over Alicia. Common sense told him the two had been merely passing time; but intuition said more. How did it all become so complicated? Everyone happy on the outside, or at least accepting, but what are they all really thinking?
Mai put it out there. “Sleep, I think, is probably best for now.”
Avoid it. Ignore it. Let it heal before you touch it. Drake could think of nothing better.
Hayden and Kinimaka sat at the back of the plane, rows and rows of empty seats between them and the others, ostensibly to plan out their movements in Barcelona.
In truth, mountains were moving.
Hayden twisted her blond hair into a short bob, wrapped herself in an overlarge jacket, and drew her knees up. Kinimaka was droning on about Webb and his clear mortality, and his inability now to stalk them for pleasure.
“It’s over, Mano.” The words were out before she measured them fully. “We need a break.”
The Hawaiian stopped in mid-flow, his face so full of surprise that she hung her head.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know it was coming.”
“I thought we were concentrating on the mission.”
“Then I guess you were wrong.”
Kinimaka coughed. “You sat all the way back here just to tell me we’re taking a break?”
“Well, maybe, I didn’t want the entire team part of our intimate discussions.”
Kinimaka let out a long breath.
Alicia grunted. “You should lower your voice then.”
Hayden gripped the sides of her seat. “What do you want from me, Mano? We’ve been over it a dozen times. It’s too hard to be together so we should both see how we fare apart.”
“This all started when I wouldn’t let you torture Ramses, right?”
“Stop dramatizing it.”
“Or was it before that?”
“A few times,” Hayden admitted. “I thought you could have stepped up a bit quicker.”
“I’ve always been at your side. Through everything.”
“I know. That’s not what I mean.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kinimaka agreed and shifted in his seat. “Y’know, there’s no ‘taking a break’, Hay. No month-long breathers or time-outs. You bail now, you bail for good. We’re done.”
It wasn’t him, Hayden knew, but the man was hurting
. She’d carved a wound and exposed it, dug deeper and analyzed it. The future held . . . what? More fighting, more hardship.
“Maybe it’s better that way,” she said, not even sure if she believed it. “Maybe.”
He used the seat in front to hang onto as he maneuvered himself out of the seat next to her and walked down the length of the plane. Silence followed their conversation, broken only by the buzz of the plane.
Smyth watched Kinimaka take a new seat and then turned to Lauren. “You wanna end up like those two?”
Lauren spread her hands. “Do you even know what we are now? Right this minute?”
“We fight enough battles,” Smyth said. “Without fighting them between us too.”
“Ya got that right. So why try?”
“You know why. Look at your new boyfriend.”
Lauren pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperated. “Is the child in you your leader, Smyth?”
“I see Nicholas Bell as a terrorist trying to save his ass. You see him as someone trying to turn his life around whilst helping out the good guys. I remember you meeting him in that room, dressed as Nightshade. Who’s right?”
Lauren gestured, the New York swagger clear. “Well, I am. Obvious.”
Smyth stayed quiet, the annoyance clear on his face.
Kenzie leaned into Dahl, no doubt trying to make him feel uncomfortable. “All these problems, eh? Bet you’re so glad to be married.”
The Swede tried not to wince, then stared at Kenzie to see if she was taking the proverbial. Hard to tell. She was ex-Mossad and well trained. He elected to stay neutral.
“We all have our problems, Bridget.”
“Oh, calling me by my first name. That spells doom.”
“No. You spell doom.”
“Do you think? After everything I’ve been through—you think I’m damaged beyond repair?”
Shit, Dahl didn’t know and really didn’t want to get too in depth with her as the plane perceptibly began to descend toward Barcelona. He stared hard at the seatback before him. “Everyone gets damaged. It’s how you heal and move on that counts.”
“I regret ever trusting my superiors,” she said. “I regret later choosing an unlawful life. I regret—” she shrugged “—an awful lot. Doesn’t mean I don’t have hopes.”
He met her gaze. “What hopes?”
“Simple ones, for now. Like living and staying free and helping new friends out.” She laughed.
Dahl measured the flippant remarks and still believed he’d initially been right about her. In Kenzie was the soul of a tortured, betrayed individual struggling to overcome something good and true and right. She hid it well, but the Israeli cared for more than just revenge and ancient artefacts.
“I think you’re on the way to redemption then,” he said with an equally offhand laugh, but held her gaze to make sure his words appeared as heartfelt as they were.
I hope for you.
Sounded corny, somehow wrong. But it felt right.
Dahl watched the runway appear below. Barcelona’s night-blanket was giving way to a pre-dawn drizzle. Somewhere down there terrorists might be planning an event just so they could enable Tyler Webb to slip away once more. An event potentially as large as anything they’d yet seen. The road to hell was open and they all walked its ruthless, terrible byways.
Not this time, Dahl thought. We’re a step ahead of you this time.
He hoped.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As they landed and started to disembark, Hayden took a call.
“Argento,” she said before pressing the button.
“I have taken some time to seek out more information on this mysterious group,” he said in a voice loaded with high-spirited Italian reverberations. “They are extremists, fanatics, cracked in the head.”
“My kinda talk.” Drake grinned.
“Terrorists,” Hayden agreed. “And about to take an interest in Barcelona.”
“No, not terrorists,” Argento discharged faster than a cheap battery. “Fanatics yes, but only interested in the welfare of one thing. One agenda. Le Comte de Saint Germain.”
Hayden paused on the edge of the runway, just realizing that Kinimaka had been left to fetch her gear. Shit.
Drake crowded in. “Saint Germain you say? I knew it would be all about that guy. Just knew. I’m sure I mentioned it.”
Dahl shook his head. “Not that I recall, mate.”
“How would you know? Barbados was trying to kill you.”
“Well, not the island. Just some of the people.”
“No hard feelings then, eh?”
But the irrepressible Argento was already forging ahead. “So, we are still continuing our investigations. These people, this cult, is based in Dubai. The figureheads I mean, and it’s unsure if these figureheads are just that, named people, or if they are involved in the day to day running of the . . .” He paused. “I was going to say cult. Shall we call it a cult?”
“They’re worse than social deviants,” Hayden said. “At least. Let’s call them a cult.”
Argento started to crackle as they entered the airport building. Drake took in the endless panes of ceiling-high glass, the austere corridors and frowning guards. Must be another airport in another country then. But at least it wasn’t drizzling in here. A clock told him it was 10 a.m., still plenty of time to get this thing sorted before kick-off time. He noted that Lauren walked along at his side and smiled.
“You okay?”
“I don’t know,” she said quickly. “I’m beginning to wonder why I’m here, you know? My skillset ain’t exactly crucial.”
Drake shrugged. “You’re a part of the team. Like all of us. Doesn’t matter when you step up so long as you do when the time comes.”
“I guess.”
“So Webb’s gonna be at the Nou Camp, meeting a contact,” Drake went on. “Maybe we can use you there.”
Lauren arched an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
Drake laughed. “I’m not hinting. Just saying ‘you never know’.”
Lauren joined him in laughter as they walked down more endless corridors, bypassing the normal route taken by millions of tourists and locals.
“Don’t matter what happens here,” Smyth put in. “Webb has some way of staying ahead. Bastard always knows where to go next and then vanishes on us. Here, now, is where we put him down for good.”
“That’s the idea,” Drake said a bit caustically. Smyth seemed to have that effect.
Hayden turned her head to talk as she walked. “If the cult hangs out in Dubai, guys, somebody’s going to have to pay them a visit.”
“Shit,” Drake said. “Don’t send the Swede. He has a bad track record with tourist destinations.”
“Piss off, Yorkie.”
“I was thinking a strong team,” Hayden said. “In case we get chance to take them out.”
Drake agreed. “Great idea. Gonna be hard to get it past the local cops though.”
“We do not exactly need the help,” Mai said almost inaudibly.
“Ooh,” Alicia yelped. “Clandestine mission. We haven’t done one of those in . . . umm, ages.”
“Speak for yourself, bitch.” Kenzie grinned.
Drake turned on her. “You had better not have been getting up to anything during your downtime in DC, Kenzie.”
“Depends what you mean exactly, lover.” The Israeli smirked.
Drake let it go, conscious that Kenzie loved to see the hackles raised and wedges driven between friends. She was a bad fit for the team, but Dahl saw something in her and, despite his misgivings, Drake trusted the Swede’s judgment. He nodded at Hayden.
“We’ll sort Webb first,” he said. “Then Dubai.”
“Agreed.”
“We’re here to liaise with the cops now though, right?” Kinimaka asked.
Hayden appeared to catch a sigh. “Yes, Mano.”
Barcelona flashed past as they were escorted from the airport to a local station, all courtesy of Argento’s
planning, the most impressive sight being the incredible Sagrada Familia, the Roman Catholic church which began construction in 1882 and remains unfinished to this very day. Drake remembered once being told about this place with a couple of friends over coffee, but the place itself defied all description.
Dahl put everyone’s thoughts into one succinct sentence. “Half-true stories and deep secrets for a future generation.”
Ahead, the traffic forced them to a crawl and then they were leaving the flow, parking up and being shown where to go. Drake kept an eye out, as did they all, conscious that Webb had retained at least one influential thread of his organization, one that very much included expert surveillance.
Inside, they took up positions and watched over operations. The cops did their jobs well; this was fast becoming the command post for their surveillance operation and the place to watch as hundreds of monitors started coming to life. A tall, white-haired man with jutting teeth orchestrated it all like a conductor, positioning cameras and swiveling mounts, parking up mobile cams and jumping onto local feeds. As much coverage as was possible, and then more.
Hours passed and lunch arrived. Weariness from inaction stole over the team. Streets, roads, alleyways, gates and parking areas were scrutinized with blanket coverage. Bus disembarkation points were subject to a flurry of high-powered lenses. Drake and the others started to turn content gazes upon one another. They would get their man.
Then the crowds started arriving, bodies packed so tightly together they had to walk in rhythm, vehicles gridlocked and buses dropping passengers off in any free space they could find. As the gate time approached, the task for the authorities became harder and harder. Local colors helped blend body with body; and caps, face-paint, even balaclavas and hoodies added to the problem. The facial recognition software ticked away, identifying known criminals, hooligans, gang members and other unsavory types, but nothing stood out in relation to Tyler Webb or terrorist groups.
Drake watched the men work; they knew their jobs well and constantly pointed out familiar faces or zoomed in on new ones. Pickpockets were identified, photographed for file and radioed down to the foot patrols. Troublemakers were blown up on cameras so powerful Drake could count the chin stubble. A hunted thief was spotted, and a man recently escaped from prison. Members of supposedly friendly intelligence agencies, including the CIA. Hayden flushed with embarrassment at that one, but ultimately spread her hands. They had rooted out the worst of the bad seeds there, but some agencies would never tell all.
Matt Drake 14 - The Treasures of Saint Germain Page 7
