Matt Drake 14 - The Treasures of Saint Germain

by David Leadbeater

  “Yeah. Your eyebrows are amazing.”

  “I think you should leave him alone.” Mai shifted slightly. “There is no time for this.”

  “Oh, and the Sprite leaps across the screen to the rescue! No time? Why not? Lauren hasn’t even taught the thief how to do a proper Full Monty yet.”

  Mai blinked. “I don’t know what you—”

  “I do,” Lauren said. “It is a stripping reference. And that’s not what I’m doing here.”

  “Great film, great ending.” Alicia was elsewhere. “And Robert Carlyle.” She sighed. “Just leave me alone for a while.”

  Mai glared, then gave Drake a quick shake of the head. The Yorkshire man clapped Yorgi on the shoulders. Hayden waved toward the two-way window.

  Lauren entered the room without comment, then took the room’s third and last chair. She smiled at Sabrina, and Drake concentrated on what she had to say.

  “There is a way out of this, Sabrina. A way you could help and make a difference.”

  Balboni’s face remained neutral, which must have taken a huge effort. “A deal? I should have known.”

  “There’s always a deal,” Hayden said. “For those who know how to listen.”

  “We want Tyler Webb,” Lauren said. “And right now, you’re our best way of getting close to him. Real close. You’re gonna be our inside man.”

  “Man?” Sabrina arched an eyebrow. “And Webb will know that I have been caught. He will meet me again only to kill me.”

  “Well, that’s a possibility,” Lauren told her. “But we believe we can coach you to pass his tests,” she paused. “I’ve done it before.”

  Now Sabrina narrowed her eyes. “Really? In what way?”

  “Doesn’t matter. But I know I can do it.”

  “If I wanted to I could do it myself.”

  Lauren made a face. “Girl, I don’t think so. We know all about you. Isolation from society is not a platform from which to engage Webb. He’s a businessman, used to dealing face to face, and you don’t have the interpersonal weaponry to fool him.” Lauren spread her hands in response to Sabrina’s stare. “You just don’t.”

  “And you say you can show me?”

  “Yup. Exactly that.”

  “And if I do this? What’s the deal?”

  Hayden sat forward. “At the moment, you’re in a good position. All you did was meet up with Webb, swop stories, and slap my team around a little. That’s okay.”

  Drake frowned over at Dahl. “Do you think she means it?”

  The Swede nodded somewhat glumly. “Of course she does.”

  “We will give you immunity from prosecution,” Hayden said. “And a free pass. For twenty four hours.”

  Sabrina pouted. “Is that all?”

  “You’re a mega thief, finally identified. What did you think was gonna happen?”

  “Hey,” Lauren added by way of compensation. “It’s not like you don’t have the skills to disappear again. Continue as a loner. Unhealthy though that could be.”

  “More unhealthy than staying on the radar?” Sabrina questioned with a defeated stare.

  “We’re getting off track,” Hayden stepped in. “Our offer’s good. And it’s the only way you’ll sniff free air again before you’re past fifty. Listen, Sabrina, you’re halfway credible already because Webb will totally believe you’re capable of escaping.” She spread her hands. “Because you are.”

  “Of course. So why don’t I just do that?”

  “Because you don’t want to go to prison. I don’t know what they call a supermax over here but that’s where you’ll be taken. And grand master or not, you don’t escape one of those. Ever.”

  Sabrina flicked her chin over at Lauren. “So, what skills do you have?”

  The New Yorker took that as a victory. “First,” she said. “Take off all your clothes.”

  Drake couldn’t help but lean forward, but then so did everyone else watching behind the two-way. Nine bodies were suddenly highly attentive, surprised by Lauren’s words.

  Then laughter. “Just joking. Like we said, Webb knows you have the expertise to escape. I can coach you into a believable scenario, the right words to use, and how to gain his trust. How to make him think you like him, respect him, and care about his quest. His beliefs. I can even coach you to make him believe you worship him.”

  “Are you serious? What kind of a cop are you?”

  Lauren shrugged. “The best kind.”

  Drake relaxed his muscles. “Well, she sure knows what she’s doing.”

  “Yeah,” Smyth growled. “She has a way with prisoners.”

  “Oh, mate,” Drake said. “Give her a chance. She’s working for the good guys.”

  “Something is not right with Nicholas Bell,” Smyth said. “And nobody except me seems to see it.”

  “What can he do? The guy’s in a bloody supermax. Says he became tangled up with the Pythians and couldn’t get out. He shows remorse. Good psyche results. He’s never once mentioned release. And every lead he’s given us has panned out.”

  Smyth stared fixedly at Lauren through the window. “And considering where he is, a Louisianan prison, the guy has everything he needs.”

  “You’re not doing so badly yourself,” Kinimaka put in.

  “One day,” Smyth grunted. “One day. You will see.”

  Drake watched Lauren talk to Sabrina. Time passed. More coffees came, this time with hard Biscotti. He trusted Smyth’s instincts down to the bone and worried that they might all be missing something. But Louisiana was a long way from Barcelona and he saw Hayden fetching a phone in so that Sabrina could make a call.

  Another hour went by as Lauren coached the Italian thief. Finally though, she allowed her to make the quick call.

  Through the speakers Sabrina and Webb had a brief exchange and, immediately, they all knew the risk using Sabrina Balboni had already paid off.

  “I am in Zurich,” Webb told her after a few minutes. “Meet me there.” The man actually sounded relieved.

  “Well done, Lauren,” Mai said. “Well done.”

  Beau also looked impressed. “She is good, yes?”

  “Face to face will be harder,” Smyth said.

  “But she has given herself lots more hours,” Kinimaka said. “To work on that. This is the best outcome, guys.”

  “Zurich then?” Drake studied the group.

  The team inside the small room split up and left a relieved looking Sabrina Balboni alone for a few minutes. Hayden gave a sigh of relief when she returned to the group.

  “What do you guys think?”

  “I think we should go nail Tyler Webb,” Alicia snarled. “Once and for all. To a fucking tree. Who’s with me?”

  Grim nods were made all around.

  “Hold your horses, guys,” Drake said. “There’s another issue first. A big one.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Drake finished his coffee before elaborating. “Forget Sabrina. Forget Webb. We have a crew of fanatics shooting up the Barcelona Motor Show. They’re gonna need to be neutralized.”

  Hayden paused and then sighed. “Crap, I guess you’re right. The cultists will be following Webb wherever he goes, but the head of the snake? I don’t think so.”

  “Nah, that’ll be sunning itself in Dubai,” Drake lamented. “Of all places.”

  “So we split the team. One half to Zurich; one to Dubai.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Drake stared around, not voicing the disquieting thought that the team was pretty much split already. Professionalism stood foremost in their minds though.

  “Drake, Mai, Alicia, Beau,” Hayden said, “should head off to Dubai. The others to Zurich. And Drake, we need to keep Dubai under the radar. All of it.”

  Drake nodded. “Understood.”

  Mai watched Hayden. “You said ‘we’. Are you joining us?”

  Hayden quickly checked her emails. “It will be a good change, I think.”

  “And me?” Kenzie asked. “I mean, Dahl
and I usually stick together but . . .”

  The Swede winced. “Not by bloody choice, believe me.”

  Kenzie looked hurt. “I’m not sure I wanna be stuck with the B team. Even if Beach Runner is a part of it.”

  An already beleaguered group took stock of her words. A month ago they’d have been laughed off, but now Kinimaka gave Hayden woeful eyes and Smyth glared at Beau. “Maybe we should change places, bro.”

  Hayden rubbed her temples. “I need Lauren with Sabrina and you watching them both, Smyth. Mano, man up. And Kenzie, if you want to be part of this team you have to stop causing contention.”

  “It’s just natural, boss. I’m not sure I know how.”

  Hayden motioned to Drake. “Seriously though, I can’t stress how important it is to keep a low profile. The last thing we need is a brush with the UAE.”

  “We’ll be careful, Hayden,” he said. “All of us. Hey guys, take it easy. We’ll meet you in Zurich.” He started to walk away.

  Dahl looked worried. “Drake?” he said.

  “Yeah?” The Yorkshireman turned, pleased that the Swede cared.

  “Don’t fuck it up.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Karin Blake knew what hell looked like. She knew what utter defeat tasted like. And she knew the sensation of soul-destroying desolation. Since Matt Drake entered her life she had lost her brother, her parents, and recently the love of her life. She had tried to do good; fought on the side of the noble and the virtuous. She had checked all the right boxes—but somehow still lost out on life.

  So she made Drake enroll her in a program, ostensibly to prepare a way for her into the team with confidence, into the field with some experience, and with more than just a dojo-earned black belt to call upon. The Yorkshireman pulled many delicate strings and cancelled out several favors to get the Englishwoman into the American Army program, but somehow managed to pull it off.

  Fitting, actually.

  It had a fateful sense of irony that Matt Drake had fought tooth and nail to sign her up for the months’-long, extremely intense, grueling super-program that would eventually—

  Barked orders interrupted her train of thought.

  “Enemy sighted. Stay alert, stay frosty. We’re being told to engage.”

  Karin knew this was no drill, no extended training exercise. She looked forward to real-world action after training for so long. The months had been punishing, backbreaking, consuming her every waking minute and short hours of slumber. Soon after she started the proliferating exhaustion, she stopped remembering her dreams, which was a godsend.

  Soon after that, the overwhelming pain and demanded effort robbed her brain of alternative thought processes, which also was a blessing in disguise. Being able to move, sleep where she could, wake on demand, know which injuries were serious and which would be laughed at, engage her genius intellect at select times, get along with the boys and earn their respect, stand up for herself when the need arose—all this and more crammed her day with details.

  Guilt flourished, though, when she realized she hadn’t thought about Komodo in twenty four hours. More guilt when she remembered a week had passed since she contacted the SPEAR team. Then the guilt compounded when she realized she couldn’t remember the exact date when Ben and her parents died.

  Emotions compressed inside her.

  They became a raging sea, wild and untamed, kept in check only by the regime she followed. And in some rare moments of alacrity she knew—it was a damn good job the struggles expended her. A good job indeed.

  Karin turned her rage toward the program. She became the best and the baddest version of herself, when either version was called for. Initial team sessions were hard, but first she outthought her fellow trainees and then she began to outfight them. What she lacked for in strength she gained in ferocity, in unfettered cruelty. She would strike at the most vulnerable place at the precise moment and without mercy. The men soon learned to take her seriously.

  Another barked order. “We’re now on point, people. Strap on and strap in. This just got very real.”

  Karin allowed the here and now to intrude. In truth, this was about as much thinking time as she’d had in the last few months. She decided now that she didn’t like it. Bring on the goddam war, and bring on the friggin’ pain.

  The guys in her class sat all round her, filling the back of the high, black, unmarked truck. Palladino, Perry, Garrett and Winters, and many others, waiting with grim faces, little banter and unknown expectations. They had never been thrust into actual battle before—and now only through sheer misfortune. It was one thing to know you would be fighting a real enemy that day, quite another to stumble upon it during an exercise.

  Karin stood up, braced herself, and peered through the narrow rectangular window into the front cab. She wore black fatigues and a Kevlar jacket, boots and helmet. She carried a rifle and handgun, knife and other weapons. She had provisions, medical supplies, emergency necessities and Bluetooth arrayed around her body. She felt none of it; saw only what was directly ahead.

  Two dirty white trucks filled with dirty white boys, running for the hills.

  Palladino joined her at the window. “So that’s Mullholland Drive, eh Kaz?” he muttered. “First time I seen it.”

  She accepted Kaz or Blake. She knew neither moniker showed disrespect.

  “Just a road filled with soon-to-be-dead men,” she said. “Any minute now.”

  Both trucks narrowly missed an oncoming car, the impact avoided through luck rather than intention.

  “Civilians are in the way,” Palladino said. “Bear it in mind.”

  “Civilians are always in the way,” Karin said. “And often get killed.”

  “You never told us much about yourself,” Palladino said with a perceptive touch.

  “We’re not here to get cozy, Palladino. We’re here to learn how to kill these mothers before they kill us. Don’t pretend you don’t want to.”

  Karin ignored his confused expression, watching as the chase unfolded. Both white trucks swerved and bounced wildly around the bends and switchbacks, drivers becoming increasingly panicked and pushing overloaded vehicles beyond their limits.

  “They’re transporting guns,” Palladino pointed out. “Sooner or later they’re going to realize that.”

  Karin checked the truck’s big side mirrors, and saw a phalanx of flashing black-and-whites following. “Yeah, and it’ll be bloody messy.”

  “Now is that bloody? Or messy? Can’t tell with that accent of yours.”

  “Palladino.” Karin gave him the eye. “I don’t want to be friends with you or anyone else. We work together. Concentrate on the job.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  Karin ignored everything around her to assess the unfolding events. Their driver—Callahan—steered carefully and with unwavering attention, staying close to the trucks but trying not to appear too threatening. The protests of the engine and squeal of the tires belied his efforts but his skills were obvious. As they roared along the asphalt a sharp, blind hill gave the trucks ahead some airspace, and Callahan didn’t back off. Karin held on as the truck left the road, then crashed down, sending two men sprawling. She didn’t move to help, preferring to keep her distance.

  Outside, one of the trucks jolted along the grass verge, roof and sides shaking and jouncing against their padlocks, juddering as if from a localized earthquake. More guys crowded around.

  “Move aside, Blake. Let someone else see.”

  Karin retreated, and that was when the shooting began. The back door of the rearmost truck rolled up noisily and bullets began to smash and punch through their vehicle. Karin ducked low and two of the guys went three shades whiter than pale.

  “What do we do?” Winters asked.

  “Don’t get shot.” Karin bent even further, figuring her position behind the front engine would also help. Four others figured it out too; some looked too scared to move.

  “So this is what we’ve been training for,” H
ildreth, their current team leader bellowed. “You guys are exactly where you should be, just a tad earlier than expected. And on American soil.” He added the last sentence a touch awkwardly. “Consider this a bonus.”

  Karin smiled grimly, noting the mixed emotions that crossed her colleagues’ faces. All was not well there it seemed, and some might now willingly take the lonely walk down Washout Lane.

  For the better, she thought. I don’t want losers watching my back.

  For now, though, they were a team. Callahan flung the truck around a sweeping corner; a bullet crunched through sheet metal and traveled through them, striking a small, young guy called Wu in the chest. The impact knocked him to his knees, where he waited for several moments, panting.

  “I’m okay,” he said eventually.

  “Duh,” Karin said. “We figured that when you weren’t part of the stain on the back door.”

  “And a good job that wasn’t me,” said Perry, the tallest of their group at almost seven foot. “ ’Cause it would’a taken my friggin’ balls off.”

  There were a few guffaws, mostly nervous laughter. Karin knew how close they had come. Another bullet whizzed through, this time over head height, and when she chanced a look into the cab she saw Callahan fighting the wheel, windshield smashed to hell, and his co-driver nursing an arm wound. They were getting shot to shit up there.

  “We have to do something,” she said. “Or they’re gonna die.”

  Hildreth might be team leader but he was still a new recruit. “What do you suggest?”

  Karin didn’t answer, instead smashing out the viewing panel and resting her rifle on the frame. When the trucks aligned she squeezed off half a dozen shots, scattering the men inside and winging one quite badly. It was a chaotic scene in there, with crates haphazardly stacked, some piled to the roof and listing badly, some with lids broken, jagged wood sliding around and men falling over everything, firing blindly as they rose up. Shots barely missed companions, some punching through their own truck. Others got lucky, flying over Callahan. Karin let loose her rifle again, adding to the general mayhem. Screams and shouts rang out and the truck incredibly tried to pick up speed.