The team reached inside the van for jackets, trousers, headgear and then the dreaded skis. Dahl didn’t say a word when Smyth gestured for help or when Lauren fell over, just made sure the guys were okay. Their weapons were secured last, and then Kinimaka sent a final communication over to Argento at Interpol.
They set out, leaving the minibus parked in a large area alongside other vehicles and following tracks already laid out in the snow. The glare was high, the skies bright. Dahl tried to show the others, particularly Kinimaka, how best to employ his poles to help him glide across the snow-covered terrain. The Hawaiian was a fast learner, but in his own words had “no real experience with the white stuff”.
“Use the alternating technique,” the Swede said. “And look on the bright side, it’s not too far.”
The snowy landscape stretched far and wide, rolling hills ahead leading to higher and higher slopes. Dahl felt a chill in the air but knew it would soon dissipate once the team started their cross-country walk. He took the lead, looking back often and shouting encouragement. This was just what he needed, something to interfere with his train of thought and a way to help. When Kenzie fell on her ass he even scooted over to pull her up.
“People actually do this for fun?” she asked.
“Of course. You get used to it, like any pastime. Give it a chance.”
The first rolling hill secreted a sharp slope down which both Kinimaka and Lauren went sideways and tumbling. Dahl helped them up and they continued, checking ahead and seeing at least three more similar hills. To the far right a cable car passed them, trundling slowly up highly tensioned wires.
“See the tracks?” Dahl panted as they paused, his breath pluming. “The popular path veers off that way.”
Kinimaka raised his goggles. “And we go . . . ?”
“Straight on.” Lauren pointed. “Across virgin snow.”
“Crap, that’s just great.”
As a team they persevered and struggled through. Dahl helped when he made them slow down, wary of any lookouts Webb may have posted. There were no more communications from Sabrina and already the day was growing old, the shadows long. They crested a final slope and paused in the shadow of a huge boulder.
Ahead, a gentle slope ran to the base of the mountain. As Dahl studied the terrain a gentle snow flurry skipped up all around them, stinging their exposed faces with bits of ice. Kinimaka complained surprisingly more than Smyth.
“He’s just cranky,” Kenzie pointed out. “Problems at home.”
Kinimaka swore at her. “Keep it to yourself.”
“Relax,” Kenzie said. “She’s fine. I’m sure someone’s taking care of her right now.”
Kinimaka turned his back with obvious melancholy and asked how close they were to the coordinates. Dahl checked his GPS. “A few miles,” he admitted. “Might be best to get a move on.”
Another hour of relentless shambling and they were close enough to their destination to remove skis and continue in thick boots, much to everyone’s relief. The air had already grown noticeably colder and the sky was fast losing its shine. The slopes of the mountain had been rugged for a while, before flattening out into a wide plateau. As the group came up the final part of the hard climb, they peered over the apex and saw a wonderful thing.
Rocks dotted the plateau, which led all the way to the mountainside. Nestling at the foot of the next rock face was a medium-sized house, bland in appearance but ancient; its brick structure weathered and its surrounds being retaken by the mountain. From this distance they could discern no more until Dahl broke the field glasses out.
They crept over the edge and lay amid a clump of trees, snow spilling out beneath them. When Kinimaka bumped into a low branch heavy with snow and dislodged a white shower that covered them all, everyone complained but Dahl—who used the field glasses to see if the movement had been spotted.
Through the lenses he saw golden light beaming through undraped windows, its radiance spilling across the landscape. Each window gave up a secret—the presence of suited men, a table full of untouched food and unused glasses, rows of leather-bound, hardback books lovingly preserved, and more.
Nobody he recognized.
Upstairs he went, training the field glasses carefully. With a slow turn of the adjustment wheel he compensated for the slight change.
And focused in on the face of Tyler Webb, staring out the window and across the landscape back toward Zurich.
Dahl almost gasped. Surprise made him tighten his fists around the glasses, an act that didn’t go unnoticed amongst the team.
“What is it?” Kinimaka and Smyth said at once.
“Webb,” he breathed. “I don’t believe it. Tyler bloody Webb, large as life and twice as ugly, standing before a window on the top floor. Dozens of guards below though. This place belongs to a high-level player.”
Kinimaka grunted, a feral sound bearing all the hatred and pent-up fears reaped from months of stalking both Hayden and he had endured, from afar and from intimately near.
“We go,” he said, forgetting the cell and their line to Sabrina. “We go now. Hit it. Hit it hard.”
Kenzie moved in the snow, her body making it crunch. “Hey, Mano, if you’d used your own advice on Hayden you might still be together.”
The entire team ignored her. Dahl rolled onto his side, snow spilling, and regarded them. “Prepare for a fight. Are you ready?” It was a rhetorical question. “Try Sabrina quickly, Mano. Then we move.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Drake exploded into action as the shots rang out, darting left and wrestling a whole cluster of tourists to the ground. Hayden sprang right and Mai down the middle, flinging people aside if need be. Windows shattered behind them as the bullets flew high, darkened glass jettisoning outside in a prickly shower. Drake thanked the gods that these men were not true terrorists and fired only to aid their getaway. He slid off a pile of tourists.
“You’re welcome,” he said as they complained.
Hayden rushed over to him. “It probably won’t help, but heads down. We could be in deep when they review the footage later.”
“It won’t matter then,” Drake murmured. “If we do this . . .”
He sprinted off after the cult leaders. Hayden groaned in his wake. Alicia flew at his side, body language set in grim distaste. The way ahead was highly polished, reflective and lined by high windows containing super-expensive items. The whole place was darkened, the ceiling lit with gold. The floor shimmered and shone with inlaid tiles in swirling patterns. Amari and his friends were already at the far end, running hard and still refusing to glance back.
Drake stayed low, his head bent as much as was safe. They quickly approached the corner and slowed, inching around, but no shots came. Bands of tourists huddled in shop doorways or headed toward staircases and a bank of elevators. Drake led the other four the length of another opulent walkway and saw a large space opening up ahead. A sign mounted above read: Lobby.
“They’re heading outside,” he guessed. “Guys like these. Locals. Wouldn’t surprise me if they had vehicles all over the bloody place.”
Again they slowed as the vast lobby approached, and their vigilance paid off. A marble statue beside Mai exploded into pieces as a bullet zinged into it, the pieces momentarily masking her surprised, scarred face. Another bullet hammered into the filigree-work overhead, showering them with plaster. Drake jumped aside, casting eyes behind to make sure no inquisitive guests were following.
“By now, you’d have thought these guys would realize we ain’t got no guns,” Hayden said.
“They’re not thinking that way,” Drake said. “Because they’re not trained to do so. We’re dealing with wealthy sheltered citizens who have no real grasp of the consequences of their actions.”
“Doesn’t make them any less deadly,” Mai said, flicking marble off her clothes. “Or answerable.”
Drake crept backward to get a better angle into the lobby. Screaming filled the area and the shrieks of poli
ce sirens could be heard in the distance. He spied a security guard heading over toward Amari and knew they had to act quickly.
To his right and left were an array of small potted plants. He hurled them inside one after the other, distracting Amari and catching the guard’s eye. He waved the man back. More shots filled the area, then the sound of running.
Alicia sprinted into the open.
“Whoa.” He took off after her, and slipped in the residue spilled from the plant pots.
Alicia entered the lobby as Amari fled. Check-in desks stood to her left, concierge and information straight ahead. An enormous ceiling-height object filled the center of the lobby, something that looked like blown glass. As Alicia approached, two of Amari’s acolytes stepped around it and pointed weapons at her.
“Look out!” Drake’s call.
She sighed in exasperation, then stepped in and batted one of the guns aside. The other wavered as the man squeezed the trigger, but Alicia was nowhere near it, ducking to the right and driving a palm up against the man’s elbow. A scream and an airborne gun attested to the fact that he certainly felt the blow. The first man adjusted, but Alicia slipped behind him, wrenched at the wrist and disarmed him. As she sought to twist them against each other, tying them together, she sensed rather than saw another attacker at her back.
She spun. Too late. The butt of a gun came down on her nose, making her see stars and blood. But none of that mattered. Alicia pushed through it, focusing on the deadly weapon rather than the man. It wasn’t in play at the moment; held and used more like a rock than a lump of deadly metal. Nonetheless, as blood dripped down her chin, she spun into the third man, gripped the arm and twisted, making the gun fall to the floor.
Three disarmed.
Facing Drake she saw him pound toward her, the team at his side. Then all three cultists turned on her and the blood got in her eyes, stinging. A few punches that barely registered struck her forehead and stomach. Then one of the men thought to trip her and she collapsed onto one knee.
All three men turned tail and ran hard, following Amari toward the big exit doors.
Drake slid in next to Alicia. “You okay?”
“Of course I’m fucking okay. Go get ’em, you idiot!”
Mai stopped and held out a hand. “Guess with your broken nose and my scar we’re a pair now, hey Taz?”
Alicia ignored the offer. “Nose isn’t broken.” She rose to her feet.
“Sure you don’t need a little help keeping your feet?”
“Touch me and I’ll bite your arm off.” Alicia saw Drake, Hayden and Beau converging on the exit door and struggled along to join them. The exit narrowed and then gave way to a sprawling, sloping parking area, extensive gardens and a taxi rank. Numerous vehicles were parked to the left, some bright and expensive, others dull rentals. Alicia tore her gaze away from the myriad hiding places and watched the others.
Drake barged through the doors, sensing his quarry was close and panicking. Amari was dead ahead, flying down the slope and across the hotel’s winding drive at breakneck pace. Beyond that, the hotel gave way to a road and then the final breakwater that formed Atlantis’s island, then the endless, glittering waves stretching as far as he could see.
Amari’s route couldn’t be aimless. Drake believed that even a wealthy, tranquil owner of a coveted Jumeirah Palm address had to have come up with some kind of escape plan. These guys were fit though, able to stay ahead of the SPEAR team. Money could certainly buy fitness, if not perfect happiness.
“I will cut them off.” Beau angled left, predicting they might cut across the gardens toward a larger side-parking area.
Drake pounded in pursuit. The sunglasses came loose, fell down his nose and needed scooping back up again. A busload of tourists gaped down through their windows, chattering away. Busboys and limo drivers scurried out of the way, one caught by Alicia and sent sprawling as she barged through with little ceremony. The SPEAR team were plagued with the added burden of ensuring they always had somewhere to hide in case Amari turned to fire, and constantly shouted at people to take cover. In the next moment all of the acolytes who still had guns turned and fired. Drake backed off.
Hayden caught his shoulder. “Too many civilians around.”
“Agreed. The bastards are desperate.”
“No,” Mai said as she caught up. “They’re just the same, and making a little extra room for their next move. Look.”
Amari pounded out of the hotel grounds without slowing, hurdled a decorative wall, and then sped straight across a busy road. Cars swerved and collided. Fenders caught rear ends and one SUV slammed straight into the hotel wall. Amari’s acolytes used the chaos to skip between or slide right over the massed vehicles. Drake, Hayden, Mai and Alicia hurried straight for the heart of it all.
As they neared the confusion—now made worse by more arriving vehicles and approaching flashing lights—they were stopped dead in their tracks by Amari’s antics. The cult leader jumped atop the wall that separated land from sea, a breakwater from rolling waves. Glancing back, he nodded toward his acolytes and flashed a brilliant, white-toothed smile.
Drake read his lips.
“The Ascended Master will need us more than ever now.”
He jumped. His six followers rushed up and followed suit, bodies filling the air and the horizon, leaping over the wall and down toward the dazzling blue brine. Hayden held up a hand so the team slowed.
“Split up,” she hissed. “Check it out, then melt away. Get back to the city any way you can. We can’t be arrested here.”
Her instructions were part fuelled by the arrival of police vehicles, the gathering of people along the wall to check out what had happened, and the influx of hotel guests. The team scattered and then pressed against the high wall, peering down to the seas below.
Drake swore. Amari clearly had more than six close friends. The drop was little more than ten feet, straight into deep water, and floating close to shore was a large, fast looking speedboat. Amari was already inside, with his friends fast approaching.
Drake put his hands on the wall, thankful the cultists hadn’t simply leapt to their glorious deaths. He was ready to jump into the fray. Then he paused and glanced across at Hayden. Beau was ready too, staring his way.
Hayden struggled with it. Drake cursed silently. There was only one way this was going to go. The cops were scrambling out of their cars. Mai was already drifting away at the edge of a pack of tourists. Alicia was crouching down with a local, examining the damage to his car and making comforting noises. If they continued the pursuit they would end up packed into a Dubai prison, and as much as Drake would like to get a look inside a cell where the cop cars were Ferraris and Lamborghinis he didn’t want to end up taking an extended vacation there. Not whilst Webb was still on the loose.
Maybe next time.
A tourist standing and watching the speedboat, turned away and Drake latched onto him, asking what was happening. They engaged in conversation and wandered back into the hotel. Several glances back confirmed the cops were still catching up, trying to make sense of what had happened and probably assuming all the perpetrators were on the boat.
He saw the signs for the monorail that led from the hotel to the edge of Dubai city and paid for a ticket. Amari’s escape was bad, a major setback to their cause. The previously oblivious man would be in full crazy mode now. Drake wondered how that might affect Tyler Webb and his efforts to find the treasures of Saint Germain.
Badly, he hoped. But now they had two primary enemies to track down.
He wondered how Dahl was doing.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Dahl led the painstakingly slow, watchful and meticulous raid on the house in the snow-covered mountains around Zurich. Following his sighting of Webb, they had mapped the house, guessed at the layout and number of guards and tried to get in touch with Sabrina Balboni. Not surprisingly, the super-thief didn’t answer their calls, so Dahl had decided to take the initiative. Webb was in thei
r grasp. They had weapons, the element of surprise, and three well-trained soldiers. Four, since sometimes Dahl counted the Mad Swede part of himself as an extra person.
The six of them crept out of hiding, careful not to shake the trees, and scuttled through soft snow. Yorgi led the way, his watchful prowess coming into play now. Kinimaka came in the center, hoping his bulk wouldn’t get them seen. The truth was, despite very careful observation they could find no sign of an outer guard. Dahl couldn’t wait. Webb might be in there for hours, or days. This was an isolated spot with little chance of escaping unnoticed. Chance was in their favor.
They pulled up against another set of three lonely trees, halfway to the house and with a white-covered garden spread out before them. The garden was a hodgepodge of replica vehicles, statues and collectible items, all seemingly errant as if an eccentric might be hoarding them. Dahl leaned in to Yorgi. “As soon as we reach the door you fall back.”
The Russian nodded. “Dah.”
Kinimaka’s phone rang. He’d forgotten to mute the sound and the tone rang out clear in the wintery stillness. The Hawaiian’s eyes went huge as he rummaged through thick, zippered clothing for the black rectangle.
“Crap, crap, crap . . .”
Dahl studied the house, the windows, the doors. Nothing moved. Nothing changed.
Kinimaka jabbed at the phone without checking the caller ID. “Hi. Can I help?”
Smyth rolled his eyes.
Dahl listened in, recognizing the dulcet tones that belonged to Sabrina Balboni filtering through the tiny speaker.
“You must stop calling me. You put me in danger.”
“You’re our asset,” Kinimaka breathed. “We needed you.”
“I said that I would call you when I was safe. That time is now. I have news.”
Kinimaka waved them all to stand down. He held the phone out but didn’t turn on the speakerphone. “Go ahead.”
Matt Drake 14 - The Treasures of Saint Germain Page 16
