Matt Drake 14 - The Treasures of Saint Germain

by David Leadbeater

  Hayden failed. “Is that . . . ? It’s a woman. Ah crap. Not now. We can’t guarantee her safety.”

  But there was no stopping Kimberly Crowe. The middle-aged, new Secretary of Defense was a slim, fit woman who clearly worked out. The bones of her cheeks were prominent, the clip of her heels quick and sharp. She approached Hayden, then stopped just a meter away.

  “You think this is inappropriate don’t you?”

  Hayden measured her response. “Is this a flying visit, Madam Secretary?”

  “I’m here to help.”

  Drake saw the determination on Crowe’s face. Nobody would say the obvious aloud, so he started to wonder how to phrase a response, but then Alicia stepped in.

  “Our track record ain’t that good with Secretaries of Defense.”

  “To safeguard you, Madam, would impact our effectiveness,” Hayden amended.

  “I have my guards.” Crowe swept her hand toward the three men.

  Dahl snorted. “You steal ’em from kindergarten?”

  “And you might be subjected to some coarseness,” Hayden added quickly.

  “We can take it. And I can take a back seat.” She motioned. “Lead on.”

  Conscious that Crowe’s appearance could mean anything from an inquisitive visit to a brief evaluation, to a full-on appraisal of the team’s value to the nation, Hayden turned away. The Secretary knew the risks.

  It was time to hunt.

  CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

  The plan was simple, and far easier than trawling through thick layers of digital dust and numerical highways. Hayden explained it to the Secretary as they moved out.

  “As with all enemies, we usually put aside Webb’s beliefs, crazy or not, as they can’t help us here. But his life’s work? That’s key. This man has been leading up to the creation of an alchemical formula called the Philosopher’s Stone, a substance also known as the elixir of life. Once the most hunted prize on the planet, it’s now Webb’s ultimate goal.”

  “I’ve heard of it.”

  “But its history is fascinating. It can be traced back to Adam, who got the knowledge from God. Passed down among biblical patriarchs, it was how they achieved their durability. It involves the Temple of Solomon, and Psalms in the Bible.”

  “But you put that aside, right?” Crowe said. “As a little kooky.”

  “Yes and no,” Hayden said. “On this occasion it could help. The Internet is vast, and full of lies. Who knows which facts are actual facts anymore? Especially when they relate to a three-hundred-year-old Count. If we had time to research properly, old books, old libraries, museums and such, we could work it out. But we never do. Real life moves too fast to take a breather. Real soldiers and real teams have to think and study on the go.”

  Crowe followed Hayden between groups of revelers. “Makes sense. But I still don’t hear your point.”

  “All right. Webb believes, through learning the secrets of alchemy, teleportation, invisibility and with advice from the Freemasons handed down from their ultimate founder, he can concoct this Magnum Opus. That’s why he embarked upon this quest only after locating Leopold’s scroll. To make the liquid, he will now need the right ingredients.”

  “To make the Philosopher’s Stone?” Crowe looked immensely skeptical. “And you know what they are?”

  “We do. I believe it’s knowing how they’re mixed that changes the outcome. Anyway, during the flight we had the FBI techs tracking local purchases of phosphorous. A certain urine. Special morning dew. Ammonium niter. Magnesium chloride. A few other materials that create sophick; salt, sulfur and mercury. Yes, some of the establishments around here are extremely secretive about what they sell, but others are either complacent or carefully cooperative.”

  “I understand. So you’re telling me we’re here to follow a shopping list?”

  “Exactly.”

  Deeper they delved into the French Quarter and beyond. Run-down shops with dirty green shutters and cheap souvenirs boasted the names Church of Voodoo, Leveaux’s and Hoodoo Shop. Whether by design or neglect, every establishment labored under an air of disrepair, and several looked downright uninviting. Drake had long ago learned that innocent fronts could often hide dens of terrible iniquity. But tourists wandered in and out of the open doors, snapping pictures, selfies, most laboring under the intense heat.

  Hayden stopped. “Blue Voodoo,” she said. “Here, apparently, we can find putrefied urine.”

  Alicia lowered her head across Hayden’s shoulders. “Really?”

  “Hey, it’s not my barbecue.”

  The team readied and liaised with the local SWAT guys who had also turned up. By now they all wore flak jackets and helmets and carried their weapons exposed. The area was emptying rapidly as people were moved away. Drake took the lead.

  “Go.” The directive whistled through his comms.

  Drake crossed the threshold, gun up, and went left. Dahl went right. Two followed and then Kinimaka went straight down the middle. The counter assistant stared at them in shock.

  “Back door?” Drake asked.

  But all was empty. If Webb had ever been here, he had moved on. Hayden called out the manager and took him aside.

  Drake listened as he quickly answered her question. “Yes, yes, we sold it less than a half hour ago. Odd man with a tall friend. We don’t question.”

  Another store beckoned, this one two blocks away, that sold ammonium niter. Inside, Drake dubiously regarded the plethora of chemicals, urns, mixing bowls and mortar and pestle basins, the vials of hair and teeth and animal remains, the jars of eyeballs, tongues and toenails, the plastic pouches of mandrake, zombie flesh and king’s blood. The proprietor looked like he’d ingested all of them.

  “Yar, yar,” he drawled in a clearly fake English accent. “Man came through just recently. Bought the niter, magnesium, some phosphorous. Said he needed the morning dew.” A cackle, a flash of blackened teeth and a whip of dreadlocks. “I said ‘you mean the special dew?’ He said ‘yes’. I said ‘Don’t sell it’. He looked rather miffed.”

  Hayden fought to take him down a little. “You recommend anywhere?”

  “Verily, verily. Magick Lounge. They surely have all kinds of . . . crap. Oh, and why are those chaps dressed like the men in black?”

  Drake winced at the references to Secretary Crowe’s bodyguards but leaned close to Dahl. “Dude speaks better toff than you.”

  The Swede sighed. “Spoken like a true northern peasant.”

  Kimberly Crowe turned to the team. “So what is the special dew? Dare I ask?”

  The proprietor sniffed. “Precipitation gathered at dawn off the petals of a deadly, noxious plant. Is it lethal or is it not? Would you try some?”

  “Doubtful.” Crowe backed away. “Very doubtful.”

  “Depending on how blasted ya got the night before, eh?” Alicia blurted before remembering who she was speaking to. But then she only shrugged. “Fuckin’ true isn’t it?”

  The entire force moved on, Hayden ticking items off her list. As they paused in a square behind the Magick Lounge, a steaming sun trap that stank of fried chicken, marijuana, cigarettes and jasmine, the leader of the SPEAR team spoke out.

  “Only the sophick elements remain after the dew. Be ready.”

  “We should go straight on to the next,” Smyth chaffed. “Looks like we’re still ten minutes behind.”

  “Our luck?” Drake said. “We’d miss him. Beside, cops are looking at the three possible places.”

  Mai tapped Smyth’s shoulder. “And also, what if he’s en route? Our presence could tip him off.”

  Smyth grumped in silence, throwing out a questing glance at Lauren. The New Yorker’s face was open, slightly smiling. He smiled back.

  Drake followed Dahl into the Magick Lounge. The wide open doors threw them all a little, but once inside, again, there was no sign of Webb. Hayden made the instant decision to move fast on the remaining businesses.

  “Split up,” she said. “We’re at the
last chance saloon here.”

  Nobody balked, nobody lingered. There were instant movements and dozens of pairs of legs raced out of the door. Locations were followed on hand-held GPS devices. Drake and the team arrowed straight toward the nearest. A guess had been put forward that they were less than five minutes behind Webb. The narrow streets between shops and restaurants, some abandoned, some crumbled no doubt from Katrina, although the French Quarter had gotten some extra protection from reinforced levees, were a maze, a boiling warren of coffee smells, piled-up rubbish and stinking corners. Drake sweated hard beneath his helmet. Hayden shouted out that their final destination was a minute away and the team slowed.

  But they did not stop.

  They cut down an alley so narrow it rubbed their shoulders on both sides, then emerged carefully opposite a shuttered shop that ran two stories and sported three balconies around its height. To Drake, it looked closed but that very fact put him on alert. An American flag hung suspended in no breeze, attached to one of the railings. A row of well-tended plant pots lined another balcony. The odd layout of the streets, from shop to restaurant to private garages to beautifully painted, shuttered homes to rough drinking venue was never more apparent as Drake stared at a row of conflicting images. But the shop?

  It sat quiet and sunstruck, its paved sidewalk faded, and its windows secured as if ignoring the world. He moved out into the open and held up a hand, signaling a pause. Two crowds of tourists sauntered to the left, several catching sight of Drake and pausing to stare. The main group came closer.

  And then parted.

  Webb and Beau emerged slowly at first, looking bored, but then made a beeline for the seemingly closed shop. Maybe they had called ahead, promised more money for privacy? That was how it was done, wasn’t it? In wealthy circles?

  Drake lowered his HK. “Hey, knobheads!”

  Webb broke into a sprint. Beau flung something from a closed fist that cut brick above Drake’s skull, showering him with dust. A second projectile followed, confusing the Yorkshireman and then the Frenchman was there, a ninja in black, the persona of shadowy death, and Drake felt the HK twist from his hands.

  He struck low, catching Beau in the ribs. Alicia pushed at his back, trying to force him away from the narrow alley, but Beau held him there, striking almost as fast as his mind could work. The assassin hit brick as often as he did Drake, but none of the blows fazed him.

  Drake found his only recourse was to fling himself past Beau. That allowed Alicia to come to the fore and made Beau concentrate on her. The man’s face, familiar and sometimes smiling, sometimes grim, but part of their team, now bore no signs of recognition, empathy or mercy. He might as well have been a robot, programmed to kill.

  Alicia kicked at shins and punched at the stomach and groin. Beau danced beautifully, a master puppeteer. Spins and sweeps put Alicia on her back, then Drake was at his heels, Kinimaka trying to emerge from the alley.

  Shit. The big Hawaiian’s bloody stuck!

  As calamitous as ever, Mano Kinimaka could not move forward as brick walls pinned him in from both sides. Soldiers chaffed behind him, Crowe and her entourage at the back. Drake dived at Beau, striking thighs, and Alicia kicked out, but the Frenchman buried a pile driver into Kinimaka’s stomach that effectively turned him into a gasping, unmoving blockage.

  Hayden cried out: “Webb’s already inside!”

  The barrel of a gun pressed under Kinimaka’s armpit, but Beau twirled away before shots could be fired. Kinimaka groaned loudly as Dahl pushed at his back. Flesh nipped and material tore apart. Beau skipped between Drake and Alicia, trying to keep them down.

  Drake slammed a fist against the man’s thigh, ecstatic to fetch a heavy grunt. So the fucker was human after all! Then Beau somehow managed to jab him below the eye with a finger and kick him in the stomach at the same time. Drake folded, rolling away.

  Alicia was up, but Drake saw Beau jumping after Webb now and figured freeing up the rest of the team was the best bet. Not looking the Hawaiian in the face, they grabbed his jacket and tugged whilst Dahl pushed.

  Alicia’s face was set to impish. “Better hope this works, big man. As a last resort I’m gonna be tweaking those nuts.”

  With a scream of terror and a whoosh of air out of Mano’s mouth he was falling amongst them. Dahl and Hayden immediately hopped out, followed quickly by the rest.

  Beau ran into the shop.

  Drake cast an eye around the area. Minimal escape routes, large crowds. Kenzie appeared at his shoulder.

  “Have you seen a proper sword shop around here yet?”

  “Umm, no love, I haven’t. You sure have no love for the gun.”

  “Tool me up properly I’m a firecracker.”

  Drake coughed. “Right. Cheers. I’ll remember that one for sure.”

  With no sign of Amari and the tourists backing off, Hayden ordered an assault of the shop. As one the team bolted, ranging out in a protective shroud. Drake wrenched at the door. Dahl and Smyth barged in, guns up. Hayden followed, then Drake squeezed in an instant before Kinimaka. Inside, the shop was dim, tricking their eyes for several seconds. Drake saw Webb screaming at a man behind the counter. He saw the madman rifling through a crate that the proprietor had placed on the counter; vials, packets and small tubs flying everywhere. He saw Webb turn in triumph, clutching a bright red packet.

  “Where’s the others?” he said. “The ingredients. Quick now.”

  Drake leveled his gun. Where was . . . ?

  The shadow fell upon them as if from out of the skies. Webb shrieked laughter. Beau landed on two feet from his perch above the door, kicked and punched and sent them against one another. Weapons scattered but jackets broke their falls. Webb snatched up another red packet and screamed.

  “You don’t have the salt? That’s the easiest component!”

  Webb took hold of the man’s shirt and used it to throw him aside. Then he bolted around the counter, heading for the back. Beau kicked out at Mai who had just come through the door, sending her backwards into Kenzie. Then, like living smoke, he was gliding after his boss. Drake reached for his gun, forcing down the frustration. Both he and Dahl managed to squeeze off a shot but they were speculative and aimed high because of the fallen shopkeeper.

  “What are you idiots trying to do?” Alicia moaned. “Drop a shelf on the bastard’s head?”

  The team ran; Drake and Dahl racing around the counter, the others filing after them. A narrow passage led to a back door, thrown open. They were forced to slow in case Beau was waiting with another nasty surprise, but then emerged into a small yard that backed straight onto another shop.

  Rear door smashed in.

  Another race, turning into a chase as they caught sight of Beau streaking through the curio shop ahead. A different door banged aside and then the open street again, barging through pedestrians and crashing through another door and another store. Bright sunlight and dimmed interiors. Blue skies and flashing, multicolored lights.

  The team thinned out, then bunched up, then broke for a minute before reforming inside a costume shop. Through this one and then among a large yard filled with Mardi Gras paraphernalia. Twisting between floats and hanging figures that looked like demons; black goats and gaudy men in top hats swaying as if they were alive.

  Another sighting of Beau, and then Webb, but an entire, crowded float fell in their way, making the going more difficult. Drake found himself scrabbling over the head of a green dragon whilst Alicia used its long red tongue to pull herself in his wake. Then they clambered over an enormous crocodile wearing a crown, the entire team at their backs.

  “Feels like a fuckin’ nightmare,” Drake muttered.

  “Are you kidding?” Alicia panted back. “Did you see the size of that tongue? More like a dream.”

  There were broken jesters and windowless streetcars, a woman blowing a trumpet. The float went on and on, even more vexing because they could see the yard’s exit just ahead. The final obstacles were evil clowns
and provoked more than a few screams from Alicia, Lauren and, of course, Kinimaka.

  Drake jumped down, sweating a river. The exit door was flung wide. A shop doorway across the street was broken in half, the bottom panel swinging. He cursed. If only for a clear shot! He crossed the road, entered the store and saw an unhappy shopkeeper.

  “Which way?”

  “Out back.”

  More running and chasing. A brief glimpse of Webb saw him clutching another packet and grinning more evilly than any possessed clown through the ages.

  A sprint down a long dissecting street and Drake began to smell the river much more strongly. Their quarry broke right, barged through another store and knocked over another shopkeeper. The team raced hard in pursuit, their sweat spattering the dusty floors behind them. Only twice did Drake achieve clear line of sight for a shot, but passed on both occasions for fear of hitting bystanders or chancing a ricochet. Only once did they venture past other cops, who immediately tagged along. Kimberly Crowe was at the end of the line, finding it hard to keep up.

  “Is Webb heading for the river?” Hayden asked aloud. “Is this purposeful?”

  “You sure as hell can’t land a chopper around here,” Smyth said. “And the roads are narrow.”

  They gatecrashed two more stores, drifting ever closer to the river. Lauren, at the back, had been swiping at her cell. Now she shouted out, “It’s easy onto the river around here. There’s a Moonwalk, and something like a dock. A steamboat. It’s pretty open.”

  Kenzie had drifted off one store ago and now returned, face flushed. In her right hand she held a katana, in her left a short Ninja sword, both with scabbards. “Now I’m ready for that sausage man.” She grinned. “We’ll see how he fights without skin.”

  And, with a certain amount of ceremony, she proffered the ninja sword to Dahl. The Swede looked like he was going to decline, but then saw the formality and hope in her and held out a hand. Quickly, he strapped it to his back, following Kenzie’s example. Crowe didn’t have the energy to question any of it.