Matt Drake 14 - The Treasures of Saint Germain

by David Leadbeater

  The SPEAR team reacted instantaneously, following Beau’s maneuver, then Amari began shouting orders across the rolling swells. The movements put Drake’s boat alongside one of the mercs’. Alicia fired her gun twice, sending two mercs into the Mississippi before return fire was made. Bullets slammed into their hull and glanced across the windshield. Drake swerved to the side. Alicia held on and wounded another merc. The boats came together hard, slamming hulls with a crash that left widening cracks and a flood of water.

  “We’re going down,” Drake said.

  Alicia stared at the foam filling the boat and her boots. “Now I have wet feet. Fucksake, Drake, get a grip.”

  The Yorkshireman swore. He was skimming along at full speed as the water poured in, not only into the boat but into the engine too, aiming for a sandbar that bordered the place where Beau was headed. A merc leaned out, handgun raised, but Alicia knocked it aside as they closed up once more, smashing him in the face for good measure. Drake flicked a glance off the horizon and spotted exactly what Beau was speeding toward.

  “We need to get ashore anyway, guys. The water is killing the engine.”

  Kinimaka’s voice hit the comms at exactly the same time. “Guys, is that a private airport?”

  “Has to be,” Smyth growled. “It sure as hell ain’t public. Lauren can barely see it on the map.”

  Makes sense, Drake thought. In a perfect world Webb’s short hop over the Mississippi from the French Quarter couldn’t have been easier. And then . . . airborne. Private flights meant questionable flight plans and the potential for disappearing completely, depending where you landed.

  Alicia fired again. Water covered Drake’s boots, and the boat wallowed. He flicked at the throat mic.

  “We’re about to crash. Or sink. Or both.”

  Dahl replied. “Stop whining. Just send us a bloody postcard.”

  Drake wrestled hard with the wheel, steering them straight at the sandbar. The hull struck hard, the momentum sending them airborne. Water streamed off the boat as it cleared the raised finger of sand, many meters higher than the pursuing merc boat. Drake saw a SWAT guy leaning over the skids of his helicopter, sighting on the merc boat, and firing as he flew past. The bullet took out the pilot and sent the boat veering madly. Drake’s came down hard.

  “Now there’s a copper who can use his chopper . . .” Alicia said, then grunted and huffed as the hull grinded and bounced. The boat’s momentum sent it skidding into the bank and, as it hit, Drake and Alicia jumped ashore. They tucked and rolled but still landed heavily, bruised and bleeding around the face. Drake rose and looked around.

  The speedboats were racing toward a makeshift dock. Beau and Webb were already there, the American jumping ashore and clutching a heavy leather satchel in one hand. Webb looked both haggard and ecstatic, a man reaching the end of a long quest. Coming up to the dock now was Amari and his boats full of mercs and acolytes.

  Drake and Alicia ran hard along the muddy bank, trying to cut their enemies off. Two choppers blasted overhead, reconnoitering the airport, but Drake had no link to their comms. The area was screened by a row of trees.

  Shots were already being fired. Hopeful attempts to bring down Webb or Beau before they reached their plane. Surely they realized that the game was up. No way would they be allowed to get airborne.

  Hayden came over the comms. “I see Webb running through a gate and into some kind of compound at the rear of the airport. Locking it. Amari’s closing in. Shooting the lock off. Drake, be careful, you’re just a few feet away.”

  Screened by the treeline, Drake and Alicia crept around the last of the thick reaching branches. He counted roughly twenty mercs and four acolytes, dressed in white, and Amari. The airport’s rear security gate had been destroyed and now the mercs were filing through, spreading out into the compound. Drake saw grounded helicopters and the wings of planes and two large hangars. He slipped around the corner.

  Hayden called for them to wait then, eight seconds later, pounded up with the entire team. She turned to Kimberly Crowe.

  “Please. Wait here.”

  The Secretary remained still. “Not a problem.”

  It would have to suffice. The SPEAR team rushed toward the rear gate and the backs of the sprinting mercs. Webb was already crossing the center of the compound toward a large contingent of men. Activity was everywhere ahead of him, men jumping in and out of choppers, ground teams rushing to help, rotors warming up. Even a small jet was roaring its twin engines.

  All and every resource.

  Drake looked from Webb’s army to Amari’s mercs, the police and SWAT helicopters hovering overhead, and the firepower all around. To jump right into the center of this madness would be like leaping into an active volcano.

  Nevertheless, the SPEAR team did it with gusto.

  CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

  “If I die today I hope that I do it well. If I survive this day I hope that I see my loved ones once more. If my friends and colleagues stand over my lifeless body at the end of all this I hope that they stand strong. And remember me, my family. Remember my vital heart, my sense of excitement, my glittering eyes. I am now only a memory but still, in you, I live on. I can live forever.”

  Kinimaka chanted the words softly as they ran toward the great battlefield.

  Drake blinked what could only be river water from his eyes. “Seems a bit long for a proverb, mate.”

  “I wrote it when my mother died,” he said. “And think it through whenever our friends have died. Today seems like a good day for great songs.”

  Before anyone could respond, all hell broke loose. Not one event was limited to a single lifespan though. Through Drake’s eyes the amalgamation of violence and intense action was a non-stop, severely lethal rollercoaster ride. Webb ran for his waiting choppers, which were lined up four in a row. His own ranks of mercenaries thundered past, firing into Amari’s troops. The Arab dived for cover. SWAT choppers swooped down from above, men hanging out of doors and sending volleys of lead into the pitch battle. Oil cans, vehicles and crates were scattered everywhere, enabling soldiers and mercenaries to scramble for cover.

  Drake saw Beau urging Webb toward the first helicopter in line, its rotors already sending out a huge wash. That was fine. When Webb had boarded and it started to lift, Drake shot the pilot.

  The black beast crashed back down, landing hard on both skids. Beau dived inside and manhandled Webb out. Drake saw Hayden loose another shot in their direction. A guard went down. The SWAT chopper plunged in again, raking a trail through the mercenaries, but now another contingent were lining up an RPG, forcing the chopper to veer away. Smyth managed to clip the missile launcher before it fired.

  Other choppers were also ready to fly, three more at the far side of the airfield and two nearby. The sleek gray jet was taxiing slowly to line up its nose with the runway. Webb could break in any direction, but Drake still couldn’t see how he could escape.

  Then three more RPGs appeared and the skies were laced with white smoke and death.

  Amari’s mercs fought hand to hand with Webb’s; punched, kicked and knifed in the back. Shots were fired around containers, bullets crisscrossing the compound. Drake, Alicia and Dahl drove into the back of Amari’s mercs. Drake bruised a neck and then ribs, spun his enemies around and knocked one unconscious. The other wouldn’t give in, produced a knife and looked shocked when it ended up stuck in his own abdomen.

  Dahl threw his man against a crate, smashing it to bits and then had to duck fast behind another. Alicia used the bits of sharpened wood he’d just made to fend off her own attacker. Her H&K then whipped left and right, lining up mercs and taking them down. Two she dispatched just as they drew a bead on her and then ducked behind an oil drum, tempting fate no further. Kinimaka was watching Amari as the cult leader scuttled toward the jet plane. Hayden had eyes only for Webb.

  “Second bird,” she said. “He’s on board.”

  Drake couldn’t see the man or Beau, but let loose a sal
vo that damaged the rotors. Webb emerged shouting a moment later, and pointed at their hiding places. Immediately, two RPGs were trained upon them. Warning shouts came and the team were running by the time the drums and crates erupted in walls of smoke and flame.

  Lauren hit the ground, toppled by the shockwave. Yorgi staggered head-first until coming up against Kinimaka’s bulk, which stopped him. A SWAT helicopter ventured closer now, its men firing on the RPG launchers. Drake waved for it to retreat but it was already too late. The first missile hit its underside and brought it down, mercifully intact, its occupants shaken but alive. The chopper bounced and juddered, scraping against the concrete.

  Smyth rose and shot the man holding the rocket launcher, then shook his head. “Always another stupid enough to take it up.”

  “Then shoot ’em all,” Kenzie said.

  A swell of struggling mercenaries surged into their group. Drake found himself pushing away two fighting men whilst trying to watch Webb and Beau. Dahl and Alicia stayed beside him. Hayden pushed forward, tracking Amari and his acolytes, tailed by Kinimaka, Smyth and Yorgi. A knot of mercs came between the two parties.

  Drake shot a merc up close then felled another. One of Webb’s and one of Amari’s. The third chopper was lifting off, but Drake had already seen it was a ruse. Webb and Beau sprinted amid a crowd, straight for the plane.

  The jet itself was closing the gap too, angling for the apex of the runway. Fore and aft doors were wide open, currently filled by two big bulks toting RPGs. SWAT helicopters shied away.

  The noise was tremendous. Rotor roar combined with gunfire and the screams of men, punctuated with occasional crashing thunder from the jet and the low grunts of men locked in deadly combat. Drake saw a gap and ran for it, angling for Webb, only thirty meters separating them now. Webb carried his precious satchel. Dahl was there, and Alicia too, running interference to left and right.

  Beau, part of the shield around Webb, saw them coming and shouted at his guards. As one, eight men broke off and stood against the three. Drake didn’t slow, just hit them head on, firing and taking a round in the chest that sent him sideways. Always fast to recover from injury, taking a bullet to the vest was nevertheless a stunning blow, leaving him on his knees and gasping. Two mercs stood over him, faces grim.

  “Do not hesitate!” Beau screamed at them.

  They squeezed their triggers but at that moment Kenzie was upon them. The Israeli was a vision of death in artistry, her katana falling and slicing this way and that, and her body rotating twice. When the mercs lay dead she held out a hand.

  “Cheers,” Drake said.

  “Cold-blooded killers deserve a violent end,” she said. “And I am happy to oblige.”

  Mai stood nearby, throwing off another guard. “Are you hurt?”

  “Well, my nipples do smart a bit.”

  “He’s fine,” Alicia said. “We eat bullets for breakfast.”

  Before anyone could respond, Dahl threw two mercs toward them. “Stop gibbering and finish these two boys off, would you? I have my hands full.” The Swede punched two more, breaking bones, a nose and a kneecap. One huge forearm knocked a man’s jaw out of line in a spray of incisors. When they all looked up, Webb was climbing the hastily lowered steps of the plane.

  Beau was waiting on the tarmac, staring at the SPEAR team as the plane swallowed his boss and then started to taxi away again.

  Hayden was closing in on Amari.

  The final RPG-toting man had been taken out and now two more SWAT choppers were swooping toward the bunch of struggling mercs. Angry voices shouted down through loudspeakers, warning the fighters to stand down, instructing them to lower their weapons.

  Drake couldn’t shake off Kinimaka’s words: If I die today I hope . . .

  CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

  Hayden fought in the burning pit.

  With the raging sunlight beating down from above, the melting asphalt radiating it from below and the glaring brightness all around, she battled her way close to Amari. The Arab and his remaining four acolytes were weak but crazed, untrained but desperate, which made them as dangerous as their mercs in her eyes. No telling what they might do.

  She leapt at a man with a facial scar and goatee beard, fired first and sensed him fall away. Her vision filled with another jacket, another merc, always another. Kinimaka moved between crates and drums to her right and Smyth to her left. Lauren and Yorgi were paces behind. Hayden came around another metal barrel, ducked a blow and fell backwards.

  Kinimaka took the merc out as he strode after her. She picked herself up, moved forward. A chopper skimmed low overhead. A bullet zipped right through an oil drum, ricocheting past both her and Smyth before either could blink, spilling out viscous liquid in a thick stream. They reached the end of the barrels and Amari was right before them, facing away, facing the jet that carried Tyler Webb.

  “Stop it! Stop that plane!”

  His acolytes screamed and surged forward, a cluster of grenades held in their hands.

  “The Ascended Master must not be disturbed!”

  Four acolytes, four men loyal to Amari and his madness, held the grenades aloft.

  “Master of Alchemy! Mystic Adventurer! Masonic Guide! I implore your forgiveness for I have failed you!”

  Pins were pulled. One grenade in each man’s hand to make eight in total. They would either hurl them or run onto the plane with them. Their dice were cast long ago.

  Smyth was on one knee. “All we need is the front runner.”

  He breathed, let it escape, and then fired. His bullet took off the top of the lead man’s head, sending his body sprawling and his primed grenade bouncing. Anyone close by scattered except for the other acolytes. Their mission was divine . . . and blind.

  Two grenades exploded, shrapnel shredding the remaining three acolytes in their steps and sending their own bombs into the air. Then came explosion after explosion, flames gouting and fragments flying. Amari watched it all with an open mouth and a face awash with tears. Whether for his friends or for the Count Saint Germain, Hayden knew not.

  Amari turned to her, shrieking.

  Hayden trained her weapon and stepped forward.

  Amari ripped open the front of his shirt to reveal wires, dynamite, and duct tape.

  “No! We can—”

  Kinimaka flung his entire bulk over her as Amari detonated both the bomb, and himself.

  CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

  Hayden felt Kinimaka’s body buffeted by shrapnel. She could barely breathe as his full weight pressed down upon her. Not a sliver of that glaring light shone through; she lay in a safe cocoon of darkness amid the mayhem. Time went by, and then the bulk was pulled off her. Hayden looked up into the dying day.

  “Mano?”

  Lauren fell to her knees. “He’s . . . he’s . . .”

  “I’m okay,” came the rumble of his voice. “Battered, but okay.”

  Hayden swallowed in relief, then sat up. The scene all around them was gory, the crates and oil drums devastated. Liquid leaked along the ground in streams and all manner of objects spilled from the crates. Smyth fell beside Lauren.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  Kinimaka crawled up to Hayden. “Good to be alive.”

  But then Hayden reached out, grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him close. Their eyes were inches apart, their noses brushing. She could feel the beat of his heart, the warmth of his skin, and the blood that trickled from his wounds straight onto hers.

  “Stop saving me, Mano.”

  “I don’t . . . I . . . I . . .”

  “Get it through your head. We’re done. Stop hovering, following and shielding. It’s why I went to Dubai without you. To get some damn space.”

  “I saved your life. I . . .”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Hayden knew then that there would never be a time as meaningful, as piercing as this. If she wanted clear of the Hawaiian then she would have to use this moment, this event which he’d clea
rly hoped would reunite their affections, to take it well beyond the point of no return.

  “I don’t fuck rule followers, Mano. I only fuck the winners who break ’em.”

  The Hawaiian stared in shock, in horror. Smyth and Lauren turned quickly away and Yorgi pretended he hadn’t heard a thing. Hayden dusted herself off and stood alone. Her eyes, misted with tears, surveyed the battleground.

  “Get your asses into gear, guys. We ain’t done yet.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

  Drake and Dahl struck the remnants of Webb’s mercs hard as Alicia, Mai and Kenzie raced past. The jet was moving a little faster now, still trying to taxi to the right position for the runway. Beau hadn’t moved, and was clearly the last line of defense as Webb no doubt continued to mix his potions.

  So Beau would die for Webb’s cause? Drake couldn’t comprehend it.

  Dahl ducked behind a girder fixed into the ground at the end of a hangar. Bullets ricocheted past, sending sparks into his exposed cheeks. He fired around the girder, blindly. Drake peered out low, almost prone. The angle confused the mercs and he took two out.

  “Last one,” Dahl said.

  Help came from the skies as a chopper descended fast, men firing on the mercs’ hiding place. A scream and a thud and someone yelled “all clear” and Drake emerged at pace. The chopper disgorged its SWAT contingent.

  Drake saw the women converging on Beau and took only one second to consider the volatile three-way melting pot seething around that confrontation, before noting a change in the jet’s engine note.

  “Now that can’t be good,” Dahl muttered.

  “Summat’s not reet,” Drake intoned a little broad Yorkshire.

  “The nose is all lined up,” Dahl said. “You ready for a sprint?”

  “Balls, it feels like I’ve been sprinting all day.”

  “You beat me, I’ll teach you how to drive a boat!”