Matt Drake 11 - The Ghost Ships of Arizona

by David Leadbeater

  Dahl flung open the door. “We’re on our way. Let’s hope this time we can beat them to it.”

  Hayden ran around the other side, giving Kinimaka the back seat. “A plan would be useful.”

  “I have a plan. Take down any motherfucker toting a gun near an electrical substation.”

  Kinimaka checked his weapon. “I can get behind that.”

  Hayden thanked the NSA techie and hung up. She stared through the windshield as Dahl pulled into traffic, wondering if even now they were being observed. Dahl questioned the whereabouts of the Sierra Nevada plant and Hayden looked it up. With a few jabs she programmed it into the satnav. Then her cell rang once more.

  “Jaye.”

  “This is Robert Price.”

  “Mr. Secretary. What can I do for you?” She was relatively pleased he had come back to her without needing to be chased.

  “You have your reinforcements. I’m sending a large force your way, formed from various military divisions. I left the dispersal in their hands, but I’m guessing—contact in four to six hours.”

  Hayden was grateful and said so. “The Pythians seem to be throwing everything they have at this so it’s good to have the backup.”

  “Use it well, Miss Jaye. We’ll speak the next time you’re in DC.”

  Seeing that as a dismissal, Hayden severed the connection and looked around. “I wonder what that’s supposed to mean.”

  “He’s not Jonathan,” Kinimaka said. “But then nobody could be.”

  “His way of ending a conversation and moving on to the next.” Dahl shrugged. “Impersonal, but effective.”

  “We might never be in DC again.”

  “There you go.”

  Hayden checked the nav for the arrival calculation. “Forty two minutes. Step on it, Dahl. We have to beat the asshole brigade this time.”

  “The foot is down.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Tyler Webb considered the evidence that lay before him, sheaves and sheaves of paper and thick manila files. The man he had chosen to use was the man he was most wary of, but even that development piqued his excitement. Out of all the ideas offered by the new Pythians, Julian Marsh’s proposal was the most devastating. It also coincided beautifully with Webb’s final launch of the Saint Germain operation.

  Marsh entered and sat down. Again, Webb was struck by the oddity of the man. One trouser leg was immaculately pressed whilst the other was hopelessly creased. Were the socks different colors? Crazily he thought the hands might be different shades—one more tanned than the other—but thought it best not to stare.

  “I like your plan, Marsh,” he said agreeably.

  “Thanks, man. I’ve been liking yours so far.”

  “Well, they’re not all mine.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m going to give you the green light,” Webb said quickly, deciding he wanted shut of Marsh in a hurry. “Bring it up to speed and implement it within the next few weeks. This will be the last before Saint Germain kicks off.”

  “Sounds like you’re going to be playing the truant, Mr. Webb.”

  Perceptive bastard. “I have two vital components to pick up from Ramses’ arms bazaar. As carefully guarded as that will be nothing involving terrorists is ever straightforward or without risk. I’ll be taking Beauregard, of course, but still . . .”

  “Understood.”

  “Hopefully Bell and Bay-Dale will return soon armed with all the spare money we need for the final push. The greater times are upon us, Julian.”

  “I hope to further enrich those words, sir.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Webb rose and extended a hand, pleased that he prevented a wince as the decidedly darker left shot out for a shake.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Just don’t fuck it up.”

  Marsh nodded and walked out. Oh hell, the man was limping slightly now. Webb would bet his life that he hadn’t limped into the room or at any time before. Webb also imagined that the man used a different cellphone for every day of the week, each programmed to call forward to the next.

  Weirdo.

  Webb shrugged it off and took a quick look out of the window of his hotel room. Hayden Jaye’s vehicle was gone now. He wondered where she was and wished he’d had the chance to plant a tracker on her. Or that muscle-bound walrus she slept with. Last night’s escapade had been stimulating to say the least but soon the real fun would begin.

  Soon . . . like now. Today.

  Webb pressed a button on his cellphone and told the man who answered to come straight in. Eight seconds later the door opened and a lithe figure slipped around, approaching softly.

  “Beauregard Alain,” Webb said. “As you know we must soon leave for—” He left the destination unsaid, mindful that even the loyalist of accomplices might one day turn against him. “The bazaar. Prepare for at least three days there, in constant danger, and possibly more if we get invited back to Ramses’ . . . castle. I need to be at ease, able to make my decisions and locate the best components, and that’s why I have chosen you as my bodyguard. I take it you understand the honor?”

  Beauregard nodded in that complacent way of his. Webb never understood if the man was being subservient or arrogant but his prowess spoke for itself. There were none better in the known world.

  “But first . . .” Webb allowed the biggest of smiles to break out across his face. “First I have a new job for you. And what a grand exploit it will be. The best yet.”

  Beauregard angled his head to the side. “Sir?”

  “The stalking of Hayden Jaye is about to pass its zenith. I will need you for the fallout.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight. For as long as it takes. Now, sit down. I need to talk to you. We should plan this together.”

  Webb underwent a swift makeover in his soul. Gone was the Pythian leader. Gone was the multi-millionaire company boss. Everything that was left was all that he was, all that he wanted to be, and it was the stimulated, aroused youth who had become a menacing stalker, the portentous haunter of the shadows.

  Thrilled, practically overwrought, he explained the plan to Beauregard.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Drake ruminated as they crawled northeast across the desert, occasionally passing within a few miles of small towns or asphalted roads but ignoring them and keeping to Jenny’s take-it-or-leave-it style instructions. Drake took it, but with every bouncing, juddering mile he regretted it that little bit more.

  Even more so with Smyth’s growling tracery of complaints trickling through the two-way. “Even my ass-crack has sand in it. This air-con’s too friggin’ cold. Whoa, was that a roadrunner?”

  Eventually even Lauren had reached her limit. “Shut the hell up. My ass-crack has sand in it but you don’t hear me complaining like a six-year-old on a road trip!”

  “It does?” Smyth said into the radio. “Want me to get that for you?”

  “Gross!”

  “Ha, says you. The New York—”

  “The New York what?” Lauren’s voice dipped dangerously.

  “Umm, shit, hey these radios are open. Fuck.” Smyth turned back to his irascible ways.

  Drake watched as Yorgi drove. Truth be told the sighting of a distant town or twisting back road was the only brief variation to their constant monotony. So far though, there had been no sign of gun-toting mercenaries—a sign Drake took as entirely positive.

  Whilst partly feigning a toilet break he wandered off into the desert during a short halt and made a phone call. His contact was an old friend, stretching all the way back to the days of Wells and Crouch, Sam and Jo. The world had seemed quieter, more innocent then. But all that was mostly down to youth and inexperience and the lack of a properly functioning Internet.

  “Fort Bragg.”

  “Could I speak to Colonel Rudd please?”

  “On what business?”

  “Tell him it’s Matt Drake and it’s personal.”

  “Hold.”

&n
bsp; The minutes ticked by. Drake shaded his eyes from the heat.

  “Drake?” An American twang focused his meandering thoughts. “Is that really you? Shit, man, I heard all about your exploits. Thought you’d forgot about lil’ old me.”

  “Course you did, Colonel. It must truly suck to be you.”

  “You have no idea. But I’m sure you understand it’s not all pancakes and maple syrup at the top.”

  “Oh, I do.”

  “And Matt,” the Colonel’s voice lowered, “I was sorry to hear about Sam and Jo. And even Wells.”

  Drake nodded to the desert. “Thank you.”

  “But Crouch is still out there. One of the good old boys, that one. A stalwart. Called in a favor only a few weeks ago. I’m pretty sure he owes me now but I would never tell him so.”

  Drake was silent, contemplating all that had gone before. It was odd how the quiet and stillness of a desert panorama brought forth his inner thinker. He was still musing when Rudd spoke up.

  “Drake? You still there?”

  “Aye, I mean yes. I was just lost in all that has already slipped by.”

  “Don’t even think about that scary shit. Now, what can I do for you?”

  Drake responded to the change in tone as Rudd knew he would, the brusque tenor catching his attention. “Well, I have a strange request.”

  And he launched into Karin’s story, telling as much as was relevant and ending with her request and his own promise to help. Rudd listened carefully without interruption and when Drake was done probed him with some hard questions as to her mental and physical health and prowess. Drake heard a shout—Jenny’s raucous summons—and realized time was short.

  “Can you help her?”

  “Matt, this is a fully functioning, hard-learning military base. If she does come here there can be no special favors.”

  “That’s exactly the point.”

  “And she has some idea what to expect?”

  “Karin has been around soldiers for years now. Acted positively in some of our worst situations. I will vouch for her.”

  “Well, what can I say to that? I don’t like it but I’m not gonna refuse you. Try again, but if you can’t change her mind send her here immediately, but once she’s in—she’s in. Get me?”

  “Affirmative. I’ll explain it to her.”

  “Be clear. This ain’t the fuckin’ World Championships and she ain’t that Ennis chick, Drake.”

  “I understand, I think.”

  Rudd sighed long and hard. “As if I ain’t got enough shit to contend with. If this fucks up, Drake, if she fucks up in any way, I’ll come looking for you.”

  Drake knew it was no idle threat. “I appreciate this, mate, more than you will ever know.”

  “All right, no need to bring out the English-isms. That friggin’ language of yours is hard enough to get your head around with referring to me as your ‘mate’. Shit, I’m military. Talk to your friend, Drake, and if she still wants in—send her.”

  Drake signed off. The small convoy sat beyond hearing distance, now clearly waiting for him. What he would have liked right now were many moments of contemplation. An hour of examining morals and needs and plain old gut instinct. What he actually had was no time at all—not even a minute. Brushing himself off he rose and jogged back to the cars, climbed in and made ready. The two-way crackled into life and Jenny’s raucous tones lit up the air.

  “We all good now?”

  “We’re good. Let’s kick this mother into action.”

  “Say what?”

  “Let’s go.”

  The cars rolled out. Drake immediately turned to Karin and relayed the conversation he’d just had with Rudd. The expression of relief that took residence in her face said it all—she needed this more than anything in her whole life. From far too young an age Karin had been losing the people most dear to her. The simple fact was that by taking control and earning confidence and training to win she saw the way to becoming the manager of her own destiny.

  “First chance,” he promised. “You’re out of here.”

  Yorgi piloted the car, saying nothing. Jenny broke in over the radio at random intervals, explaining their route, crossing an actual road to continue into the wilderness and avoiding human contact at all turns. The satnav told Drake they were heading in an unwieldy direction for the large body of water known as the Salton Sea, what used to be a much larger inland sea at the time of the American Indians. What even might once have been connected to the Gulf of California. The area around there was as connected with lost desert ships as much as anywhere in the world.

  Karin spoke up. “An interesting thing about Thomas Cavendish, the man who attacked the Manila galleon and divided her treasure between the Content and Desire, is that he limped back into London a year later, obviously minus the Content which was never heard from again, sporting new blue sails of pure damask—he was a huge success financially and by all other means, and at twenty eight faster than Sir Francis Drake, and then knighted by the Queen—”

  Drake wondered for a moment where she was getting all this information. No laptop sat open on Karin’s knee. Then he remembered. “It’s so odd knowing someone with an eidetic memory.”

  Karin ignored him. “And then being dead three years later.”

  “Three years?”

  “Yes, buoyed by his overwhelming success Cavendish set off on a second voyage of circumnavigation and died. Unknown causes. Unknown place. His name lost through time, remembered only by a brand of pipe tobacco.”

  “That is thing about time,” Yorgi said. “It erases everything.”

  Drake nodded wistfully. “Eventually, even heroes turn to dust.” He spoke before his brain caught up, then kicked himself. “Bollocks.”

  Karin laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right.”

  Drake, embarrassed, fished out his cellphone and distracted himself with a call to Hayden. The unofficial boss of SPEAR told him that in addition to their attempting to stave off a third mercenary assault she was in touch with a local facility that was studying ground penetrating radar images of the entire Arizona/California area in question, seriously searching for anything out of the ordinary, but had so far come up blank.

  “You don’t realize the size of the area you have to cover,” Hayden said.

  Drake grimaced at the windshield of the car. “Y’know, I think I do.”

  “The old fashioned way not so good?”

  “There’s a reason it’s called ‘old fashioned’.”

  “Fighting for the US government has turned you marshmallow soft,” Dahl chimed in.

  Drake laughed. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

  “Not that you Brits ever get far past soft, given the limits of your training.”

  “Don’t even go there, pal.”

  Dahl’s laugh drifting away told them he’d won that particular head-to-head, easily getting a rise out of Drake. Hayden returned and Drake explained what was going to happen to Karin. Hayden’s questioning eventually came back around to the subject of the ghost ships.

  “So nothing’s jumped out at you yet?”

  “Nothing that’s been buried in sand for five hundred years anyway.”

  “Maybe it’s all a hoax designed to split us up.” Hayden sounded disappointed.

  “And on that subject I think we should rejoin. We’re stretched. Alicia’s on the way, but still . . .”

  “As soon as we’re done at Sierra Nevada we will rendezvous.”

  “Good. Then you can take the ghost watch after midnight.”

  “Sounds spooky.”

  Drake was about to say, “It can be,” then heard Dahl mimicking a moaning ghost in the background. “Maybe you leave the Swedish chef behind? Do us all a favor.”

  Jenny called a halt over the two-way as a glistening body of water came into view off to the left. The perimeter alone stretched further than the eye could see and there were stories that most of these reportedly lost ships were now underneath
this actual sea, buried in its darkest depths. Drake suddenly felt a little overwhelmed.

  “There has to be an easier way than this.”

  Jenny clucked at him. “What? Ya don’t trust me now?”

  “There’s one last thing,” Hayden said quietly. “We do have reinforcements on the way, but the sheer weight of enemy numbers tells us the Pythians have no concerns over that and no thought about the welfare of their men. We feel exactly the opposite. I have the ISN—the Institute of Soldier Nanotechnologies—on board. They’re based at MIT but have been tasked to supply us with their latest awesome invention—nanofoam body armor.”

  Drake had heard the rumors. “It exists?”

  “Of course it exists. We only hear about these things when they’re old news and the military experts have moved on. Yes, they’re still being tested but we might be able to get our hands on some.”

  “I’m not sure I’d want to.”

  “Trust me, you do. But hey, I’ll let you know.”

  Drake ended the call, wondering just how many mercenaries were out there waiting, how big his reinforcement company might be and just what would happen when the showdown began.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Hayden joined Kinimaka and Dahl in the lobby of their hotel. The trio had just arrived back from Sierra Nevada, having spent the entire day prepping for an attack that hadn’t happened. With nothing more to be done they had decided to get some rest. Hayden was too tired for a sit-down meal and opted for taking a sandwich to bed. Kinimaka looked gutted.

  “You stay.” Hayden pointed to the well-lit archway that led to the hotel’s restaurant. “Order a horse. With chips.”

  The Hawaiian looked suspicious. “Are you saying that I’ve put on weight?”

  Hayden laughed. “Of course not. But I do know you like your food.”

  Kinimaka admitted defeat and headed inside. Hayden said goodnight to Dahl and took the elevator to their floor. Withdrawing her gun she entered her hotel room, eyes flicking left and right. A cursory check told her the room was empty and nothing appeared to be out of place. That led to a detailed check which also revealed nothing. Even so, Hayden didn’t undress when she went to bed. Instead, she kept the lights on and slipped under the top cover, logging onto the Wi-Fi and flicking randomly through her cellphone. Gradually, the automated exercise began to dull her mind and send her to sleep. There was a reason these phones were called Android, she mused, considering the robotic nature they implanted into their user.