Matt Drake would never admit to it, but as he ventured closer and closer to the eerie ghost town the hairs on the back of his neck bristled more and more. It wasn’t any Scooby-Doo mentality, nor even a boyhood fear, it was the unnerving fact that everything looked like it had been deserted just yesterday. As they approached the main street he saw a children’s swing set moving gently in a garden, creaking and swaying as if a child had run inside just moments earlier. A timber-built store sat dead ahead at the street corner, its colors as bright as any new store shouting “Motherlode Mercantile” and “Tomahawk Tours”. Tree stumps, dusty and gray, sat all around, old signs tacked to them. An overgrown yard lay behind. The main street was nothing but a gravelly dirt track, but smooth and tidy as if had been raked over just this week.
Jenny appeared between the buildings. Having been gone for over an hour she finally returned with a frown. “Nobody living here as I thought. But there has been activity over the last few weeks. Footprints, shuffle-marks and used condoms aplenty out back there. Handprints—female—against the door. Somebody had themselves alotta perpendicular fun.”
“Kids?” Drake wondered.
The redhead grimaced. “Doubtful. Kids woulda left McDonald’s wrappers and more. This was someone trying to be reasonably careful. Probably slipping away from a large camp.”
“Mercs,” Lauren said. “Maybe Alicia got here early.”
Drake grinned. “Nice. But I gotta say—it doesn’t mean it’s our lot.”
“If that means it might not be the people we’re searching for then I agree. But it is someone, and I can follow their trail.” Jenny nodded at the jagged wall of mountains set dark against the blue sky. “That way.”
Drake pursed his lips. “Well, it’s as good a direction as any, I guess. And within the grid we’re searching. Let’s do it.”
“I was going to.”
Jenny hitched her jeans tighter and strode off toward her Jeep. Smyth stared for a moment before Lauren put an arm around his shoulders. “Ready?”
“Oh yeah. Umm, I mean, sure.”
Drake blinked rapidly. “Well, I guess we’re going to have to follow her.”
Yorgi smiled. “Not a problem. I now see what is meant by your phrase—second skin.”
“Quit it.” Drake tried to remain objective about the new arrival, unsure what her motives were beyond getting paid for a good job. The redhead was short-tempered, tetchy and easily able to incite annoyance among other team members to be sure, but she was also proving to be highly capable and surprisingly knowledgeable. The world out here was a land of expiry and sand, a drifting monument to mortality. Jenny knew it well, and guided them without acknowledging their shortcomings. Her ability to track was beyond any that Drake had ever known, to his own great surprise. He wondered how she might handle herself in a crisis.
He took another look around the silent town, still unable to shake a sense of creepiness, of being watched through unwashed windows. If he stood there long enough he might see a curtain twitch, might even see it slide open . . . and a skeletal head peering out at him with a grinning death-mask smile.
Drake shivered. Karin, at his side, shuffled her feet. “Do you truly believe in ghosts, Matt? That our loved ones are, even now, at our side?”
“I can’t answer that. It’s a bloody loaded question. No more promises, Karin. You were the last. All I know is these ghost towns are very well named.”
“A village of the damned,” she said.
Drake studied a huge, three-pronged cactus that rose up like a unique signpost at a four-way junction ahead. Lush and green, it contradicted all that stood around it. The ramshackle, haphazard clutter of buildings should be occupied, and not only by the undead. A lady should twirl here, a gentleman tip his hat there. An old timer should be lying back in a chair, watching the world go by, not creeping through the netherworld, reaching for all that he had lost with cracking, emaciated fingers of dead bone.
Drake shook himself out of it. Jenny started up the lead Jeep and rolled out, keeping the revs low. Yorgi waited for Drake and Karin, and then followed. Silence hung like an oppressive curtain. Drake wondered how many more of these ghost towns sat out there, soundless grieving tombstones gazing out at the world through hollow eye-sockets, as unnatural as black rain and more peculiar than moonstone. Someone had painted an old brown sign at the edge of town.
Up here ends the sidewalk
And the Old West begins
Drake focused on the job at hand, keeping his eyes peeled especially now that Jenny had found real signs of a human presence. Human? He thought. Fuck, I hope so.
They came at length to the enormous inland Salton Sea, a shallow rift lake located directly on the San Andreas fault line. Created by accident, its salinity was higher than that of the Pacific Ocean and was once much larger and called Lake Cahuilla. As the vehicles found the marina, Drake saw an abandoned boat stuck in the ground.
“I hope we haven’t gone through all this for that speedboat, guys.”
Jenny didn’t even chuckle. “We’ll be beyond here in just a few minutes, heading west again.”
Drake stared at the pure white earth, bright under the blazing sun. Buildings dotted the marina sparsely and it felt like another ghost town. He was happy to spot a young man leaning out of a window, watching them.
“Another weird area,” he said.
“Dude, this is America. Get used to it.”
“Well, passing an abandoned-looking auto shop painted with the words 24 hour repair doesn’t give me much hope.”
Beyond the Salton Sea, the barren landscape encompassed their horizons once again, dotted and dappled here and there by twisted tangles of green. The marina and its odd lake were left far behind as the day wore on. Jenny forged her own path, staying stealthy and hugging the dunes. How she found her way in such a featureless landscape, Drake never knew but he was glad she was along for the ride. Her progress was sometimes slow, sometimes even stealthy, but always considered and careful. Of course, even his soldier’s patience was beginning to wear thin. They had been out in this wilderness for far too long. Before they crested any hill of significance she always halted the convoy and inspected ahead. It was about thirty minutes later when her standard reaction suddenly changed.
Drake saw her hit the dirt and stay there. At first he was horrified, thinking she had been shot, but then she rolled over, giving them a small signal.
Get out of sight.
Immediately he took charge, guiding Yorgi to drive their Jeep to the nearest cover and then beckoning Smyth over. The small stand of trees huddled up against a dune would work with a lazy, careless observer—aka the Pythians’ new bunch of mercs—but not with anyone of even the slightest prowess.
Nevertheless, Drake and the rest of the team crawled and scrambled their way to Jenny’s side. The tracker had shuffled through heaped sand, dirt and rocks to the bottom of the steep slope by that time.
“Over that rise,” she whispered, her red hair now matted and yellow with sand. “I’m pretty sure it’s what you’re looking for.”
Drake stared at her. Despite his willingness and tenacity to explore he was surprised to find he had believed this entire quest would be nothing but a wild goose chase. Even when the mercenaries attacked he assumed it had to be some kind of trap.
“A ship?” He all but goggled at her. “Up there?”
“Take a look.” Jenny shrugged. “Over the rise.”
Racked by mixed emotions of awe and trepidation, incredulity and astonishment, the Yorkshireman crept steadily up the sandy slope. Smyth wasted no time dropping to his side and Jenny crawled behind them to take another look. Drake stopped twice to listen and to examine their surroundings with a detailed eye. As the crest approached he slowed even further, sinking as low as the hard earth would allow.
At last, he peered over the edge.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Drake felt his face go slack as a lost wonder from a bygone age filled his field of visio
n.
Beyond the crest of the slope lay a deep valley. About a third of the way down the opposite slope, half buried into its vertical side, its deck even now being exposed by a bevy of mercenary workers, was a perilously perched, ancient pirate galleon.
Men slipped and skidded downhill about twenty feet to reach the excavation around its deck, taking their lives into their own hands. They worked very slowly, fearfully. No wonder this was taking some time. The great bulge that constituted the galleon’s side jutted out from the slope’s face, an enormous stepping stone. Drake saw several rivers of sand falling away from the unseen base of the ship and winced.
That thing could go at any moment.
Or it could last an eternity.
Maybe it had. Maybe sometimes the valley filled up and allowed men to walk across. Maybe the other side emptied of sand and allowed men a glimpse of what lay beneath. But none of that mattered now. What mattered was the ship was real and the Pythians were here.
“It’s . . . staggering,” Jenny whispered, the first time Drake had seen her anything other than entirely self-assured.
“It’s cool,” Smyth agreed. “Sorta cool enough to strip even my coolness away.”
Drake gave him a look, followed by Jenny. Smyth motioned ahead. “Stop staring at me, guys. There’s a friggin’ ship stuck to the side of that sand dune.”
“I did notice,” Drake said. “And the boatful of mercenaries attached to it. I wonder where Bell is at?”
Jenny motioned briefly toward the top of the sand hill and away to the right. Drake tore his gaze away from the galleon. There, arrayed a short distance from the edge of the drop, were a muddled arrangement of camouflaged tents, covered by wire netting. He fished a pair of binoculars out of his pack.
“Jackpot. I see Bell and Bay-Dale just lounging over there. Deck chair, I think. Bay-Dale has a glass of red.”
Smyth flushed with anger. “Figures. Let the commoners do the work and take the risk whilst the management sit back and laugh.”
“It could be worse,” Karin offered. “In ancient times, in Europe and Egypt, the Kings and Queens would have roped their own people into this undertaking. Literally.”
“There’s a waiter over there too.” Drake rubbed his eyes tiredly, just happy that the endless drudgery of the search was over. “Lauren, you keep saying Bell’s a potential ally in the enemy camp. I must admit, I really don’t see that.”
Lauren exhaled. “After everything I witnessed in that hotel room with General Stone, I’d like a chance to try.”
Drake lowered the binoculars. “He’s over there hobnobbing with Bay-Dale, whom we know to be less than sea scum. The guy’s an ass.”
“Maybe they’re drawing Bell in. The more time you spend in someone’s company the more you accept their failings. I know people, Drake. I read people. If I wasn’t good at it I’d be long dead by now.”
Drake hesitated. Lauren was correct, of course. Her job—essentially her old job—challenged her with that very decision every day. He looked away to the east where the galleon’s narrow valley ended and the desert became a flat surface again. The way across was easy—a fifteen minute walk—so he couldn’t even dissuade her with that excuse.
“I don’t like it,” he said.
Lauren glanced at Smyth. “Should I even ask what you think?”
“They’re both arrogant pricks. I favor burying them up to their necks in sand and leaving ‘em both with their wine glasses balanced on their fucking condescending heads.”
Drake laughed. “Now there’s a plan.”
“Bell . . .” Lauren paused, thinking hard, “is a good man at heart. I know he is. I liked him, despite what happened in that hotel room. He was nice. I can make him help us.”
Now Smyth looked over. “What? You wanna date?”
“Stop being an ass. I want what we—”
Drake’s cell vibrating interrupted them. “This isn’t good,” he said and slithered further back down the slope until he was clear of the ridge. “Yeah?”
A deep voice explained the situation at the electrical substation where all contact with Agent Jaye and the SPEAR team had been lost just ten minutes ago. An assault team had been readied but the man had initially been ordered to inform Drake of any unexpected incidents. Drake listened with features as hard as a rough-cut diamond, then thanked the man and hung up.
He relayed the conversation to the others as they lay on their sides halfway down the dusty slope.
“Even more important now,” Lauren said.
“What was your other job?” Jenny abruptly wondered.
Drake put his phone away. “Why is it more important, Lauren?”
“We need to know what the Pythians are planning. Now and next week and next month. Where the hell is Webb and what’s he doing? The ghost ships are all about money, yes? Well, why? They already have a ton of the stuff.”
Drake looked bleak. “And that’s not even half the problem. Saint Germain, I believe, is paramount. Then we have Beauregard and the Pythians’ endgame, which is already afoot.” He regarded Lauren with a rueful smile.
“Now you want me to go in?”
“Bloody hell, no. I trust the bastard less than I would trust Alicia with a male stripper at a bachelorette party, but I’m not sure we have a choice.”
“I can’t imagine Alicia at a bachelorette party,” Lauren said. “But the rest is accurate enough. I truly believe I can turn Nicholas Bell.”
Smyth sat up. “I’ll cover for her. All the way.” He patted her shoulder. “As usual.”
Drake saw the care and concern in the soldier’s face. Lauren was not a woman who easily accepted help—or needed it in fact—but she gave him a grateful smile.
“So what are we waiting for?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he said. “But let’s go talk to our friendly Pythian.”
“He ain’t friendly yet,” Smyth growled low in his throat like a dog would.
“True. But it’s either friendly or dead,” Drake said. “We’ll see how he wants to play it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Hayden winced as one of the twenty surviving mercenaries struck Kinimaka across the back of the neck, sending the large Hawaiian to his knees. Whilst he was down there two more mercs strapped his hands behind his back with plastic ties. Dahl was shoved into a corner and similarly secured. The majority of enemy weapons, she noticed, were the MP5SDs, a variant of the venerable MP5 Heckler and Koch MP series. It featured an aluminum suppressor integrated into the muzzle. Hayden refocused when the leader of the ragtag group approached her.
“Your cop friends have arrived outside and are preparing an assault. It won’t work. We need about five minutes to get what we came for. You killed six of my men but I’ll still let you live if you promise to cause us no more trouble.”
Hayden stared and said sarcastically, “Oh, I promise.”
“Can’t even lie without mockery.” The leader kicked out at her. “Must be a fuckin’ fed.”
“And you can’t lie at all,” Hayden spat. “No way are you lazy fucks going to let us live.”
The leader grunted at her fearless obstinacy and tried again. “First your gun, then your badge. Then we secure you. It’s my way or their way.” He pointed to his men. “And believe me now, my way’s easier for you.”
Hayden didn’t take her eyes off the leader. He was a bearded individual with long sideburns and straggly hair all the way down to his shoulders. He was talking nice to avoid more aggro and save time, of course, not for her benefit, but he did have a point.
Hayden dropped her gun to the floor along with her badge, then got to her knees. A man tied her hands behind her back and shepherded the three together so that they knelt under the long row of windows that looked into the office.
“Get in there,” the leader told two of his men. “Secure the transmission lines with the grid links. Then we’re done. And check these badges.” He kicked the pile over to another minion.
/> Hayden listened intently, and eyed the badges dubiously. One merc might not recognize the SPEAR logo, nor even the leader, but if he reported it back to the Pythians . . . tied hands would be the least of their problems. But hey, she thought, if it draws Tyler Webb out from his filthy burrow . . .
Two men started toward the office with laptop bags tucked under their arms. Hayden eyed the leader. “Transmission lines?” she asked. “Grid links?”
He looked surprised. “You don’t know? All this, and you’re just swimming blindly uphill against the current.” He seemed to weigh his next words, then said, “You ever hear of Path 26?”
Hayden shook her head. At that moment another man approached, this one with a ghastly snarl to his bearing and bright red scars up and down his bulging arms. “We should be torturing these fuckers, not shooting the shit with ‘em.”
The leader shrugged. “You think you can get anything worthwhile out of them, Hunt?”
“Who gives a fuck? Be good to practice on at least.”
“They look pretty tough.”
Hunt puffed his chest out. “Even better.”
“You have five minutes, max.”
The leader stalked away, casting an eye toward his dead men. Hayden wondered how a man who showed remorse for dead colleagues might then exhibit such a lack of consideration for captives. This was war, after all, not terrorism. The rules should be different.
But Hunt couldn’t keep the spiteful grin from twisting his face. With a leap he was upon her, forcing her over backwards so that her ankles bent and her tied wrists ground on the floor—both their combined weight pushing them down. The pain made her grimace.
“You’re going to die for that.” Dahl’s voice drifted across, and the tone was unquestionable.
Hunt met the Swede’s eyes, then pressed some more. Hayden bit her lip hard to stop from crying out as her bones grated together. Blood ran from the wound. Hunt snarled at the sight. “Don’t ya worry, Englisher. I’ll be at you next.”
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