Matt Drake 11 - The Ghost Ships of Arizona

by David Leadbeater

  “Well, since you put it that way.”

  “Don’t kid yourself. The US government established a military base not far from here. You think they didn’t perform GPR scans first? You think they didn’t know about this ship and probably more? These governments know much more than they will ever tell or care to spend money locating, because they have most of it tied up elsewhere.”

  “Back pockets? Election victories? Presidential campaigns? Smart motorways touted to ease congestion that suddenly sprout more cameras and recognition programs than a Hollywood whorehouse?”

  Karin nodded. “That’s about it.”

  Drake turned away from the ship and lay on his back, staring down their dune to the very bottom where Smyth, Lauren and Bell waited and talked. He hoped Bell was giving them something juicy to work with because he doubted even the whole SPEAR team could cope with this size of enemy force.

  “Activity’s certainly ramping up today,” he said.

  “And that’s why,” Yorgi said. “Men just broke through deck of ship. It is not a good day, friends. We are but a few against . . .” He tailed off, daunted.

  “We need a plan,” Drake said. “To stop or stall them.”

  “Quickly,” Karin said. “And then I can get to Fort Bragg.”

  “If you still want to go.”

  “It’s all I want, Matt.”

  Drake watched clouds drift through blue skies. “I’ll call Hayden. See how long they’re going to be.”

  He made the call and connected within seconds. Hayden had been about to call. She and the rest of the SPEAR team were only hours away. Attack choppers loaded with soldiers had left minutes before them, tasked with helping SPEAR take down the huge mercenary force and end the Pythian presence. Robert Price again had shown his worth, at least Drake assumed the order had come from his office. Drake told her that two more Pythians were now out of the picture and that one of them might even prove the undoing of Webb himself. That thread, that terrible, evil thread, was about to be snipped in half, or circumcised, as Alicia so delicately phrased it.

  “The Pythians’ shelf life is up,” Drake said. “But will they go out with a whimper or a bang? I’m fearing the latter.”

  Hayden mentioned that a desert storm was coming. A weather center said that it was due to hit quickly and with deadly force, one of the biggest the region had ever seen. This was how ghost ships disappeared, Hayden guessed.

  “Hey ho,” Drake said. “Nobody ever expected this to be as easy as finding a fish and chip shop in Sheffield.”

  “Hey ho?” A sarcastic voice came through the speakerphone. “Who’s that? What have you done to Drakey?”

  “Crap,” Drake moaned. “Alicia’s back. This battle just got way more dangerous.”

  “Yeah,” Dahl drawled. “We’ve been looking out for her for about a day now.”

  “Piss off, Torsty. And I just know ya missed me.”

  Drake found his thoughts wandering to Mai. “Don’t be long,” he said.

  “Eh?” Alicia sounded surprised.

  “Just hurry.” Drake turned it into a command. “The mercs have broken into the bloody pirate galleon and we’re badly outnumbered.”

  Hayden came back on the line. “We’re coming in hot. Hold on, guys, those mercs will be occupied by the fight of their lives before that storm hits and we’ll be home in time for Mano’s barbecue ribs.”

  Drake tried to laugh in agreement but somehow didn’t quite share her optimism. Now that he studied them the vast skies were already tinged with red. The desert broiled beneath them. A storm of storms was coming. And here we are again, stuck right in the middle.

  He took another glance over the sand dune. The ghost ship loomed before him, as creepy and chilling and eternal as any nightmare vision. Suddenly all the stories made sense.

  Many would die here today and this would be the last thing they would ever see.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  The next few hours passed slowly and excruciatingly. If anyone aboard the galleon noticed that their Pythian bosses were missing they gave no sign. Perhaps their leader took his orders from Webb himself. From what Bell told them the excavation job was relatively straightforward, just hazardous. They didn’t need much in the way of supervision.

  Drake, then Yorgi and then Smyth watched as mercs disappeared into the ship’s innards, warily at first. For a long time nobody came out. Bell seemed genuinely interested at this point, begging Drake to let him know what happened next.

  “Of course, this was your idea,” Drake recalled.

  “Yes, away from all civilian life and casualty free,” Bell pointed out.

  The Yorkshireman left him with Lauren, telling everything he knew. As he re-climbed the tall sand dune, heading back to where he had left Yorgi, Karin and Jenny, he realized for the first time that the hairs all along his arm were standing up. The air possessed a close sense of electricity, as if it were being charged by an incomprehensible current.

  The storm was gathering.

  And judging by the way it was marshaling its forces it would take no prisoners. Drake crawled up to the others.

  “These next few hours, guys. They ain’t gonna exactly be peaches and cream. Stay safe.”

  Yorgi merely pointed at the force assembling along the opposite ridge, above the ship. “Duh,” he said, then: “Is that right? Duh?”

  Jenny nodded. “You got it, dude. And he deserved it.”

  Drake wondered how Jenny and Alicia might relate to one another. I bet they’d gel extremely quickly.

  Karin watched the skies. “You can feel it in the air.”

  “Storm. Rage. Battle,” Drake said. “Alicia’s coming.”

  “That’s how I feel inside,” Karin said.

  “Keep your heads down,” Drake reiterated. “Battle is not your area of expertise. Not yet, at least.”

  Then Karin pointed. “It’s beginning.”

  From out of the east, far away, rose a red-tinged cloud, seemingly miles high and with a roiling curl along its top edge. A surfer’s wave, but higher and deadlier than any that had ever stalked even the wildest seas. Blasting through that oncoming storm sped dozens of black shapes, their rotors spinning hard, fighting to stay together. As they blasted closer they filled the skies and the shouts went up from the army of mercenaries.

  “Heads up!”

  “We got company!”

  “Time to earn your bread, boys!”

  Drake gathered his crew, standing atop the dune now that it didn’t matter. The gap to the top of the ridge beneath which the half-buried ship lay was only ten meters, but that was no longer an issue. Drake especially kept an eye on the hole into which several mercenaries had disappeared into the galleon’s guts. Still no one had reappeared.

  He turned. “Bell, are you with us? Totally with us?”

  “Yes. What do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing. Stay here and stay alive. Lauren, Jenny and Karin will stay with you. This is soldier’s work. Yorgi, we might be able to use your skills over there. Especially inside that vessel.”

  “That is good. I am ready.”

  Drake prepared. A smile lit his face as a chopper hovered overhead, then settled near the base of the dune. “Good timing.”

  The rest of the SPEAR team jumped out, stretching his grin even further. Reunited at last. Hayden, Kinimaka and Dahl, all grim-faced and prepared for action. But a crinkle had formed at the edges of their eyes—they were just as happy to see him. Kinimaka waved even as he stumbled through piled sand.

  Then that other force of nature appeared—Alicia Myles. Blond hair unfettered for now, and looking decidedly tanned and fit, the personal mega-storm that roiled above her own head was in clear evidence, at least to Drake. He knew her better than anyone on the planet and feared for what was soon to come.

  “Drakester,” she cried. “How’s that little fucker hanging?”

  Drake nodded once, including them all in the greeting. By his calculations the attack choppers w
ere no more than five minutes away. “It’s about to get real noisy here, guys.”

  “In more ways than one,” Hayden told him. “Storm’s a beauty. Miles wide and as strong as a Titan. We should take cover.”

  Alicia gave a strangled gulp. “You mean under the dead bodies of mercenaries, of course?”

  “Oh, of course. I thought that was obvious.”

  Drake introduced Jenny and then Nicholas Bell. The reactions were pretty much as expected, especially between Alicia and Jenny who weighed each other with a calculating eye. Bell found himself studying sand patterns on the floor, unwilling to lift his eyes. Dahl strode to the top of the dune.

  “Plans?”

  Drake shrugged. “Take the bloody ship. What else?”

  “Good to see we’re still on the same wavelength.”

  “Shit, I hope not.”

  Dahl shielded his eyes. “A lot of mercs between us and that ship.”

  “Gone soft over the last few days?”

  Dahl looked like he was considering a recent battle. “Not exactly.”

  “Good. ’Cause I’ve seen things out here would turn your hair a funny color, if it wasn’t already.”

  Dahl mock laughed. “Sand worms the size of sewer tunnels?”

  At that moment Alicia joined them. “Sand worms? Don’t like the sound of those any more than sand spiders. Unless they have a young Kevin Bacon attached to them. Then I could deal.”

  Dahl seemed perplexed. “Kevin . . . who? I don’t—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Drake said. “It’s an old movie, but a good one.” He noted the attack choppers massing as they came within firing distance. “Shall we?”

  “Has anyone told them to watch out for that friggin’ ship?” Smyth barked.

  “Of course,” Kinimaka said. “We just hope they listened.”

  “Yeah, since we’re gonna be on it in about ten minutes.”

  “That long?” Jenny Rathe spoke up from behind them. “I thought you guys were supposed to be as good as me?”

  To a person, every soldier turned and eyed the redhead narrowly. “That’s some claim, Miss,” Kinimaka said.

  Alicia wasn’t so gracious. “Another redhead who’s all mouth. You wanna prove that claim, lover?”

  Jenny rose at Alicia’s words, all heckles. “Whenever you want, blondie. An’ I got better taste than the likes of you.”

  “Really? You don’t even know me.”

  “I know your sort.”

  Alicia took a step in Jenny’s direction. “My sort? What the fu—”

  Drake decided to step in. They could barely hear over the sounds of the chopper’s engines and the downdraught was starting to whip up tornadoes of sand. “Stop,” he said, putting both hands on Alicia’s shoulders and locking in her gaze. “Please, stop.”

  “A line was crossed.”

  “Come on, the same line you cross every day. We have work to do.”

  Alicia locked her jaw. “Bitch is gonna regret her words when I get back.” She turned away from the group. “So let’s go.”

  Drake waved Jenny back down the slope and fell in alongside Alicia. “I’m here,” he said softly. “Use me.”

  Alicia didn’t move. “I know and I will. Let’s get through this first.”

  The storm loomed in the skies now, dark and shot through with reds and golds, sand spiraling inside and all around it. A brisk wind brought it straight at them and the sun’s bright orb would soon be blocked out. Alicia stared right into the heart of it.

  “It’s time,” she said.

  “Then let’s end this for good.”

  All at once, the SPEAR team charged, the choppers swooped forward, weapons noisily opening fire, and the Pythians’ army of mercenaries produced countless sub-machine guns, rocket launchers and at least one vehicle-mounted Gatling gun.

  A man-made inferno and Mother Nature’s hell rained down across the desert.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  Drake raced around the edge of the valley, sand trickling away from his boot heels, the wind whipping at his clothes. To all sides ran his comrades, his team, each a hero in their own right, and prepared again to lay it all down for the sake of peace and wellbeing.

  Behind them a bank of helicopter gunships rose like a swarm of insects, Sikorsky Blackhawks all, cannons, rocket pods, anti-tank missiles and short-range air-to-air missiles, locked on targets. The rim around which Drake ran was short but still the major battle engaged before he got even halfway. The mercs fired first, RPGs shooting off like wayward fireworks and leaving trails of smoke in the air. The choppers deployed evasion tactics, ducking and diving this way and that. Several opened fire, the thick clunk clunk of their guns assaulting the air. Sand chopped up like mini-tornadoes wherever the shells struck; men twisted and fell, some firing off RPGs as they collapsed which flew like misbehaving rockets at the ever-lowering skies.

  Drake completed the circuit at last, Alicia on his heels. Gun raised, he approached the dune above the galleon. Faces turned toward him. Cries went up.

  “At your backs!”

  Drake zig-zagged. Alicia ran headlong into a merc, taking him to the ground. Dahl and Kinimaka replicated her, barging opponents aside. Smyth dropped to one knee and picked off all who drew beads on his friends. Hayden swept around the sides, Glock in hand, surveying the terrain and the enemy’s formations.

  Beyond the ledge the choppers flew and fired hard, loosing as much firepower as possible before the storm came in and forced them to the ground. Drake guessed they were clearing an area on this side of the valley to land. A bullet flashed past his right shoulder. Perfect aim in the midst of real battle was impossible, but that went both ways. He fired back and succeeded only in making his opponent flinch. They came together hard, both men flexing muscles and slamming foreheads, locking together and rolling to the ground, sand erupting all around them. The team ran hard, skirmishing among the dunes, falling down shallow valleys and then scrambling back to the top. Dips and mounds characterized the ground between them and the valley’s rim. A crazy merc let loose an RPG in their direction. The rocket flew between Dahl and Kinimaka, its vapor trail singeing their clothing. Dahl laughed but Kinimaka blanched.

  “Come on, man,” Dahl said. “That wasn’t even close.”

  “Too close for me. Men weren’t meant to ride rockets.”

  “Not even you?”

  “Especially not me.”

  Dahl bounded up to the individual, separated him from his rocket launcher and then slapped him across the face with one of its grenades. A satisfying crunch signified that the threat was ended. Dahl knew this battle covered too small an area to make RPGs effective so hurled a remaining grenade at his next opponent, causing as much shock as pain. When two more mercs came at him he swung the rocket launcher like a baseball bat at both of them, cracking heads.

  Smyth had taken a bullet to the vest, nothing major. Yorgi helped to cover for him until he could focus again. Hayden saw it all, ranging around the periphery. She saw the overall battle—Drake, Alicia, Dahl and Kinimaka cutting through their quarry like a wedge; Smyth and Yorgi picking off stragglers and back-stabbing cowards; the Blackhawks pounding shell after shell into the sand like five hammers of God; the storm now looming only a mile away and growing bigger and bigger, a tornado of sand and debris, stealing the light from the sky like an irresistible thief. The sound of its coming was starting to overpower even the clatter made by the choppers. To her right ran the crumbling ridge and below it the trapped galleon. Mercs even stood atop the wooden deck, firing, probably guessing correctly they would not be fired upon.

  Drake used Alicia’s bent back to gain momentum for a flying kick, dislocating a merc’s jaw. The man collapsed. A boot to the back of the neck ensured he would stay that way. Dahl stumbled down one side of a dune—almost comically at first—but then Drake topped the same rise and saw half a dozen mercs waiting below. Calling Alicia he dived after Dahl, backing up the Swede and crashing into their enemies all at the
same time. The tangle fooled him for a split-second—he ended up grabbing Alicia’s thigh to the sight of a highly arched eyebrow, then thrust it away and punched a merc right on the nose.

  “Get down.”

  They rolled, they snared other arms and legs. Bullets flew through short spaces. Alicia grunted as one took her in the gut. Its firer jumped on her, expecting an easy finish, but was amazed to find his teeth showering down onto the sand, and then his face planted in the desert up to his ears like a new conifer. Alicia hadn’t let the bullet slow her down.

  Dahl kicked and Drake fought. With their adversaries finished they tramped back up the slope. Darkness, it seemed, had fallen.

  “Shit, this is gonna be bad.”

  Drake’s words were lost as the storm hit. In truth, it didn’t fall fully dark. The whirling sand was shot through regularly by patches of sunlight, and the heavy breeze blew it all away. Around them, the general area was still visible. Together they struggled toward the valley’s edge.

  Hayden watched the choppers come down. Four drifted over the valley with its incredible trapped galleon, firing as they came, soldiers crowded at the doors, preparing rappel lines. Mercs lined up at the valley edge and fired back, bullets flashing and clanging off black metalwork and bulletproof cockpits. Bullets then tore among them - their bodies tumbling down the side of the valley, some smashing into the ship’s deck. Sand and blood pursued them in steady streams, some flows staining the whole side of the valley.

  All four choppers cleared the mercs and spun to set down in an area at their backs just as the storm swept in. The fifth chopper dived to avoid a missile but not fast enough. The grenade detonated on impact, fire bloomed around the fuselage, and the entire craft bucked. Men leapt free, hitting the sand and rolling. One soldier slipped halfway down the side of the valley, one gloved hand arresting his fall after a hundred feet. Hayden imagined he’d spend the remainder of the battle climbing back to the top. The chopper wasn’t so lucky, crashing down in a fireball and tumbling down the cliff, chunks of metal and smoldering ruin bouncing in its wake. The four intact choppers disgorged their occupants, eight fully armed men from each. Gunfire shattered the roar of the oncoming storm.