The Tomb of the Gods (Matt Drake 4)
Page 12
“Smart idea,” Ben said. “Do trial trains offer free drinks?”
The Barista’s eyes twinkled. “We stop at waitress service, I’m afraid. And that’s only at trial.”
Hayden paused as she reached the next carriage, studying the passengers. Every seat was taken. But all she could see were women and children, students and tourists. Big backpacks stacked everywhere. A thumping musical beat heard through tiny earphones. A youth talking loudly into his mobile phone.
She walked on, clearing the carriage in seconds. The next proved to be a mirror image of the first. When they reached the third and it too was jam-packed with a mixed bunch of happy-go-lucky tourists and blithe locals, Dahl called for a halt in the corridor between cars. Quickly he tugged down the window and stuck his head out.
“Three more standard carriages,” he said after securing the window. “Then two extra cars at the back of the train. . .” He paused. “With blacked out windows.”
Kinimaka grunted. “Could they be any more obvious?”
“They’re the type of people who can pull the right strings to get two extra cars put on a civilian passenger train at short notice,” Hayden said grimly. “They don’t care, Mano. They believe they’re all-powerful.”
Dahl nodded. “Hayden’s right. These people expect—they don’t ask. Let’s go.”
“So we’re gonna simply walk up to their carriage and charge inside?” Karin asked, her quick brain trying to come up with alternatives. “It’s a big risk to take.”
“We’re soldiers, miss,” Dahl told her. “That’s what we do.”
“And into the valley of death. . .” Karin recited, then to the blank looks she said, “It’s a poem. ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade.’ Into the valley of death rode the six hundred. Remember?”
Dahl nodded. “It’s a poem about great heroism.”
Karin nodded. “Charge for the guns. . .don’t forget these guys were on horses and wielding only sabers. Cannon to the left of them, cannon to the right of them, cannon in front of them. While horse and hero fell.”
There was a moment of silence. Then Hayden turned an eye toward the next carriage and what lay beyond. “Let’s go.”
In silence they threaded through the next three cars. The tension rose among them. They had no weapons and no plan. All they had was the courage in their hearts and the knowledge that the eight pieces could either hold millions of innocents to ransom, or destroy them. Nothing else mattered right now. As they entered the last carriage, Hayden felt Dahl shoulder past her and, for a moment, felt a little begrudged, but then she realized—the Swede had taken point, not because he doubted her, but because he was, simply, the man who would always step up. He knew no other way.
Toward the rear of the last civilian carriage, Dahl slowed. Hayden peered around his big shoulders. The next car was accessible through a sliding door, but all the glass was tinted. Not even the vaguest of shapes could be seen in the compartment beyond.
Hayden put a hand on the Swede’s shoulder. “Just wait a moment.” She cast around, desperately seeking inspiration. Anything that meant they would not have to walk blindly into the dragon’s den.
At that moment she heard a voice behind them.
“Excuse me. Can I get through? I have coffee for the rear carriage.”
She turned. The voice belonged to the Barista they had passed a few minutes ago. Hayden smiled. “I sure hope that coffee’s good and hot.”
*****
A few seconds later, Hayden had donned the green tunic and balanced a tray full of paper cups in one hand. The Barista was sitting in a window seat, staring at them with pleading eyes and intimating that her district manager was going to be super pissed, this being the maiden voyage and all.
Kinimaka held her wrist. “Uh, boss. You sure ‘bout this? They have male Baristas too, ya know.”
“Mano, I’m fine. What the hell’s wrong with you? You didn’t care this much before I got stabbed. Twice.”
Kinimaka turned away. Hayden stared after him for a second, then met the eyes of Ben Blake over the huge Hawaiian’s shoulder.
He nodded at her, no expression on his face, but a shimmer of love in his eyes. Hayden didn’t have time for it. She breathed deeply, faced down her fear, and stepped forward.
Straight into the dragon’s den.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Matt Drake could barely contain his feelings of anxiety and dread as he walked into a restaurant near Luxembourg airport and headed straight for the bar. It was all he could do not to rip the rucksack off Mai’s back and start leafing through its contents.
Alicia pulled him back. “Wrong way, Drakey. You’re s’posed to be trying to give up the good stuff, remember?”
He let her lead him to a dimly lit booth, eyes locked onto the amber nectar the whole way. It took a huge inner effort, and some as yet unresolved arguments about the depths both Mai and Alicia had already stopped to over the last few years, to steady his resolve.
Mai had exchanged a time travel device for her sister. Not only that, she had given it to a madman, a crazy billionaire. She had also killed Wells, Drake’s ex-commander and a man Drake even now believed would be exonerated by his research.
Alicia had been part of Abel Frey’s plot to steal the bones of Odin. She had kept too many secrets for far, far too long. Drake had yet to fathom her true motives, and still couldn’t decide whether she would stay loyal or sell him out to the highest bidder.
But all that was light entertainment compared to the secrets they were about to unearth.
Mai unstrapped the bag and sat down in the corner. Drake took the seat opposite. Alicia squeezed in next to her. Belmonte took a look and then drifted off to the bar to order some food.
“He took Emma’s death really hard,” Mai said. “It’s the only reason he’s helping us.”
“He’s good,” Drake admitted. “The way he located those parts out of nothing. The hack. And, not forgetting the money he gave us to pay off the bikers.”
“That’s partly what worries me,” Mai said as she unfastened the rucksack. “Belmonte’s a thief. He takes what he wants and gives nothing away.”
“Perhaps Emma’s death brought him some perspective.” Drake restrained himself from reaching for the sheaf of papers that fell on to the table. Mai took a moment to divide them into thirds.
Belmonte returned with four glasses of water and a round of black coffees. “Ordered a load of tapas,” he said with a shrug. “Seemed like a plan.”
Drake barely heard him. Wells’s writing was small and spidery and difficult to decipher. After a while he realized he was reading about Wells’s secret investigation into the Shadow Elite’s headquarters. Reading it like this, all at once, diminished the danger and skill that Wells had employed. Almost every paragraph was written in a different pen. Drake remembered that Wells had been digging for a decade.
One paragraph spoke of a journey to Vienna. Another of a man called Russell Cayman being admitted to the “inner circle”—an achievement only afforded to one outsider every lifetime. That outsider would fight all his days to further the organization’s aims and to keep their identities concealed. After the initiation it would be all he lived for.
“If there was ever any doubt,” Drake said aloud, “this confirms that Cayman’s our way in to the Shadow Elite. Maybe we should have grabbed him back at Singen.”
“Not even sure we could have handled that.” Alicia snorted.
“No. But Dahl’s a machine.” Drake smiled. “Just point and command.”
Mai spoke up. “I don’t like what I’m reading here.” She looked up at Drake. “It’s about Operation Doubledown.”
“What?”
The tapas arrived. Belmonte cleared a space, allowing the waitress to carefully place the small bowls around the table. As she walked away, Mai started to read aloud.
“The op was running smoothly, but then took an unfortunate turn. Unexpectedly, the roads started to lead toward home and Drake
wasn’t letting go.”
“Doubledown was my last op,” Drake said to the table. “Everything was perfect and then we received orders to walk away.” He paused. “We were about to investigate someone who we thought might be a covert terrorist. A man who lived in Vienna.”
Mai had been reading to herself. “Oh, Matt. This gets worse. The operation would have led, ultimately, straight to the Shadow Elite. Wells was under deadly pressure to terminate it. One way or another. The interrogation you witnessed. . .”
Drake flashed back to that dreadful day as part of the SRT team when he had witnessed a bunch of soldiers interrogating some villagers. Worse, when he had immediately called up Wells, his field commander, he’d been told to leave it alone. Leave it well alone. It had been the beginning of his disillusion with the army and had turned his priorities severely around.
“I remember.” He was aware of Alicia’s nod. She’d been there too.
“That day also had something to do with the Shadow Elite. They were looking for someone, seeking information. ‘Their arrogance,’ Wells has written. ‘Their righteous, self-serving, disgusting arrogance.’ These people”—Mai looked up—“they do whatever they want to whoever they want.”
“I get that,” Drake said. “What else?”
Mai read on and then suddenly stopped. Her eyes widened. The color drained from her cheeks and she looked up at Drake, open-mouthed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Drake closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Go on.”
“I. . .I will read it word for word. ‘Drake was just too headstrong. Doubledown was his baby and he was loving it. It needed to stop, and stop quickly. The council gave me the ultimatum. I compromised by offering up a new idea. I proposed the ‘accidental’ death of his wife. In the middle of the op, I ordered a brief break, sent everyone home and gave the order. I procured Coyote and gave him the go. It happened on the night of an argument, which was perfect. . .’” Mai stopped talking. “There’s more. But—”
Drake opened his eyes to stare at her in horror. “Wells ordered Alyson’s murder? Wells?”
“To divert you—us—away from the Shadow Elite,” Alicia said in an undertone, even her hard resolve fractured by the revelation.
Drake’s throat was rasping as he said, “So Wells knew about Doubledown and where it was going. Which was Vienna. He knew about the murdered villagers. He ordered Alyson’s death. Wells was a fucking snake.”
“Who gave his life to the Shadow Elite,” Belmonte said. “But what did they give him in return?”
“Wells was a patriot,” Drake said. “A true English patriot. It would have taken a lot of convincing for him to betray his country.”
“I don’t believe he thought he was betraying his country,” Mai said now as she read on. “There’s something else.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Hayden pushed through into the blacked-out carriage, smiling as a dozen suspicious glances nailed her. But then she saw the true power of the Starbucks logo as every one of those stern-faced bad guys sat back and relaxed upon seeing her, like toddlers all lined up in a row awaiting their party drinks.
“Venti misto, two extra shots, with whipped cream and a drizzle of caramel sauce.” She stepped forward into their midst, taking advantage of their uncertainty as the train thrummed and swayed along the tracks.
Most of Cayman’s men turned to stare at each other, confusion written clearly on their faces. Hayden saw skepticism in only two pairs of eyes and it was toward these that she quickly stepped.
And hurled two paper cups of boiling hot coffee. She had already loosened the lids and the steaming liquid flew out in a scalding stream. The men screamed, hands flying toward their faces. Hayden leapt on one man’s lap, wrestled his handgun out of its holster and spun, firing across the carriage.
At the same time, making lots of noise, Dahl, Kinimaka and Komodo burst through the door, a fearsome sight on any day, and threw themselves at the mercenaries. Cayman’s men were experienced and recovered quickly. Dahl destroyed the first’s face with a haymaker, but when he turned to a second opponent, he was already jabbing with an elbow. Dahl took it in the eye, growled, and grabbed the man’s neck. With no time to pause and throttle the life out of him, he simply threw him across the car to fall among his compatriots.
Green trees and fields flashed by the two-way windows. A gun thumped to the floor, right at Kinimaka’s feet. The Hawaiian had been clubbed on the head and was falling, but scooped the gun up and fired in a single movement before crashing to the carpeted floor. A mercenary fell, one knee shattered. Kinimaka lay prone, eyes switching to the front and toward his boss.
Hayden had taken out two of the mercenaries before they even had a chance to move, but two more had used those precious seconds to drag weapons free from concealed holsters. Now, as Hayden stared down those cold barrels, she saw the men who held them wrenched to the side as bullets passed through their skulls. Kinimaka had saved her life, firing from the floor.
Hayden rolled onto the floor a split second before another man fired, coming up level with his knee, so close she could have taken a bite. Then, she felt a huge presence above her and watched in awe as Komodo, having launched himself at full speed, took out the remaining row of mercenaries like bowling balls. He landed at the rear of the carriage in a heap, groaning. Injured mercenaries smashed their heads against the windows or tumbled to the floor in his wake. Hayden wasted no time in picking them off, shooting each one through the head in cold-blooded detachment. They all knew what they were doing when they signed up for this shindig.
The first private car cleared, they ran directly for the second one. Hayden heard a hubbub behind her. Passengers had obviously heard the shooting and were beginning to raise the alarm. One saving grace of this op was that no civilians were in the firing line. She saw Ben and Karin enter the first car and start collecting weapons.
Then she was inside the second car. But the reception this time was not as befuddled. She found herself facing half a dozen men with weapons raised. Another half dozen sat on seats at the rear of the carriage with the eight pieces of Odin arranged around them.
One of them men frowned. “You’re on your own?”
*****
Dahl had paused in the corridor that separated the carriages and again lifted one of the windows. In the space of three seconds, he slithered out, gripped a tiny ledge that ran along the top of the speeding train, and hauled himself outside. Instantly, a heavy wind began to buffet his body, making him sway precariously. A tree flashed past close to the track, one of its branches whipping his back, tearing through his clothes and drawing a line of blood. With a quick lunge, he threw himself atop the train, staying low for balance.
A short gap separated him from the rear car. Ignoring the wind that slammed at him like Thor’s hammer, he leapt over the gap and, even as he jumped, scouted out his options through the nearest skylight in the car below.
Komodo landed behind him. The two big men crab-walked forward, guns in hand.
The train suddenly emerged from a mountain pass into a long sweeping bend. A motorway ran alongside. Dahl saw cars and a coach traveling alongside them, their occupants going bug-eyed when they saw the men on top of the clattering train.
Dahl trod as lightly as he could, eyes locked firmly on his forthcoming victims. He moved to the second skylight, sighting on the group of mercs at the rear of the car, leaving the first group for Komodo to take care of.
A moment of extreme tension stretched on a hair-trigger.
*****
Hayden took a second to gain their attention. “It’s just me now.”
She saw them visibly relax. Even a few smiles appeared. None of them looked up. She deliberately let her gaze wander over to the window where the motorway had just appeared, knowing that most of them would follow her lead. She stared.
Silence fell over the carriage like a lead curtain. Hayden allowed her gun to dangle between two fingers.
A second’s delay as first Dahl and then Komodo jumped down through the shattered skylights, landing like cats—on their feet but with guns ready. Dahl, in his distinctive way, calmly reloaded his weapon in free-fall, thinking nothing of it.
Another silence reigned. This one filled with the relief of being alive. Hayden flicked her gaze over all the slumped men. Kinimaka filed in behind her, closely followed by Ben and Karin.
The smell of blood and death laid a cloying stench like a shroud over the carriage. Hayden moved forward, glancing at the eight pieces of Odin. All seemed in order, though the Valkyries had taken a couple of stray rounds. Men were sprawled all around them.
And then Hayden saw one of the men snake his arm out to grab hold of a mobile phone. Within a split second he held it in his hand and his black eyes, crawling with malice, met hers. . .
*****
Mai looked up from what she was reading and locked eyes with Drake. The look she sent him was one of disbelief, of outrage, of incomprehension, that said even the best and most experienced Japanese agent alive could barely believe.
“These people.” She breathed. “They will stop. . .at nothing.”
*****
“No!” Hayden screamed.
But the man’s finger hit the call button, sending the signal flying away into the atmosphere. The bomb exploded almost instantaneously. It erupted in a great, scything cloud of metal and fire, totally destroying the underside of the first private carriage where it had been positioned. The blast tore through the bottom of the carriages, making the rear end of the last civilian car lift entirely clear of the tracks. People were sent sprawling across the aisle and crashing into the seat in front of them. Bags and laptops, bottles of water and mobiles, Kindles and magazines all went skimming through the air. Screams of panic and yells of pain grew in volume like a hellish chorus.