“You are bound for Kobe.” Hikaru’s strong voice came from somewhere beyond her field of vision. “Where else would the infamous Mai Kitano be going?”
Mai understood immediately. Hikaru belonged to Japan’s largest Yakuza organization which, despite being one of the largest criminal entities in the world, had its headquarters in Kobe, Japan. Taking into account Mai’s past exploits against the Yakuza it was a no-brainer to expect that she would be afforded a visit to the center of operations. With over forty thousand members, press-covered invitations for their Kumicho—their leader—from the police to step in as ‘honorary police chief’ for the day, and even an in-house magazine, the Kobe based Yakuza family was universally well connected. It was also highly publicized that they had started a large-scale relief effort after the great Kobe earthquake of 1995, helping with the distribution of food and supplies, something that was vital to the local people since official support was non-existent for several days. And again, after the 2011 earthquake and tsunami, the Yakuza opened its offices to the public and sent out supplies to affected areas. Even CNN were quoted as saying the Yakuza “moved quietly and swiftly to provide aid to those most in need”. Rather than an attempt at glory-seeking, this was more of an honor-code move by the criminal organization. Their members were well acquainted with having to fend for themselves without government aid or community support, valued justice and duty above anything else, and forbade allowing others to suffer.
Mai knew she would see very little of this honor code. She had wronged the Yakuza. They would make her suffer beyond belief.
Hikaru’s face came into view, poised above her. “Doctor Nori here is fixing you up so that we can put you on trial.”
“On trial?” Mai repeated, surprised. “I imagined your bosses would prefer something more low key.”
“Not at all.” Hikaru smiled grimly. “Unfortunately for you and for us, anybody who’s anybody and most of the world’s authorities know how to treat Yakuza.” He held up his left little finger, showing her that the tip was missing. “My transgression cost me. But now—now I have truly atoned.”
“Not yet you haven’t.” Mai stared up at the bare bulb.
“You are not in Washington anymore.” Hikaru grinned. “And you’re wounded. In truth, nobody knows where you are. Do not expect a rescue.”
Mai said nothing. Hikaru was right in at least one respect. Until her wound improved she was going nowhere.
“Why a trial? Even for me it seems a little showy.”
Hikaru shrugged. “It was not my decision. I would have cut you up and fed you to the pigeons. But a showcase trial . . . and death . . . is required.”
Now Mai understood. “And you had me thinking I may stand a chance.”
“Make your peace, Mai Kitano. Very soon, the world will see what the Yakuza do to their enemies.”
CHAPTER THREE
Matt Drake wanted to break down the door, but hotel policy and the presence of its day manager convinced him otherwise. Still, they lost a precious ten minutes summoning him and allowing him to unlock the door. Drake didn’t have a clue what to expect. Last night, their team celebration had gone off without a hitch but still Mai had left early, taking Grace to a new place. This morning, Drake had woken with a thick head, a body still bruised from recent exploits over in Niagara Falls and a nasty feeling.
Phone ringing; early morning; Grace sounding panicked. None of it helped create much of a rosy feeling. Add to that the fact that caffeine had not yet passed his lips, and the man from Yorkshire was presenting a mood that some might call spiky.
Dahl was with him, the big Swede seemingly possessed of some psychic ability to sense danger. The moment Drake had shoved his nose out of the hotel room door, Dahl had happened to glance out.
“All good?”
“Whoa!” Drake had been caught off guard, still half asleep. “I don’t know.”
“Drink too much?”
“Nope. The pint and a half I sank appears to have left me able to stand.”
“So . . .”
Drake had motioned the Swede outside and explained that he’d received a panicked call from Grace. Mai wasn’t answering her door or her cell. Some people would have given her several more hours, perhaps allowing Mai to sleep in, but not Grace. Her life currently revolved around panic and stress and nightmares. In truth, Drake was glad she had contacted him so quickly. The way Mai was acting lately it wouldn’t surprise him if she’d left town.
That was—if she had taken Grace with her. He sighed in silence. The reality was he hadn’t expected any of this—even when she moved out to a nearby hotel, taking Grace with her.
It’s not you, she said. And this time he believed her. What the hell was she supposed to do if she couldn’t mentally get past something? Different people reacted in different ways but Mai usually confronted problems head on. Drake guessed that if it hadn’t been for the severity of the Pandora attacks, Mai would be in Tokyo already.
The hotel manager slid an access card into the door’s rectangular slot and pushed the thick, silver handle. Drake pulled him away.
“Best stand back,” he said. “Mai’s liable to take a stranger’s head off.”
He didn’t add, if she’s in there.
Once, inside, the appearance of the room didn’t immediately start any alarm bells ringing. Only one thing was immediately evident—Mai wasn’t in it. Nothing was damaged. The night stand still stood with its dusty alarm clock and much-used TV remote. The work desk looked well ordered, hotel and local brochures lying in a neat little pile. The curtains were closed. Drake borrowed the key card from the manager and inserted it into a little slot, throwing more light on the scene. The bed clothes were rumpled, but that was about it.
He moved further into the room, Dahl at his back. Grace hovered in the doorway.
“What’s happening? I can’t see.”
“She’s not here, love.” Drake walked around the bed, wondering if perhaps she’d done something even more out of character and headed out to a gym or for an early morning swim. But where were her bags?
Then he saw it.
Drake stopped abruptly. Dahl peered over his shoulder.
“Oh dear, is that—”
Drake squatted. The bedroom carpet was soaked with a dark red substance, and where it ended against the side of the bed someone had drawn three characters. Drake took his phone out to snap a picture.
“Japanese characters?” Dahl asked.
“I think so.”
Drake struggled to quell the pounding in his heart. No evidence certainly, but instinct told him that this was Mai’s blood. “Try her cellphone,” he said with a quiet desperation. “Just once more.”
Dahl was about to and then Grace said, “I just did. Nothing. Straight to a stupid answer phone.”
Drake backed away. Dahl re-checked the bathroom. Grace was suddenly at his side.
“Oh, no, please no. Is that—”
Drake fought to keep calm. Grace had been going through a worse time than any of them recently with the slow return of her most hated memories. Under Mai’s guidance she’d stood up to them with an unfaltering positivity, focusing solely on what lay ahead. Dreams had been achieved and plans made, a hundred things to look forward to. Grace fought the past hard, and though Drake never knew how she coped in the dark watches of the night, he saw her during the day and encouraged everything the plucky youngster said and did. Some people would never recover from a past such as hers, but Grace wasn’t one of them.
Especially with the help of someone who had already been through it. With Mai’s help.
“We don’t know,” he said. He heard Dahl in the bathroom, already contacting Hayden. With a great effort he swallowed his own feelings and stared at the picture he’d taken. “Do you know what these characters mean?”
Grace peered over. “No.”
Dahl called through. “Hayden says that Karin will have some kind of character recognition software at the office. Send her the photo.”
After everything we’ve done we’re still hot targets. It occurred to him then that if they all stayed in this game there was only one way it was going to end. Don’t think that way! But what other outcome could there be?
Dahl stopped him near the door. “You remember Whitehall?”
Drake blinked in confusion for a moment, then remembered their most recent adventure. “The terrorist cells that attacked us on the street? What about them?”
“Some guy called Ramses, some kind of terrorist royalty, sent them, yeah? Still had a bee in his bonnet about how we obliterated that arms bazaar.” The Swede smiled in grim recognition. “If only we’d known to drop a bomb on the whole bunch of evil bastards.”
“You think Ramses took Mai? Unlikely, pal. I mean for starters—wouldn’t they just blow up the building? Hope for the best?”
“They’re not all Neanderthals.”
“I know, I know.” Drake held up his hands, unable to process clearly as Mai’s potential fate swirled about his head. “Let’s just get back to the office and call everyone in. This is as serious as it gets for us. Personal. Roust the entire team. Now.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Tyler Webb studied the walls of his new HQ. Granted, they were further apart than those of the previous one but no way did they hold the same appeal. The view for a start—all he could see out of the eighth-story window was another well-lit office block, and then another, bland and nondescript, but entirely necessary since the Pythians had relinquished their Niagara Falls nerve center.
Washington DC, though?
Webb headed over to the window, angling his neck. To be fair the view did have its charms the lower you looked. The scurrying worker ants were out on the streets and scuttling around their offices, wasting their lives away. How many of them knew his name? How many knew of the Pythians? His guess—a hell of a lot. The smile stretched across his face unbidden, uninhibited.
Yes they had lost the first round, but could life really be any better? This HQ was the second of twelve he’d prepared in this country alone. He stood and watched and ate and slept among his enemies, at their very heart.
Just where he wanted to be.
And even more interestingly . . . three Pythians were dead. Webb couldn’t help but giggle. Who would have bet on that? General Stone, Robert Norris and Miranda Le Brun had all met their makers during the Pandora project. And if it wasn’t for Beauregard Alain, Webb himself might be in some very sticky substance.
But that wasn’t strictly true, he had engineered the Beauregard moment, craved it with all his black heart and decayed soul. That face to face with his enemies? It had been worth all the risk and the deaths that preceded it. Touché, Drake. And Alicia Myles, Torsten Dahl and Hayden Jaye. I bet I’m already worming my way into your deepest thoughts, aren’t I?
Delicious. Like warm sunshine on a cold day. It heated his entire body to a quiet frenzy.
So how did they find the last HQ? The returning chopper that he had intentionally recalled? Or General Stone? Not wanting to take any risks, and still dubious about the General’s shady decisions during the Pandora campaign, Webb had used Beauregard to take him out. Nicholas Bell had agreed wholeheartedly to the plan, but then he’d had his fill of the General’s vanity. Their other surviving member was Clifford Bay-Dale, the privileged son-of-a-bitch, but also rather fortuitously the only other Pythian with a plan already in motion.
And what a plan! Webb mused. Better even than the Pandora project. If they pulled this one off they would have, without exclusion, access to American military codes and access cards, power utilities and aviation networks, even financial companies. Cyber hacking was the way to shut down the entire US infrastructure.
Excited, he tried to quell the feeling. A long way to go yet. And mysteries to be unearthed. He was particularly happy to be hunting for this one—a lost kingdom. It evoked ideas of Atlantis, Hyperborea, even Thule though he held no love for the Nazis and their crusades. It made him wonder what else might be out there if they only knew where to look.
A soft chime interrupted his musings. He turned around. Two monitors sprang to life at the appointed hour; two faces stared back at him.
“We are the Pythians,” he said.
“We are the Pythians,” Nicholas Bell and Clifford Bay-Dale repeated earnestly.
“Good to be back,” Webb said, allowing a small laugh to escape. “I trust you are both secure?”
“It was fuckin’ hairy there for a while,” the wealthy builder said in typical crass style.
Bay-Dale only nodded and winced a little.
Webb continued, “We’ll come to you in a moment, Clifford, and your lost kingdom offering. I must say already, though, that I am intrigued by the potential outcome. Our power struggle with the best of the world’s governments has only just begun. How nice it would be to end it with but a single stroke.”
Bay-Dale again nodded, saying nothing, the supercilious oaf.
Webb ignored the potential affront. “New primary members. Clearly, we are three Pythians short. The balance should be redressed immediately and taken from the First Degree pool. My primary member, Lucas Monroe, should be drafted in along with Zoe Sheers, an offering from Nicholas who has been fully vetted and approved. We need one more candidate.”
He stopped, giving Bay-Dale a moment to catch up.
“Oh, you are asking me? Well, I haven’t given it much thought. Been busy with all the lost kingdom arrangements, you know?”
“Do you need a pass on this one?”
“A pass? Really? Is it that important?”
Webb took an extremely deep breath, turning away for a brief moment. “We can manage with five for now.”
“Oh, excellent. That wasn’t so difficult. I’ll have to take your word on Sheers and Monroe though I’d ideally have preferred to vet them myself,” Bay-Dale paused for a breath as if sensing Webb’s outrage and rejoicing in it. “And so to the Lost Kingdom. To recap, we know Mu to be an Atlantis-level find, at least to the Chinese, and that is what matters here. Efforts are being redoubled, though very little has come to light as yet.”
“Not surprising since it’s been lost for eight thousand years,” Bell put in.
“Beyond what we already know,” Bay-Dale added pointedly. “Now, once the Niven Tablets are found we will have an easier time of it. And that . . . other thing?” He looked steadily toward the screen.
Webb nodded. “Dudley has made contact. He is not only alive, but free and offering what he calls the aid of ‘the craziest, nastiest gang of motherfuckers ever to die young’. Seven of them, the 27-Club. They freed him, apparently.”
“Can we trust them?” Bay-Dale asked.
Webb almost fell off his chair. The naivety of this man! He almost said, “About as much as I’d trust you with my energy bill,” but thought better of it. Energy firms and bosses were, quite rightly, taking the brunt of people’s anger these days now that the investment bankers had again crawled back into the shadows. Hitting a sore nerve would do nothing to further their cause now.
“No. Not for a second. But, incredibly I’ve actually heard of this crazy gang. Not a single man among them can be called a full shilling and together, they’re as potent as Southern Cross Red vodka, 100 percent proof. They’re perfect fodder to hit both vaults don’t you think?”
“Ah, yes. Killing may be required. And then we can send them to Taiwan for the most dangerous job of all. Assuming Mu ends up being where we think it is.”
“Everything points that way,” Bell said. “And it’s where the US sub was spotted in 1941.”
Bay-Dale smiled ruthlessly. “Spotted? Ha! But don’t forget, Webb, Taiwan will be the trickiest, most delicate operation of all. And I don’t necessarily mean the bombs. I mean our careful manufacturing of an outbreak of war between t
hat country and China.”
“Yes, you can be sure Dudley won’t be involved in that process,” Webb said with a smile. “Finding Mu will mean everything to China, it will change its history, and will cement our future even beyond what it is now.”
“So we’re going straight for the vaults,” Bell said. “Will it be known as a Pythian operation? I’m assuming there will be casualties if Dudley’s involved.”
“Is that a problem for you, Nicholas?” Webb still harbored misgivings as to the builder’s total commitment.
“No, no,” Bell said hastily. “Just wondering if our name would be gaining even more notoriety.”
“The answer is in your own words.”
“Of course it is. And the first vault we’re robbing—it is the Peking Man, yes?”
“Yes. Vanished in 1941 and one of China’s greatest treasures, the Peking Man, an example of Homo erectus, was dated to 680-780 thousand years old. He is considered a human ancestor and more specifically the first ancestor to the Chinese people.”
“I’d be fascinated to see him.”
“You will get the chance. But now, let’s get all the balls rolling, hmm? We have much to do.”
Bay-Dale looked pleased for the first time. “Indeed. And as soon as the Peking Man is recovered I’d dearly love to get my hands on the Niven Tablets.”
“Worry not, Clifford. You’re just a few days away.”
Webb signed off, happy but still somewhat disgruntled. He wondered if he was making a mistake—recruiting the Pythians from rich and wealthy stock. Such men didn’t understand that they were mere puppets, fit only to dance at his whim. But their power and influence was crucial to his plans.
A thorny situation. A double-edged serration.
Happily, the view from the window soon brought his thoughts around to a much more pleasant fantasy. Until now, Webb had stalked faceless, anonymous individuals, content to terrorize and destroy them for a sense of pleasure that bordered on sexual deviance. Choosing a victim at random—the local barista, the youth on the bicycle, the postman, the delivery driver—possessed a certain kind of charm . . .
The Lost Kingdom (Matt Drake Book 10) Page 2
