Drake ran forward. In contrast to the madness downstairs and along Las Vegas Boulevard, the roof held an almost dreamlike quality of silence. Hotel room windows blazed with light in the Palazzo to the right and Treasure Island opposite, but the absence of sound was disconcerting.
Dahl hurried to the chopper and climbed aboard. Cam, Shaw and Mai ran to the edge of the roof, checking three sides. Drake rushed to the fourth. Overlooking the Strip, he took in a vast array of colorful lights, including police cars and ambulances, droves of people walking or standing around in crowds on the sidewalk or around hotels, the smoking motorcycles that had exploded.
Hayden had stayed behind to watch the elevator. “It got called down,” she said. “But it hasn’t started to rise again.”
Dahl shouted from the pilot’s seat. “Get in! What the hell are you waiting for, an email?”
Kinimaka grabbed hold of the door and jumped in first, the chopper making a groan of protest. Kenzie jumped up next, followed by Alicia.
Drake turned his back on the sights, sick to the stomach, wondering how they had come this far, be so deep in this nightmare, and yet be no further forward. The sheer scale of the attack had practically cancelled his team out.
What next?
Zuki, he thought.
If they could recapture the Japanese royal bratty princess, they might be able to drag information out of her.
Mulling on that, he ran for the helicopter. Dahl was already lifting it off the ground, the skids rising, and sent him an annoyed look. Drake half expected him to tap his wristwatch, but the Swede stopped short of such childishness.
For now, at least.
Drake settled in the back, finding it a little snug. The aircraft was built for a pilot, a passenger and five more. Their team now numbered nine, but hopefully wouldn’t have to fly for too long.
Dahl lifted them off the roof. The chopper roared and lifted, its rotors slamming at the air.
Drake felt the bottom of his stomach drop as they glided off the roof and saw almost five hundred feet straight down. There were figures down there, people who wanted them dead. Drake held on as Dahl drifted away from the Venetian, aiming for the Strip.
Alicia, sitting on the chopper’s right side with her face pressed to the window, let out a gasp of shock.
“RPG!” she yelled.
Dahl had little time to react. The rocket streaked from the roof of the nearby Palazzo hotel, speeding up at them, a light-gray smoke tail marking its progress.
Drake gripped a grab handle and the bulkhead hard with both hands. The missile struck their undercarriage with a sound like hell on earth.
Dahl was already descending fast. The impact sent the chopper whirling through midair, the tail rotor spinning and then the nose.
Drake was helpless, able to do nothing but sit and await their fate.
Dahl fought the controls hard, wrenching at the collective and then trying to finesse it.
The chopper continued to spin, its engine struggling, its rotors thudding, the momentum trying to force the craft sideways to the ground. Alicia cursed as the ground, three-hundred feet below, filled her window.
The chopper fell hard, dropping past blazing window after window, straight down the façade of the Palazzo. Drake saw floor after floor whizz by.
Dahl let the chopper find its own way, unable to see the undercarriage but coaxing it gently back under control.
“The landing’s not gonna be pretty,” he muttered.
Drake was tempted to ask if it ever was, but refrained, putting their welfare first. The fast drop was dizzying but necessary, putting them out of the firing line of another RPG. Dahl hauled back on the controls as the helicopter approached the ground.
They veered toward the Strip, away from the general area of the Venetian. Drake saw the blacktop approaching fast and then the helicopter seemed to rear and zoom forward, skimming across the top of a bridge. The Starbucks logo blazed to his right, the Palazzo’s elegant entrance to the left. Ahead, the golden tower of the Wynn hotel made a good focal point.
Dahl brought the helicopter down in the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard, avoiding several abandoned cars and bouncing the craft twice. In the end, it swayed onto its right; the skid there was badly damaged. The team jumped out to the left.
Once again outside, Drake took stock, glaring up and down the Strip and trying to gauge if they were being followed.
Hayden ran for the vast gathering of trees and foliage that fronted the Wynn. “Time to get lost.”
Drake dashed after her, after the whole team. She was right, but the fact that their only means of fast transport had just died weighed heavy on his mind. From here they were on foot.
Did that put them out of the battle to save America?
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Drake slowed as they approached the Stratosphere hotel and casino. Kinimaka and Kenzie were ahead, entering the parking lot as the rest of the team hid in the shadows, trying to avoid surveillance cameras. If the Scourge had infiltrated the system, as they expected, employing every ounce of tradecraft they knew to stay off the grid was essential.
As they waited in the rear shadow of a closed Denny’s, the team took stock of their current position.
Hayden waved a hand back toward the Strip and the line of hotels and casinos that marched as far as Mandalay Bay.
“I guess they had fifty, sixty people involved in this thing,” she said, breathless after the long, uneasy run. “Maybe thirty bikes. If they used similar tactics on other cities within America, they’d have only needed a thousand or so people crazy enough to carry out these attacks.”
“A thousand sounds like a lot,” Mai said.
Hayden stared at her. “This is America,” she said. “Most of us are nice, normal people, but actually four in ten Americans believe the world was created just 10,000 years ago.” She shrugged. “Go figure. There are hundreds of militia groups in this country, all armed to the teeth, all desperate to take a chunk out of a government they believe hates and represses them. If the Scourge sent the right kind of person to recruit and hire them, and the money was right, many would jump at the chance.”
“You get that many militias,” Shaw said. “All you need is to unite some of them and—” she looked up at the smoke-filled skies about Las Vegas “—start anarchy.”
Drake nodded at the Native American, wondering briefly about her story and if they’d ever hear it. Shawnasee was unforthcoming about her past, although they were aware of events she’d been forced to reveal when she joined the team.
Hayden waved to grab their attention. “I’ve been checking for updates,” she said. “And it’s not good. Certain parts of society are breaking down. It’s lawless in some places. There are not enough police, and many of those have their own problems. The Army’s being rolled out across DC, LA, and in New York.”
Drake closed his eyes briefly. “A last resort.”
“Could be,” Hayden said. “But it could also be the way they regain control. Lacey can’t block that move without arousing suspicion. I don’t know for certain, but Sutherland could be behind it.”
“Either way,” Dahl said. “Even if it’s being done with the best intentions, it’s heavy-handed. It won’t instill the calm they’re hoping for.”
“Maybe not,” Hayden said. “But it’s better than the alternative.”
She turned her phone around. Drake watched several reports and read many headlines. While rural towns were largely untouched, the big towns and cities were bearing the brunt of the attacks. Tourist hotspots had been targeted too, helping to spread the news around the world.
Drake saw tales of terrorism, of vigilantes taking to the streets. Of rioters shooting and being shot. He saw mass gridlock on the roads and mass panic on the streets. He read a report of a huge protest being broken up by cops with guns, people lying dead on the ground. Fires were burning out of control, emergency services attacked en route. Drake wondered what was real, and what was fake.
“Clearly, it’s getting worse by the hour,” Dahl said. “The initial misinformation campaign led by Madame Davic feeds into this new reality, making your average citizen wary of what to believe. They will trust only what they see and may even make trips to confirm, adding to the chaos. And the next attack is...” He turned to Mai.
“The fifth,” she said. “The power grid.”
Her words caused an ominous silence. Drake didn’t want to imagine how devastating it could be. “You said police stations as well,” he said. “Government buildings.”
Mai nodded. “Those too.”
Two cars approached from the parking garage and flashed their lights. Drake and the others hurried over and separated into two Cadillac SUVs. Kinimaka and Kenzie drove, taking them left toward Fremont and northern Las Vegas. The team changed to using their comms system to communicate.
“How do we stop a power grid attack?” Cam asked.
“There are so many targets.” Mai shook her head. “I don’t think we can.”
“But surely there are hubs,” Dahl said. “Core buildings that control the system.”
“Probably,” Hayden said. “But they’re hardly gonna publicize their location. I’ll ask Sutherland,” She pulled out her phone.
“Resources are limited,” Drake overheard the assistant director’s voice as Hayden asked her question. “President Lacey has officially ordered the FBI to help out on the streets.”
The cars picked their way through the night, heading for the nearest highway. Kinimaka imagining that would be safer. “They targeted us specifically,” he said. “Which means the Scourge are still wary.”
Drake nodded. “This isn’t over yet,” he said. “Not by any means. All we need is a clue to where they’re hiding.”
“And who they are,” Alicia said with a sigh. “Have you tried Karin recently?”
Drake fished out his phone and saw three missed calls from their old friend. “How’d you know?”
Alicia shrugged. “Your phone was in your jeans pocket. I heard it ringing when I—”
“Stop!” Mai yelled. “We don’t need to hear any more.”
“No. I heard it ringing when, during the battle, my forehead bounced off your groin.”
“Oh, that was you?” Drake asked with fake innocence. “I thought it was Dahl.”
The big Swede didn’t answer as Drake rang Karin back. The call was answered almost immediately.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“We’re good,” Drake said. “All of us.”
“Oh, thank God. The news is awful, and the streets are on fire.”
“We noticed,” Alicia said. “But there’s still a chance if we don’t give up.”
“Right,” Karin said, sounding unconvinced. “Well, I’ve been looking into the Romanovs as you asked and, to be fair, if they wanted revenge, I wouldn’t blame them. But I don’t understand why they’re targeting America.”
“Not just America,” Kenzie said. “The whole world. America’s just the start.”
“Right, well that makes more sense, I guess. Neutralize the strongest first and move on. Listen, I don’t have much time. You can imagine they’re coming down pretty hard on us right now.”
“What do you have?” Drake asked.
“The House of Romanov was a reigning imperial house of Russia for centuries. They were Tsars under the Rurik dynasty. Old, old money and about as connected as you could ever get. There’s no doubt they were once part of the shadow royals.”
“What we thought,” Mai said.
“They became Russia’s second reigning dynasty,” Karin went on. “But, in the summer of 1918, Nicholas, Alexandra, their five children and their servants were told to go down to the cellar of the house in which they were being held. They were organized into two rows and told they would be photographed to help allay any rumors that may have leaked about their house arrest. They were to appear happy, unconcerned.”
“A trap?” Alicia asked.
“Very much. Armed men burst into the room. They gunned down the entire imperial family, throwing out bullets like confetti. Those that survived were then stabbed to death.”
Drake winced, not just at the thought of the hell the children would have gone through, but at the idea of a mind that would order such sickening violence.
“The bloodline of the Romanovs came to an end,” Karin went on, “and was replaced by a provisional government. This terminated the dynasty’s rule over Russia forever. Of course, the revolution continued, but that’s not our concern. The fact is that decades later, in 1991, in a forest near Yekaterinburg, the remains of Tsar Nicholas II, his wife Alexandra, and three of their children were excavated and later identified by DNA fingerprints.”
Drake waited. Karin had initially mentioned five children.
“Which left Crown Prince Alexei and one daughter, Anastasia, unaccounted for,” Karin said.
“Their remains were never found?” Hayden asked.
“A second grave was discovered in 2007,” Karin said. “It was all over the news and the Internet, discussed far and wide. People claimed they’d found the lost children of the Romanovs and that put an end to the great mystery. But this new grave was so close to the original. How was it missed for all that time? So...” She paused to consider her next words. “I’ve done a deep dive on those reports, really dug into the meat of them, and I do have my doubts as to their authenticity.”
“You think the reports were doctored?” Dahl asked. “To divert attention away from the continued existence of the Romanovs?”
“It would appear so. The reports are fake, though expertly made. It’s all fake news. Very hard to untangle what’s real and what isn’t these days. I mean, just look at the state of America right now. Even I can’t unravel everything that’s actually happening from what’s bogus or even simulated for the Press.”
“So it’s likely that the real remains were never found?” Hayden asked.
“Correct. Over the years, many ‘Anastasias’ have come forward, trying to claim... something, I don’t know what, but none were ever formally identified as the long-lost daughter.”
“So she could still be out there somewhere?” Dahl said. “This Anastasia.”
“Not unless she’s over a hundred years old,” Karin said. “But, I guess, that’s possible. Hatred and vengeance might keep you anchored to this world for longer than your years. But it’s more likely that she had a family and raised them to carry on her fight for vengeance.”
“But this was during the Russian Revolution, right?” Hayden said. “What does it have to do with the Scourge? And how did they survive all those bullets? It sounds a bit farfetched.”
“Good questions,” Karin said. “And yes, it does sound like an urban myth, a legend. But the mystery remains that only three children’s bodies were ever really recovered, despite extensive searching. It was said that diamonds sewn into the children’s clothing stopped the initial bullets and, in the smoke, they were able to crawl to freedom.”
“And the Scourge?” Drake pressed.
“That’s the interesting bit,” Karin said.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Drake listened as their old friend continued.
“If the Scourge are indeed formed from the old Romanov family then they have every reason to want revenge. Their centuries-old dynasty was crushed horribly, children murdered in front of their parents. Maybe the two survivors were buried alive and had to crawl free. The fact is, the Romanov’s were old blood. Old wealth. They once belonged to the secret ruling class.”
“And we’ve never come across this before.” Drake saw where she was headed. “The shadow royals consider themselves above such petty squabbles. Maybe this was the one time where they slipped up.”
Karin concurred. “Yes, everything we know about them—which admittedly isn’t much—tells us that, although the shadow royals are dissimilar, they rule as a body. A world order, if you like. But not like those organizations we’ve com
e across before—the Pythians, for example. Being old wealth, old blood, they consider themselves godlike, ruling like Greek deities on high, moving people around like chess pieces on a board. Getting directly involved with each other is unheard of.”
“If the Romanovs want revenge,” Dahl said, “why not just take on the royals? Why hit America at all?”
“Another good question.” Karin sounded surprised. “Have you guys been on the sugar today?”
“No, but we’ve been dodging bullets and bad guys for a while,” Alicia said. “Must be the adrenalin.”
“Right, well I think the Scourge—the surviving Romanovs and their siblings—are taking their revenge on the other old royal families. These bloodlines are scattered all around the world. From Paris to London and Venice. From New York to California and Monaco to Sicily. At the same time...” She paused. “They’re reviving their old dynasty.”
Drake mulled it all through. “I’ve heard of Anastasia,” he said. “Who hasn’t? They’ve made a ton of movies and TV shows down the years. That could’ve been just the Romanovs keeping their memory alive through Anastasia. Or, thinking about it, maybe it was the Romanovs building their legend. Deepening their mystery. Enriching the fable. When they released the new information in 2007—effectively ending all hope of ever finding Anastacia and her brother—that was when they started planning all this. Their return. And now... they’re back.”
“With the perfect plan and the wealth to make it happen,” Dahl said. “But 2007? That’s an awful lot of planning.”
Drake nodded. “And the final plan from the greatest architect of them all, the Devil, before he died. And the wealth from the very money the other royals sought to rob them of a century ago. It’s a bloody shitshow.”
“If it is the Romanovs,” Karin said, “we’re in deeper trouble than you think. They’ve had decades to plan all this. Half of the money rolling into social media ads and subscribers comes from unknown sources. These unknown sources have the reach to influence anything from a presidential election to the kind of gum you eat. It’s all very... coldly calculating.”
Theatre of War (Matt Drake 28) Tenth Anniversary Novel Page 16
