The Tomb of the Gods (Matt Drake 4) (15 page)

“They may know about the train.” The Norseman was always pragmatic. “They may even try to stop us. It is always their way, to flounder and thwart. The Elite are gathering in Vienna right now. You know where.”

“Where they have always gathered.” Cayman was used to the Norseman’s chatter. He believed the great leader liked to hear his own thoughts spoken aloud and used Cayman as a sounding board.

“The old place. Grey. Aldridge. Thomas. Leng. And young Holgate—always the upstart. But his deportment has changed of late. It is something I will be addressing once I reach Vienna.”

“You’re not there?” Cayman immediately kicked himself for the stupidity of the question. If one of his own men had asked that kind of question, Cayman would be tempted to shoot him on the spot.

But the Norseman was seemingly lost in expressing his thoughts. “I’m at home. The Prague fortress is impregnable. Not even an army could get in here. Once I know the pieces have been activated, I will depart for Vienna. Now tell me, Cayman, has the Wells thing been cleaned up?”

“Yes, sir. All checked and clean. No leaks there.”

“Good. And Drake?”

Cayman hesitated. “Drake?”

“We know him of old. You know that. If he were ever to find us—”

Cayman was truly stunned. He had never heard even the slightest expression of fear in the Norseman’s voice before. The ex-DIA man thought back to Drake’s prowess in the tomb and quickly revised his opinions.

“If he shows his face again, sir, I will obliterate it.”

“We cannot fail then.” The Norseman’s voice came as close to happiness as was possible for one such as him. “Short of a miracle, the pieces can’t be stopped. The entire world will cower before us. Our rule, already absolute, will be preserved forever.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Hayden and her team made Zurich train station by the skin of their teeth. Once inside, even as she ran and scanned the big blue boards for their platform number, Hayden was struck by the polished cleanliness of the station. The vast floor seemed to shine, the arched alcoves that led to retail outlets looked cozy, warm and inviting, quite the opposite of most train stations she’d ever visited. Bizarre and colorful balloons hung from the ceiling. Tourists dressed in all manner of clothing drifted and bumped past each other, focused on their own schedules. The noise level swelled and decreased as groups marched past them.

Karin was first to spot it. “Singen!” She raced off in the direction of the platforms and Hayden and the rest rushed after her, painfully aware they had only minutes to make the train. When they found the big engine burbling loudly, the CIA agent heaved a sigh of relief.

Karin sent a questioning glance.

“Just get on,” Hayden shouted. “We’ll worry about the ‘where’ later.”

A red and white stripe ran for a few carriages at the point she jumped on to the train. She noticed a huge green Starbucks logo as she leapt through the door. The craving for a double-strong Caramel Macchiato hit her like a bullet, but at that moment, there was the sound of the doors locking and the engine’s note strengthening. They were on their way.

Dahl spoke up immediately. “We have one hour,” he said, “to find the pieces and stop them reaching Singen. Let’s move.”

Hayden stepped up. She led the way through the first carriage and then, as if in odd answer to her prayers, the Starbucks logo appeared once again and she was suddenly walking through a coffee shop right there on the train. A fully functioning outlet.

Ben’s voice could be heard from the back. “I never heard of a Starbucks on a train before.”

The Barista popped up from behind the counter with startling efficiency, making both Dahl and Kinimaka flinch and reach for weapons they had decided not to risk carrying through the busy station.

“It’s a trial train,” she said, blond hair tied fiercely back. “Built here in Zurich.” The lilt in her voice betrayed her pride. “If it works— it could go global.”

“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?”