The Tomb of the Gods (Matt Drake 4) (2 page)

Drake frowned. “But how could you know I’d moved on?”

“Don’t be so naïve. I knew where you were and what you were doing. So did Mai, I’m sure. The world’s a smaller place with Facebook and Twitter around. And before those two, there was still the web, and boyfriends who knew how to use it.”

Drake sat back. Deep down, he knew that what she said made sense. Time moved by quickly, and to send a man back to the worst place in his life after five years of healing could have been more of a curse than a blessing.

The seat belt sign clicked on. The plane began to descend.

Drake met Alicia’s crazy blue-eyed gaze. “The investigation will be even harder,” he said, “now that we know Wells wasn’t controlled by the British government, but by some greater secret organization. Now that we know he wasn’t the man he pretended to be.”

Alicia buckled up. “Oh, I’m pretty sure he was a perv, Drake. But I guess his being dead doesn’t help us much.”

Drake stared, a little amused despite himself. “I guess not.”

*****

Once through passport control and past the luggage carousels, Drake headed immediately for the depths of the underground. Tired old escalators groaned as they descended, taking them past dozens of picture frames, all inlaid with advertisements of the latest shows and movies and expo’s.
Walking With Dinosaurs
.
The Hobbit
. Eurogamer. Once at the bottom, a spider web of signs seemed perfectly designed to confuse newcomers. Drake, Mai and Alicia spent a few minutes deciding which line to take and then which direction to go. Hordes of Londoners and tourists of every color and race flowed past them without checking. A busker strummed a jaunty tune at a nearby junction.

“Piccadilly line,” Alicia finally said. “Takes us all the way to Green Park. Isn’t Wells’s place just off that?”

“On the other side of Piccadilly,” Drake said. He slipped his mobile back into his pocket and worked out the time difference back in L.A. Only about seven a.m. in the land of sunshine and celluloid. Hayden and her CIA colleagues were due to meet Dahl off the plane at nine a.m. and then proceed to meet with Cayman at ten. Drake’s suspicions of the shady DIA operative deepened with every mile he traveled. He didn’t just fear for Ben; he feared even for the highly capable people like Hayden and Kinimaka. And Dahl. What was his Swedish friend about to walk into?

Who was Russell Cayman? And just how far up the food chain did his bosses make their, no doubt, sumptuous and immoral nests?

So far up
, Drake thought.
They were beings of mist and shadow, fleeting like ghosts. The power behind the power.

They found the right station and waited behind the yellow lines for their tube. Mai drifted to his right, Alicia to his left, unconsciously putting a barrier between them. Alicia stepped forward as the tube whistled past.

“Shag it, it’s packed out. If I get groped on this thing, some bastard’s getting off minus a set of balls.” She paused. “Unless he looks like Boreanaz. Then. . .we’ll talk.”

“Or Belmonte?” Mai said, her soft, sweet voice belying the venom intended. “I’m surprised you didn’t stay in L.A., Myles. You knew your old lover was arriving with Dahl, didn’t you?”

“Been there,” Alicia said. “Banged that. I’ve had better.”

“Oh, hundreds I’m sure.”

“Bloody hell.” Drake exploded. “If I’d known it’d be this hard with you two, I’d have bloody well come alone.”

The train rattled through the darkness, the bright windows illuminating pipes that twisted and snaked their way along the tunnel walls. As he studied his fellow travelers, Drake was amused to see how many of them stole glances at each other when they assumed they weren’t being watched. And the traditional open paper was long gone now, replaced by Android phones and Amazon Kindles.

Green Park arrived quickly. They exited the tube station and found themselves on a busy London street near the sprawling Ritz hotel. Drake zoned out for a few minutes when a black Bugatti Veyron took the right turn at the lights to head down the side of the famous landmark.

“Earth to Drake,” Alicia murmured. “It has four wheels, a bonnet, and a windscreen. It’s just a car.”

Drake glared. “Don’t push it, Alicia. I still haven’t forgiven you for shooting up that Shelby Cobra.”

“You mean the one with the bad guy in the boot?”

“You could have easily shot him and missed the car, Alicia. I’m not that stupid.”

Mai spoke up as they crossed the road. “Or maybe she’s not as good as you think she is, Matt.”

“Fuck off, tiny sprite.” Alicia strode ahead, aiming for the street where Drake indicated Wells’s flat was situated. After a few minutes’ walk, they paused outside a nondescript three-story building built of grey stone, cast-iron gutters and thick, darkened windows.

“Guess I’m not so bad after all.” Alicia raised an eyebrow at Mai. “This is the place. I only came here once, maybe seven or eight years ago. But this is definitely Wells’s home.”

Drake checked the address he’d been given. “Yep.”

They started up the steps.

“We’d best be quick,” Mai said quietly. “A pack of bruisers has been following us since we entered this street. They’re hanging back for now. Probably just guards hired to watch Wells’s place. They’ll take their time checking us out or they’ll be on us in minutes, depending on orders. My guess is the former. We could be anybody, after all.
Keep going.”
She hissed as Alicia faltered.

Matt Drake knew better than to look back. He’d been looking back and staying purposely stagnant for seven years.

It was time to move forward and fully embrace the power and the violence and the tremendous skill he had been born to utilize.

He could be a force of nature. A savior of worlds. Deep down, he’d always known it. The time was coming when he’d have to prove it.

CHAPTER TWO

Hayden Jaye tuned out the conversation around her for a few moments. Ever since Dmitry Kovalenko ordered the attack on the CIA safe house, killing most of her team and taking her hostage, events had unfolded with such crazy rapidity that she’d barely had a moment to take stock. Even the weeks convalescing after the first knife wound had passed in a blur as she tried to piece together all that had happened and what the Blood King’s next move might be.

But now, healing slowly from the second knife wound—a wound that hurt less and healed faster with the intimate knowledge that Ed Boudreau was dead—she had consciously been taking as many spare moments as she could to sort out her feelings for Ben Blake.

He was too young for her. He was too immature for her. At a professional and career level, they were poles apart. If it were a business decision, it would be easy.

Hayden wondered if the spirit of old James Jaye was still riding her back, forcing her nose to the ground so she couldn’t see straight. But it didn’t feel that way. Her heart was telling her the relationship was wrong, not her mind.
But what was the problem?
Could she let something that had, at first, felt so right dissipate without a fight?

And here she was, about to meet not only the famous Torsten Dahl but also Daniel Belmonte—one of her old flames—whilst Ben and his sister waited back at the HQ, ready to process any information Dahl might bring with him. The big Swede had been toiling persistently inside the Icelandic tomb for weeks upon weeks and had actually stepped up operations when Cayman appeared and took charge. But Dahl had kept many secrets to himself, and Hayden believed, had even managed to place a trusted man on the inside.

As for Belmonte, it seemed Gates had been so impressed with his clandestine burglary at Kew Gardens that he had instantly decided Belmonte’s special skillset might prove of further value before this increasingly desperate operation ended.

Belmonte, ostracized for years, had jumped at the chance to return to the government fold, albeit under the directions of a different country. He had even offered the additional help of his protégé, a woman known only as Emma.

As the passengers began filtering through, Hayden again put her life on hold. At this rate, the friggin’ pause button would be worn out before she got the analysis down.

Maybe she analyzed her problems too closely.

In any case, she walked forward with a genuine smile when the Swede, Dahl, strode toward them.

“Torsten.” She stretched out a hand, then felt herself grabbed and given a friendly hug.

“Hayden!” Dahl cried warmly. “It is so good to see you again. The wrong circumstances, I’m sure, but good nevertheless.”

Hayden let herself be held just for a moment, basking in the security offered by the big, kind Swedish Special Forces officer. The sanctuary she sought was the sanctuary her father had once given her. That ultimate feeling of safety and the deep knowledge that if she ever started to hurt, she could always find a refuge.

And now, she knew why she couldn’t stay with Ben Blake. No matter how hard he tried, he could never offer her that.

Hayden pulled away, smiling. “To hell with the bullshit circumstance. It’s great to see you.” She waved Kinimaka aside. “Over here is Jonathan Gates, the US Secretary of Defense.”

Whilst the pair shook hands, Hayden assessed their surroundings. She had men positioned at every egress point and scattered around the room. Despite Cayman’s assurances and his insistence that even the Secretary of Defense and his plethora of secret service agents was welcome to accompany them to this meeting, her shit-radar remained on full alert.

“We should get going soon,” she said. “The meeting’s in forty-five minutes. We don’t wanna give this shitheel any excuse.”

“Agreed.” Dahl nodded. “I have met said shitheel, and must say I can’t disagree with your statement.”

Dahl’s rhetoric was already jarring her. She suddenly understood why Drake teased him endlessly. It wasn’t through spite; it was simply a way of coping. And, Dahl, in his way, understood that.

“And meet Mano Kinimaka, my partner.” Hayden stepped aside as the big Hawaiian now came forward, offering a gruff hello.

And then her heart leapt as a familiar face threaded through the crowd. Daniel Belmonte, the master thief, her ex-lover, the Englishman every woman wanted to hate, but always ended up wanting more than they bargained for.

Alongside him walked a thin blond girl, hair curled into tight ringlets. Big blue eyes rounded off the archetypal likeness of the pretty blonde, but Hayden knew that if this woman accompanied Belmonte to a live job, being pretty would be the least of her attributes.

“Daniel,” she said with forced neutrality. “Thanks for coming.”

“How could I resist?” His eyes sparkled, then went blank. “But no, seriously. I couldn’t resist. I was ordered to come here.”

“Huh?” Hayden frowned. “But who—”

“Gates. Jonathan Gates.” The Secretary of Defense came alongside her. “Pleased you accepted my invitation.”

“Well when I say
ordered,
” Belmonte turned his voice down to a whisper. “You know I’ve always used the term loosely, don’t you?”

Hayden took a deep breath. This was going to be a long day.

Gates turned and led them outside to a waiting limo. The hot L.A. air struck them as soon as they were out of the building and a dusty wind swept along the road. Hayden took a second to introduce herself to Belmonte’s friend, not wanting to exclude anyone, and learned her name was Emma, and that she was Belmonte’s charge and responsibility, not to mention his apprentice.

In what?
Hayden wondered. Was Belmonte blasé enough to want a thief’s life for such a young girl?

When the limo moved away from the curb, Dahl began talking.

“Excuse my manners. I know introductions haven’t yet been completed, but I have information that I must impart.” He nodded at the secretary. “It has been a long flight. I was hoping Drake would be here, but I guess he felt he should be in London, yes?”

Hayden nodded. “Right. He’s following up the Wells lead.”

“Hmm. Well, good luck to him. But now. . .as regards the eight pieces of Odin. Do you remember them?”

“Eight?” Belmonte immediately interrupted. “I think you mean nine, don’t you?”

“No. I mean eight. The ninth piece, the Shield, was lost in Eyjafjallajokull.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

Dahl blinked. “I once said that to Drake. It wasn’t funny then, either. Now please shut the fuck up and let me talk.” Dahl moved in his seat, the leather creaking loudly. “The remaining eight pieces of Odin were transported to the Swedish Museum of National Antiquities in Stockholm to be assessed and carefully guarded before a decision could be made as to their final destination. All standard procedure.”

“I’m aware of all that.” Gates flicked his gaze between the Swede and the road ahead. The road that led to Russell Cayman. Hayden wondered what percentage of Gates’ brilliant mind was focused on the job. He’d barely begun to grieve for his murdered wife.

“Good.” Dahl looked around the limo. “Then is anyone aware that all eight pieces were removed by the American government a few days ago and transported to a military base in Stuttgart, Germany?”

Gates snapped his head around. Hayden felt her mouth go dry.
“What?”

“How on earth could the American government authorize the removal of Norse artifacts from Scandinavian soil?” Belmonte wondered.

“Because someone. . .” Dahl’s voice dropped even though he was among friends in the limo. “A very powerful someone in the Swedish government allowed them to. The same someone—I’m guessing—who gave them control of my exploration.”

Gates shook his head. “I’ve heard nothing of this. If the order came from Cayman, then I don’t think it came directly from the US government.”

The big Swede stared. “You’ve lost me there, sir. Isn’t Cayman DIA? A man from the special weapons division? Does he not work for a US agency?”

Gates pursed his lips. “We’re about to find out, Dahl. My philosophy for getting by on the Hill has always been a simple one—
don’t trust the bastards
.”