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

Mai clicked a few icons. “Look at this,” she said, surprise tingeing her voice. “Wells had a Twitter ID, a Facebook profile, and was a member of Goodreads. I think this proves that you were wrong, Matt. He wasn’t
old school
at all.”

Drake clicked onto ‘history.’ The last entry, dated the night before Wells had flown out to Miami, was a single line. One link to one site.

Hotmail. Password change.

Alicia popped her head around the door at that moment and told them, in characteristic style, to hurry the fuck up. The arseholes outside wouldn’t stand around playing with their dicks forever.

“I have a crazy idea.” Drake pushed past Mai and started skimming the mouse across a plush pad. “We were always taught to leave messages where they couldn’t be found.” He clicked onto Hotmail. “Except by the person who shared the account.”

Mai glanced sideways at him as he hovered over the password box. “You know what it is?”

“If Wells had something to hide and wanted
us
to find it. . .” Drake bit his lip. “Then this is how he would do it. If not, well, we’ve lost nothing.”

He typed a password slowly. Mai’s eyes opened wide.
“Maitime?
Really?”

“What else could it be?”

The screen flicked onto the Hotmail website. Drake clicked the ‘Drafts’ folder and paused as three messages popped up, each one highlighted in bold to show they hadn’t been viewed.

“They should be close copies of emails Wells sent to. . .” He paused. “A man called Andrew Black.” Drake scrolled down the body of each email. “Nothing more than a simple message,” he said with a tinge of disappointment. “
Sending latest version by snail mail, my friend. Needless to say, I know, but for all our sakes—keep it safe. Will be in touch when back.”

“Hmm.” Mai pointed to snatch of email where Andrew Black had responded. “
Getting some Mai time, my old friend?”

“
Hopes are high, as ever.”
Wells had responded.

Drake clicked through Wells’s online directory. An address was listed for an Andrew Black at nearby Sevenoaks in Kent. “We should follow this through. If Wells was shipping something to an old friend before leaving the country, it would be of huge importance to him.”

Mai nodded and was about to respond when Alicia stuck her head through the front door. “Time to stop fannying around, people. The thugs just got reinforced.”

“We’re coming.” Drake shut the PC down. “How many are there?”

“Enough so that we may have to fight our way out of London.” Alicia grinned. “Just the way I like it.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Hayden instinctively ducked as the row of windows to her right exploded. Shattered glass burst across the room in a deadly wave. The two black-clad combatants walking toward them ducked and started to open fire. If the onslaught was designed to numb their senses and slow their reactions, it served its purpose. The whole team was crawling and scrambling across the polished floor, glass showering them and bullets impacting the walls behind them. One of Gates’s secret service men had managed to stay between his boss and the destruction. His body danced for the last time as it was riddled with bullets and he fell backward on top of Gates.

Hayden rolled onto her good hip, grimacing as pain shot through her wounded side, and slipped her gun out. Before she could aim, she heard the loud report of gunfire and glanced across to see Dahl already shooting. Belmonte was on his knees behind Dahl.

Hayden saw one of the combatants spin around as a bullet took him in the shoulder. She fired at the other, creeping forward as she did so. Her bullet struck his helmet, flipping him backward. Dahl fired again, but another of Gates’s secret service agents cried out.

Blood sprayed from his neck, showering Hayden.

The CIA agent loosed more bullets. Both combatants were now down. Belmonte was screaming.

Was he hit?
Hayden wondered. Gates was barely moving, but then his last surviving bodyguard was pinning him tightly to the ground.

“Evac!” the guard shouted. “It’s a fuckin’ ambush!”

 Even now, Hayden could hardly believe her eyes. Had Russell Cayman, a DIA agent, just tried to take out a US senator? Where was the psycho getting his orders? Or was this some other kind of terrorist plot? Either way, they were screwed.

A high, keening sound preceded the impact of something big against the side of the building. Hayden suddenly realized this was far from over and hit the deck.

“Cover!”

A huge explosion shook the building to its very core. Behind them, the elevator shaft groaned and shuddered. Hayden saw the elevator buckle out of shape. In another second, it shook and seemed to hang at a precarious angle.

“No way out,” she whispered.

“Yes!” Belmonte suddenly shouted. “Yes there is. There’s a freight elevator on the other side of the building.” He pointed across the expanse of the devastated room. “Across there.”

He stood up, Emma cradled in his arms.

Tears shone in the thief’s eyes.

Hayden gasped. “Is she? Is she. . .”

“Dead,” Belmonte said quietly. “Yes, she is.”

Gates threw his bodyguard off. Dahl gauged the ground they’d have to cover to make the freight elevator. “Run the gauntlet,” he said. “It’s the only way. And quickly.”

“Do it!” In close formation they ran, Hayden, Kinimaka and Dahl on the outside, guns drawn and aimed at the shattered windows. Gates, Belmonte with Emma in his arms, and the last secret service agent on the inside. As they passed by the windows, a great flash preceded the launch of another rocket. This one impacted where they had been a few moments before, destroying the elevator shaft.

They all managed to keep their feet, scrambling and struggling on. A barrage of gunfire blasted through the holes in the side of the building and they found themselves actually running a gauntlet of hot lead. Hayden felt something flash by her temple like a heated breath of air and another rip apart the hem of her jacket. Dahl grunted as something nicked an arm, but still managed a crazy laugh.

“Move!” he shouted.

“Who the hell are these people?” Hayden yelled.

Bullets zinged around them, a forest of whistling death. A third rocket exploded against the side of the building and something inside its structure suddenly lurched. Hayden crabbed sideways for a second. The last secret service agent caught a round in the thigh and collapsed in their wake. Dahl reacted instantly, grabbed him, and hauled him through the destruction.

Hayden ran beyond the edge of the last window. The rest of the team sprinted behind her, reaching safety without any more casualties. Gates reached out to press the elevator’s call button, but paused in uncertainty.

“Call it,” Dahl said. “But we’re going down the stairs.”

“And quick,” Hayden said. “Even Cayman’s plan B has a back-up plan, it seems. If Cayman’s behind this.”

“Too convenient not to be,” Gates muttered. “Boy, does he have a god complex. I’ll see his ass burn in jail for this.”

“Those bloody alarms are pissing me off,” Belmonte said. Hayden guessed he wasn’t used to hearing them.

“No. It means people will be evacuating,” Dahl told him. “A good thing.”

“I don’t get it. Cayman’s American government,” Hayden said. “Like us. CIA. DIA. Doesn’t matter what agency you belong too, we all serve the same boss.”

Gates eyed her. “I’m guessing not.”

More gunfire erupted behind them, the walls getting shot to crumbling confetti.

“You think those crazy rumors about an elite group
directing
the world governments are true?”

“I’m betting my career on it. And my life too, it seems.” Gates looked back at the dead agents. “There has been too much death around me lately.”

“Maybe you should take a break.” Hayden followed Dahl as he pushed through the exit door and began to head down the concrete staircase. At that moment, from the room behind her, came a deep roaring blast, the kind of noise that doesn’t just frighten a person, it evokes a feeling of such intense terror it might stop a heart between beats.

“Bomb!” Dahl cried. “Oh God, run!”

They ran for their lives. The deep, ominous sound of girders shattering and load-bearing walls collapsing stung their ears. A terrible rumble preceded the ceiling collapsing behind them, and just for a second, for one mortal heart-stopping instant, Hayden saw the entire room begin to tilt and shift.

The skyline was moving.
The entire top floor of the building was shearing off!

They pounded down the stairs. Gates tripped and began to roll, but Dahl twisted in mid-flight, scooped the US Senator up and flung him over a shoulder without losing more than a stride.

A supersonic mass of glass, concrete, brick and plaster exploded in all directions, shattering the windows of surrounding skyscrapers and blasting debris across the entire block. A deadly heap of shale slid away from what was left of the top floor and plummeted to the ground, trailing dust and shards and chunks of wreckage. The heap shattered against the parking lot below, sending out a plume of crushed rubble. Tiny fragments of waste fluttered away in the wind.

Hayden heard it all. They all heard it. The roar of the explosion and its aftermath was like a charging dinosaur on their heels. Smoke billowed around them and it was all they could do to see the way ahead. Shards of the wreckage, compressed by the collapse of the roof and then sent ballistic by the explosion, speared past faster than bullets.

Belmonte almost dropped Emma’s dangling body, but caught it and went headlong for half a flight of stairs before arresting his fall. They raced down the stairs without pause, without feeling even a hint of fatigue until they reached the lobby.

Dahl took a moment. “Everyone alright?”

The agent he had saved groaned.

Belmonte glared at him. “Fuck off, you toffee-nosed twat.”

Dahl let it go. He surveyed the parking lot and roads outside the lobby, then turned to Hayden. “His men will be out there.”

“I know. But there’s no other way.”

Dahl spared a dispassionate glance for Belmonte. “If they give chase, you’ll need to leave her behind. Or die with her.”

The Swede stepped through what was left of the front doors. A thin cloud of dust swirled around them as they moved carefully into the parking lot. Hayden glared, practically stripping the paint off cars and the facades off buildings, such was the intensity of her appraisal. Kinimaka, as ever, walked beside her and Torsten Dahl positioned himself out front—the target man, as always. Civilians stood outside, coughing and staring, dumbstruck. Ambulances wailed and flashing cop cars were arriving on scene.

Dahl suddenly pointed.
“There!”
He made a beeline for the nearest car, a family-sized Chevy.

Hayden saw hordes of men piling out of three black sedans parked at the curb. Fear slammed down her throat like a clenched fist. These guys were here to finish them off. Cayman had absolutely no intentions of letting them leave this place alive.

Kinimaka smashed his way into the big Chevy. “We gotta run!” he shouted. “Come on!”

In another minute, Kinimaka was revving the engine, making it roar and then slewing the car across the grass median and out into the road. Hayden checked her gun and gave her backup to Dahl. She watched as he checked the mag, face hard as Icelandic rock.

“They’ll come after us.”

Kinimaka floored the accelerator, speeding into a light traffic and making sure his own gun was ready as the three big cars with their murderous passengers began to give chase.

Straight toward downtown L.A., Beverly Hills, and, ultimately, Hollywood.

CHAPTER FIVE

Drake stepped out of the apartment first and walked down the short set of steps that led to the street as darkness began to send its inky tendrils across the southern skies. The sound of traffic and the hubbub coming from the underground station could clearly be heard a few hundred feet away.

Walking down the pavements on either side of the exclusive street were youths brandishing an assortment of weapons, among them baseball bats and tire irons. Several more youths advanced down the middle of the road.

Mai stopped at his left shoulder, Alicia at his right. The Englishwoman gave a happy laugh. “Some sparring practice. It’s been a while.” She spared a glance for Drake and Mai. “Don’t hurt ‘em too bad, ladies.”

More cars suddenly slewed around the corner and came to a screeching halt halfway up the road. Doors were flung open and more youths leapt out, weapons in hand, their harsh grunts of challenge little more than caveman bravado.

Mai smiled at Drake. “And now they give us an easy way out.”

“Amateurs tend to do that.” Drake watched her glide away and then faced the half dozen rough-looking kids stalking toward him. “You need to stop,” he said to them forcefully. “Whatever they’re paying you ain’t worth a beating.”

Two of them actually stopped, but more out of bewilderment than prudence. Drake high-kicked the first and stole his bat, used it to catch the swing of the second and slid into the man when his heavy swing made him overreach. Drake heaved him over a shoulder, straight into a third assailant and, by then, the remaining three were wide-eyed. One found some daring and came in swinging. Drake used him as an example. He caught the tire iron, gripped it hard, and sent it slamming back into the youth’s face. Blood from a broken nose sprayed everywhere. He fell down, crying.

To his left and right, Mai and Alicia were dealing out similar lessons. Drake moved next to one of the still-running cars. He heard the youth inside calling for more reinforcements and thought the next bunch might not be so inadequate. He picked up a bat and jumped into the passenger seat.

“Who ya ringing?” He jammed the end of the bat against the youth’s cheek, mashing him up against the window.

“Percy.” The youth gasped. “Don’ hurt me, man. I ain’t done nothin’ to you.”

“That call”—Drake nodded at the discarded mobile—“did more hurt to us than all these kids put together. Get out of the damn car. Now.”