The Tomb of the Gods (Matt Drake 4) (5 page)

The youth was gone in a second to be replaced quickly by Mai. “Shall we go?” she asked, flexing her fist.

Drake stared at her. “Aye up. One of ’em clock you one?”

She made a face. “Splinter”

Alicia leapt across the hood and then climbed onto Mai’s lap. “Stop chatting up the help, Drake. Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

Drake reversed quickly, swinging the car backward around the corner and out into the flow of traffic. There was just enough space for him to make sure they weren’t going to rear-end anyone. He jammed the accelerator down hard just as two silver-colored BMWs cut across the car behind them, provoking a flurry of screeched tires and blared horns.

Drake saw the men in the rearview. “They’re behind us.”

Alicia seemed happy enough perched on Mai’s knee. “Haven’t done this since I was a kid.”

“They’re behind us, Alicia. And they won’t just have sledge-hammer shafts and baseball bats this time.”

Mai shifted uncomfortably. “You, a kid?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”

“Did you two hear what I just—?”

“I heard you banging on, Drake.” Alicia turned a stare on him. “Probably best to leave it there, eh?”

“Still a kid.” He grumbled. “Always a kid.”

“If it helps me cope. . .then yes. Always.”

He drove. Piccadilly hummed this time of night, crawling along with cars, buses and cabs, the pavements thronged with crowds of people. But still, Drake managed to weave his way forward at some pace, fast enough so that their pursuers couldn’t stop and chase them on foot, but still keeping under a reckless pace. The lights were kind to them. Even a big red open-top, double-decker bus, thronged with tourists, moved aside so they could pass. Drake began to wonder if there was a siren on top of the car.

But their relentless pursuers kept pace. They passed the bottom end of Bond Street and Fortnum and Mason, the Royal Academy and Le Meridien.

“You know where we’re headed?” Alicia twisted around to look behind them and then back to the front. “Picca-fuckin-dilly Circus. Well done, Drakey. You led us to the biggest bottleneck in the country.”

Drake knew she was right. But plan B was already streaming through his subconscious. “Sometimes, Myles.” He sighed. “You make a silly metaphor sound plausible— you know, the dumb blonde?”

Alicia squirmed. “Bollocks.”

Mai grunted. “Please stop grinding your bony arse into my thighs.”

That gave Alicia a moment’s pause. “Never heard that before.” She confessed. “It’s normally the opposite. And
bony?
I’d go more with sexy, full and round.”

Drake stole sidelong glances, but when the bottleneck of Piccadilly Circus loomed ahead, he quickly threw the car to the left and pulled up to the curb. “Quick. Foot traffic here is in the thousands. We’ll lose them among the herd.”

They leapt out, hurrying along the pavement and quickly joining the throng. The London air hit them with a sharp bite. Hundreds of heads and bodies bobbed all around them. Drake made for the corner of the circus and cut along the frontage of The Sting. Bright lights and clothes-store music assaulted his eyes and ears for a second, washing out of the open doors and surrounding him. Then he was past, joining another crowd waiting to cross the road to the small island that separated Regent Street from Glasshouse Street.

“Nip up Glasshouse,” Alicia motioned briefly. “We’ll be able to cut through Soho and use the Leicester Square tube. I’ll Google car rental outlets.”

Drake nodded appreciatively. “Sounds good.”

They crossed the road amidst the mass of tourists, locals and day-trippers as the bright lights of the Piccadilly Circus big screens flashed above them. There was a single moment of loosening up, when Drake’s mind flitted away from their pursuers and refocused on what they might discover about Wells when they tracked his friend, Andrew Black, down to Sevenoaks, and then, from deep in the heart of Piccadilly Circus the unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang out.

Many people paused, their faces frozen in fright. Even now, unable to believe their eyes, they didn’t react, just listened, awaiting that second shot that would confirm what they dreaded and possibly end their lives.

But Drake, Alicia and Mai reacted in an instant. Drake said, “There’s a hundred kids around here.”

Alicia’s face no longer bore a playful expression. Instead, it bore the look of a stone-cold killer. Mai’s voice, always light, was barely audible: “I know all about blood and death but this won’t stand.”

As if by telepathy, they knew what they had to do. Drake picked his way swiftly through the uneasy throng, his training helping to make him aware of the area where the shooter stood. Mai and Alicia drifted rapidly toward his associates, mingling with and emerging from the crowd like deadly wraiths. In rapid movement, they struck and withdrew, leaving crumpled men in their wakes but never attracting immediate attention.

Drake faded behind a group of brightly dressed women, all wearing tight zebra-print leggings and yellow jackets, all part of some girls’ night out or work party. He slipped around the group as it passed the man with the gun held by his side. Although he tried to conceal it, he couldn’t hide from Drake.

The gunshot had been designed to bring them out, and it worked. But far better than their pursuers would ever know.

Drake brought an arm around the man’s throat and shouted a big “
Hey!”
as if in greeting, while simultaneously breaking the wrist that held the gun, then bringing his free hand up in a pincer grip around his throat.

The man gargled, struggling furiously.

Leaning right in, Drake whispered, “Twenty of you bastards never stood a chance.” He held the man fast until he began to slump, then used his immense strength to drag him carefully over to the steps that surrounded the fountain.

Sirens began to sound in the distance. It made no difference to the Londoners and the tourists as, convinced now that the gunshot had been a backfire, they carried on about their business.

Drake left his man slouched, made a quick decision to throw his firearm into a nearby trashcan, and met Alicia and Mai outside the local Cinnabon shop.

Alicia was licking the frosting off a bun. “Took your time, Drakester.”

“Piss off.”

The sirens were approaching. Mai turned toward Leicester Square. “This friend of Wells,” she said, “has no idea what trouble he’s into, does he?”

“We hope so.” Drake cautioned her. “For all we know, he’s as bent as Wells was.”

“One thing’s for sure,” Alicia said around a mouthful of cinnamon frosting. “In about an hour, he’ll be telling us
all
he knows.”

CHAPTER SIX

Kinimaka jammed his foot to the floor as the three black sedans loomed large in the rearview. The cars were jam-packed with bad guys, sitting three abreast in front and jostling for position in the back. Kinimaka glimpsed at least two of them pressing ear mics and listening intently, nodding with faces as emotionless as granite. One of them took out a gun and slid down a window.

“Uh-oh,” he murmured “I think they just got the kill order.”

“Not a chance,” Gates told him from the back seat. “We’re heading toward central Hollywood.”

Kinimaka wrenched the Chevy around a tight curve. Screeching tires came from behind as all three sedans fought hard to close the gap. Dahl twisted around in the back seat. “Well, we’re in the right place for a car chase.”

There was a
ping
and a quick explosion of noise. Dahl shook his head, unruffled. “So now they’re shooting. Bloody Americans.”

But Belmonte was far from calm. “Shooting! Get a move on, big guy. My God, you take one step out of London and you’re in the Wild West!”

Kinimaka said nothing, just rolled his eyes toward Hayden in the passenger seat. As they took another bend, weaving around two SUV’s, Hayden’s window went opaque, turning into a spider-web of tiny cracks.

Gates shrank in the back seat. Kinimaka increased the speed again, but he was getting close to becoming dangerous and there were hundreds of civilians around, both mobile and pedestrian.

Hayden pointed to a sign. “Drop onto the I10, then head for the hills.” She sighed at her own choice of words. “If they want a fight, we can give it to them there.”

A black sedan roared up behind them, barely an inch off their rear bumper.

Kinimaka evaded the vehicle with a quick shift to the left. “If we can get there,” he said and spun the car at the last moment, taking the off-ramp to the I10 Freeway. The car shot up, slewing dangerously before he got it under control, and barreled into the flow of traffic. The sudden maneuver put some space between them and their pursuers, and Kinimaka used the advantage to move into the emptiest lane and floored the Chevy.

But the sedans were powerful, and they were reckless. They began to close the gap almost immediately. Another shot boomed out, this one glancing off the side.

Hayden jammed down a speed-dial button on her cell phone. “Ben? Tell me you got something on the location of that third tomb?”

The reply made her forehead tighten. “Well, work faster. We’re screwed out here. Time just became our enemy.” Then she shook her head in exasperation. “I can’t talk now, Ben. This is real fucking life!” She ended the call with an abrupt shake of the wrist.

Kinimaka jammed the brakes hard as a BMW drifted arrogantly into their path. The driver’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he saw all the guns waving in his direction and shunted swiftly away. The Hawaiian drove cleverly, always using other cars to block the sedans and employing varying speeds to keep them guessing and off-balance.

“Get off here!” Hayden shouted. Kinimaka saw a sign that read “Hollywood Freeway” and again took a late turn, hitting the ramps at speed and swerving onto the hard shoulder to evade a white Chrysler being carefully driven by a couple of tourists.

The sedans came hustling down the ramp. One of them clipped the Chrysler and sent it slamming into the concrete wall. A crunch of metal rent the air, loud even over the screaming engine. The sedan went into a spin. Hayden took the chance to smash her window, lean out and fire a whole clip into it, striking chassis, windows, wheels and engine. In another moment, it struck the curb and flipped, tons of metal in mid-air, and landed with a deathly sounding thud. Debris scattered all across the road.

The other two sedans left it behind, still in hot pursuit.

“Those other people—” Dahl said.

“It’s a Chrysler,” Hayden told him. “They’ll be fine.”

The 101 Freeway took them north past West Hollywood and toward the famous hills. Hayden used the time to call in the pursuit to her local CIA office and Gates finally found the nerve to sit up and make a few calls.

After ten minutes, they both sat back, uneasy expressions on their faces. “If I didn’t know better, sir,” Hayden said with a glance back at her boss. “I’d say our asses were being hung out in the wind.”

“You underestimate,” Gates almost whispered, having turned whiter than Wite Out. “I’d say it’s more like a hurricane.”

“We on our own, boss?” Kinimaka asked, concentrating hard on the rolling lanes in front of them.

“Not in so many words,” Hayden replied. “I can’t believe they would truly abandon us.”

“Do you not
know
government?” Dahl snorted. “It’s what they do.”

“Not to a US Secretary of Defense,” Hayden shot back. She wished now that Gates was firing on all cylinders, running at his best, rather than floundering underneath weeks of hell and hardship and unspeakable loss. If he were on top form, they might be able to dig their way out of this.

What would her father do? What would Drake do?

“Fight,” she said aloud. They would seek out the group behind all this and they would make them pay dearly. Drake had found the Blood King for God’s sake, the myth made real, and pursued him through the gates of hell. Drake had shown her the way—now it was up to her to heed the lesson.

The off-ramp for Mulholland shot by on the right —her first route into the hills. “Take the next off-ramp,” she told Kinimaka, annoyed.

The office had responded to her call with a subdued concern. They hadn’t asked any questions. Hadn’t given her any instructions. They hadn’t passed her up the line.

Were Ben and Karin safe?

Kinimaka hit the off-ramp hard, sending Hayden’s head bouncing against the window frame. Her gun fell to the floor and it took her a moment to pick it up and check the whereabouts of their pursuers. By the time she looked around, Kinimaka was weaving desperately between rows of crawling cars and gawking tourist vehicles through a wide entrance and suddenly they were inside an enclosed approach, heading uncontrollably toward a row of ticket boots and flimsy barriers.

“Dude,” Hayden said in a confused voice, “why the hell are you heading into Universal Studios?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I didn’t mean to!” Kinimaka cried. “It was the only way to get through traffic without stopping!”

“Well you’re gonna have to stop soon,” Hayden said sarcastically. “Personally, I prefer the
Jurassic Park
level. Kinda reminds me of work.”

Belmonte shifted uncomfortably in the back. Emma’s body was slouched in the well between his knees and the back seat. “Can we get out?”

“This might work,” Hayden said, thinking hard. “We could lose them in the City Walk.” She turned to Dahl “What do you think?”

The City Walk is an urbane entertainment complex, a lively mix of restaurants, bars and shops, normally crowded.

Dahl bounced around in his seat as they negotiated a series of ramps and almost scraped a high concrete wall. A multi-story car-lot opened out before them.

“I don’t like any of it,” the Swede said dubiously. “Get close. The authorities will be on our arses any minute.”

“Yeah, but which authorities, bud?” Kinimaka muttered.

At that moment, there was a shotgun blast. Hayden’s wing mirror disappeared in an explosion of lead and plastic. Then the rear window shattered, sending shards of glass bursting through the car. Kinimaka ducked and twisted the wheel, slamming them into a parked SUV. The Chevy shuddered as it came to an abrupt stop.