The Tomb of the Gods (Matt Drake 4) (6 page)

Dahl was the first to move, unbuckling his seat belt, opening the back door and shouting at them to get a bloody move on. The two chasing sedans squealed to a halt about twenty feet away. Hayden and Kinimaka rolled out of their doors, guns up.

Hayden ducked behind her door for cover, shouting at Gates. “Stay low!”

The sound of gunfire erupted across the parking lot.

Cayman’s men were rushing forward, ten of them, staying low and firing constantly. Behind them, newly arrived vehicles were slamming brakes on or turning around and racing off. The sound of multiple fender-benders split the air.

Bullets impacted Hayden’s door, pinging into the metal. She fired blindly around the frame. Kinimaka was having better luck, using the Chevy’s roof to lean on and picking his targets. Three of Cayman’s men had already collapsed, groaning. But the rest came on. There were too many to stop them all.

Dahl raced off around the back of the SUV they had hit. He went so fast that no one except Hayden saw him, and within seconds, he had re-emerged from the vehicle’s far side, running hard, heading straight for the advancing men, but from their side, a flanking maneuver. He fired four bullets, four head-shots. The sudden onslaught made Cayman’s remaining three men duck for cover. One of them rolled and fired at Dahl, but the shot hit the overhead concrete ceiling and glanced off into the hood of a parked car.

Dahl looked around, shaking his head. This was a family place, a kid’s sanctuary. He would never have let them enter the City Walk; he would have surrendered or died first. Some operatives and even some governments accepted collateral damage. But he would never allow it.

Beyond the parking lot, he saw a long escalator packed with families. Past that he saw the flickering lights of the City Walk itself. Too close. This fight not only had to be contained here, it had to end here.

At that moment, there came the roar of an engine and one of the black sedans inched forward.
The drivers!
He had forgotten about the bloody drivers. No matter. Before the vehicle picked up any amount of speed, he sprinted toward it and leapt onto the hood, landing on his side facing the driver with his gun pointed at the man’s face.

Sporting the big smile he usually reserved for killing megalomaniac fashion designers.

The driver’s expression fell. Dahl pulled the trigger. The windshield exploded and blood sprayed the inside of the car as the vehicle veered sideways. Dahl let himself slide off, rolling when he hit the concrete.

Just in time to hear the second sedan roar.

Behind him, he heard Hayden and Kinimaka firing at Cayman’s remaining three stooges. One of them screamed. All good. He fired at the sedan’s tires, bursting one, but then the gun ran out of bullets. Still, Dahl was not perturbed. As the vehicle slewed out of control toward him, the Swede leapt feet-first onto the hood and then, with the grace of a dancer rather than the bulk of a six foot six inch Special Forces soldier, sprang lightly onto the roof itself.

A second before the vehicle crashed, Dahl jumped clear, rolling until the momentum dispersed. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw the driver smash against the windshield, not full-force but with enough of an impact to render him insensible.

Dahl came up, slightly disoriented, and saw Hayden struggling in hand-to-hand with one of their assailants. Hayden was still below par, having been stabbed again by Boudreau recently. Dahl bounded forward and waded in, giving Cayman’s soldier no chance. A knee to the back, a huge, stiff arm across the throat, and a judo flip ensured the man’s head impacted hard with the concrete floor and put an end to any evil aspirations he had ever had.

Hayden panted, holding her side. “Thanks.”

“No problem. But, just to be clear, I’d advise against being stabbed more than once a week.”

Hayden was already used to the leg-pullers. Drake and Dahl were from the same army mold, different educations or not.

Kinimaka looked over the top of the car. “Aloha. We seem to be out of bad guys.”

“Get in.” Dahl eased Hayden into the passenger seat before running around to the driver’s side. “You okay, mate?”

“I’m good.” Kinimaka took the wheel once more. “Where to?”

Dahl checked on Gates. “You okay, sir?” Then Belmonte. “Our thief friend seems alright. Your friend still dead, mate?”

The lack of response told Dahl what he needed to know, that Belmonte, the renowned British thief, did indeed have a heart. He turned to Kinimaka as he climbed into the back. “Start her up, my friend. In the words of most Hollywood couples—
let’s split.
”

The car engine rolled over with a purr. Kinimaka pointed the hood back the way they had come and drove down the exit road. Sirens were blaring over the high concrete barriers, dangerously close.

“We ought to have frisked them.” Hayden looked back at the bodies strewn across the concrete.

“No time,” Dahl said. “We’re barely gonna get out of here without a good Tasing as it is. Kinimaka,” he said with a smile, “try to look... touristy.”

Hayden quickly dialed Ben as they drove. “How we doing?”

The words, spoken quietly across distant airwaves, felt like warm syrup to her brain. “We have a location for tomb number three.”

Hayden abruptly forgot all her aches and pains.
“What?”

She could tell Ben was smiling as he repeated his words. “We have a location for tomb number three.”

Hayden thought quickly. “Listen, Ben. We’re on the run. I don’t know who we can trust. Get out of the building and meet us at LAX. Do it now. Plan B. You get me?”

It had been Drake’s idea, of course. Ben was, by now, comfortable with the concept of a plan B—a “drop everything and get the hell out of there” scenario. This was it. Dahl was signaling her.

“Terminal?”

Hayden nodded and asked. “Which country, Ben?”

“Germany. You won’t believe this, but we’re looking for an extinct volcano beneath one of the world’s oldest castles. Awesome, eh?”

“Ok. We’ll find you. Be. . .” She faltered. “Be safe.”

“I will.”

Hayden heard him mutter something to Karin as he cut the line. She watched Kinimaka thread the needle between two slower cars and approach the exit. So far, so good. No one stepped out to stop them. Of course, there had been a mass desertion of cars in the last few minutes. Their misfortune was now also their security. Flashing blue lights were just entering the park as they left. Big, black unmarked vans were pulling up to the ticket booths.

Dahl shook his head in sorrow. “This’ll ruin some poor kid’s day,” he said with meaning.

Belmonte looked askance at him, still holding Emma. “You thick-skulled Viking.” He sputtered. “How can you?”

“I’m sorry,” Dahl said, much to everyone’s surprise. “But she’s dead, my friend, and your love for her will not bring her back. You can only get even now.”

“Love?” Belmonte said quickly. “She was my protégé. My friend’s daughter. That is all.”

“I think not, but have it as you will. In any case, I believe in the magic of places like this. The cynics call them dens for big business, places for fat cats to get even richer, but I pride myself in one thing—being able to see as a child sees. Disneyland can bring a tear to my eye. Universal and Sea World can fill me with wonder. I see no shame in that. And the person who can’t feel at least some wonder in their hearts as they stroll around the Magic Kingdom I pity because they have no magic left in their lives.”

Belmonte stared at him.

“My children,” Dahl said, “will experience all the wonder of childhood. Because you’re an adult for a very long time.”

Belmonte nodded at him and then laid Emma’s body down gently along the rear footwell. “I get what you’re saying and you’re right. I’m sorry too. I misjudged you. You’re right about getting even. Did Cayman kill Emma?”

“He sure ordered it,” Gates spoke up again now that the action was over. Hayden could see the darkness in his eyes and the black circles surrounding them. The secretary was on a collision course with twin-paths of exhaustion and depression. It was just a matter of time.

“But someone
ordered
him to order it,” Gates finished. “And they’re the people we need to find. They’re the people who are looking for the third tomb and the doomsday weapon inside.”

Dahl nodded in agreement. “I’ll try my man in Iceland,” he said, pulling out a phone. “See what luck he’s had in deciphering the ancient language.”

Hayden looked at her own phone. “If we’re on our way to Germany, heading for the third tomb,” she said, “I guess it’s time to call in Matt Drake.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Drake jabbed the button on the central dash to answer his ringing mobile through the cars Bluetooth connectivity device. “Hayden?”

“Ben and Karin cracked the location of tomb three, Drake. It’s in Germany.”

He sensed Alicia and Mai suddenly rise from their respective positions of repose. Hayden recounted the incidents in LA as quickly as she could. Alicia whistled. “Sounds like we’re missing out on all the action here.”

Drake didn’t look at her. “We’ve had some action of our own.”

Alicia snorted. “We joined playtime at nursery.”

Drake told Hayden about their day so far. “Which leaves us about twenty miles out in the middle of nowhere. Nearing Sevenoaks, and the home of Wells’s friend.”

“According to our online gurus, we’ll be landing in Germany about three a.m., German time. Can you make it by then?”

Drake made a few quick calculations. “If we get lucky with the flight times, we won’t be far behind you. So long as Wells’s old friend is cooperative.”

Mai said, “Excuse me. You say you’re ‘on the run’ now. Are you not CIA? Are you running from your own agency?”

“No. It’s a whole new ballgame now. We’re
choosing
to run because we don’t know who to trust at government level. Because every second counts if we’re to beat Cayman to that tomb, and because we have the resources to seize it.”

“You think?” Alicia sounded surprised. “Cayman seems to be bollock-deep in resources by what I’m hearing.”

“The Secretary has some major pull, as you know,” Hayden said. “The only problem is when you start to exert that kind of pull—most everyone hears about it.”

“So. . .”

“So we’re calling on people from smaller units that owe us. Units from Europe. Some of Dahl’s buddies. Komodo’s men. Whoever and whatever’s available are hauling ass to meet us there.”

“I know some people,” Mai said quietly. Drake eased the rental car, a snazzy new Nissan Juke, off the country road and onto an even quieter B-road. He pointed at a property ahead, lit by a patch of soft garden lighting. “We’re here.”

Hayden pushed one last time. “The race is on, guys. We need to get to that tomb and find this doomsday weapon before Cayman does.”

“Understood,” Drake said. “I’ll find some men. Wells wasn’t my only friend in the SAS.”

He killed the engine and the phone call. They quietly exited the car. Drake took a moment to look around. Moonlight threw a stark glow across the scene. A large two-story house stood in front of them, curtains drawn against the night, a soft glow emanating from a downstairs room. Sporadic shrubs dotted the garden as if planted on a whim. Drake noticed that the garage door was only halfway down, the telltale sign of a man unused to late night visitors and not worried about local thieves.

They formed a wary huddle outside the front door. “Eyes peeled,” Drake said and knocked.

In a matter of moments, the porch light clicked on. Then a voice came from behind the door, a shadow outlined through the patterned glass. “Yes?”

“Andrew Black?” Alicia spoke up because a woman’s voice coming from outside your door on pitch-black night was always going to be less threatening than a man’s.

“Who is it?”

“We’re friends of Wells.”

“Who? I don’t know any Wells. Now please—”

Mai shook her hair out, unbuttoned her coat and stepped into the light. “Just check, Mr Black. Just check whatever hidden camera you have. I’m Mai Kitano. Wells may have mentioned me.”

Silent moments passed, measured only by the unruly blasts of a menacing wind and the ragged gusts of storm clouds across the silver-patched skies. At length, the shadow returned. “There should be a password,” an inscrutable voice whispered. “I hope to God you know it.”

“It’s either
Maitime
or
sprite,”
Mai said with impatience. “Now open the damn door.”

A fumbling preceded the appearance of an old man’s head in the frame. Andrew Black was bald and probably rounding sixty, but when he stepped into sight, Drake saw he was still fit, shrewd and capable.

“The legend herself.” Black stared at Mai with genuine delight. “Never thought I’d get the pleasure.”

“You won’t,” Mai said. “But try Myles here. If you live in the UK, you’re probably related to someone who has.”

“Oooh.” Alicia laughed, not taking any offence. “The sprite cracked a funny. What next? Stories of her
undercover
years in Thailand?”

Andrew Black led the way into a warmly lit living room. Pristine leather sofas and easy chairs stood all around, as if trying to occupy the space. Old family photographs crammed the walls. Wells’s old friend had all the trappings of a man who’d raised, loved and set free a family, and now lived only for the everlasting memories that remained imprinted on his heart.

“Wells did talk about you.” Black motioned them toward the chairs. “Sometimes he talked about little else, truth be told. But he was very clear with his instructions. If you ever came by,
ever
, I was to give you everything. Every bit of his research.”

“Research?” Drake frowned. “What on earth would Wells be researching?”

“The Shadow Elite, of course.” Andrew Black looked at Drake as if he were a shop-floor dummy. “Wells was making careful investigations into the small group of people who run our world, Mr. Drake. And he was making some remarkable progress.”

*****

“Shadow Elite?” Mai’s voice was the essence of politeness, but forced Black to get to the point.