Matt Drake 14 - The Treasures of Saint Germain (22 page)

“We will,” Dahl said. “Now, be ready. We’re on our way.” He was pleased that nobody, especially Kinimaka, revealed that the name was on the merc’s list, and even more so that Sabrina appeared to be a kosher asset.

“If you all die our deal is void and I will find a way to disappear.”

“We can’t stop you. But it would save many lives if you would at least help take Webb down.”

“Once I am safe, I will see.”

Dahl nodded at Kinimaka. “Let’s end this.”

The Hawaiian wound it up, and then they were staring at the house again, this time with new eyes.

“Tighten your armor,” Kenzie said. “That bitch said ‘swords’. Friggin’
swords
.” Her eyes shone. “I can’t wait!”

“Nothing’s moving out there,” Smyth said in some exasperation. “Nothing. If they have defenses, they’re lower profile than a painted-on tire.”

The team re-checked their weapons then drew them for use. Another moment passed before they considered the area one last time, scrutinized the doors and windows, and made their move.

Bending low, running silent, the six-strong team padded through deep snow toward a totally incongruous row of canons. A statue stood silent to their left, the old tank to their right. A second statue showed no signs of life, no slanted eyes suddenly coming alight and shining like full-beam headlights. Dahl reached the canons first and hunkered down, still watching the doors and seeing no movement.

Satisfied, he turned back to check on the team.

Kinimaka came next, slipping and sliding on the soft surface but holding up well. Smyth and Lauren ran close, not speaking but clearly not wanting to be too far apart either. Yorgi came next and then Kenzie, the ex-Mossad agent, suddenly sporting a skip in her step.

Dahl’s jaw hit the floor.

The big gun on top of the huge tank was tracking them, swiveling silently, its enormous barrel following their every step.

“Oh, shiiiiiiiiii—”

Death exploded from every direction.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

Dahl’s warning sent the entire team leaping like acrobats, away from the assumed impact point. It came a split-second later, a totally insane, unexpected blast from the turret gun of a rusted tank, the shell slamming into the piled snow and exploding, flames shooting for yards all around and shrapnel detonating. Most of the shards shredded the snow, peppered the canons or stuck into trees but a few sharp particles passed among the team. Dahl added a cut wrist to his scar collection; Kenzie a gouge to the abdomen. Lauren got a nicked ear, whilst Smyth was lucky enough to see deadly slivers deflect from the stock of his gun.

The door to the house flew open and a steady stream of screaming, black-robed sentries rushed out, all brandishing swords. Kenzie’s reaction was on the verge of orgasmic.

“Oh, come to Momma. Get your sweet, sweet-tempered ass over here!”

She met the first to arrive with gleeful abandon.

Dahl kept his head, raised his handgun, and conserved his bullets. One shot, one man. Around him, his team followed suit.

Smyth ran at the tank, man versus machine, growling and gnashing as if he might chew his way through the bulletproof exterior. The gun barrel stayed still, its occupants probably reloading. Smyth jumped at the vehicle, hit the side and jumped again from a tiny ledge, landing on top. The entry hatch lay before him, as old as the tank and as rusty and vulnerable. He stamped on it, then struck it with the butt of his gun, gratified to see chunks flying off. When the latch broke he hefted the lid and dived away, rolling to the front of the tank. Sure enough, bullets zinged up through the hole, shooting straight up at the sky. He wondered briefly how far they might get and where they might land, and then wished for a grenade.

No such luck.

Dahl shouted at his team to vacate their positions as Smyth hit stalemate with the tank. The robed swordsmen were still coming, half a dozen down and dead, but others leapt over their comrades and poured forward like rats deserting a plague ship. Dahl shot one point blank, the descending sword whistling over his shoulder. The next he barged aside. He deflected a blade with his handgun, clenching his teeth to keep the pain inside, and fired off a quick shot. This man fell to his knees, but then another leapt onto his back and flung himself at Dahl, snarling, robe flying in an impression of Batman or Dracula, sword slicing apart the very air that surrounded them, first left, then right and then left again all in the blink of an eye.

Kenzie whooped it up, disarming the first man who reached her. Free of him she spun and brought the sword arcing down, slicing clean through the arm of her first opponent, whose hand and sword spun away at an alarming rate. On the backswing she sliced a stomach, and then caught the next sword on her own, the clang of metal loud as the churned up ice and floating snow spun all around them, creating a magnificent vision. Kenzie pirouetted, confusing her foe, then left him bleeding. She stabbed and thrust and chopped, taking on battle after battle, and never once looked troubled.

Lauren and Yorgi stayed behind the others, planning their shots well and covering when magazines needed replacing. None reached them, but the enemy kept on coming.

Kinimaka planted himself behind Dahl, a solid rock against which all enemy waves broke. Firing to both sides he also ducked under two sword swings and then brought his bulk up hard, sending his opponents into the air in messy, graceless cartwheels. Fast shooting ensured they were dead before they hit the ground, clay pigeons destined to die.

Dahl backed off a little. The front door of the house continued to belch forth hooded killers. He took a bead on the door and emptied a full mag, filling it and blocking it with twitching bodies. He picked up one man and then another, throwing both into the pile. Kinimaka covered him, and Lauren and Yorgi covered the Hawaiian. Behind them, Smyth wrestled with the tank.

Kenzie twirled at the heart of a melee, bright blade flashing, snow and ice swirling and churning all around her, stirred up by the ferocity of her passing. Gouts of blood flared through the snow, screams erupted, and wherever the fray moved to, it left a pile of broken bodies behind.

A hand reached over the top of the tank’s hatch, but Smyth was ready, firing and blasting away the fingers. He leapt at it, firing straight down, pummeling a body with bullets. The tank didn’t stop humming, but no further sounds were heard. Smyth swore at it and thought his skills might be useful elsewhere.

Kinimaka’s text tone rang out in the heart of battle.

“Crap, hang on.”

Dahl doubled his efforts, guessing what the Hawaiian might be thinking. Sabrina might be suggesting a plan or directing them to Webb. At that moment Kenzie swept toward him, a majestic Queen of Swords, dripping the blood of her enemies and grinning from ear to ear.

That woman is so unbelievably dangerous.

Hard. Relentless. Confrontational. He was sure she cared deep down, but if that were true then the emotion was locked away behind impregnable doors.

Smyth jumped in too, taking the pressure away from Dahl. Feline-fast, he whirled toward Kinimaka. “What is it?”

“Not good. Our thief is out of the house. With Webb. Covered by guards.” He looked around. “Side door!”

Dahl saw it. Another black-robed torrent flooding from another angle, toward the far side of the house where the edge of the roof met the rock of the mountain. Even as he watched, the stream reached the far side.

“Webb!” he cried. “Right there.” He saw Sabrina’s black hair and Webb’s frame and the stick-thin figure of another man near the front of the pack, probably the High Master. The unmistakable sound of a garage door being rolled up prompted his next reaction.

“With me!”

To a man and woman they all broke with the Mad Swede, firing sideways, stopping sword-wielding maniacs in their tracks. Dahl hurdled a canon, sidestepped a bright red telephone box and used a frozen ice sculpture as a screen to race closer to the escapees. As he came around into the open an engine roared to life. Robed sentries spotted him and broke with swords upraised. Dahl slammed home a fresh mag and fell to one knee.

“Come get some, assholes.”

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Dahl squeezed the trigger, loosing shot after shot, aiming for central body mass. The wave of attackers didn’t slow, a dozen men and then more flooding toward him with swords brandished high. From the left came even more, the remainder of those who had exited the front door.

Dahl’s team were spread out, but still coming and fighting hard. Kenzie slashed at those seeking to join the new wave. Kinimaka and Smyth ran low, firing constantly, trying to reach the Swede’s side. Yorgi and Lauren stayed several feet back, surveying the battle from a different, cooler perspective and picking off threats the others didn’t have time to see.

At the side of the mountain, engines roared. The big treble garage was open and swarming with active bodies. The first sign of a vehicle emerging was when a short white nose eased out straight onto the ice. Dahl knew immediately that they had problems.

“Oh, shit. That’s a—”

He didn’t have to finish. Three more vehicles shot out, all different colors. Blue, green, midnight black. Snowmobiles, loaded with people and revving, ready to go. Dahl took off like a streak of lightning, firing constantly. Two sword-wielders came close. He barged one in the chest, hurling him backwards and hit the next practically head on. A withering sack of meat bounced off the Swede and shriveled away to the floor. Another came close, swinging his sword. Dahl ducked under then caught the arm and threw the man overhead, not able to spare the time to see where he landed. Kinimaka was behind now, ducking the airborne attacker and locking onto the snowmobiles.

“No time!” he cried.

The white tracked vehicle shot forward, one of the less popular two-man versions. Not content with that, two robed assassins also clung to the vehicle, somehow perched on the back and holding onto a leather loop. The driver still held his sword but squeezed the throttle with his spare hand and held on.

The second snowmobile, light blue, held Webb and three guards; the third—green—Sabrina and three guards. The last held the thin man and a gaggle of sentries. All at once all four snowmobiles were speeding across the ice and churning up plumes of snow, engines bellowing like angry charging rhinos.

Dahl saw them coming but was still fifteen meters away. He couldn’t shoot with any accuracy on the run and the snowmobiles were already up to twenty miles per hour. They would race past him and be gone before he got anywhere near. A quick glance back showed Kinimaka and Smyth right behind and Yorgi and Lauren tracking them to the side. The robed killers had amalgamated now and were still chasing. Kenzie flitted around their edges like the shadow of death, administering lethal judgment wherever her steel chose to kiss.

He kept running.
Never give up.
Most of the guards around the garage were gone now, clinging to the protesting snowmobiles, so the interior was open and clear. The view inside was galvanizing to say the least.

Dahl grinned. He turned. “Cover the perimeter,” he said.

Dahl ran as Smyth and Kinimaka laid down a screen of lead, quickly whipping a mag out and slamming in a fresh one. Yorgi and Lauren came around the back, whilst Kenzie broke away and jumped over a kneeling Smyth, holding her new sword high.

Dahl roared up atop a new snowmobile. “Ya got one of those things spare?”

Kenzie hopped on board. “Why? Are you about to go wild?”

“It’s never far from the surface.”

Kenzie found a discarded blade quickly, plundered from the guards they had shot whilst the tracked vehicles made their escape. Then, a sword in each hand, she leaned over Dahl’s right shoulder, her lips close to his ear.

“Ride it hard, Torsten.”

The snowmobile pounced faster than a striking panther. Kenzie’s head whipped back and Dahl hunched over the controls. He jerked a hand at Smyth. “Four more back there. Get a move on, mate.”

The vehicle felt heavy, tracking over the packed ice and then the soft snow, but the handlebars turned easily and the windshield offered good protection. He ignored all the little buttons, trusting that all he needed was speed and power. He already knew where the brake lever was, but had no intentions of using it. In the mirror he saw Yorgi and Lauren emerging from the enormous garage, both astride snowmobiles and angling them toward Kinimaka and Smyth, who continued to hold off the robed sentries. Their job was made easier by dozens more men heading into the garage to view what was left.

Should have disabled the rest.

No time!

Gliding and springing over the snow and unseen bumps, he swerved in the tracks of the rearmost vehicle. They were gaining as their enemies were heavier, hampered by unbalanced men, and having to closely follow three other vehicles; clearly with no distinct plan in mind.

Dahl tried sighting over the windshield whilst guiding the handlebars with one hand, found it didn’t work and almost sent them somersaulting into a tree. Kenzie rapped him on the top of the head.

“Get closer, idiot.”

“Thanks. I figured that one already.”

They raced closer. Behind, Kinimaka clung to Yorgi whilst Smyth looked, not surprisingly, rather unhappy seated behind Lauren. The New Yorker chewed her lips like gum as she concentrated hard to steer and keep them safe. A horde of sentries screamed after them, but now with no chance of keeping up. In the far distance Dahl heard the sudden roaring start-up of more engines.

“We have to end this.”

“Just get me close.”

The tracks slipped and leaped, never still. Dahl shifted the handlebars, taking the bumps in his stride. Lauren roared a bit closer, prompting Kenzie to slap him hard on the back. He pushed it to the absolute limit, sensing he’d held off a little for safety’s sake. He could see the thin man now, the voluminous robe wrapped around him and yet still billowing out. Swords bristled all around him. Dahl was conscious that they had to get past almost every snowmobile to reach Webb’s.