Matt Drake 14 - The Treasures of Saint Germain (30 page)

Dahl was last, exhausted, but Hayden was at the front, stretching every sinew as she reached out for the Hawaiian. Together, they hauled him through a larger gap, Drake and Alicia and Kenzie still peering within to triple-check no one was still inside. In moments they retreated to the parking lot and then a grass bank that rose up around the boundary. Everyone collapsed onto their backs.

“We good?” Drake panted. “Anything serious?”

“Nothing a shower and a bag of painkillers won’t cure.” Dahl was already sitting up and surveying the chaotic scene. “It looks like a battle zone down there. Surgeons operating between crashed cars.” He hung his head. “I do hope we didn’t help this occur.”

“Not a chance,” Drake said. “Webb brought Amari out and with that came the insanity.”

Lauren sat up. “And we don’t know the outcome of it all.”

“Nor will we for some time,” Dahl responded.

“On the far worse, unimaginable side of all that, stands another possibility,” Hayden said. “That Webb escaped, Amari knows it, and they’re now headed for the final showdown. After this—” she looked at the wreckage “—I can’t imagine what’s next.”

The team worked on restoring their depleted reserves as they watched swarms of medics, doctors and nurses arriving to assist. Police cars motored up and filled the highways. Ambulances sped along and helicopters began to arrive. The spectacle was both uplifting at the sight of human strength and kindness, and depressing that so much effort—if not needed at the whim of a lunatic—could move mountains elsewhere.

Hayden made calls to Argento and DC. Though they knew of the catastrophe they knew little else. Eckernförde, whilst not exactly secluded, was small enough to lack a CCTV network and other security mechanisms. Drake believed Amari would not let it end there. Most likely he’d assume Webb had survived, especially since they were at the end of the quest now. The very last clue led directly to the Philosopher’s Stone, the secret of eternal life, invisibility and teleportation. Webb and Amari were both convinced it was real, and that made it real for the SPEAR team. More than anything, it was the individuals they were chasing. The rest of it was just a flame in a hurricane.

Of course, the Arab needed tracking down. Their job was far from over, even if Webb did lie beneath the rubble.

“Amari?” Dahl said.

Hayden dipped her head. “More than anything,” she said. “But the penultimate clue was here. Now we don’t know anything. I wonder if even he does.”

“Bastard has to turn up somewhere,” Smyth growled. “We’ll grind him to meat.”

Drake watched as a policeman broke away from a knot of doctors and started racing toward them. A look of urgency creased the man’s face.

“Ey up,” he said. “Here comes a cupful of trouble.”

“Aww.” Alicia seemed back to normal. “Sounds like a description of the Little Sprite.”

Mai watched the cop’s approach.

Hayden rose to meet him, Dahl too. Drake was close enough to tilt his head up and listen to what the man had to say.

“Somebody down there,” he panted, “says they know you. They want to talk.”

Drake assumed it was someone they’d helped. “Not necessary. We—”

“The woman is dying.”

The team quieted. Drake closed his eyes. “Of course.”

“She also said you’d respond quicker if I told you her name. Sabrina Balboni.”

Drake felt a catch in his throat. It was their team who had put the Italian master thief in this situation before Beau had betrayed them all. Now . . .

As one, they raced back down the hill on the heels of the cop. Together, they threaded carefully through the throng.

Apart, at least mentally, they surrounded a stretcher where Sabrina lay. The Italian was barely moving and showed no signs of rubble dust. Drake turned to a medic. “How?”

“A knife to the abdomen,” the man said heavily. “As if the explosion was not enough.”

Drake tried to ignore the twist in his soul and leaned over the stretcher. “Sabrina? Can you hear me, love?”

Eyelids fluttered. The black eyes were filled with pain. He could tell that Sabrina recognized him instantly though.

“Hi.”

Her lips quivered. “He . . . he is gone. Beau . . . Beau did this to me.”

Drake’s fists clenched but he beat down the rising anger and put aside Alicia’s terrible muttered curse. He had no right to ask this woman to help them again, but if Webb was loose and the Amari cult in pursuit then nowhere in the world was safe.

“Do you know where?” he asked.

“He has gone . . .” Sabrina broke into a fit of coughing, the wracking gasps making her grimace and starting a fresh blood flow that stained her covering. The medic stepped in. “She needs to go to a hospital.”

“How far?” Dahl asked.

The medic shrugged. “Ten minutes.”

They couldn’t take the risk. Drake leaned so close his lips almost brushed Sabrina’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said. “So sorry, but we need to know everything.”

“He has gone . . .” Sabrina said suddenly, voice strong and startling Drake. “To where Saint Germain still lives. It’s obvious really. The greatest treasure still resides with him to this very day.”

Drake drew away. “Still . . .
still lives?
What the he—?”

Hayden came in from the other side. “Where?” she pressed. “It doesn’t matter what Webb believes. Where has he gone?”

“Believes . . . believes he lives in the French Quarter. New Orleans. Germain has a house.”

“And the treasure?”

“Says Germain chose . . . French Quarter because of . . . diversity. Ingredients he needs. A peculiar variety, he said.” Sabrina held up a hand and Drake took it.

“Get Beau,” she breathed. “Pay him back for me.”

Alicia shouldered her way to Sabrina’s side. “That will be my job and, girl, I’m gonna earn a commendation for it.”

“Than . . . thank you.”

“Hey, no need to thank us,” Drake said quickly. “We’ll come to visit when we’re done.”

“Grapes.” Sabrina tried to crack a smile but all Drake saw was the paramedic’s anxious frown. “No. Wine.”

“I’ll bring an entire rack,” Drake said.

“My—” more coughing “—hero.”

“We should go.” Hayden pulled away.

“One more thing,” Sabrina said as the medic rushed to her side. “One more.” She clasped Drake’s wrist.

“Webb is at his endgame. All finishes now. His life. His vision. Everything for this. He told Beau . . . told him to call in and cash in
all and every resource.
That’s what he said.”

Drake shared a glance with Hayden.
A sentence with utterly terrible connotations.

They allowed the medics to take care of Sabrina and gathered together. Hayden made the call.

“We need a fast flight to Louis Armstrong Airport,” she said. “And a fully loaded team to meet us there. All threats possible. Just put the damn city on alert.”

She headed for a police vehicle. “Finally,” she said. “Tyler Webb’s finished.”

Drake knew most people were at their most vulnerable when approaching victory.

All and every resource?

Wait until he got a taste of what the SPEAR team brought.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

New Orleans smoldered beside the great snake of the Mississippi River, a city rebuilt and rebuilt again and still thriving not the least from the great community spirit. The French Quarter was New Orleans’ oldest neighborhood, a tourist hotspot and home to almost every vice, amusement and entertainment a person could imagine. Mostly pronounced
new oar-linz
, and seemingly unaware of compass directions—neighborhoods were uptown, downtown, river or lake—it appeared subject to its own rules and regulations . . . one of the few places in the United States where you could drink liquor outside, where people rode streetcars not trams, and where the dead were always buried above ground in raised mausoleums.

A good place then for procuring odd constituents and mixing old elements, a good place to find the impossible and attempt the incredible. The hard part? Almost nothing is pronounced as it’s spelled.

Drake exited the car first as they stepped out onto Bourbon Street, the center of the vibrant hive. The area was busy, noisy and incredibly alive. He felt exposed, atypical, though nobody noticed. The big van was unmarked as were the two that came after, the weapons kept concealed for now. No threats had been issued, no uncommon activity registered. The authorities were subtly heightening their presence and drafting in help. Drake wanted to bag Webb before larger contingents arrived.

But where’s the madman?
he wondered.
Where do the loonies congregate around the Quarter?

Their research aboard the plane, whilst not of Karin Blake quality, had yielded some results. The legend was that Saint Germain had reinvented himself some time ago, moved to New Orleans and passed into obscurity. No questions were posited as to why or how, not even the simple ones, but Drake found that was usually the way with legends that endured. Webb himself believed in it and was on the final hunt for the elixir of life right here. The gloves were well and truly off.

The team spread out around and behind him, Alicia at his side. As a bunch, they had been rather subdued since leaving Sabrina, and had received no updates since. Alicia saw that as a good sign. During the long flight they had either slept or feigned it; nobody wanted to deal head-on with the issues Webb had raised.

Drake caught Alicia looking at him and gave her a wink. Then he saw Mai also watching and was reminded of the last time they were together. In bed. The sudden recollection dried his mouth out.

Hayden led the way up onto the sidewalk. “So rather than aimless wandering we do have a plan.” She spoke into the comms for benefit of the other teams present. “Do not forget that Amari will be here, and potentially even more of a destructive threat than Webb. Do not forget Webb has bet his whole deviant life on this very day and night. They both have resources—Amari’s as far-reaching as Webb’s used to be. And Beauregard Alain? Do not underestimate him. Lethal force may be required. I think that’s about it. Shall we move out?”

The question was rhetorical, but then a voice spoke out. “Umm, not quite yet.”

A new vehicle pulled up. Drake dropped his hand and moved closer to cover. Dahl and Kinimaka stepped to the front; Smyth and Lauren to the back. The doors opened and three serious looking bodyguards stepped out, surveying the area. Black sunglasses and suits spoke of government, and the busy surveillance shouted Secret Service. Drake attempted to keep his jaw stuck together.

Hayden failed. “Is that . . . ? It’s a woman. Ah crap. Not now. We can’t guarantee her safety.”

But there was no stopping Kimberly Crowe. The middle-aged, new Secretary of Defense was a slim, fit woman who clearly worked out. The bones of her cheeks were prominent, the clip of her heels quick and sharp. She approached Hayden, then stopped just a meter away.

“You think this is inappropriate don’t you?”

Hayden measured her response. “Is this a flying visit, Madam Secretary?”

“I’m here to help.”

Drake saw the determination on Crowe’s face. Nobody would say the obvious aloud, so he started to wonder how to phrase a response, but then Alicia stepped in.

“Our track record ain’t that good with Secretaries of Defense.”

“To safeguard you, Madam, would impact our effectiveness,” Hayden amended.

“I have my guards.” Crowe swept her hand toward the three men.

Dahl snorted. “You steal ’em from kindergarten?”

“And you might be subjected to some coarseness,” Hayden added quickly.

“We can take it. And I can take a back seat.” She motioned. “Lead on.”

Conscious that Crowe’s appearance could mean anything from an inquisitive visit to a brief evaluation, to a full-on appraisal of the team’s value to the nation, Hayden turned away. The Secretary knew the risks.

It was time to hunt.

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

The plan was simple, and far easier than trawling through thick layers of digital dust and numerical highways. Hayden explained it to the Secretary as they moved out.

“As with all enemies, we usually put aside Webb’s beliefs, crazy or not, as they can’t help us here. But his life’s work? That’s key. This man has been leading up to the creation of an alchemical formula called the Philosopher’s Stone, a substance also known as the elixir of life. Once the most hunted prize on the planet, it’s now Webb’s ultimate goal.”

“I’ve heard of it.”

“But its history is fascinating. It can be traced back to Adam, who got the knowledge from God. Passed down among biblical patriarchs, it was how they achieved their durability. It involves the Temple of Solomon, and Psalms in the Bible.”

“But you put that aside, right?” Crowe said. “As a little kooky.”

“Yes and no,” Hayden said. “On this occasion it could help. The Internet is vast, and full of lies. Who knows which facts are actual facts anymore? Especially when they relate to a three-hundred-year-old Count. If we had time to research properly, old books, old libraries, museums and such, we could work it out. But we never do. Real life moves too fast to take a breather. Real soldiers and real teams have to think and study on the go.”

Crowe followed Hayden between groups of revelers. “Makes sense. But I still don’t hear your point.”

“All right. Webb believes, through learning the secrets of alchemy, teleportation, invisibility and with advice from the Freemasons handed down from their ultimate founder, he can concoct this Magnum Opus. That’s why he embarked upon this quest only after locating Leopold’s scroll. To make the liquid, he will now need the right ingredients.”

“To make the Philosopher’s Stone?” Crowe looked immensely skeptical. “And you know what they are?”

“We do. I believe it’s knowing how they’re mixed that changes the outcome. Anyway, during the flight we had the FBI techs tracking local purchases of phosphorous. A certain urine. Special morning dew. Ammonium niter. Magnesium chloride. A few other materials that create sophick; salt, sulfur and mercury. Yes, some of the establishments around here are extremely secretive about what they sell, but others are either complacent or carefully cooperative.”