Matt Drake 14 - The Treasures of Saint Germain (9 page)

“Chemistry. Versailles palace. Transylvania. What’s the connection?” Dahl shrugged.

Hayden brandished the cellphone. “Let’s head out,” she said. “There’s nothing more here for us to do. Get some rest guys, because when this all plays out I’ve a feeling we’re gonna need it.”

*

Argento came through the old fashioned way. He called Hayden and she called the team together, and they traipsed down from their hastily acquired rooms to a cold, empty conference room. They all sat about the dusty table, staring at the bare floor and shivering, watching the windows grow brighter as dawn began to rise.

“You mentioned he’d get desperate.” Hayden nodded at Beau. “You were right. Webb is now on the trail of something else, another part of the quest. The guy’s injured, hounded by whoever those mercs are working for, and now hunted by us. Not to mention half of Europe.”

Beau nodded. “He has no choice.”

“He also knows the Dubai-run group will be waiting for him at every stop,” Drake pointed out. “I hope he’s a sniveling bloody wreck.”

“Not Webb,” Beau said. “He truly believes he is owed something. The man will assume he’s able to dodge bullets until this is over.”

Hayden laid her cellphone on the table and hit the speaker. “Go, Armand.”

The Italian Interpol agent let loose in characteristic fashion. “So, this Webb, he is running around like a boy chasing a mouse, yes? He seems to be following a trail, a map maybe, who knows? But until Versailles he kept it all very quiet, on the
down-low
as you Americans say.”

Hayden nodded agreeably. Drake stared at Alicia and then at Dahl, eyes wide and lips about to start flapping. Then the Swede chuckled. “Now,” he said. “Now you see what it’s like.”

Argento’s word-storm never abated. “So he’s back on the map, this Tyler Webb. Most wanted scum-sucker in the world, you say. I say there’s worse, but it matters little. Ever heard of the cannibal cult of Peru? No, well, never mind. Interpol knows all. You will catch up. Webb is no longer sneaking, he is in full-tilt, fully-exposed, pressurized mode, hounded everywhere. He needs every ounce of assistance, every last morsel of help he can muster. Clearly, he still has money, influence, a network of sorts.” Argento paused to draw breath before he died of asphyxiation.

The team realized they’d been holding theirs too and gulped air.

“And thanks to your pet Pythian—Nicholas Bell—we now have names, contacts, locations and files for all of them.”

Drake couldn’t help glance over toward Smyth and Lauren, conscious of their differences. The soldier sat tight-faced, eyes fixed dead ahead whilst the New Yorker made a point of shifting in her seat to stare right at him.

“Don’t say it,” Smyth mouthed.

“What? That I told you so?”

“Yeah, that.”

But Argento was forging ahead. “Everything’s monitored. Everything. Webb recently used fake IDs to buy a flight to Barcelona. We can’t intercept that because he only made contact
after
he landed to arrange something else, something very worrying for Interpol. We have no facial recs so he’s now hiding successfully. My friends, you have to get to Barcelona. Fast.”

“Why?” Hayden asked. “What’s so worrying?”

“He bought tickets and arranged to meet a contact at the Camp Nou tomorrow night. And knowing Tyler Webb, the distractions he arranges . . . well, that could be catastrophic. He has no sense of morality.”

Alicia was looking blank, and so was Mai. But Drake sat bolt upright. “The
Camp Nou?
As in the football stadium? Oh shit, is there a match planned?”

“Yes,
mi amico.
A big one. The stadium—it will be full.”

Drake was already on his feet. The rest followed as Hayden headed for the door, Argento’s voice urging them on like incessant machine gun fire. The pictures he painted were truly shattering.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The jet hummed along, thousands of miles above the earth. Darkness pressed all around, a dense cloak enfolding all the simmering secrets that traveled within.

Drake found himself seated around a table with Alicia, Mai and Beau and hours to kill. After eating they sat back and took advantage of the night flight, dozing and day-dreaming. Drake asked Mai about Grace’s welfare, and the ex-Ninja inquired as to Karin. Drake found himself floundering; Karin had been out of touch for weeks and a gentle enquiry had told him she’d almost finished training and was on some kind of special mission. Unhappy, but unable to learn more, he’d swallowed a bitter bullet—it was one thing pulling strings to practically force an unexpected recruit into a unit, it was quite another to then keep track of that recruit.

He told Mai as such.

“It will be hard for her,” she said. “But necessary, I think, if she is to stay with this team.”

After Komodo’s death she could have gone many ways. Drake was pleased she had taken this unexpected route, after losing everything she loved to war. The young woman had buried too many people for this stage of her life.

“She’s a fighter,” Alicia added. “My kinda girl.”

“Do not tell me you’ve kissed her as well,” Beau queried, only half-joking

Alicia shrugged. “Not that I can remember. But who knows? Some of the older things clattering around my mind are a little woozy.”

“Does that include Drake?” Dahl put in with a guffaw from across the aisle.

Drake narrowed his eyes. “You just keep on cozying up to your new bird, mate. You two look real happy over there.”

Dahl looked a little embarrassed, pulling away from Kenzie.

Drake gamely tried to include Beau in their conversation. “So, how did you meet Michael?”

“Crouch?” The Frenchman waved it away. “It is a long story. And not for idle chit-chat. I worked for Crouch and you by infiltrating the Pythians, yes, but the initial decision was not made lightly—” he paused “—or wilfully.”

Drake allowed his eyes to widen. “Bollocks. And here’s me thinking you’re a good guy.”

“No, my friend. Are there any left?”

“I’d like to think so.”

Beau settled back. “I see none. You think Crouch is all good? You ask him one day how he influenced my help.”

Drake found it hard to gauge just how upset Beau was over Alicia. Common sense told him the two had been merely passing time; but intuition said more.
How did it all become so complicated? Everyone happy on the outside, or at least accepting, but what are they all really thinking?

Mai put it out there. “Sleep, I think, is probably best for now.”

Avoid it. Ignore it. Let it heal before you touch it. Drake could think of nothing better.

Hayden and Kinimaka sat at the back of the plane, rows and rows of empty seats between them and the others, ostensibly to plan out their movements in Barcelona.

In truth, mountains were moving.

Hayden twisted her blond hair into a short bob, wrapped herself in an overlarge jacket, and drew her knees up. Kinimaka was droning on about Webb and his clear mortality, and his inability now to stalk them for pleasure.

“It’s over, Mano.” The words were out before she measured them fully. “We need a break.”

The Hawaiian stopped in mid-flow, his face so full of surprise that she hung her head.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know it was coming.”

“I thought we were concentrating on the mission.”

“Then I guess you were wrong.”

Kinimaka coughed. “You sat all the way back here just to tell me we’re taking a break?”

“Well, maybe, I didn’t want the entire team part of our intimate discussions.”

Kinimaka let out a long breath.

Alicia grunted. “You should lower your voice then.”

Hayden gripped the sides of her seat. “What do you want from me, Mano? We’ve been over it a dozen times. It’s too hard to be together so we should both see how we fare apart.”

“This all started when I wouldn’t let you torture Ramses, right?”

“Stop dramatizing it.”

“Or was it before that?”

“A few times,” Hayden admitted. “I thought you could have stepped up a bit quicker.”

“I’ve always been at your side. Through everything.”

“I know. That’s not what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kinimaka agreed and shifted in his seat. “Y’know, there’s no ‘taking a break’, Hay. No month-long breathers or time-outs. You bail now, you bail for good. We’re done.”

It wasn’t him, Hayden knew, but the man was hurting. She’d carved a wound and exposed it, dug deeper and analyzed it. The future held . . . what? More fighting, more hardship.

“Maybe it’s better that way,” she said, not even sure if she believed it. “Maybe.”

He used the seat in front to hang onto as he maneuvered himself out of the seat next to her and walked down the length of the plane. Silence followed their conversation, broken only by the buzz of the plane.

Smyth watched Kinimaka take a new seat and then turned to Lauren. “You wanna end up like those two?”

Lauren spread her hands. “Do you even know what we are now? Right this minute?”

“We fight enough battles,” Smyth said. “Without fighting them between us too.”

“Ya got that right. So why try?”

“You know why. Look at your new boyfriend.”

Lauren pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperated. “Is the child in you your leader, Smyth?”

“I see Nicholas Bell as a terrorist trying to save his ass. You see him as someone trying to turn his life around whilst helping out the good guys. I remember you meeting him in that room, dressed as Nightshade. Who’s right?”

Lauren gestured, the New York swagger clear. “Well, I am. Obvious.”

Smyth stayed quiet, the annoyance clear on his face.

Kenzie leaned into Dahl, no doubt trying to make him feel uncomfortable. “All these problems, eh? Bet you’re so glad to be married.”

The Swede tried not to wince, then stared at Kenzie to see if she was taking the proverbial. Hard to tell. She was ex-Mossad and well trained. He elected to stay neutral.

“We all have our problems, Bridget.”

“Oh, calling me by my first name. That spells doom.”

“No.
You
spell doom.”

“Do you think? After everything I’ve been through—you think I’m damaged beyond repair?”

Shit,
Dahl didn’t know and really didn’t want to get too in depth with her as the plane perceptibly began to descend toward Barcelona. He stared hard at the seatback before him. “Everyone gets damaged. It’s how you heal and move on that counts.”

“I regret ever trusting my superiors,” she said. “I regret later choosing an unlawful life. I regret—” she shrugged “—an awful lot. Doesn’t mean I don’t have hopes.”

He met her gaze. “What hopes?”

“Simple ones, for now. Like living and staying free and helping new friends out.” She laughed.

Dahl measured the flippant remarks and still believed he’d initially been right about her. In Kenzie was the soul of a tortured, betrayed individual struggling to overcome something good and true and right. She hid it well, but the Israeli cared for more than just revenge and ancient artefacts.

“I think you’re on the way to redemption then,” he said with an equally offhand laugh, but held her gaze to make sure his words appeared as heartfelt as they were.

I hope for you.

Sounded corny, somehow wrong. But it felt right.

Dahl watched the runway appear below. Barcelona’s night-blanket was giving way to a pre-dawn drizzle. Somewhere down there terrorists might be planning an event just so they could enable Tyler Webb to slip away once more. An event potentially as large as anything they’d yet seen. The road to hell was open and they all walked its ruthless, terrible byways.

Not this time,
Dahl thought.
We’re a step ahead of you this time.

He hoped.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As they landed and started to disembark, Hayden took a call.

“Argento,” she said before pressing the button.

“I have taken some time to seek out more information on this mysterious group,” he said in a voice loaded with high-spirited Italian reverberations. “They are extremists, fanatics, cracked in the head.”

“My kinda talk.” Drake grinned.

“Terrorists,” Hayden agreed. “And about to take an interest in Barcelona.”

“No, not terrorists,” Argento discharged faster than a cheap battery. “Fanatics yes, but
only
interested in the welfare of one thing. One agenda. Le Comte de Saint Germain.”

Hayden paused on the edge of the runway, just realizing that Kinimaka had been left to fetch her gear.
Shit.

Drake crowded in. “Saint Germain you say? I
knew
it would be all about that guy. Just knew. I’m sure I mentioned it.”

Dahl shook his head. “Not that I recall, mate.”

“How would you know? Barbados was trying to kill you.”

“Well, not the island. Just some of the people.”

“No hard feelings then, eh?”

But the irrepressible Argento was already forging ahead. “So, we are still continuing our investigations. These people, this
cult,
is based in Dubai. The figureheads I mean, and it’s unsure if these figureheads are just that, named people, or if they are involved in the day to day running of the . . .” He paused. “I was going to say cult. Shall we call it a cult?”

“They’re worse than social deviants,” Hayden said. “At least. Let’s call them a cult.”

Argento started to crackle as they entered the airport building. Drake took in the endless panes of ceiling-high glass, the austere corridors and frowning guards.
Must be another airport in another country then.
But at least it wasn’t drizzling in here. A clock told him it was 10 a.m., still plenty of time to get this thing sorted before kick-off time. He noted that Lauren walked along at his side and smiled.

“You okay?”

“I don’t know,” she said quickly. “I’m beginning to wonder why I’m here, you know? My skillset ain’t exactly crucial.”