Matt Drake Book 9 - The Plagues of Pandora

by David Leadbeater

  They drank.

  They filed out.

  “We will meet again very soon,” Webb told them in parting. “For the official launch of our first real project. Before we own this world and all its sins, we will set it alight.”

  The converted nodded to him.

  “A pyre for our pleasure.”

  “To raise a new empire,” Stone said. “You must first burn the old one to the ground. History has taught us that.”

  Webb placed a hand on the general’s solid shoulder. “The fires have already begun, my friend. And they are unstoppable.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Matt Drake leaned forward and reached out a hand, tentatively, questioningly, wondering if he were about to die.

  Komodo handed the soft, dumpy object to him.

  Drake sniffed at it carefully. Mai rolled her eyes. “What? Do you think it’s about to explode?”

  Drake looked non-committal. “Dunno, love. It’s a bacon sandwich made by an ex-Delta soldier, an American, in Washington DC, inside the Pentagon. How can anything good come of that?”

  “Yorkshire ain’t the only place that makes a good sarnie,” Karin spoke up in defense of her beau. “T-vor here can make ‘em just as good. Go on. Try it.”

  Drake laid the bread on the table, beside the local steak sauce and a proper bottle of HP. “It just . . . doesn’t feel right.”

  “For God’s sake,” Dahl exclaimed. “Eat it or I’ll stuff the bloody thing down your throat.”

  Drake felt his lips turn sharply upward. It was good to get the entire team back together, especially since they weren’t in any immediate danger or about to undertake a deadly operation. Lately, they had been hopping from one danger to the next. But now . . . two weeks had passed since the demise of his greatest nemesis. The gods had seen fit to reward their success with some much deserved downtime.

  Still, shadows were never far from their hearts and minds. Mai remained distant, focused on some past terrible deed and occupied full-time with Grace’s welfare, as if she owed the young girl more than she could ever repay. Deep grieving mode returned to haunt them all at various parts of the day as they were reminded of loved ones they had recently lost. Indeed, Drake and everyone else experienced a form of guilt at not thinking of Ben Blake or Romero or Jonathon Gates in the passing of an entire afternoon. The life of a survivor was never an easy passage.

  Drake bit into the sandwich, savoring the taste of the crispy bacon with its accompaniment of brown sauce. “Not bad,” he murmured. “Not bad at all.”

  “Coming from a real Yorkshireman,” Karin said, “that’s high praise.”

  Komodo proceeded to hand out a tray of sandwiches and bottles of water, their first food inside their all-but-impregnable latest HQ. Provided by the new Secretary of Defense—Robert Price—the large, well-equipped office inside the Pentagon was just what they needed at this point. The SPEAR team had been bombed, assaulted, wounded and torn apart. Two weeks convalescing and quietly occupied with learning the ins and outs of a new routine was more than a soothing balm, it was a major part of the healing process.

  Of course, the team wasn’t complete. Not without Alicia Myles. Drake ranked her absence as dangerous to all mankind—not just because of the person she was but for the simple fact that she had never once slowed down, never mourned, never departed from the long, well-travelled road to allow time and losses and circumstance to catch up.

  The time was coming when it would, and the outfall from that particular nuclear explosion would taint them all.

  Drake finished his sandwich and turned to Mai, attempting again to engage at least a part of her interest. “Any news on Grace?”

  “Nothing yet.” The unknown seventeen-year-old that Mai had rescued from a terrible captivity had been called to a meeting with investigators today. Maybe they had unearthed something from her past. Drake hoped so. Mai had wanted to accompany Grace, but the child, independent, angry and guarded to the last, had insisted she go alone. This was part of her past and her future, part of growing up and moving on.

  What else haunts you, Mai? he wanted to ask. All he knew was that Mai believed she had murdered a man that worked in part for the Triad, and that the memory was tearing her apart. In the words of those that often felt responsible for deeds beyond their control: Blame all your life on me.

  With no more information coming and, judging by his girlfriend’s face, no more about to be offered any time soon, Drake turned his mind to happier thoughts. Hayden Jaye, wounded in the final battle with the Blood King, had healed well and was now back up to full strength—if a little sore. One of the main reasons that she had recuperated so quickly sat beside her now—the Hawaiian mountain—Mano Kinimaka. With a sandwich in each hand and an eye to his colleagues, Kinimaka failed to notice the sauce slipping out from the bread. But Mano was used to accidents.

  At the back of the large room, Smyth leaned against the wall, a cantankerous look stretched across his features. Drake knew the man well enough by now to know that didn’t necessarily mean he was in a bad mood; it was a sign that all was well in the land of Smyth and could even mean he was daydreaming about the Easter Bunny.

  Hayden, reinstated as leader of their elite group, called the meeting to order. “I hope you’ve all had a good rest because the devils of this world won’t stay inert for long, and already we’re seeing the beginnings of new troubles. Not with us today are Yorgi—the suits don’t want to issue a Pentagon pass to an ex-Russian thief and jailbird—and Lauren, who has undertaken a mission for Mano, more of which I’ll explain some other time.”

  “Why?” Smyth asked touchily. “Why not now?”

  Hayden stared. “Because the nature of the job she performs for us is somewhat delicate, and if it doesn’t pan out, then it will remain undisclosed.”

  Smyth snapped his mouth shut. Kinimaka cleared his throat. “You do well to keep quiet, Smyth. Even I don’t know what she means.”

  Smyth looked unconvinced. Hayden continued, “With the final demise of Coyote we believe all remaining threats of the Blood King’s vendetta against us and our families have passed. I guess you could call this a new era, even a new beginning. Now, before concentrating their efforts on Coyote, Drake and Mai travelled to Russia, chiefly to Zoya’s abode.”

  “The crazy grandma,” Kinimaka put in.

  “The best footballer in Russia,” Drake added.

  Hayden took a breath. “Anyway, in addition to their findings relating to the Ninth Division and Coyote’s identity, they instructed us to smuggle out as much of the woman’s treasure pile as we were able. That included relics and artefacts which we haven’t yet been able to identify, in addition to dossiers of information on a treasure trove hidden by crusaders, a lost kingdom, and this new group—the Pythians. Zoya appears to have collected a wealth of information and dirt on just about everything, and the worst of her labors will bear our team the best fruit for years to come.”

  “Do we have any credible threats?” Smyth asked, as if trying to make Hayden come to the point.

  “They’re all credible,” Hayden answered. “We recovered enough information on the Thule Society to keep two analysts busy for a month. The problem comes in deciding which one needs our attention most.”

  “The Thule Society?” Kinimaka asked.

  “A German occultist group and secret society within the Nazi party. Their ancient myth research arm, if you will. They were even named after a mythical country from Greek legend and spent millions of Reichsmarks and countless lives searching for places such as Atlantis, Mu, Hyperborea and other lost civilizations that they believed might hold the origins of the Aryan race. Members included people such as Rudolf Hess, Hans Frank, Goring, Himmler and, probably, Hitler.”

  The Hawaiian pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess they were serious about their lost kingdoms.”

  “They were more serious about their Aryan origins. But are they the prime threat here today or tomorrow? I think not.”

  Dahl
shifted in his seat. “I’m guessing you have more than just idle speculation on that front.”

  Drake held up a hand. “In the Queen’s English he means ‘which one?’ ”

  Dahl furrowed his rows. “Since when did the Queen come from bloody Yorkshire?”

  “Since your wife came to DC, started keeping you up all night, and turned you into a whipping boy.”

  Dahl rounded on Drake. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business!”

  “You’re not denying it then.”

  Dahl gritted his teeth. Hayden intervened. “In answer to both questions—yes. We’re taking the Pythians most seriously. In fact, more seriously than any other threat in recent memory.”

  That made Drake do a double take. “What? Why?”

  “We already know they’re recruiting big. Trying to make a name for themselves. Not interested in staying secret. They’re the new breed, the very real face of terror that no longer wants to hide behind a mask. But we don’t believe they’re terrorists as such, they’re power-mongers, intent on pulling the strings that make the world turn. We gathered as much from Zoya’s notes and the interrogations of mercenaries rejected or hired by their network. We know they have unlimited funds, government-level resources and leverage the like of which we’ve never seen, not even with Kovalenko. We know they’re searching into the legend of Pandora, though in what way we can only guess. Maybe it all leads toward this ‘greatest mystery of all time’.”

  “It doesn’t necessarily make them more dangerous than the next bunch of crazies on our list,” Mai said gently.

  Hayden nodded. “Yesterday I would have said ‘you’re right’. But then . . . this.” She hung her head and flicked a controller at the TV screen, saying no more.

  Drake watched a news report from the Fox channel, the coverage restricted to events that had transpired in a small, secluded town in mid-America. In one afternoon, 90 percent of the admittedly small population had been poisoned. Men, women, children. All attending some kind of celebration, all dead within minutes of ingesting a deadly liquid.

  When it ended, Drake turned to Hayden. “It’s horrifying, but I can’t see how it relates to our secret organization trying to rule the world. Was one of the dead a Pythian? Did they find something in his house?”

  Hayden shook her head. “No. The Pythians claimed responsibility for the killings.”

  Drake was speechless. One look around the room told him the rest of the team shared similar feelings of disbelief.

  “To what end?” Dahl asked. “What could they possibly gain from such slaughter?”

  “Notoriety,” Hayden said quietly. “A deadly status. Their intentions and the depths they will sink to have been clearly defined. We don’t know if they’re home-grown or foreign but they’re now on everyone’s radar. Following this and threats in many countries, the Pythians have quickly become world enemy number one.”

  “And they already have an army,” Drake recalled. “Christ, if this is their opening performance what’s their first act gonna be like?”

  Hayden nodded. “And, it bears the question, their last?”

  “Women.” Dahl stared at the TV screen. “Children. We will destroy them all for this. And anyone that has even a dirty fingernail in their organization.”

  Drake found his voice again. “We will.”

  Hayden turned the TV off and drank from a bottle of water. “The Pythians are a global threat,” she said. “We just don’t know their extent or true numbers. To that end, Drake, I’d like you to enlist Alicia and her new team in our efforts.”

  Drake felt a surge of pleasure, but didn’t let it show. “Alicia and Crouch and their team just found a horde of Aztec Gold after destroying half of Vegas and Africa. I’m not sure they’ll be ready for something like this.”

  “Something like this?” Hayden echoed. “Alicia is always ready for anything, and the sheer size of it means they have to be ready. Perhaps they won’t be called upon, but contact Crouch, Drake. And Alicia. Put them on standby. It has to be said—they would want you to.”

  “Damn good point,” Smyth rasped. “I sure wouldn’t wanna get on Myles’ bad side.”

  Drake and Mai shared a look. “It’s a nasty place to be,” he admitted and Mai grunted her affirmation. “I’ll make the call.”

  “One more thing before we start,” Hayden said, her blond locks bobbing vigorously as she felt a galvanizing sense of purpose swamp her system. “Not necessarily related but worth a recap. Whilst I’ve been convalescing and most everyone else was playing their little tournament with Coyote, something Jonathan said kept creeping back to me. Something I think may be important.”

  At the mention of the old Secretary of Defense—their murdered friend and benefactor’s name, the team sobered, Drake in particular. It was hard enough to find a true friend in this world, let alone a trustworthy official, but Jonathan Gates had proved to be both. No doubt Jonathan had harbored his secret demons, but who didn’t? The poor man’s wife had been killed by the Blood King, early on in Drake’s SPEAR campaign, and then the man himself had been gunned down by Kovalenko’s men as he started to accept somebody new. Some had even whispered about a possible presidential campaign.

  “What was it?” Kinimaka broke Drake’s reverie.

  “Remember General Bill Stone? The man that stood against us during the whole tomb of the gods saga? He wanted the tombs for the US alone, or perhaps for himself, and actually won the support of the White House.”

  “I remember,” Dahl said quietly.

  “Well, luckily he didn’t get to fulfil his plan, but something about him raised Jonathan’s antennae. Jonathan said ‘Bill Stone is into something, something deep’. An ulterior plan. He requested that Lauren Fox find out what it was, then changed his mind in the interests of . . . decency, I guess. Stone is the worst kind of leader.” She shook her head. “One that believes people are his playthings and are beholden to him. The world is his gaming board.”

  “He’s not the only one out there,” Mai said.

  “Agreed. But he’s the only one on our radar, for now. There’s one more thing. Jonathan told Lauren something in confidence, something she imparted to Mano only after Jonathan’s death. He found out that the government actually said no to Stone’s request.”

  Now even Smyth’s face fell, the permanent frown replaced with shock. “But that means—”

  “Yes. That Stone ignored the White House and went into those tombs without their knowledge. On his own, and with hired men. Why did he still want to go ahead at such huge risk?”

  Kinimaka spoke up. “Whilst you guys were messing about in the UK, Smyth and I undertook a mission of our own.”

  Drake gave the man a half smile. “Messing about in the UK?”

  “Wandering the Dales. Visiting the funfair. Destroying hotels. Whatever. Our old HQ was raided by a team we believe worked for the Pythians. One of their men told us they wanted to grab everything on Jonathan’s computer that related to General Stone. Everything.”

  Now Drake did a double take. “The Pythians? What could they possibly want with General Stone?”

  “That’s the question,” Hayden said. “And one of the few leads we have on the group, despite Mano’s heavy-handedness.”

  Kinimaka grunted, embarrassed. Even as an adult he retained the clumsiness of a three-year-old.

  Smyth rose to his defense. “We did what we had to do. Under fire, we extracted information, what more do you want?”

  “More information,” Hayden said. “If you get the chance again I want these people brought in to be interrogated properly. This global threat could be the worse we have ever faced and we’re humiliatingly short of information.”

  “To be fair,” Drake added gently, “that’s mainly because they haven’t engaged in any kind of real action yet. We have nothing to follow.”

  Hayden opened her mouth to reply but the door to their office opened and Lauren Fox walked in. All eyes turned to her.

  She gav
e them a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “For better or worse,” she said, “we have a plan.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lauren Fox stood before the SPEAR team, unwilling to call herself a fully fledged member and wondering just what the hell she was doing there. Before the man had attacked her in New York, before she became unintentionally linked to a North Korean terrorist plot, before she met Jonathan Gates, she had been a successful two-thousand-dollar-an-hour escort with no more hang-ups than your standard call girl. Back then she had lived next door to a retired hooker who took it upon herself to offer unending sage advice. She was sharp, streetwise, quick-witted and headstrong. She found it hard to apologize. Growing up in a string of grueling foster homes would do that to you.

  What the hell am I doing here? she thought again.

  But the answer had already passed through her thoughts.

  Jonathan Gates, she thought. I’m here for Jonathan. The Secretary had shown her kindness when it might have harmed his standing; had helped her and counted on her when circumstances proved that he should not. He’d even offered her a way out—of sorts. Or at least a safer way.

  Now she wasn’t so sure.

  Hayden was the first to approach her, hands held out as if sensing the self-doubt. “Drink? We have coffee.”

  “They have caffeine in all its sinful forms,” Dahl said, holding up a bottle of water. “Here. Catch this.”

  Drake paused with an FBI emblazoned mug held to his lips. “Sinful?”

  “Yeah.” The Swede nodded. “Do they sell pure water as far north as Yorkshire yet?”

  Drake grunted. “Sure, it’s made it up to God’s country. We still manage to get by with our mugs of instant coffee though.”

  Dahl shook his head. “Heathens.”

  Drake nodded. “And happy.”

  Lauren took a long swig from the water bottle, grateful for the refreshing taste. She sat at the head of the table, conscious of all eyes upon her—not in a nervous way but in the hope she could help fulfil Jonathan’s last request of her.