A warning tone went off. Are you mad?
Probably. How else could I have survived this long?
In any case, the need for information now came before anything else, including her dignity and, above all, she abhorred the idea of ever seeing Stone again in private. Her debt to Jonathan was paid. The general was a monster, straight from his own mouth.
“The girl is passed-out drunk,” Stone said matter-of-factly. “So I guess she doesn’t get paid.”
Bell grunted. “Don’t be any more of an ass than you already are. A diversion like her for men like us? She’s gold. You should encourage her, not drive her away.”
“Perhaps. But in any case, we have a little more to discuss before retiring. Let her sleep it off awhile.”
Lauren heard movement, felt a pat on the rump from Stone’s heavy hand, and then footsteps crossed to the lounge. A door closed. Fear gripped Lauren’s soul as she opened her eyes and rose. She was standing so close to the edge she felt herself teetering. If Stone found her this time she could very well be dropped off the outside balcony.
Lauren wavered. It was only when the snippets of information she’d already uncovered flooded back that she felt galvanized to move. Pythians . . . factory . . . weaponized . . . plague!
Damn, if only she had backup.
Placing her ear to the door, and ensuring her route back to the couch was free, she resumed her earlier role of . . . the thought crossed her mind that she’d played so many roles tonight there was a chance she’d forget her own identity. But then voices filled her head.
Stone was in full flow, “. . . London, Paris and Los Angeles remain our three areas of necessity . . . the freshest graves.”
Lauren recalled from Kinimaka’s briefing earlier that the SPEAR team already knew the Pythians were highly motivated by those three particular cities—something about mercenaries being recruited and offered ridiculous money to await instructions at the one of their choice. SPEAR had garnered the information from mercs that had later declined the Pythians’ offer. Hearing Stone say it now only confirmed what they already knew.
Then Bell said, “As you know, General, I don’t have to work. I’m available to oversee any of those cities, if required.”
“I’m aware that you don’t work, Bell. That fact is clear in your vitality alone.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Not at all.”
“Ah. Silly me.”
“Look, Bell. Why would you even want to oversee those operations? Do you forget that I organized them personally?”
“You mentioned a while ago that the three plague pits are the most important part of your operation. Doesn’t it just make sense to have a leader oversee each one of them?”
Stone didn’t respond for a while. Lauren imagined he was considering Bell’s words. The information she had already collected was enough to get her killed. At least twice. As much as she wanted to stick around and learn more, Lauren began to wonder if she might have pushed her luck just about as far as it could go.
Nevertheless, her allegiance to SPEAR and Jonathan kept her ear glued to the door.
“My commanders in the field will do just fine,” Stone eventually said. “They’re all vetted and most importantly they’re all ex-military Special Forces. I doubt that a newly rich builder could hold much of a candle to them.”
“Self-made.” Bell stood up to the general for the first time. “I earned every penny of it. Can you really say the same, Bill?”
“I’m not sure that I understand.”
“I meant your authority. The power you wield. Earned it on the field did you? Or was it some kind of Harvard hand-me-down?”
Nothing was said for a moment and Lauren, concentrating hard, missed her cue. Of course she should have imagined the egotistical general storming out, all bluster and self-righteous anger. She might then not have lost everything in his murderous hands.
Stone pushed open the door so hard it struck Lauren and propelled her backwards into the room. At first the look on his face was a Polaroid moment, utter disbelief and shock, but then surprise turned to absolute rage.
“You bitch! You goddamn bitch. I knew you were too fucking good to be true!”
“I was just . . . I was just coming in to fetch you.”
Stone swung at her, missing. Bell was at his heels. “Wait. Wait! She could be telling the truth.”
Lauren backed away toward the door. Stone lunged and stuck her chest with an outstretched hand, knocking her off balance. As she fell he pulled out a walkie-talkie. “Get in here!” he screamed. “We have a big problem.”
Lauren struck the wall, the impact smashing the breath from her body. She exhaled with a cry. Some kind of instinct kicked in. She remembered when the Koreans had sent a brainwashed soldier to silence her back in New York and how she had fought tooth and nail with that killer, eventually sending him over the balcony. That same fire, that same voice, rose within her now, ordering her to stand and fight, to make an account of herself. Quickly, she rolled and bounced to her feet.
Just as the hotel room door burst open.
Men rushed inside, weapons drawn but held down by their sides to escape corridor CCTV. Lauren saw the whisker of a chance and leaped forward immediately. Once that door was closed she was dead.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Her attackers wore suits and ties. Feeling a little ridiculous, the woman clad in leather and thigh boots struck out at them, first yanking a man by the knot of his tie so that he stumbled past her, then blasting another between the legs with an uninhibited kick. Her left hand grabbed for the door, flinging it wide, and her right jabbed clumsily at the nearest gun. Yes she had been trained, but only in a dojo where mistakes were never punished by death.
Not like this.
As she slipped toward the gap in the door, alongside the startled men, she felt an enormous impact in the center of her back. Somebody’s boot. Stone’s boot.
Unable to stop herself she flew forward, colliding headlong with the door jamb; the edge of the frame drawing blood from her forehead. A man clamped her neck before she fell completely out into the corridor, another hooked and dragged at her legs.
Still kicking, screaming, Lauren was pulled back into the hotel room. Sensing the end and more worried about imparting the information she had learned than her own welfare, she planted both feet and pushed back. The men around her staggered. Lauren wrenched free of their grip, tearing clothes and a lock of hair and ignoring the flare of pain. She was alone, she was SPEAR, she had been chosen for this.
With a kick she disarmed one man, drove an elbow into another. When a third struck at her she caught his blows on her biceps, twisting into them and then unleashing a strike of her own. A space developed, a path to freedom. Lunging, she cleared three men, already feeling the fresh air of freedom as she skipped between their flailing legs, but others remained. They couldn’t use their guns, not in this hotel, but they could use their bodies. Perhaps sensing her imminent escape and their own terrible reprimand they dived in front of her.
Unable to dodge out of the way Lauren went tumbling, entangled in a mass of arms and legs. As she lay panting, a fist drove into her ribs, another into the back of her neck. Stars exploded in front of her eyes. She slumped. Now, in front of her she could see Stone gloating, Bell appearing confused, and a man already heading purposefully toward the French windows.
“The balcony?” a voice said. “The way she’s dressed it’s almost expected.”
“Sure. I don’t care,” Stone said dismissively. “But wipe her down first. All that leather and PVC might have retained our fingerprints.”
Lauren struggled wildly, kicking shins, rolling away from uncertain grips. The men grappled with her. Bell voiced concern. Stone told him to get the hell over it, the bitch was taking a midnight dive.
Lauren swiveled once more, her face striking the room’s carpet. As she landed, almost blinded with pain, she caught a last glimpse of the rapidly closing hotel room door.
Someone stood in the gap, someone she knew.
Was she hallucinating?
Smyth raced forward, one man against seven, but this man was ex-Delta and a member of SPEAR. What men like Smyth could do was kill or incapacitate with a single strike, grab a weapon and squeeze off three kill shots out of three. He proceeded to do so now, but Stone was already radioing for backup. Smyth saw that these guards were better trained than the usual fodder, and he unleashed his anger, concentrating his attack on the men that held Lauren.
“Who’s this?” Stone said stiffly. “Her pimp?”
Smyth broke the wrist of the man holding Lauren’s waist, gliding in as she fell and taking her weight. As he moved he assaulted the rest. He could see their unease, their bewilderment. Who was this new attacker? Since he had fired first could they now return the favor?
Stone’s orders were non-existent. Smyth broke a larynx and a nose, plucked up a gun and fired off an untargeted shot. As expected, Stone and his men reacted with fear, immediately guessing all and sundry would be calling the authorities. Smyth used the added confusion to nab Lauren and disarm two more of Stone’s men.
He retained the gun, leveling it at Stone’s face. “Don’t move. Any of you.”
“You’ll regret this,” Stone said. “Whoever you are. And Nightshade too. I did wonder about you from the very beginning.”
Lauren fought to stand, but found her battered body couldn’t quite manage it. Damn, she wanted to help her rescuer. Never had she felt so inadequate. Without warning two men broke from the group and ran at them. Smyth, still supporting her, shot one in the thigh whilst ensuring the last ran into an elbow.
Smyth back toward the door. “First one to stick his head out gets it blown off.” With that the short-tempered soldier pulled Lauren out into the corridor. “Sorry about the whip,” he said. “Didn’t have time to grab it.”
“It . . . it’s okay. I’ll get another.”
“Do you mind if I pick you up?” he asked with more courteousness than she could have believed possible. “Over my shoulder? We’ll move faster.” He threw a guarded look back toward the hotel room.
“Whatever you have to do, Smyth. Just get me out of here!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Smyth bent at the waist, heaved Lauren over his shoulder, and sprinted forward. They raced down the hallway as one, stopping at the first bank of elevators.
“How the hell did you find me?”
“Followed you here. Used the bellhop to get Stone’s room number. Sat on the comfy seats there—” he indicated a set of deep, leather couches positioned opposite the elevator doors. “Until I heard all the commotion. I always figured if Lauren Fox were in trouble she’d put up one hell of a fight.”
Lauren let her head hang, trusting that Smyth would protect her. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
“Not needed.” Smyth maneuvered them into the elevator. “You’re a part of my team, Lauren. You’re family.”
“I am?” She caught a look at herself in the highly polished walls. “Christ, I look such a fright they could hire me out as a Halloween ghost.”
Smyth, defying all that she knew about him, kept his eyes on the ground. “Maybe a kinky one.”
Lauren slipped off his back and landed on her feet, groaning. “Thank you.”
“Like I said. You’re family.”
CHAPTER NINE
Drake took the call in the dead of night, instantly awake. This early, Hayden’s words were a little fuzzy but he got the gist.
“Get down to the freakin’ HQ! Now!”
Mai was already awake, staring up at the high ceiling. “Time to go?”
Drake sat up in bed, rubbing his face. “Aye. Have you slept?”
“A little. I’m worried about Grace and . . . other things.”
“I know. I thought, during the last few weeks, we might have broached that subject a little more.”
Mai glanced at him. “A little more?”
“Well, just once would be fine.”
“It’s my mess, Matt, and if it comes back to bite me . . .”
“We’ll deal with it together.” Drake hugged her close. “I knew I should have gone to Tokyo with you.”
Mai pulled away and rose, keeping her back to him as she dressed. “Really? And what would you have done so differently?”
Drake sighed, realizing he was on shaky ground. “I dunno, love. You haven’t told me a bloody thing. Any road, if we’re quick, we can cadge a lift off the Mad Swede.”
Mai gave him a quick, long-suffering smile. “You talking gibberish again?”
“Oh, sorry. In the Queen’s English—put a spurt on, my dear, and perhaps we can share Mr. Dahl’s vehicle.”
“That’s better.”
Together they rushed out of the room just in time to see Dahl, who rented the large apartment opposite their somewhat more conservative one with his freshly arrived family, struggling to extract himself from his wife’s embrace.
“Need a hand, pal?” Drake asked drily.
Dahl managed to free one arm.
“We can wait two and a half minutes if you like.”
Then Dahl was free, but Johanna snagged his hair at the last second.
“Seriously. We’ll wait in the car.”
The Swede caught them up a short while later, giving Drake a sideways glance as he fell in. “Not a bloody word.”
“Me? As if . . .”
DC was quiet in the absolute dead of night; office buildings, museums and monuments still blazing to give it all the appearance of a functioning ghost town. Mai stared out the window as they made the short journey to the famous five-sided concrete structure, her mood also affecting the men. None of them knew why they’d been called in but, with the current unrest and hypothetical fallout from the Pythian threat, the prospects were bleak. Not knowing where in the world they would be by this time tomorrow, Drake made a point of addressing Dahl.
“Seriously though, mate, is Johanna enjoying DC?”
Dahl made a non-committal face. “It’s like picking my way through a minefield with them. So far, they’re treating it as a holiday. But when the novelty wears off, who knows, especially now since the Blood Vendetta has been lifted.”
“You did the right thing.” Drake said with eyes fixed forward. “Bringing them here.”
“Try telling them that,” the Swede grumped.
“Doesn’t matter, mate. Sometimes the best thing to do is the one that upsets someone the most and you can’t explain why. They’ll get over it.”
Mai chose that moment to catch his attention. “Do you believe that?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” She turned away again.
Drake shared a couple of raised eyebrows with Dahl and fell silent. Soon, they were entering the Pentagon and making their way toward their new HQ. Drake was still getting used to the diverging hallways and highly polished floors, the black-suited and military-garbed men striding the halls, medals catching the light, the endless walls of security. At last they entered through an oak door.
The first thing Drake saw was a disheveled, bloody Lauren Fox. Then the peculiar sight of Smyth hovering protectively behind her, also looking battered.
Hayden walked to the center of the room. “Lauren’s mission went a little . . . awry.” She proceeded to give a potted account of the night’s events, focusing mainly on the conversations Lauren had overheard. Drake was amazed by the scope of information, happy to see several scrappy clues fall into place.
“So London, Paris and LA are the locations of the three plague pits and they’re going to attempt to weaponize whatever they find in there? Score one, two and three for Miss Fox.”
He saw Smyth nod and put a hand on the woman’s shoulder, then suddenly think better of it. “We should all have been there,” Drake said softly.
Hayden held up both hands. “We’ll save the blame for later,” she said. “Right now, those cities are in grave danger. We must focus our effo
rts on them.”
“What about this factory?” Dahl asked. “Take the factory out immediately—destroy the threat.”
Lauren shot him an apologetic look. “Sorry, they didn’t reveal its whereabouts.”
“No need to apologize,” Dahl said. “This is a great step forward. Jonathan never trusted the general and because you saw his opinion through to the end, you’re allowing him to help us even now.”
Lauren’s face broke out into a smile.
“We have a lot of work to do,” Kinimaka said from behind a wooden desk. “Nicholas Bell; this Webb guy and Miranda Le Brun—they need identifying.”
“And the plague pits,” Karin added. “Where exactly are they?”
“We have no clear-cut ideas,” Hayden admitted. “But on the plus side, the Pythians won’t know who Lauren and Smyth are or how they relate to SPEAR. If we’re finally going to get a step ahead of our enemies, this is the time to do it.”
“Can I ask—” Komodo spoke up from his position at the back of the room. “What exactly is a plague pit?”
Karin was beside him. “They relate back to bubonic plague and the Black Death,” she said. “If you imagine two thirds of the population of Europe being wiped out you can see how hard it would have been to dispose of the bodies. Eventually the recognized patterns of burial collapsed, leaving us with plague pits during major outbreaks. During times like these graveyards quickly filled, with their graves used only by the wealthy.”
“And these plague pits are still there?” Komodo asked in surprise. “Under the streets of London, Paris and Los Angeles?”
“Well, yes. There’s one in Knightsbridge and another in Soho. Several around Paris and all the other major European cities. It’s commonly accepted that plague-like organisms would not survive this long, but it was also believed that all those that died were infected only by the Black Death, until recently. Now they’re speculating on other diseases too, including anthrax. What’s in the plague pits could be a mixture of several deadly, ancient diseases.”
Matt Drake Book 9 - The Plagues of Pandora Page 5