Matt Drake Book 9 - The Plagues of Pandora

by David Leadbeater

  Drake flinched as the Italian’s loud chatter filled his ears. “I have them! Well, surely it’s them! A convoy of three cars, black SUVs, speeding away from you and toward the coast. The eastern coast. Damn things weren’t there five minutes ago, now they’re zooming along in close formation. Go, go, go!”

  Hayden waved at the pilot, twirling her finger upward and to the east. “He’s nothing if he’s not enthusiastic,” she commented drily.

  Two choppers rose, team SPEAR’s and team Gold’s, black vultures seeking out prey. As one their noses dipped and they shot forward, skimming the trees. Almost straight away Drake spotted the black tarmac ribbon.

  “We’ve got ‘em.”

  Both helicopters found the road and followed it, swinging with the curves. As they raced through the air Argento spoke up. “Oh no. I’m using a satellite with a built-in redundancy. It’s the only one available. There’s a ten-minute delay. Our friends, it seems, have a chopper of their own. It just lifted off—and I’m calculating back to real time here—about two miles in front of you.”

  Drake’s leaned forward with a serious face. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “We have two choppers and we’re about to shoot theirs right out of the bloody sky.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  Drake hung on as their pilot picked up the pace, chasing the black tail of the bird ahead. To his right, Hayden was floundering, beset from all sides by agitated parties desperate to know the situation—at least three governments, cooperating teams and ministers, the American military, the British, even Greek Special Forces that had been left behind at the cave. In the end she removed the headphones from her head and held them together.

  “Let ‘em prattle away to each other.”

  Their pilot turned his head, staring back into the rear cabin. “They’re within range, Miss Jaye.”

  Hayden winced. Drake knew she would have to send the request up the chain of command and that would only lead to more gibbering. By the time . . .

  Hayden fixed Drake with a stare. “Dudley. Two mercs. Le Brun and Bell, right?”

  “Right. We believe.”

  Hayden tapped the separate device in her ear. “Caitlyn, can you get anything tasked to tell us how many are in that chopper?”

  “It’s not that easy,” Caitlyn said after a minute. “Besides, don’t you have aerosolized plague on there?”

  “The scientists told us all three aerosols were stored inside boxes. I’m damn sure they’ll be resilient.”

  “Still . . .”

  Drake chewed on a nail. “You do realize how this all fits with the Pythians’ idea, don’t you? The Pandora plague. Engineered in Pandora’s birthplace and then transported in a box. If you didn’t know it before you sure as hell do now—these assholes have more cracks in them than a politician’s promise.”

  “Totally apeshit,” Dahl agreed. “Destroy them.”

  Karin jumped out of her seat, staying low. “Caitlyn’s right. You can’t risk—”

  The pilot cried out and the chopper veered violently at the same time. Karin sprawled head first, smashing her nose against Kinimaka’s shin. For as second the world turned on its side and then they were level again.

  “Evasive maneuver,” the pilot said calmly. “They’re firing on us.”

  Komodo hauled Karin upright and strapped her in. Kinimaka apologized for his clumsiness. Karin laughed. “Sure, Mano, next time I show my inexperience make sure your stupid shin’s not attached to your leg.”

  A second missile separated from the lead chopper. Drake watched as their pilot again dodged the lethal streak.

  “Fuck this,” he said. “Get alongside so we can fill ‘em full of holes. Make them force land.”

  The pilot threw the cyclic stick at the top speed symbol. The chopper accelerated rapidly and the gap closed. After a minute the lead chopper swung across the landscape, making a sharp turn and Drake saw a gleaming blue expanse ahead.

  “The Aegean Sea,” Hayden said. “That can’t be good.”

  The reason for the chopper’s maneuver soon became clear as a town began to unfold amid the countryside below.

  “Larissa,” Hayden said. “We can’t shoot them down now. Stay close.”

  Three helicopters blasted across the skies, heading for the bright, shimmering blue. If Drake had needed any reminder as to the madness of their opponents it soon came as Callan Dudley threw open the side doors of his chopper and pointed a machine gun at them. Laughing, he opened fire, strafing the skies with lead. Their pilot dropped down and back, tucking in behind the mercenary’s bird.

  “That guy’s starting to friggin’ annoy me,” Smyth’s voice declared over the comms.

  Drake stared at Dahl, then Kinimaka and the entire chopper erupted with laughter. Judging from the noise across their connection the second chopper descended into the same state. Smyth grumped aloud. “What? What the hell you laughing at? Guy’s a total dickhead.”

  Drake enjoyed the moment of levity. Sometimes, it was all you needed to gain total focus. In other ways, it reminded you of what you were fighting for. Men like Callan Dudley would never understand.

  All three helicopters shot over the town, Dudley loosing rounds into the sky for sport. Drake noticed red blips following them on the radar and pointed them out to the pilot.

  “I saw them. They’re the army helicopters.”

  “Good.”

  “If they land in Larissa with those aerosols . . .” Mai warned.

  Hayden nodded as she listened to her headset. “Already on it. The risk is off the scale. The Greeks . . .” she sighed, “are trying to come to a decision.”

  But the chopper flew fast and straight, arrow straight, with the Irishman firing recklessly toward the rooftops of Larissa and the blue expanse only growing larger ahead. Occasionally Dudley would lean out dangerously and take a potshot at their bird. A bullet glanced off a skid, then some framework. Eventually Dahl leaned out and fired back, peppering the chopper’s body with holes.

  Drake glared. “Stop it.”

  “Guy’s pissing me off. I didn’t aim for the engine.”

  Then Larissa was behind them and a golden coastline opened out. A sandy beach stretched north and south, dotted by leafy parasols and timber-constructed lifeguard stations. Small figures were laid out on sunbeds down there. Children ran through the waves, splashing and brandishing plastic spades and buckets. Life was good for relaxing locals and vacationing travelers.

  And then Drake saw it was about to get incredibly, infinitely worse.

  “Where the hell are they—” Hayden began and then clammed up in horror. “Oh no.”

  Dudley’s chopper dived toward the deck of the biggest cruise ship Drake had ever seen.

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  Like an enormous floating hotel it sat in the Aegean, several miles offshore. Pure white, its hull shone against the sparkling blue waters. Idling, at ease, it might be offering its passengers a unique view of Mount Olympus, or about to turn around.

  But it had no idea of the horrors plunging out of the skies on rotors of black steel. It had no clue what was coming.

  Drake did. Everyone did. And there was only one way to stop it.

  “Fire!” Dahl cried. “Shoot them out of the skies!”

  The pilot’s hand flashed toward the weapons array and then hesitated. “Miss Jaye?”

  Hayden spoke rapidly into her mic. Seconds passed. Hayden screwed her eyes up. Their window was closing.

  “We’re over the sea,” Komodo put in helpfully.

  Hayden turned on him. “Don’t you think I know—” Then she stopped, listened and spoke with harsh determination.

  “Fire the missile.”

  The pilot reacted instantly, flipping open the red safety cover and covering the button with his thumb. A moment to align and then . . .

  Dudley’s chopper fell hard, perhaps anticipating the missile. Drake heard a hiss and a streak emitted from their undercarriage, marked by white smoke. It shot ahead j
ust as Alicia’s chopper came alongside, offering support. The Englishwoman gave them a thumbs up through the open door.

  Dudley’s bird dived, nose first. The missile flashed toward it. The cruise ship grew outlandishly big through their cockpit windscreen, the stunned faces of passengers clearly visible. The falling chopper lurched as the missile struck, an explosion ripping chunks of metal free and sending them tumbling to the decks below.

  “Of all the goddamn, appalling luck,” Dahl breathed, fearful for the ship’s occupants.

  The enemy chopper slowed and leveled out, visibly reaching for the ship’s lido deck, a flat stretch occupied only by sun loungers to the rear. Passengers fled in every direction, leaving belongings and dashing away on bare feet. Ship’s crew stared in disbelief. The chopper crashed skids first, bouncing and listing for a moment before losing all momentum. Flames flicked out of its left-side door, the metal framework there hanging torn and ragged.

  “Get down there,” Drake urged their pilot. “This hell is just beginning!”

  Figures jumped out of the stricken chopper. Dudley and one other well-built man. A third dropped through the flames, unmoving. Then a woman jumped to the ship’s deck, falling as she landed hard, followed by a more agile man.

  Lauren stared but didn’t need to try too hard. “That’s Nicholas Bell,” she said and shook her head. “He seemed a nice guy, you know? Wrong place, wrong time, that kinda thing.”

  “You’re still thinking he could be an ally?” Dahl asked as their helicopter closed in. “Even after this?”

  “You’re as bad as friggin’ Alicia,” Russo growled from the other chopper. “And her Beauregard. Bastard can’t conspire with terrorists if he’s dead.”

  Drake listened but—surprisingly—the moment passed without comment from Alicia and then they hit the deck. Instantly he was out and running, following the route Dudley’s crew had taken moments before. A shot cracked. Drake stared grimly, unmoved as plastic splinters burst out of the parasol pole near his head. The shot served to locate Dudley’s team, concealed behind a questionable divider, but civilians still crowded the walkway behind them.

  Staring. Crying. Filming the scene with their cellphones. Flicking onto Facebook to tell their friends. Slap bang in the line of fire.

  “Get the feck outta here!” an Irish brogue colored the air.

  They ran, Dudley forcibly dragging Miranda Le Brun back into hiding. The oil baroness’s face was blackened, her clothes torn. The last remaining merc fired another shot.

  Drake ignored it, Dahl at his side. The decision proved to be a mistake as the bullet slammed into his flak jacket, sending him to his knees with a cry. Dahl stared down at him.

  “Stop being such a fucking pussy. It’s only a bullet.”

  Drake struggled to his feet, still gasping. The Mad Swede was already halfway across the lido deck and now Smyth and Komodo were at his side. Karin hung back, but held her weapon and analyzed the scene with growing skill. Behind her Alicia’s helicopter slammed onto the deck.

  The blond woman leaped out like an avenging Valkyrie. “You all right, Drakester? Saw you go down when you took a hit.”

  “I’m fine.” Face reddening he wondered if the entire goddamn world had seen him stagger when he got shot.

  “Don’t be so embarrassed.” Alicia ran up to him. “We all have our off days.”

  Soldiers streamed across the deck. Drake slipped out toward the rail, keeping their enemy in sight. As they closed in, civilians ran in the opposite direction until the walkway behind Dudley was empty.

  The Irishman stepped into view, one hand held high and clasping a polished wooden box with a gold lock and hinges. “One av tree!” he cried in his thick accent. Drake struggled to understand it as “one of three”.

  “Tree boxes, tree aerosols. Stand down, yer arse bandits, before I open Pandora’s feckin’ juicy Box on yer!”

  Hayden hissed a warning through the comms. “Do it! We don’t know what capabilities he has.”

  As one, guns were pointed toward deck. Dudley grinned, almost capering in his delight. “Better! That’s better. Now jump yer feckin’ arses over that rail. Yeah, that’s right. Swim, yer bastards.”

  Nobody moved. Crouch, Healey and Russo were in Dudley’s blind spot and inching closer. Yorgi moved to join them, eyeing the route up to the deck above as if he might be considering a climb.

  Hayden recognized the thief’s signature tactic at the same moment Drake did. “Can you get above him, Yorgi? Distract him.”

  “Da. Yes, I can.”

  “Then do it.”

  Yorgi scooted forward, leaping at the higher deck and finding handholds in the smooth-looking shell that shouldn’t exist. They didn’t have to hold him for long as his feet found purchase and then launched him even higher. In mid-air he caught hold of the next deck’s handrails and supported the rest of his body. Another lunge and he was over, crouched at the foot of the rail.

  Crouch stared up after him. “I doubt I could have done that even in my heyday.”

  Dudley pulled out a gun. “So. Yer fixin’ ter jump or do I have to shoot yer where yer stand? And yer goin’ first.” He motioned at Drake. “I remember yer.”

  “The ship’s filled with soldiers,” he said. “The Greek Army is ten minutes out. Give it up, help us, and you might get to rot in jail for the rest of your crazy life.”

  “Feck it,” the Irishman bellowed, sprayed a hail of bullets, then turned away. “We’ll see how yer like me when I grab some passengers.”

  Drake was down, again, but this time so was everyone else. The lead flurry had been nothing more than a wild diversion. By the time Drake gained his feet, Dudley was gone.

  “I have him,” Yorgi said. “It is jogging track up here with glass bottom. A nice feature. I can follow mercenaries for short way.”

  Drake slammed through the nearest door. “Report!”

  “Ah, heading straight back to stern. Passing sporting equipment—gym. Dudley has one box in his hand and a small backpack. He’s dragging woman but other Pythian is helping her. She not happy. Other mercenary is falling back, probably waiting for you.”

  Dahl slipped past Drake. “Good.”

  Bloody hell! The man’s unstoppable. Drake was forced to fall back a little as the paneled corridor they were traversing narrowed. Soon it opened out into a typical gym, rows of cross-trainers, treadmills, bicycles and rowers laid out in a bland, uninspiring, uniform array. Drake glared in every direction, constantly moving his gun. Then Alicia slipped past. What is this? First to bag a terrorist day?

  Yorgi got in on the action. “Past gym and crossing sports deck, I think. Other man stayed behind power plate.”

  Drake shifted. There was only one. A flash, the faintest glimmer of movement and he opened fire. There was a low grunt and the merc collapsed, his weapon clattering away. Dahl was already on the other side of the gym. Drake caught up to Alicia, signaling for Kinimaka to check the body.

  “We have problem,” Yorgi said. “Dudley and others are among passengers. And the glass deck has ended. I am climbing back down.”

  “Do not approach,” Hayden ordered. “Observe only.”

  “It is no problem. I have no weapon.”

  Drake frowned. A damn stupid oversight. The deck disappeared above their heads to reveal the skies for a short period whilst they negotiated the sports deck, then another door appeared ahead.

  “He’s in there,” Drake whispered. “Careful.”

  Dahl smashed through the door, calling for quiet. Passengers squealed and huddled in a corner. Drake fully expected to see Dudley standing over them, box held at arm’s length, maybe even open with the aerosol mechanism exposed, but the Pythian team were nowhere to be seen.

  Drake slowed. Crouch and Russo spread out to the sides. Hayden paused alongside, thumbing through her tablet computer. “Next is a pizzeria, then a set of staterooms, and finally a way up to the sky deck, the highest deck. Up there is mini-golf and the entrance to the big wate
r chute. But there are three ways out of the pizzeria.”

  She reverted to comms. They had teams exploring the outer walkways who would spot Dudley if he emerged from the main hub of the ship. Komodo, Karin and Mai were on one side, Healey, Lauren and Smyth on the other.

  All hands on deck, Drake thought, never had a truer meaning. They didn’t want to put their non-military assets at risk but today they had no choice. Caitlyn was still aboard one of the choppers, streamlining and maintaining the complicated communications system in addition to working with Argento’s satellites.

  They entered the pizzeria, overturned tables and frightened passengers revealing that Dudley had already stormed through. One of the cooks, wiping his hands on a towel, pointed toward the far door. Dahl was the first to reach the exit with Alicia right behind him. Drake moved to back them up.

  “Watch out for traps,” Hayden’s voice came softly through the comms. “Dudley is one sneaky asshole.”

  Drake saw Dahl pause then move ahead. They entered a plush lined hallway, doors to each side. As they penetrated the stateroom section all sound faded away and when Dahl stopped to listen, he couldn’t hear even the faintest of whispers.

  Beyond the staterooms was a sliding door that led to the ship’s prow, or stairs and elevators up to the sky deck. Drake knew the exterior teams would be heading for the prow, which left the stairs to them.

  “Front end’s clear,” Smyth’s short, sharp snap whipped between Drake’s ears. He could also hear Lauren talking in the background.

  “Look up to the sky deck,” Hayden told him. “See anything?”

  “If that’s the bit at the top then no. No movement.”

  A scream rang out. Drake clicked the comms but Smyth’s voice beat him to it. “That definitely came from up there. Hurry!”

  Drake pounded at the stairs, almost clipping Alicia’s heels. Yorgi said, “I can make it up outside quicker. Half a minute.”

  Drake cursed. “No. You have no weapon. You’re not—”

  “I’ll live.”

  Shit. Despite Yorgi’s assurances Drake was more than skeptical. Even discounting Dudley’s obvious irrationalities there were also the aerosols to worry about. The entire team ran hard. The chance of an ambush was slim, all of Dudley’s paid colleagues having perished. The sky deck soon appeared above, accessed through another sliding door. Dahl ducked as soon as the door came into view, assessing the scene.