The Matt Drake Series Books: 7-9 (The Matt Drake Series Boxset 2)

by David Leadbeater

  Kinimaka whirled to see Smyth beset by two adversaries, but before he could even begin to race over to help, Karin had stepped up. Without regard for her own safety, she used long-ago learned martial arts skills to get the attention of one of the men. Karin wasn’t stupid, and would know that local dojo learned skills were no match for military training, but she waded in anyway, limbs kicking and punching. The man facing her looked bemused, as if he couldn’t figure out if he was actually being toyed with, but his lollygagging cost him dearly. Smyth dispatched his own opponent, then turned to disable Karin’s, finishing the man with a kick to the nose. Lights out never came so fast.

  Komodo smashed both arms down onto a merc’s shoulders. The man staggered under the hefty blow, falling heavily to his knees. Flames lit Komodo’s face as he lifted the man by his own jacket before throwing him into the inferno.

  Kinimaka almost cheered. The odds were now four good guys against two bad. His heart soared, but then two new sounds reached his ears; one uplifting, the other terrible. First he heard the sound of raucous American voices, marines coming to their aid. But on the heels of that came the roar of two ascending choppers—the Blood King’s choppers coming to strafe the battlefield.

  ****

  Drake cried out as Gabriel snapped a quick kick to his right knee, almost breaking it in half. The pain shot through his body like a barbed arrow as he fought to stay upright. Gabriel sought to press his advantage. Drake let the momentum take him, folded, let Gabriel’s flurry strike nothing but thin air, then came up on the other side.

  “Not so easy, pal.”

  “You fight like a fairy, mon. Tinkerbell. Tinkerbell Drake! Haha.”

  Drake was getting pissed off with all the recent aspersions on his good name. First that hairy bastard, Zanko, and now Gabriel. But then Zanko did end up taking a head dive down the deepest, darkest pit on Earth.

  “Like the fairies, do ya? I heard jail will do that to a man.”

  Gabriel fumed and lunged. Drake danced around the swipe and dealt him a crushing blow to the temple. He had found Gabriel’s first flaw but how could he exploit it? Past the dark man he saw Dahl engaged with Mordant. The albino looked like a ghoul in this vivid half-light: monstrous, a legendary apparition. But this was an apparition made of solid flesh and bone, and one that could fight well. He held Dahl in a bear hug, exerting every ounce of pressure on the Swede. Neither man uttered a word or sound, but the silent struggle was immense. Mordant’s face was set in a demonic rictus, a snarl of exertion.

  Drake caught several blows on his elbows, more strikes with his thighs and knees. He stopped bone-breaking jabs with deft flicks of his wrist, glancing them away. But he couldn’t get close to Gabriel, couldn’t break down the man’s defenses. Every new thing he tried, Gabriel countered. The two men were evenly matched.

  It was only when Drake heard the arrival of the Americans that his spirits lifted. A wide grin stretched across his face in direct contrast to the crestfallen look that transformed Gabriel’s. A moment later, the sound of ascending choppers turned the tables again. This place was about to go ballistic.

  Fuck me, he thought. Our arses are about to be lit up like Times Square and we’ve nowhere to bloody go.

  ****

  Dahl matched Mordant muscle to muscle, sinew to sinew. The battle of pure strength strained him to breaking point, but he was rewarded by the sight of the albino’s ugly face stretched with agony, the red of his gums and eye sockets standing out like bright-red wounds.

  “When you cringe like that,” Dahl whispered. “Your face looks like it’s turned inside out.”

  “Fuck.” The albino crushed harder. “You.”

  “No,” Dahl growled. “You killed Romero and maybe Hayden. So fuck you!”

  With a bellow and an effort that almost burst his heart, Dahl somehow managed to lift Mordant off his feet. The albino gaped around, at a loss for the first time in his life, but even Dahl couldn’t hold him for long. The Swede threw him to the ground and followed up with a colossal blow that would have broken some men in half. The albino gasped, but still managed to roll away. As Dahl lunged after him he spun back, swinging an arm, catching Dahl across the face. Blood poured from a fresh cut over his eyebrow.

  “First bloo—” the albino started to say.

  Dahl punched him in the mouth. Teeth flew and blood exploded. “You were saying?”

  The albino struck again. Dahl took it squarely on the forehead, using the precious seconds to get up close to his enemy.

  “Jesus fuck,” the man gasped at him. “You are one mean mother.”

  Dahl jabbed him twice, following it up with a punch to the ribs. A sharp crack made him smile tightly. “Stop talking,” he said. “You aren’t good enough.”

  Mordant jackknifed his body, squirming far enough away to make a gap. Dahl followed relentlessly. When the albino feinted and suddenly came in close, Dahl knew what was coming. Many prisoners used the forehead to get ahead. When Mordant’s forehead dipped, Dahl’s elbow came up simultaneously, purposely positioned slightly lower.

  Mordant’s nose exploded against his sharp bone.

  “Aaahhh!”

  Dahl sat back. His body was exhausted, screaming for a moment’s respite, which he was smart enough to allow. When Mordant also sat back, the two enemies faced each other in the heat of battle, their own blood and sweat coating the ground between them, and the prison fighter inclined his head.

  “Not bad for an Englishman.”

  Dahl roared, “I’m not bloody English,” sprang to his feet and leaped forward. His huge hands grabbed hold of Mordant’s jacket and shoved him hard down to the floor. Dahl heaved his tired body on top, pushing his knee against Mordant’s throat and bringing all his weight to bear. The albino struggled weakly, unable to breathe.

  When it was over, Dahl cast around. “All right. Who wants to go next?”

  ****

  Drake pushed Gabriel away and threw himself against a wall as the first chopper thundered overhead. A double line of shells strafed the ground. The bullets passed through the approaching American forces, the castle walls, the burning helicopter, and the Blood King’s own men, but didn’t strike a soul. Kovalenko was on his knees, cowering before Alicia, and, though it was a simple sight, Drake’s soul soared.

  “Your boss,” Drake panted. “Is beaten.”

  Gabriel shrugged. “Never trust a fookin’ Russkie, mon. Never trust anyone. There ain’t no good men left no more.”

  Drake smiled as he felt familiar presences at his back. “I wouldn’t say that,” he said. “You just have to belong to the right family.”

  Kinimaka struck from the left, Komodo from the right. Drake took a breath and allowed Smyth to skip by him and assault Gabriel head on. The wiry African traded the three men blow for blow; he drew blood from Komodo’s nose and Kinimaka’s cheek, but was always on the back foot, always wilting. In minutes he was on his knees, still fighting hard, taking crushing blows and coming back for more. He fell at last when Kovalenko’s second chopper blasted overhead, the stream of bullets actually passing through the middle of his body.

  “Shit.” Smyth jumped away. “Thought the bastard was never going down.”

  Drake regarded the twitching body with respect. “Truth be told, I don’t think he was. Bloody hell, I feel like one gigantic bruise.”

  Smyth squinted at him. “Your lip is puffing up a bit.”

  Drake jerked his head back in shock. “Was that a joke? Whoa, Smyth, watch it. We’re gonna start thinking the Koreans replaced you with a robot, mate.”

  There was no time for a rejoinder as the choppers swooped back around. Then several things happened all at once. The American marine commander appeared through the black smoke, screaming at Drake’s team to take cover. Something big was coming. The Blood King’s helicopter team opened fire again; bullets thwacked off stone and dirt, and whickered through the heavy, menacing air. Kovalenko rose like an avenging demon, using the last of his strength to push Ali
cia aside and make a beeline toward Drake.

  The supersonic roar of a jet-fighter, a Raptor, boomed like God’s own thunder across the valley, shaking the very mountains. With a whoosh like an ocean boiling, the first missile was loosed, scoring a direct hit on the first chopper, causing a mid-air explosion. The second missile destroyed the second chopper a moment later; fire, machinery, flesh and bone thrown skyward and straight down to the ground.

  Drake suddenly found himself in a hellfire battle. Charred bodies and burning chunks of metal rained down all around him and his team. Boulder-sized chunks of jagged metal delved into the earth. A huge intact rotor blade slammed against the tiled roof directly above them and started to slide down, still spinning faster than the eye could follow.

  “Move!”

  Drake hurled his battered body from under the roof, dragging Komodo with him. Alicia and Dahl hurtled clear. The Blood King slipped and fell, directly in the path of the onrushing rotor blade.

  At the last second, Smyth audibly cursed, reached down and scooped Kovalenko up; the Delta man running and dodging deadly debris, all but dragging the Blood King with him. The rotor smashed into the ground, crunching its blades. Deadly shards sheared away in the collision. Drake heard the sonic boom of the Raptors coming around and the shouts of the American commander to say all was well on the ground.

  All’s well? Are you fucking kidding me?

  Drake looked up, still dodging and ducking as death rained from the skies. The bulk of both choppers now crashed down into the courtyard with an almighty noise, not exploding but sending out another wave of compressed machine and body parts.

  Drake staggered as the shockwave struck, shielding his face with his arm and turning away. Something hard glanced off his Kevlar vest, leaving yet another bruise; something soft and wet collided with his leg. He didn’t look down. A spray of tiny objects spattered past, at last leaving a vacuum in their wake.

  Only a burning hell remained, but it was now a safer hell. Drake turned to see where Smyth and the Blood King had landed.

  “Looks like you got to the gates of Hell twice, Kovalenko.”

  The Blood King grinned back at him.

  “Which one of you assholes dies first, hey?”

  CHAPTER FORTY NINE

  Drake goggled and listened to the rest of the team’s simultaneous curses. Somehow the Blood King had wrenched away from Smyth, found a pistol, and was now holding it against the soldier’s head. His body was almost entirely concealed by Smyth’s bulk and he had positioned his back against a soot-smeared, half-crumbled wall.

  Drake let out a long breath. “Jesus Christ, Kovalenko, don’t you know when you should just die?”

  “Death does not scare me.”

  Alicia came to stand beside Drake. “It’s over,” she said with an uncharacteristic softness in her voice. “You are well and truly done.”

  “Perhaps. But my Vendetta will live on. I take as many of you with me as I can, and then she will—”

  The Raptor boomed overhead for the last time, drowning out Kovalenko’s next words.

  Drake met Smyth’s eyes. The soldier was ready for any instruction, letting his body stay relaxed and loose. The gun barrel wavered not an inch from his right eye. It was going to be almost impossible to save Smyth’s life.

  Kinimaka whispered from the rear. “I have the bastard in my sights.”

  The approaching army ground to a stop as its commander saw the situation. The man crouched and waved some of his men forward. Each one took careful aim. The commander spoke quietly into his comms.

  The crackling of many fires, the groans of injured men, and the soft warping of overheated metal were the only sounds. The castle was lit by a silvery moon and savage flame. Once more, time stood still.

  Drake took a step forward.

  “You have done enough damage. Kovalenko, your name will become the staple word for dishonor. For infamy. Your fame? It will be meaningless.”

  “You think I did it all for fame?”

  “Course you did,” Alicia said. “You’re a damn psycho bird.”

  “And I had plan for you, Myles. A great one. You were to be my masterpiece. I would take you and break you. Lock you away in dark place for many years. And when hardships of my life got me down, I would look at what you once were, and what you had become. A broken shell. You would have been my object lesson, the example for any future potential traitors.”

  Alicia looked sideways at Drake. “He really has to die.”

  “Wow, I’d almost forgotten you used to work for this freak. You didn’t . . .?” Drake raised an eyebrow suggestively.

  “I worked for him for a couple of hours.” Alicia sniffed. “Doesn’t really count. And no! I don’t shag everyone I work for, you know.”

  Drake grunted. “I bloody well hope not. We’re working for the President right now.”

  All the while the two were drifting closer.

  “Stop!” Kovalenko cried. “Stop with that moving right now! You think I am stupid? Eh?”

  Alicia was in the middle of a dirty laugh. “C’mon BK. I’m in the middle of a fantasy about the Oval Office here.”

  Then Drake suddenly did stop. A thought had occurred to him, one both the SPEAR team and the American government really needed an answer to.

  “Someone helped you secure that drone, Kovalenko. Give us a clue.”

  The Blood King took a moment to decipher Drake’s accent, then smiled slyly. “A new player has entered the game. And with a plan even I found intriguing. Unfortunately though,” he grunted, “I can’t join the New Order or the quest for Pandora.”

  Drake thought about that as his feet inched forward again.

  Kovalenko ground the barrel of the gun into Smyth’s temple. When blood began to flow, both Drake and Alicia stopped. They had drawn their guns and were mere feet away.

  “Who dies?” Drake whispered hotly. “Live or die, Kovalenko. Who lives or dies today?”

  The Blood King sneered. His finger tightened on the trigger. Drake felt his own finger pulling back. Smyth closed his eyes.

  The world paused.

  The gunshot, when it came, startled everyone. The noise was a harsh explosion that destroyed the menacing silence. Karin screamed. The marine commander let out a loud curse. Kinimaka fell to his knees in exhausted acceptance.

  “Oh no.”

  Smyth slumped to the side. Drake reacted instantly, shouting abuse at the Blood King. His finger was a hair’s breadth from discharging the bullet.

  The Blood King stared back at him stupidly, shocked. No bullet his come from his gun.

  Drake felt shock hit him like a blazing RPG. The shot hadn’t come from Kovalenko’s gun!

  In fact, it hadn’t come at all. Smyth’s eyes suddenly flew open, his face twisting into a stupid grin. In that instant Drake knew the noise had come from Smyth’s authentic sounding gunshot message tone, and he absolutely knew who the sender was.

  Mai! She had saved Smyth’s life and served the Blood King up on a platter all the way from Tokyo.

  Now that was legendary.

  Drake fired, shooting the gun out of Kovalenko’s hand. Alicia sent the next one through his collarbone. Two more came from the marines, the first blasting half his thigh away, the next hitting below the hip. The man slumped. Smyth scrambled away. Drake stooped and hauled Kovalenko up as blood fountained high from the major artery in his thigh, a fitting spectacle for a man with so much red on his hands.

  Kinimaka rose to his feet. “Fuck this shit, I’m calling the hospital.”

  “That message?” Drake nodded to Smyth. “You should friggin’ frame it. Saved your life.”

  “I know.”

  Drake crouched down and took hold of the Blood King’s heavy jacket. “God, I hope you’re not dead yet,” he said.

  Consciousness still swam in the Blood King’s eyes. That, and a little bit of disbelief, a ton of hatred and hostility, and beneath it all—still a terrible unyielding purpose.

  “
Just this once,” Drake said point-blank into his face. “I hope there is a hell and the Devil makes you his bitch.”

  “Not . . . over.” Kovalenko faltered. “On my . . . death. She alone finishes the Vendetta.”

  Drake pulled back. “What?”

  “Goodbye. I will see you in Hell soon enough.”

  Drake shook the man hard. Kovalenko’s eyes closed as his blood gushed into the sand. Drake cursed and shook him again, slapped his face. He couldn’t believe that now he was trying to keep the Blood King alive.

  Alicia placed a hand on his shoulder. “He’s gone. Thank God.”

  “No,” Drake said. He slapped Kovalenko again. “You didn’t hear—”

  The Blood King’s eyes opened wide. He took a deep rasping breath. “If I see any of your dead friends on my travels,” he rasped. “I’ll be sure to fuck them up.”

  Drake’s jaw locked. He couldn’t speak. How could so much hatred and enmity come from one mind? Even in death.

  “She will come for you,” Kovalenko said quite clearly. “You see, Zoya gave me her details. Now Coyote will fulfill the Vendetta.”

  Drake didn’t know whether to be happy or sad. There were many pros and cons swirling around any new contact with the Coyote. “We will stand together,” he said. “She is but one person. We are a family.”

  “Not with the plan she made.” The Blood King let out a final death rattle. “The Kitano woman. Myles. The Swede. And you, Drake. You four will have to kill each other.”

  Then he died.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Mai caught up with Hibiki near the bright sprawling Sony stand. There the sheer volume of people would make it very difficult for anyone to keep track of her. The charade with Hikaru would give her a few hours grace, no more. Hopefully the Clan were still egotistical enough to assume she would carry out their every order. If they weren’t, and they were here, she had a plan B for that too.