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

by David Leadbeater

  Komodo and Karin held on to each other as if this was their last night on earth. Karin would have to return to the UK soon for her family’s funerals, but had insisted that she would return on the first flight. Her family was here now. It was Komodo, and it was SPEAR.

  Dahl’s family were on their way to the States. Drake was looking forward to meeting them, and perhaps ribbing Dahl a little about his wife. Smyth was little different, but had proved himself an invaluable member of the team. He missed his buddy Romero every single day.

  Next Drake’s eye switched to Mano Kinimaka. The big Hawaiian had lost so much in the last few days, sacrificed a great deal of what he loved to the Blood King’s insanity. The road back would be a long and dark one for him, but he was a strong man, a strong personality, and about as big as Mount Whitney. He met Drake’s gaze, sad, melancholy . . .

  . . . hopeful.

  Hayden lay beside him on the sofa, using it as a makeshift hospital bed, alive and recovering from her wounds and recent surgeries. It would take a while, but the boss of the SPEAR team was expected to make a full recovery. Drake’s heart had lifted on wings of eagles when he had heard. It was like seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, and a kind of vindication that all they had done was justified.

  Also beside Mano, and keeping to themselves for now, were Lauren Fox, Yorgi and Sarah Moxley. Their parts were yet to come, it seemed, but there was no doubt they would be called upon. And on that day they would earn their wings or they would flee; or die.

  And finally, there was Mai. Seated beside the bruised and battered woman was a figure who could easily have been a younger version of herself. Mai had said her name was Grace, and that she needed help. That was all for now. And it was enough. The rest would come later.

  Drake had already heard part of the story about the Tokyo Game Show and the Coscon. He had read part of what had happened on the Internet. The Yakuza boss had first been seduced, tricked, and then persuaded to fake his own death. And all for a pretty face and a lethal high-kick. Already another legend in the making.

  He hugged her close and buried his face in her neck. The scent of her was breathtaking. “No matter what,” he murmured for her ears alone. “No matter what happens tomorrow, or next week, or next year. I will always love you. I always have.”

  “So you two are together?” Grace blurted. “That’s awesome! Sorry, I wasn’t really listening. It’s just my ears. They were trained by ninjas!” She burst out laughing and threw her head back, showing teeth.

  Drake made a face at Mai. “Can we handle her?”

  “Ach. Just imagine it’s Alicia without the sluttiness.”

  Drake laughed.

  Alicia poked her head above shoulder level. “I heard that, little Sprite.”

  “Oh, I know. Taz!”

  Alicia was up on her feet in an instant. “Who told you about that?” She glared hard at the bikers. “C’mon, which one of you leatherheads is gonna take a beating?”

  Trace, the youngest, gave her a sad smile. “I think it was Lomas.”

  Alicia deflated immediately. Drake took in the mood of the group and followed his heart. He stood up, lifting a half-full can of soda.

  “A salute,” he said. “Let’s raise a glass to those we will always miss. Let’s honor their deeds by drinking to their memory. And let’s keep their memories because they can’t. To our family, gone but never forgotten.”

  “To Jonathan.” Hayden lifted her arm.

  “To my mother.” Kinimaka wiped the tears away.

  “To Ben,” Karin said. “And my mum and dad.”

  “To Romero.” Smyth licked his lips.

  “To Lomas,” Alicia whispered, and the rest of the bikers named the others who had died.

  “To Sam and Jo,” Drake said, and drank deeply.

  Throughout the silence that followed, the fallen were remembered and celebrated. Those that remained lived on for the dead, carrying their deeds, hopes and dreams with them; a shining talisman, because in our hearts and memories our departed loved ones live forever.

  THE END

  LAST MAN STANDING

  (Matt Drake #8)

  by

  David Leadbeater

  CHAPTER ONE

  If the last year or so had taught him anything, it had taught Matt Drake that to stay on top of things he had to act quickly, and that despite the fact that some people were beginning to think he might indeed be a one-man disaster area, to dwell and tarry and hope for the best could end up costing his friends, and occasionally the rest of the planet, everything they held dear. If fate had chosen him to be the world’s soldier of fortune, its ready champion, then so be it.

  With these thoughts still half-formed in his mind he dropped everything the moment he walked out of Hayden’s hospital room and turned to Mai.

  “Ben’s funeral is in four days,” he said. “In Leeds, Yorkshire. That gives us time to fly to Russia, search Zoya’s place, and then attend.”

  Mai only shrugged. “After all the talk of this supposed tournament invite, I thought you may want to remain here and see if Coyote contacts you too.”

  “Let’s take the bitch by the horns,” Drake said. “This tournament could all be a load of bollocks, but know for a fact that Zoya was in contact with Coyote on behalf of the Blood King. We’ll worry about this supposed tourney and our bloody non-existent invitations another time.”

  Mai sighed. “If that’s what I have to do to get some alone time with the man of my dreams then let’s go. Now.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Almost.”

  “But what about me?”

  Drake turned to see the eighteen-year-old Grace standing behind Mai. “Hey, I can think of a million reasons why you should stay put. The Japanese are trying to find your parents. They’re trying to find you—who you are. Your memory loss is being addressed. You’re safer here. We don’t know who might be looking for you.”

  Grace pouted. “That’s five at best. Not a million.”

  Mai crouched down and laid a hand on the young girl’s shoulders. “It is best you stay, koibito. The authorities may need your help too. We won’t be gone for long.”

  “All right.” Grace’s face showed that she already understood the reality of the situation and had been playing Drake. Wiser than her years, this girl had potential. Drake berated himself for thinking of her as a possible asset, rather than a victim that should be reunited with her parents.

  “So who’s best to hang with around here?” Grace wondered. “The soldier Smyth likes Mai but tries not to show it. He likes Lauren too, but in a different way.” The young girl almost blushed. “He’s cool though. Kinimaka and Hayden are into each other, and always seem lost in each other. What of Yorgi? He seems okay, too.”

  Drake made a face at Mai. “Not sure I’d recommend any of ‘em for looking after an eighteen-year-old, love. Probably best on your own.”

  Mai narrowed her eyes at him. “They’re all responsible,” she said. “You may depend on everyone and learn from what they share. Except Smyth,” she added. “Ignore him.”

  “And what will your colleagues think when they find that you have left them?”

  “Our colleagues . . .” Drake nodded at the closed hospital room door. “Will understand.”

  ***

  Entry into Russia was a tad easier of late, what with Putin sticking the majority of his nose into the Ukraine and the rest of the country becoming distracted. A White House call to a friendly Russian controller ensured a flight got the green light without delay. Funds may have been exchanged, possibly even a vehicle, but none of that troubled Drake and Mai. Their mission was clear and precise, and had to be carried out speedily. By the time the wheels squealed their greeting to Russian tarmac, the pair were donning equipment; and even before the doors were opened Drake was cajoling the pretty stewardess to just let him do a ‘jump-and-roll’.

  Mai managed a lot of eye-rolling at his back.

  The stewardess kept it together admirably, reme
mbering her health and safety training, and finally allowed them to disembark with a happy smile. A priority customs check and a fast car had them close to Zoya’s place in good time, and Drake found that he could finally relax.

  “So,” he leaned back in his seat and spread his knees, “wanna hop aboard?”

  Mai raised her brows. “I don’t believe our driver would approve, do you?”

  “No worries. I don’t think he speaks English. Or Japanese. Besides, we’ll make it quick.”

  “Don’t be a goof. You know what I mean.”

  Drake sighed. “I guess. But, you know, since we got back together.” He spread both hands. “Hasn’t been a whole lot of us time available. Too busy saving the world.”

  “You don’t remember that waterfall on the island near Korea?”

  “Sounds more romantic than it actually was. But yeah, there are certain parts that stick in my mind.”

  “Then what? You getting soft on me, Drake? Don’t tell me you want to start doing it in an actual bed?”

  “I’d never go soft on you, Mai,” Drake said with a straight face. “And didn’t I just offer to do it right here?”

  “Perv.”

  “I should know by now that I’ll never win.”

  Mai smiled. “There you go. You have discovered the first step to a healthy relationship.”

  “Japanese proverb?”

  “Female proverb.”

  “But seriously.” Drake placed a hand over hers. “Maybe we should take some time. Soon. Since we’re based in the US we’ll call it a vacation. A road trip. Whatever.”

  Mai stared into the middle-distance, her expression suddenly hard. “You’re right about one thing. We should talk. I did something in Tokyo to a largely innocent man, something I now regret. It haunts me.”

  “So let’s talk it through.”

  “‘Talk it through’,” Mai echoed. “I murdered a man, Matt. To help find my parents. Gyuki made me murder a money launderer.”

  Drake knew enough to say nothing at first, but then he said, “Triad?”

  “No. Not Triad. Not exactly. Look, we’re here. Let’s do this another time.”

  “Sure.”

  Their Russian driver threaded the vehicle carefully through the bulk of Zoya’s property. Drake stared out the window and took in the sights, recalling the crazy assault, the fences and shattered guard towers, the trees that had secreted booby-traps, and the front porch where the crazed behemoth had spectacularly missed the most important kick of her life.

  The silence between the couple stretched until their driver pulled up outside. Mai exited quickly, making Drake scramble to follow her. The Russians had said they’d already cleared Zoya’s place, sure, but both Drake and Mai knew from experience that Russian-built products and promises weren’t perfectly reliable.

  Drake drew a handgun, an FBI issue Glock that rather surprisingly didn’t employ a contemporary safety, and hissed at Mai to tread carefully. The Japanese woman ignored him, crossing the threshold into Zoya’s house with only a cursory check. After that, however, she slowed down. Drake motioned to the right.

  “Wonder if those cookies are still in the oven?”

  Mai used her senses to test the new environment. “We’re alone,” she said. “Let’s get busy.”

  Drake pocketed the Glock, having complete faith in her. “All right. Should we start with the treasure mountain?”

  “Where else?”

  Through another door, the great improbable pile of loot sat largely undisturbed. The Russian machine still moved slowly it seemed, thank God. Drake blessed Moscow’s snail-pace bureaucracy, not for the first time in his career.

  “You know,” he said, “the US should inventory this entire house whilst the Russkies are still flogging king of the hill with people’s lives over in the Ukraine. Who knows what treasures, what secrets, are buried in here?”

  Mai nodded. “No argument there.”

  With time ticking away they got down to do what they came for. Carefully, gingerly, they picked at the pile, discarding swords, Uzis, a whole chest full of mixed-up bullets, mortar shells, anti-tank guns, grenades in bunches like deadly pineapples, and more guns than even Drake could keep track of.

  Several of which looked futuristic.

  “I’ll give this to Zoya,” he said. “Girl sure knew how to party.”

  “Not sure what you mean by that,” Mai said distractedly. “All I see around me is death and madness.”

  Drake frowned. Something had certainly changed within Mai, and it had a lot to do with Tokyo. He saw her reading a leather-bound book. “What you got?”

  “I’m not sure. Something about a Lionheart Treasure. Maybe for the future.”

  Drake agreed. “Yeah. I keep seeing tomes relating to Pandora, plagues and there’s a newish pad here about something called the Pythians. And the Devil’s Pyramid. What the hell is that? I think if we don’t stay on topic we could be here for days.”

  “Weeks,” Mai said. “So look out for Coyote, Kovalenko, Blood Vendetta. Stuff like that.”

  “Last Man Standing,” Drake said, putting the pad aside. “That’s the name of the supposed tourney.”

  Mai was plucking more distracting volumes out faster now, revealing even more treasures at the heart of Zoya’s pile. A bulky black chest, strapped down with leather fastenings and three enormous padlocks. A brass plate screwed to the top read: Le Comte De Saint Germain. Mai’s eyes widened to saucers, but she made herself ignore the huge chest, flicking through a sheaf of papers piled to its side.

  “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing and nothing.”

  “Bollocks,” Drake agreed with Yorkshire aplomb. “Bollocks and more bollocks. Look, Grannyzilla must have had a laptop or something. How else could she have communicated with Kovalenko’s lieutenants?”

  Mai pursed her lips. “Could be. You go look for that. I’ll continue here.”

  Drake rose, trying not to groan as the toll of the past year manifested itself in the deep aching of his joints and muscles. The sudden thought of pain brought forth an onset of guilt—at least he was still alive to feel this variety of emotions, unlike some of the heroes that had fallen along the way.

  Take a moment.

  After a while he moved out of the room, casting a searching eye around the kitchen. Zoya’s idiosyncrasies meant that a laptop could be hidden literally anywhere. Hang the rule book, the Russian monster had been an utter loon. The oven was the first place he looked, perhaps with more curiosity than expectation. Burned cookies stared back at him, their little charred faces drooping; a sight that filled him with a sudden unaccountable sadness.

  It made him think of children, and all that he had lost in his life.

  The tray had warped a little. Drake pulled the cookies out and placed them on top of the stove. The Russian driver, smoking a cigarette in the doorway, stared at him strangely.

  Drake shrugged and turned away, quickly opening cupboards and checking shelves, then standing on top of chairs to inspect the harder to reach alcoves and hideaways. Dust dens and spiderwebs greeted him. Pretty soon, he crossed into the front room and began an inspection there. When the hunt still revealed nothing he gave an audible groan and went to find Mai.

  “Damn. I got nothing. There’s only one place left to search. Do you fancy . . .”

  Mai smiled sweetly. “Not a chance. Have fun. Oh, and be careful. Zoya was probably sexually active.”

  Drake closed his eyes. “Thanks for that.”

  He made his way warily to the woman’s bedroom. The big double bed was unmade, the dirty sheets rumpled. He tried to dismiss the sight of rubber-boot prints on the duvet at the foot of the bed. Such visualizations could lead to debase imaginings. The drawers were full of clothes, but at the bottom of the wardrobe, hidden by hanging coats and trousers, he found a sparkly new Lenovo.

  Within a minute he had it laid out on a table and was calling Mai. The Japanese woman came through to see the welcome screen flashing up.

 
; “Good luck with the password.”

  “These days,” Drake said. “With Windows 8, most people leave their accounts logged in just as they do on their mobile phones. It’s quicker. I’m hoping . . .”

  The front-page apps showed which e-mail account Zoya used most and flipped nicely open when Drake clicked on it. “Thank you, app developers,” he said. “For making all our accounts so much easier to access.”

  Mai jabbed at the screen. “That folder there. DK. Dmitry Kovalenko. You know, until now, I actually thought this might be a huge waste of time.”

  Drake opened the folder. Immediately half a dozen e-mails flashed up, all entitled Blood Vendetta. Drake quickly checked the ‘sent’ folder and noted that every single one had been forwarded. Zoya then was indeed the go-between, acting as a middle-monster between Kovalenko and Coyote.

  He clicked on the last e-mail, scrolled to the bottom and started to read the exchanges. The contents were stark and grueling, sent at the Blood King’s behest for the attention of the world’s greatest assassin. Drake expected ghastliness and was not disappointed.

  Mai read it without emotion. “It changes quickly from an exploratory message sent to Zoya that appears to contain several . . . code words?”

  Drake nodded. “Yes. Some kind of security protocol that even then is vetted by the Russian before being forwarded to Coyote. But once established—” he didn’t need to continue.

  “Yes, it’s pretty graphic. There’s a request from Kovalenko’s men to bring Coyote in, in the event of his death. It actually says ‘finish the job’, and ‘activate in the events of Dmitry’s death’. It’s real.” Mai hung her head. “Damn. I can’t believe that after all this, and with the bastard dead, this is all real.”