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

by David Leadbeater

  “Passes the dull hours of waiting,” Bell answered without any emotion to his voice. “I’m still at a loss as to why Webb suggested I should come down here instead of returning home.”

  Lauren remembered the name. Stone’s laugh was cold. “Perhaps it’s to keep you safe.”

  Bell didn’t have Stone’s deep sense of sarcasm and condescension. “You think? I thought he might be trying to keep an eye on me.”

  Stone didn’t respond. He went silent for a while, prompting Lauren’s heart to miss a beat. Was he approaching the door? If she left it too late she wouldn’t be able to make the couch in time . . .

  Then he spoke again. “Whilst you were . . . occupied . . . I took a call from Mr. Webb. Things have moved along.”

  Lauren heard footsteps. With a trusted instinct born of years of vetting clients she bounded back toward the couch, draping herself at the last second. The lounge door opened and Stone stuck his head out.

  “Have everything you need, dear? Don’t you fall asleep on us, now.”

  Lauren made a practice swing with her whip. “Just keeping it warm.”

  Stone withdrew, closing the door once more. Lauren immediately took her life in her hands and sprang across the room, again placing her ear to the smooth surface.

  “Can’t be too careful,” she heard Stone say. “Like I was saying—things have moved along.” Lauren now heard an entirely uncharacteristic and frankly bizarre tone of excitement enter his voice. “The factory,” he said. “It is finished.”

  “Really?” Bell sounded shocked. “That was fast.”

  Stone’s utter elation shone through in his raised voice. Lauren found the sound of it more than creepy.

  “The factory is finished. Pandora can now be weaponized!”

  “Shit.” Bell’s voice betrayed his fear.

  “What? Does that scare you?”

  “We don’t even have Pandora yet. It’s too early. There’s so much to do.”

  “Keep your goddamn panties on, Bell. Unless that whore stuffed ‘em where the sun don’t shine. Huh? Huh?”

  Lauren felt her hands clench into fists.

  “No, Bill. I mean the factory is everything. The hub of our Pandora operation.”

  “My operation,” Stone cut in.

  “Yes, and the factory’s on the other side of the world. Beyond our control. Is Webb sure they got it right? For an operation that started off so slow it sure is gaining ground at warp speed.”

  “If you were a military man you would know operations do that,” Stone said. “Slow to start, then a magnificent rush and you’re done. Every one fluid, ever-changing. You have to go with the flow, ride the treacherous waves. Christ, man, that’s the fun part.”

  “If you think I see this particular operation as fun then you’re vastly more screwy than I first believed.”

  “Well, Miranda’s up soon. Imagine what wonders that perverted bitch can conjure up. Between you and me, I’m looking forward to her offering.”

  Again, Lauren stored the name away. Whatever these people were up to it clearly wasn’t a shopping trip to Macy’s and they appeared to have associates. Then she heard a comment that almost stopped her heart.

  It was Stone’s callous voice. “If the governments don’t fall into line thousands will die. Hundreds of thousands. This Pandora plague . . . it will make us.”

  Lauren didn’t hear what else was said for at least thirty seconds. That single word, despite its apparent absence in any standard worldwide form for centuries, still struck a hot white lance into most people’s hearts.

  Plague.

  The word conjured rotting bodies in the streets, horrible, agonizing pustule-based death, no chance of immunity and that dreaded waiting . . . waiting to see if you or your loved ones contracted it.

  Lauren pushed the terror aside, forcing herself to concentrate on what was being said inside the lounge. Now more than ever the information she gleaned tonight was imperative.

  “. . . time to find the three plague pits,” Stone was saying. “If we fail there we fail with the entire operation.”

  Good to know, Lauren thought.

  “And then Miranda?” Bell’s voice shivered.

  “Maybe. I heard Clifford’s looking hard for this lost kingdom,” Stone said, unreserved in his glee. “But first—it’s my turn. The factory will start up in earnest as soon as we provide samples. So let’s get to it. Our network of soldiers is immense, and each regiment, even each cell, believes it is working for somebody else, and that that person works for the Pythians. Ingenious, yes?”

  Again Lauren missed Bell’s response. Pythians? Was that why the secret group were interested in Stone and Bell? Because they were besmirching their notorious name?

  Then Stone said, “Back to our pleasures.”

  And Bell answered. “I’ll leave you to it. We are the Pythians.”

  Stone’s answer was just as reverent. “We are the Pythians.”

  As footsteps came toward the door, Lauren’s jaw hit the floor.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Excuse me, my dear, but I think we can double your money.” Stone exited the room whilst speaking, then locked eyes on to her position. “What are you doing?”

  Lauren turned from the window, empty glass in hand. “Admiring the view, Mr. Stone. Would you like to do the same?”

  She struck a pose with the lights of DC shining behind her, the handcuffs hanging from her belt and brushing her thigh, the jacket now fully unzipped.

  Stone indicated the bag containing the tricks of her trade. “Want to do both of us at the same time? That’s five grand for you.”

  It took all the years and every ounce of Lauren’s experience to affect a lascivious smile. “Nightshade would be pleased with that.”

  Stone advanced, followed by Bell. Lauren noticed a wide smile replacing the sick look coating his face. “Round two?” he asked.

  “The final round.” Lauren couldn’t help but return the smile.

  *

  Hours later, Lauren walked away as the two tired, sore men shrugged into luxurious dressing gowns. Seeing another opportunity she swigged from a champagne bottle, draining it dry so that they would think she’d consumed more than an entire bottle that night. The three sat and talked quietly, now breaking out the Bourbon, Stone with his typical conceited reserve, and Bell with his open charm. Lauren had to admit that together they made a very complex team. What did that mean for the rest of the Pythians?

  Feigning exhaustion, she mentioned leaving and then sleep, taking a full double-shot of Bourbon and pretending to pass out right there on the couch. The ball was in their court. They would either make her comfortable, call her a cab, or take some kind of advantage. Lauren was covered in every way, she could always feign waking up. Not only that but she believed Bell would protect her honor.

  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 fl
ooded 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.”