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

by David Leadbeater

  Drake was glad to see the team back in action.

  There were three more people aboard. Lauren, Yorgi and Grace. The team had decided they might need Yorgi’s services and Lauren’s memories. Grace was there on Mai’s insistence. The Japanese woman just couldn’t leave her new charge on her own—especially in light of yesterday’s new information.

  Drake focused on the flight and the flood of facts and figures. Preparation was an imperative. They would land and then hit London’s streets running, no holding back.

  Karin was at the forefront of the information charge, naturally comprehending what type of intelligence they would need and in which order.

  “Plague pits of London,” she said. “There are many, leading some to name it the city of bones. From one end to the other you need only dig a few yards beneath the surface to discover its many hidden secrets—tens of thousands of bodies are buried beneath the sprawling capital, a land of skeletons. In addition to the Knightsbridge pit I mentioned earlier we have another at the center of Soho—Golden Square. Now a charming little area, it has a secret history as a plague pit. In 1685 Lord Macauley described it as ‘a field not to be passed by without a shudder by any Londoner of that age’. Here, as the great plague raged, nightly cartloads of corpses were dropped and buried. It was believed that the earth was deeply infected and could never again be interred without the risk of infection.”

  “But all that has been proven wrong,” Smyth said. “Right?”

  Karin shrugged. “We thought so. The bacteria should have perished within weeks. But, as I mentioned, scientists have now noted the presence of other diseases too. Diseases that may not die.”

  Drake made a waving motion. “Any more pits?”

  “Plenty. An interesting one lies on the Bakerloo line. At the south end of the London depot there’s a junction. One line leads to Elephant and Castle, the other to a dead end and a runaway line for trains unable to stop. Behind the walls of this tunnel lies a plague pit.”

  Drake suppressed a shudder. “Think about that the next time you’re on the tube.”

  “Another exists at Green Park, discovered when they were building the Victoria Line. And more . . . so many more. Hayden, Drake, we can’t possibly cover every single one. Not by ourselves.”

  Hayden nodded. “Maybe the British police could help.”

  Drake held up a warning hand. “Be careful how you word it. London’s on a high alert. If we send squad cars screaming to every location we’re gonna cause mayhem, which will hamper our own search.”

  Hayden stared. “I’m FBI, Matt. I know how to be diplomatic.”

  Drake grimaced but said nothing. Dahl caught his eye with a similar frown. Hayden noticed the exchange and laughed. “Look at you two goddamn comedians. Do you have a better plan?”

  Dahl nodded slowly. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  Kinimaka sat down next to Hayden, protective as ever. “Please share.”

  “We monitor the chatter,” he said. “And I don’t mean how the cops do it. I mean how Interpol and the NSA do it. We know the channels they use, the methods they employ. Code words. More importantly, we know the identities of dozens of mercenaries allied to the Pythians, though not their whereabouts since they dropped off the grid. If we can establish any kind of close proximity for them—” Dahl clicked his fingers. “Game on.”

  Drake thought about it. “Jesus Christ, Dahl, that’s not bad.”

  Dahl nodded toward Hayden. “Make the call. Let’s go get these bastards.”

  Drake let out a long sigh. “I just hope London’s ready for this.”

  “Not to mention Paris and Los Angeles,” Hayden muttered.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  As they came in to land, Hayden called the team they had chosen to assist in Los Angeles. Recommended by Michael Crouch and Armand Argento of Interpol, and the team that had saved Kono Kinimaka’s life more than once, the so-called Disavowed were ex-CIA and an unlikely but competent bunch.

  Hayden spoke to their self-appointed but now universally accepted leader, Claire Collins. “Hi, again. If you’re up for some off-the-book, rollercoaster action where you’ll quite possibly get yourself killed at least twice then you’re one of the gang.”

  “We’re up for anything and everything.” Collins said. “At least twice. So tell us what you need in LA.”

  “Well, obviously you won’t be the only ones out there. But we need you guys to play to your strengths. The Disavowed team were the best in the business at what they do, and could still be. We need them on the ground, working this thing from the streets.”

  “We’ll get to it.”

  Hayden proceeded to impart all the information they had gathered, bringing Collins up to speed as her colleagues listened. When she was done their West Coast team sounded ready for action.

  Hayden spent a few more minutes briefing them and then signed off. “We’re counting on you guys. Don’t let the Pythians or their agents out of that plague pit alive.”

  “We’re right on it,” Collins said. “If there’s one thing we’re good at . . .”

  *

  “. . . it’s kicking terrorist ass.” Claire Collins ended the call and sat back in her seat, searching the eyes of everyone else gathered in the room, evaluating.

  “So . . . what do you guys think?”

  Aaron Trent perched on the edge of his chair. Trent was tall and dark-haired, spoke in a clipped manner, was slow to smile but always good-hearted. He had recently been fully reunited with his son after his ex-wife died at the hands of a Serbian whack-job called Blanka Davic. The readjustment, not to mention the grieving, was taking its toll.

  “Search and destroy. But I can’t leave LA for more than a day. Mikey’s just too fragile to be without a dad right now.”

  Adam Silk, an ex-child thief recruited into the CIA, a whip-like man able to finesse his way into almost anything, looked concerned. “Maybe you should sit this one out, Aaron. Take some time.”

  “If it were less of a threat, I’d say yes. But not after what I’m hearing.”

  Dan Radford, the playboy and techie of the group who had recently come to realize he was head over heels in love with the wife he’d once happily approved of having an open relationship with, poured himself a coffee. “We need a list of plague pits in LA. We need equipment setting up or access to an existing room where we can monitor the airwaves. We need an open line to the authorities and promises of response if we shout. Not only that, but somebody should be setting up a think tank to find these Pythians and their factory. We have their names, right? How hard can it be?”

  “Has there ever been a case of the Black Death in the States?” Silk wondered. “I’ve never heard of one.”

  Collins looked blank. “I guess we’ll find out. The Bureau’s already on high alert, concerned over the significant increase in terrorist chatter these last few weeks. Nobody’s sure what to make of the Pythians—a new group appearing out of nowhere and making such gigantic waves is unprecedented.”

  Trent was staring into space. “I know one thing about the bubonic plague,” he said. “It’s supposedly where the rhyme ‘ring-a-ring-of-roses’ has its darker roots. The children’s nursery rhyme?” He intoned, “Ring-a-ring o’ roses, a pocket full of posies, atishoo, atishoo, we all fall down’. Associated with the plague and Black Death, though I do believe true folklorists disagree. But, come on. Sneezing and falling down? A rosy rash was said to be a symptom of plague. And posies of herbs were often carried as protection to ward off the stench of the disease. And they still sing it to this day.”

  “Shit.” Silk looked wide eyed. “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine? How do you know all this?”

  “I went to school. Didn’t you?”

  “Actually, no. Not really.”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry. Child thief and all that. Well, I also know that the line ‘atishoo, atishoo’ was in fact originally ‘ashes, ashes’. A reference to plague-ridden corpses being burned. Then again,” he smiled grimly
, “it might just be a happy singing game.”

  “Okay, so maybe I could draft Susie in to help?” Susie Brewster was Silk’s new cop girlfriend.

  “Oh yeah, the more I see of Susie the better my day becomes.” Radford said, then realized his gigolo days were over and blushed. “ ‘Cause she’s a good cop,” he added lamely.

  “Maybe your wife could help too,” Silk hit back. “Since she’s slept with the majority of LA’s elite.”

  “Hey, that was mostly movie and music stars,” Radford protested.

  “So that’s acceptable now?” Collins wondered. “I realize some couples have a laminated card with ‘approved’ celebs on it but Amanda’s would have to be the size of a billboard.”

  The room fell into laughter, Radford taking the ribbing good-naturedly because he knew his own slept-with list was just as long, but then Trent rose to his feet, no hint of a smile on his lips.

  “Whilst we talk, our enemies grow stronger,” he said. “Let’s get to it.”

  Collins saw her phone light up and clicked the ‘accept’ button. “Yeah?”

  “Are you ready for this?” a voice asked. It was Armand Argento, their Italian Interpol contact.

  “Ready for what?”

  Collins saw every eye swivel toward her, sensing trouble.

  “You should sit down. It is not good. Oh, no it is not so good.”

  “Armand! Just spit it out!”

  “Am I on speakerphone? I don’t want to have to say this twice, amico mio.”

  Collins pressed the button. “Shoot.”

  “Word has just come in of a terrible development that concerns you.” Argento said. “Oh, I am sorry. So sorry. The word is—that the Moose is working for the Pythians.”

  Not a breath was taken, not a hair stirred.

  At last, Trent spoke. “Are you sure, Armand?”

  “As sure as an Italian man can be. No we are not without our failings but we do find it hard to recall them.”

  “The Moose?” Radford recalled every moment of horror from their recent contact with one of the world’s greatest contract killers. “Then this is personal.”

  Trent’s face was like carved granite. “It’ll never be more so.”

  The Moose had recently kidnapped Trent’s young son, aided in the murder of his wife and tried to blow up Radford and Amanda. The killer had been contracted to Blanka Davic for a ridiculous sum of money, and had sent Trent on a terrifying chase across Los Angeles. After Davic fell, the Moose disappeared. Most had thought to retire—never to be heard from again.

  Collins thanked Argento and then got to work. Her first call was to Hayden. “How close are you to London?”

  The CIA agent’s voice was tense. “Just coming in to land. London’s sitting on a knife-edge now. We’ll be . . .”

  *

  “. . . in touch soon.” Hayden stared out the window as she spoke, admiring the city’s shimmering lights. All seemed calm down there, made more so by the manifestation of a faint early morning mist, but she knew it was anything but.

  Cops and secret agents, terrorists and mercenaries roamed the streets. The public had no idea of the secret war about to erupt all around them.

  Airplane tires squealed against tarmac.

  “Here we go.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Armed with crucial new information the SPEAR team hit the quiet streets of London. A pair of extra-large taxis whisked them from Heathrow toward the city center at 3:30 a.m., finally stopping behind a tactical mobile HQ. The team’s chief combatants were outfitted with weaponry, to the surprise of most of the assembled Brits, many not knowing of the deal agreed between the British Prime Minister—James Ronson—and the American Secretary of Defense. In these beleaguered times no sane country would decline an offer of such vital, multitalented help as the SPEAR team could provide. Not only that, their members consisted of ex-SAS and Swedish Special Forces, and Michael Crouch, their other benefactor, possessed influential contacts within the British government on a par with the country’s leader.

  Kitted out, wired up, they made their way over to Marble Arch, eleven stalwarts stalking what was left of the night. The first they saw of Marble Arch was the large green sign pointing their way ahead to the ring road, A4 and A3 and with Notting Hill Gate to the right. Beyond that they saw the Odeon cinema and then yellow and green trees emerged from the slowly dissipating mists. Drake caught just a glimpse of the famous white pillars and the great arch itself before Dahl turned their seven-seat Ford S-MAX off the four-lane road onto a relatively narrow side street.

  “Eyes peeled,” Dahl said.

  “For what?” Drake joked. “Men wearing Pythian-monikered bomber jackets?”

  “A few hours ago the exchanges between mercs known to be working for our new worst public enemy rose by 800 percent. Here,” he waved his arms, “in hotels situated around Marble Arch.”

  “I know that. I also know they pinned it down to an area consisting of fourteen hotels.”

  Hayden tapped the comms unit attached to her right ear. “Latest is they’ve narrowed it down to two,” she said. “Take a right up ahead.”

  Drake felt a surge of enthusiasm. “Two? Now that’s more bloody well like it.”

  Dahl slowed as he turned the wheel. Cars were parked on both sides of the street, the entrances to hotels set back from the road. Underground car parks could be accessed down steep slopes, but most were gated off for the night. Small bakeries and eateries stood around, lights out in all but the hardiest.

  “Now there’s something you don’t see every day,” Kinimaka said, rubbing at his window. “A closed Starbucks.”

  Dahl idled along the ill-lit street, taking his time as their second vehicle closed up to the rear. Smyth was driving, his grumpy face hanging over the wheel and scrunched as if with road rage, no doubt being ignored by his vehicle’s passengers—Karin, Komodo and Lauren. Drake adjusted the body armor he wore and glanced into the back seat.

  “All ready?”

  Affirmations came back, all except Mai. Drake suddenly longed for Alicia’s return—at least the feisty warrioress could get something out of Mai, even if it was only uncontrolled anger.

  “I think we should stop,” Dahl said. “And scout out these hotels on foot. Get the lay of the land.”

  Within minutes the group were treading the quiet, gloomy streets after pulling voluminous black single-layer jackets over their combat gear. The first hotel was an upmarket, classy affair, made all the more apparent by having a Ferrari and an Aston Martin parked outside. Drake could also make out the front end of an orange Lamborghini through the lower car park bars.

  “Just be a minute, guys.”

  Dahl clucked at him. “Leave it alone. They’re just cars.”

  “Oh good God, you sound like Alicia. And they’re not just cars. They’re exquisitely designed masterworks of engineering.”

  “Can we focus?” Hayden drawled. “For just a second?”

  The hotel reared up by the side of the road, a sweeping double-door entrance the only obvious way in. A service road ran down the left-hand side. As they watched, a car park attendant came to the open lower entrance as if in query. Drake waved him away. The hotel, though clearly staffed and operating through the night, was calm.

  “I feel a little conspicuous,” Kinimaka said.

  Hayden gave him a knowing grin. “So what’s new? But in all seriousness, I’m happy to be spotted out here. It’ll spook the bastards into action.”

  They drifted along toward the next hotel. This one appeared even more opulent, with an entrance designed much like the Marble Arch and gold filigrees around the lower windows and entrance doors. A doorman with a top hat stood in the shadows, head down, checking his cellphone. The wide, sinuous parking approach held two more supercars that grabbed Drake’s attention—a new Jaguar F-type Coupe and a Mercedes SLS AMG.

  Drake stopped again, tongue practically hanging out.

  Dahl stared along with him. “Must admit I do
like the Jag.”

  “What is this?” Hayden asked. “Motor Show week?”

  “No,” Drake answered. “But it is London in the spring and summer. Foreign rich kids and mega-wealthy playboys, ambassador’s sons, Saudi dignitaries and the like, all tend to migrate here for several months, bringing their specially prepared, one-off vehicles with them. It’s becoming a kind of annual event.”

  Hayden was eyeing up both hotels. “Time is ultimately against us. What do you say we split up and check both at the same time? Mercs like these, they have to have some kind of security protocol in place, unless they’re completely incompetent. A double breach should shake something loose.”

  Dahl nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

  Drake stood with Dahl, Mai and Smyth whilst the others retraced their steps. As one the SPEAR team pushed through both hotels’ doors, ready for anything. Drake assessed the lobby with its gleaming floors and white walls, its marble-topped desk behind which a pretty receptionist sat smiling, the empty area of plush seating and the entrance to the bar. Nothing appeared to be out of place.

  Still evaluating, he crossed the open space, sensing his companions at his back. If the receptionist noticed their sense of anticipation she gave no sign. Drake stopped before her, smiling.

  “Callan Dudley.” The name of a particularly skilled and vicious mercenary they knew had made several recent calls from this area. “Or Charlie Egan.”

  His voice was loud, carrying beyond the lobby. For a moment the receptionist looked blank, then asked if they were meeting someone.

  Drake nodded, keeping his voice at a steady boom. “Callan Dudley.”

  Dahl leaned into his shoulder, whispering, “I’ve seen better acting at a school play.”

  Drake managed to swallow his retort, squeezing his lips together.

  “I can’t confirm the name of anyone staying here.” The receptionist smiled. “But you could check the bar to see if your friend is there.” She lowered her voice. “Been quite a few asking for Mr. Dudley tonight.”