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

by David Leadbeater

  Crouch came over. “Despite what Beauregard told Alicia I’m inclined to act first rather than wait and see. Yorgi, you’re up.”

  The young thief inclined his head, showing no real emotion. He double-checked the blueprint and compared it to the row of rooms Caitlyn had isolated. “We know which one has sample?”

  Caitlyn shook her head. “You have a choice of three double rooms. Three names they’re using are known aliases, yes, but nobody stands out as a leader. I couldn’t speculate.”

  “I’d prefer to avoid open battle.” Crouch knew about events in Los Angeles and London.

  “It won’t be necessary,” Yorgi said. “I will take samples from under noses of men.”

  Alicia grabbed hold of his arm as he started to move out. “You do know I’m coming with you, right?”

  “No, no. I work best alone. You will make me worse.”

  Alicia’s brows shot up as one. “Excuse me?”

  “Always alone. Always. I have . . . trade secret.”

  Alicia laughed. “If you die alone in there, Yorgi, you’re gonna be on my shit list.”

  “You come so far,” Yorgi granted. “Will help. But I finish alone.”

  “I can live with that.”

  *

  Alicia strode alongside Yorgi as the thief threaded a knot of back streets on his way to the hotel. Standing almost a head taller, blond and as muscular as a world-class athlete, she immediately looked conspicuous but a padded coat and woolly hat diluted most of her eye-catching assets. Linking arms with Yorgi, the pair strolled around like a couple in love. When at last the hotel’s rear entrance appeared ahead Yorgi stopped.

  “Why not the front door?” Alicia wondered. “We can take the elevators to their front door.”

  “This way we can take service elevators,” Yorgi said. “Not made to be noticed.” He gesticulated widely as was his habit. “Rear entrances are watched, yes, but not as carefully as lobby and corridors. Service staff always come and go.” He pointed out a waiter sneaking out of a door and lighting a cigarette. “Many chances.”

  “We’re not appropriately dressed.”

  Yorgi shrugged. “This is true. If it was I, Yorgi, planning this it would take a week or more. We have less than one hour.”

  Alicia slowed as Yorgi waited for the smoker to leave. At the first appropriate doorway he leaned in and Alicia folded her arms around his neck. “Oh.”

  “I am sorry. It is necessary,” he whispered into her ear.

  “I know. But it’s still the closest thing to a shag I’ve had in months.” She remembered the open comms. “Except when Russo jumped on top of me.”

  The man’s angry snort was a wasp in her ear. “I was thrown.”

  Alicia held Yorgi tighter. “Likely story. You’re the size of a bloody Sasquatch.”

  “Beauregard—” Russo began.

  “Oh don’t mention his name when I’m all cuddled up,” Alicia moaned. “Makes me so—”

  Yorgi pulled away. Luckily, the smoker had returned to work. The couple made their way to a pair of grungy doors which worked on a push-bar from the inside. Fixed to one side was a bell but there were no door handles. The single door to the left, however, was as standard as they came. Alicia grunted happily, reaching for the handle. Yorgi pushed in front of her.

  “Follow me.”

  A narrow, well-lit corridor ran away, cleaved on both sides by several single and double doors. The noise of a kitchen swelled from the right, doors wide open, and steam and the smell of garlic, tomato and baked bread drifting out. Yorgi moved fast, surprising Alicia, scurrying past the opening as if his heels were on fire. He paused at the next door, glanced in and moved on. Alicia hurried to catch up.

  At the end of the corridor a pair of modest steel doors denoted one of the service elevators. Yorgi pressed a button and waited, head down.

  Alicia saw the chef first. Emerging from the kitchen he stared straight at them, a look of irritation twisting his features. Alicia read the look in an instant, suddenly understanding that guests tried this on more frequently than she imagined.

  “Hey, you’re not supposed to—”

  His English accent was pure cockney. Alicia fed the man’s own conclusions, grabbed Yorgi and swung him into the just-arrived elevator, giggling all the time. With a loud “Byeeee!” she jabbed the second floor button and watched the doors close.

  Yorgi untangled himself. “From blueprint we go left out doors, count five rooms and enter. Then, it is up to me.”

  Alicia nodded and watched the Russian assemble the ‘special’ goods he had asked the Gold Team to procure as he made the London to Paris flight. Nothing spectacular, just a mini wrecking bar, some leather gloves with the fingers cut out and a reserve backpack. Alicia took a moment to hand him a small caliber pistol.

  “I not use gun.”

  “This time you do, Yogi.”

  “It’s Yorgi.”

  “I know, but I like Yogi better. Get used to it. If it’s a choice of kill or be killed I’d rather you shot first. The mercs these Pythians hired won’t lose a moment’s sleep over killing you.”

  “But . . .”

  “This is my world now.” Alicia pressed the weapon into his hands, holding it there. “Trust what I tell you and take the bloody gun.”

  “All right.”

  The doors whooshed open and again the couple drifted arm in arm toward their goal. Using the service elevator had meant they didn’t have to bypass the mercs’ rooms and risk discovery. It also meant their target room was closer. Yorgi slipped out a programmed keycard microcontroller and pushed it into the slot on the door of the hotel room they had booked over the Internet but had not had sufficient time to check into. Alicia shielded his body, leaning in and laughing. This time, nobody saw them. The hotel corridors were empty at midday and the maids had already cleaned the second floor.

  Yorgi entered the room and stripped down to a tight black bodysuit that covered every inch of his flesh. Pulling on the gloves and placing the wrecking bar into a zip pocket, he shrugged into the backpack. “Simple but effective,” he said. “Now, you stay here.”

  Alicia nodded but followed him anyway.

  “Curiosity killed the cat.” Yorgi took deep breaths. “You know where that came from and what happened.”

  Alicia could have responded with a number of comments but, not wanting to disrupt the little guy’s focus, she settled upon a moment of silence. Yorgi used the respite to break the window lock and slide the sash upward.

  Alicia couldn’t refrain from commenting. “You know there’s no balcony out there?”

  “Empty wall is better,” Yorgi said with a smile and disappeared.

  Alicia ran to the window, believing she knew the thief’s trade secret. Sure enough he was clinging to the sheer brick wall, fingers and shoe tips inserted into tiny depressions, searching around for the next.

  Buildering, she thought. If someone of Yorgi’s reputation used the illegal sport as a primary means of progress then he had to be world class. She herself had learned the art of buildering as a Special Forces technique, though not at his level. Of course, he would only normally employ it at night, in darkness, and after thoroughly researching every aspect of his intended target. Today, he didn’t have such luxury. Finding the samples and stopping the Pythians was paramount.

  She watched him advance, feeling a new surge of respect for the man. Buildering, known as urban climbing, counted on an individual being able to climb any vertical wall, finding the correct foot and handholds to complement the perfect body positioning. The body did not always go forwards, but moved around an axis, gaining ground. The skill, concentration and the strength required was phenomenal, although these days only older buildings could be properly scaled.

  Alicia made sure the door was locked and her weapons were ready. By the time she returned to her position, Yorgi had gained the first window and was peering inside. What he saw had to be positive for he took out the wrecking bar and inserted its thin
end into the window frame. Then, seconds later, he reached inside and struggled with the window itself. This was potentially the trickiest maneuver, since the window was clearly stuck and required pressure to force it free. Too much pressure would result in Yorgi losing his balance and plunging to certain death. Too little and he wouldn’t gain entry.

  Alicia found her knuckles had turned white before Yorgi dropped inside the first hotel room. Without delay his voice spoke inside her head, perfectly calm. “Empty room. Messy bed so someone was here. Bottles of whisky and used glasses. No gear though. I move on to next.”

  Alicia watched his head re-emerge, knowing there was little chance the mercs would have left the precious sample unguarded. Caitlyn’s voice came over the comms. “I can see you, Yorgi, and I can see into the second room.” She paused. “Seems empty. The problem is the third room is jam-packed. Almost as if the lot of them have been called to a meeting before moving out.”

  “Makes sense,” Alicia said. “It’s what we would do. Can that scope you’re using pick out a number?”

  “Hard to say. Five, maybe six. I can’t see the whole room.”

  Yorgi climbed carefully across to the second window. Alicia took a moment to make a plan. “Line ‘em up in your sights,” she said. “Sorry Michael, your wish for peace and quiet just isn’t gonna work out. You fire on my word.”

  She waited for their thief to gain access to the second room. “Yorgi, I counted eighty four seconds from room to room. You capable of making the third in that time too?”

  “I say give me ninety.”

  “All right. As soon as I see your head I’m starting counting.”

  “Make sure I can hear you.”

  A minute later, Yorgi appeared. Alicia began the count, scooping up her weapons and readying herself for war. She wondered briefly why teams she got involved with could never complete a mission discreetly, but then concluded that it was down to the desperate, often time-sensitive operations they became involved with. Her count reached fifty and she exited the room, wedging the door open in case something went wrong. The corridor was eerily quiet, her footfalls softened by the plush carpet and thick paneled walls.

  “Seventy five . . . seventy six . . .”

  Healey, Russo and Caitlyn appeared out of the elevator bank ahead, both panting slightly. Russo shrugged at her. “Crouch is the sniper,” he said. “I thought we’d be more useful alongside you.”

  Alicia hid a smile. When they first met, Russo had acted more like a hot chili in her bolognese, resentment boiling through every comment and movement. Now, after they had shared battle and even saved each other’s lives, there had grown a mutual respect that would only become deeper. She nodded at the three of them.

  “Well met. Be ready on eighty five. And Caitlyn, you stay in the corridor. Watch out for escapees.”

  “Ready.”

  “Eighty . . . eighty one . . .”

  She stopped outside the room in which all the mercs were gathered and knocked loudly. Three more seconds and she motioned toward the comms.

  “Fire twice!”

  Instantly, windows shattered. Voices roared and yelled out in shock and anger. Alicia told Yorgi to wait and then shot out the lock.

  “Go!”

  The trio surged through the door in tight formation, guns up, squeezing shots off as targets rose like fairground dummies. As if through telepathy they split in three directions, staying low as they raced for cover. The mercs were in total disarray. Alicia saw three down and three standing. Through a half-open door to a small bathroom she saw a flash of Beauregard, but her vision focused hard on the largest mercenary in the room.

  The one with the backpack.

  She fired. He ducked, instinct honed. She swept forward, still firing, and slid across a polished coffee table, her feet striking his knees and toppling him over. Bullets struck his chest. Alicia wasted no time or conscience on the man, knowing what he carried, and ripped the backpack away from him. Other mercs started immediately toward her.

  “We should get this out of here.” She held their ultimate prize in her hands.

  She leaped over to the window and handed it to the waiting Yorgi. The backpack had always been imperative to this mission and her plan had always been to utilize Yorgi’s skills to escape with it, no matter what happened to the rest of them. The Russian thief immediately made his way down the side of the building, away from the mercs. Alicia protected the window, Crouch the street. Now she turned to find Russo strangling a merc into unconsciousness and Healey heading toward the bathroom. The remaining mercs appeared to be panicking.

  No. Her heart leaped into her mouth. Healey!

  Two mercs blasted past Russo, making no attempt to fight, just heading for the door. Alicia noted the big man engaging in pursuit and trusted him to help Caitlyn take them down. In that moment Healey yelped and Alicia sprinted for the bathroom.

  Beauregard slipped around the door frame, as sinuous as smoke and shadow. Alicia came to a sudden stop.

  “You tricked us, Frogface.”

  “Did I? Plans change quickly. And here you are.”

  “You’re saying they accelerated the operation?”

  Beauregard glided around her as a limping Healey approached his back. “They do that when they have everything they need.”

  “Bad sign.”

  Beauregard inclined his head, creeping toward the door.

  Alicia had had enough. “Whose bloody side are you on anyway?”

  “Today?” Beauregard shrugged. “Tomorrow?” He smiled craftily.

  “Tomorrow, you’re gonna be thrown into the Bastille, in chains. Life’s about to get real, Beauregard.”

  “Do you think?”

  The Frenchman sprang forward at a low angle, twisting as he came, somehow managing to entangle both her legs in his and jerk them out from under her. Alicia went down, the gun clattering away, and Beauregard danced past. She noticed a knife in his hand, but also noticed that he didn’t try to use it.

  Healey yelled for him to stop.

  “Oh yeah,” Alicia rolled to her feet, “that’ll work.”

  She gave chase, stopping at the door to take in the scene. It wasn’t all she had hoped. Russo and Caitlyn had nailed one of the mercs, the other was nowhere to be seen but at least her two colleagues were safe.

  Relatively speaking.

  Russo was sitting on his ass, a look of deep surprise creasing the crags around his eyes, a bruise already forming across his right cheekbone. Caitlyn was far worse off, held in the clutches of Beauregard. He stood behind her, pulling her into him, the knife across her throat.

  “Don’t you dare,” Alicia hissed. “Don’t you fucking dare hurt her.”

  Beauregard pulled her closer. Caitlyn winced. Alicia pulled up short.

  “Stand back,” the Frenchman said. “And I will let her go. Little minx almost took me down.”

  Alicia blinked in shock and swelled with pride at the same time. Then she remembered who she was and wondered why these foreign emotions had begun to haunt her of late. Something clearly wasn’t right.

  “Let her go,” Alicia said. “And we’ll let you go.”

  “Your word?”

  “My word. Put down your weapons, boys.”

  Beauregard waited for Healey and Russo to comply and then smiled. “A good day’s work, non? You retrieved your sample. You killed some bad men. You even got to tussle with the great Beauregard Alain. Well, until we meet again!”

  He shoved Caitlyn into Alicia, making his way like a cat down the corridor. Healey and Russo gave a half-hearted chase but they were never going to catch the man.

  “You okay?” Alicia asked Caitlyn.

  “I’m good. He didn’t hurt me. But it’s always me,” she said. “Always me that gets bloody caught.”

  Alicia frowned. “You’re referring to your beating, torture and escape during our Aztec adventure? Don’t worry. It’s all good experience.”

  “Oh, thanks for that.”

&nb
sp; Healey and Russo came up then, the former looking at the floor, the latter with a wide grin on his face. “So,” Russo said, tapping his ear. “Since the comms are still open and you two are finished nattering shall we call in Yorgi?”

  Alicia grimaced. In the heat of the moment both she and Caitlyn had forgotten about the comms.

  “Here I am,” a voice whispered over their comms and also sounded out behind them. Yorgi was there, backpack in hand.

  “You have the samples?” Alicia asked.

  “We do.” The Russian thief smiled. “We sure do.”

  “Are they safe?” Caitlyn looked abruptly concerned.

  “I guess. All are locked up in a strong medical box of some sort.”

  Crouch’s voice rang in their ears. “Then stop talking and leave. Now. The Pythians are prepared to destroy cities in order to possess those samples.”

  Alicia gathered the troops with a sweep of her eyes. “You heard the man. Move it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Aaron Trent waited for news and stared unknowingly at Agent Claire Collins. The Disavowed had been saddled with this ballbuster a few months ago and had quickly gone from dislike to acceptance to massive respect, and more. At work, she had criticized them all, hauling them well and truly over the coals. At play she had kissed them all, danced with them all, but she had settled on him for something more.

  Trent blinked as she met his stare. The smile in her eyes spoke of play but the look on her face was pure work.

  “Got a tip,” she said. “The Moose has been spotted at a trailer park off Highway 1, toward San Diego.”

  “Already?” Trent stayed suspicious.

  “That man’s face was all over the news just a few weeks ago. There’s not a good Angelino wouldn’t give him up after those terror atrocities. I’m surprised it took this long.”

  Silk was already at the door. “What are we waiting for?”

  A car was waiting, a driver too. The new and improved Razor’s Edge took their seats and sat back, bathed in early morning light. At this time, especially in the hills, Los Angeles was a gift from God, the angels’ own masterpiece in progress as the rising sun threw brushstrokes across the skies. A ball of fire filled the basin, crept across the hills and dappled the trees, creating wonder in all those who jogged or slid early from their beds to watch, or headed for the long commute. Trent, in the window seat, turned his head toward the rising ball and thought of better times.