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

by David Leadbeater

  “I’m fine.” Face reddening he wondered if the entire goddamn world had seen him stagger when he got shot.

  “Don’t be so embarrassed.” Alicia ran up to him. “We all have our off days.”

  Soldiers streamed across the deck. Drake slipped out toward the rail, keeping their enemy in sight. As they closed in, civilians ran in the opposite direction until the walkway behind Dudley was empty.

  The Irishman stepped into view, one hand held high and clasping a polished wooden box with a gold lock and hinges. “One av tree!” he cried in his thick accent. Drake struggled to understand it as “one of three”.

  “Tree boxes, tree aerosols. Stand down, yer arse bandits, before I open Pandora’s feckin’ juicy Box on yer!”

  Hayden hissed a warning through the comms. “Do it! We don’t know what capabilities he has.”

  As one, guns were pointed toward deck. Dudley grinned, almost capering in his delight. “Better! That’s better. Now jump yer feckin’ arses over that rail. Yeah, that’s right. Swim, yer bastards.”

  Nobody moved. Crouch, Healey and Russo were in Dudley’s blind spot and inching closer. Yorgi moved to join them, eyeing the route up to the deck above as if he might be considering a climb.

  Hayden recognized the thief’s signature tactic at the same moment Drake did. “Can you get above him, Yorgi? Distract him.”

  “Da. Yes, I can.”

  “Then do it.”

  Yorgi scooted forward, leaping at the higher deck and finding handholds in the smooth-looking shell that shouldn’t exist. They didn’t have to hold him for long as his feet found purchase and then launched him even higher. In mid-air he caught hold of the next deck’s handrails and supported the rest of his body. Another lunge and he was over, crouched at the foot of the rail.

  Crouch stared up after him. “I doubt I could have done that even in my heyday.”

  Dudley pulled out a gun. “So. Yer fixin’ ter jump or do I have to shoot yer where yer stand? And yer goin’ first.” He motioned at Drake. “I remember yer.”

  “The ship’s filled with soldiers,” he said. “The Greek Army is ten minutes out. Give it up, help us, and you might get to rot in jail for the rest of your crazy life.”

  “Feck it,” the Irishman bellowed, sprayed a hail of bullets, then turned away. “We’ll see how yer like me when I grab some passengers.”

  Drake was down, again, but this time so was everyone else. The lead flurry had been nothing more than a wild diversion. By the time Drake gained his feet, Dudley was gone.

  “I have him,” Yorgi said. “It is jogging track up here with glass bottom. A nice feature. I can follow mercenaries for short way.”

  Drake slammed through the nearest door. “Report!”

  “Ah, heading straight back to stern. Passing sporting equipment—gym. Dudley has one box in his hand and a small backpack. He’s dragging woman but other Pythian is helping her. She not happy. Other mercenary is falling back, probably waiting for you.”

  Dahl slipped past Drake. “Good.”

  Bloody hell! The man’s unstoppable. Drake was forced to fall back a little as the paneled corridor they were traversing narrowed. Soon it opened out into a typical gym, rows of cross-trainers, treadmills, bicycles and rowers laid out in a bland, uninspiring, uniform array. Drake glared in every direction, constantly moving his gun. Then Alicia slipped past. What is this? First to bag a terrorist day?

  Yorgi got in on the action. “Past gym and crossing sports deck, I think. Other man stayed behind power plate.”

  Drake shifted. There was only one. A flash, the faintest glimmer of movement and he opened fire. There was a low grunt and the merc collapsed, his weapon clattering away. Dahl was already on the other side of the gym. Drake caught up to Alicia, signaling for Kinimaka to check the body.

  “We have problem,” Yorgi said. “Dudley and others are among passengers. And the glass deck has ended. I am climbing back down.”

  “Do not approach,” Hayden ordered. “Observe only.”

  “It is no problem. I have no weapon.”

  Drake frowned. A damn stupid oversight. The deck disappeared above their heads to reveal the skies for a short period whilst they negotiated the sports deck, then another door appeared ahead.

  “He’s in there,” Drake whispered. “Careful.”

  Dahl smashed through the door, calling for quiet. Passengers squealed and huddled in a corner. Drake fully expected to see Dudley standing over them, box held at arm’s length, maybe even open with the aerosol mechanism exposed, but the Pythian team were nowhere to be seen.

  Drake slowed. Crouch and Russo spread out to the sides. Hayden paused alongside, thumbing through her tablet computer. “Next is a pizzeria, then a set of staterooms, and finally a way up to the sky deck, the highest deck. Up there is mini-golf and the entrance to the big water chute. But there are three ways out of the pizzeria.”

  She reverted to comms. They had teams exploring the outer walkways who would spot Dudley if he emerged from the main hub of the ship. Komodo, Karin and Mai were on one side, Healey, Lauren and Smyth on the other.

  All hands on deck, Drake thought, never had a truer meaning. They didn’t want to put their non-military assets at risk but today they had no choice. Caitlyn was still aboard one of the choppers, streamlining and maintaining the complicated communications system in addition to working with Argento’s satellites.

  They entered the pizzeria, overturned tables and frightened passengers revealing that Dudley had already stormed through. One of the cooks, wiping his hands on a towel, pointed toward the far door. Dahl was the first to reach the exit with Alicia right behind him. Drake moved to back them up.

  “Watch out for traps,” Hayden’s voice came softly through the comms. “Dudley is one sneaky asshole.”

  Drake saw Dahl pause then move ahead. They entered a plush lined hallway, doors to each side. As they penetrated the stateroom section all sound faded away and when Dahl stopped to listen, he couldn’t hear even the faintest of whispers.

  Beyond the staterooms was a sliding door that led to the ship’s prow, or stairs and elevators up to the sky deck. Drake knew the exterior teams would be heading for the prow, which left the stairs to them.

  “Front end’s clear,” Smyth’s short, sharp snap whipped between Drake’s ears. He could also hear Lauren talking in the background.

  “Look up to the sky deck,” Hayden told him. “See anything?”

  “If that’s the bit at the top then no. No movement.”

  A scream rang out. Drake clicked the comms but Smyth’s voice beat him to it. “That definitely came from up there. Hurry!”

  Drake pounded at the stairs, almost clipping Alicia’s heels. Yorgi said, “I can make it up outside quicker. Half a minute.”

  Drake cursed. “No. You have no weapon. You’re not—”

  “I’ll live.”

  Shit. Despite Yorgi’s assurances Drake was more than skeptical. Even discounting Dudley’s obvious irrationalities there were also the aerosols to worry about. The entire team ran hard. The chance of an ambush was slim, all of Dudley’s paid colleagues having perished. The sky deck soon appeared above, accessed through another sliding door. Dahl ducked as soon as the door came into view, assessing the scene.

  “Dudley and the Pythians,” he said. “With several passengers. Where does he expect to go?”

  Drake stayed low. “Man’s a loon but he’s not dumb. Le Brun and Bell have endless contacts.”

  “What are you saying?” Crouch asked.

  “Just . . . be ready for anything.”

  Through the door they could see Dudley manhandling a woman in a bikini whilst Bell tried not to watch. Le Brun held a gun which almost pointed toward three other passengers, two men and a woman, its barrel wavering between their heads and a view of the sea. Thankfully, when nerves made her accidentally pull the trigger, the bullet flew wide.

  “We have to end this. Now.” Hayden made a move toward the door, but Dahl he
ld her back.

  “Wait.”

  Drake agreed but didn’t say so. Instead, he whispered, “We need a fix on the aerosols first. Nothing’s more important.”

  All hell let loose. Yorgi appeared on the deck to the side, jumping from the bulkhead above. Le Brun whirled, gun barking. One of her hostages chose that moment to be a hero, leaping at her. Healey and Smyth and Lauren appeared over to the left, heads rising above a balcony as if they’d climbed the set of spiral-shaped stairs that clung to the outside.

  “Damn it, Healey,” Crouch hissed. “Stay put.”

  He was too late. Le Brun’s bullet shattered the door in front of Drake, showering them all with glass. Yorgi leaped at her throat just as the hero-hostage struck her from the other side. Dudley, face set as hard as a tombstone, lifted the woman he’d been accosting high above his shoulders as if she were the weights in a lifting contest.

  “Shit, shoot that bastard!” Kinimaka growled.

  Dudley stepped toward the edge of the ship, still hefting the woman high. Drake spotted the small rucksack on his back.

  Head shot.

  But before he could even begin to lift his gun Lauren, breaking free of Smyth, sprinted for the deadly Irishman. Drake saw in an instant what was happening. Lauren saw only a woman in trouble, her reactions were instinctive.

  From out of the clouds on the horizon came two midnight-black birds.

  Drake ran past Dahl, passing the scuffle where Le Brun fought to maintain a hold on her gun, knowing Dudley would immediately catch sight of him and move his attention away from Lauren. The Irishman reacted in a moment, throwing the unlucky woman straight at Drake and bowling him over, then springing across the deck. His moment of opportunity was rapidly closing as Healey and Smyth converged from one side and Dahl, Hayden and Kinimaka from the other. Drake untangled himself from the woman, forehead pounding where she had struck. He saw Mai join from the right and Alicia stood by him.

  Dudley would have to be a magician to get outta this . . .

  Then the Irishman grabbed at Lauren, took a blow to the throat and staggered. Buoyed by her victory, Lauren struck again.

  “Not twice, wee minx.”

  Dudley caught her wrist and twisted, causing her to cry out. Smyth yelled protectively at the top of his own voice, threatening barbarity, but Dudley only cackled. In a deft move he shrugged off the backpack and held it in his free hand, spreading the drawstring mouth. By now the black birds had come close enough to see that they were military issue, unmarked and old, probably bought from one of hundreds of black-market arms bazaars held monthly around the world. Machine guns hung inside their open doors.

  Dudley lifted the backpack in signal. Drake saw the choppers swoop toward their target. Time to make a fast decision. The Greek military choppers had all disgorged their occupants and returned to the mainland. If Dudley and the Pythians escaped this way they would have an almost unassailable head start.

  He moved forward. “Let her go. You have more than a dozen guns aimed at you.”

  Dudley sneered. “Ah, the best of the best, no? Your crew isn’t gonna give me trouble, fella. Do you know why?”

  Drake did.

  Dudley allowed the backpack to fall, leaving three small black boxes clutched in his left hand. “Y’see this wee silver button here? I press that an’ . . .”

  “Fucking madman!” Lauren struggled in his grip.

  “Quit it, pretty. Afore I stuff Pandora’s sweet wee Box down yer throat.”

  Alicia stepped up, pushing Drake aside and closing the gap to Dudley. “Hey dude, did you mean to make that sound so dirty? ‘Cause, man, I’m all for some girl-on-girl action.”

  Dudley blinked, surprised. It was the instant they all needed. A dozen fingers stroked triggers, aims were double checked, and then a shot rang out too quickly, too soon, and Miranda Le Brun jumped to her feet, wailing.

  Right in front of Dudley, the Pythian woman clutched her chest as blood bubbled around her fingers. She ducked and weaved, screaming, dying, still holding the gun that had been turned on her and firing off rounds erratically into the air. A bullet struck Nicholas Bell, but only snagged his jacket and sent him spinning to the ground. Another blasted into the arm of the hostage-hero, sending Yorgi sprawling on top of him.

  Le Brun’s reign came to an abrupt end as Dahl calmly executed a head shot.

  By then the choppers were hovering overhead and machine guns were trained on the sky deck, masked men poised behind them.

  Dudley grinned at his audience. “What is it they say? ‘Til feckin next time? Git yer skinny arse over here, Bell.”

  Drake didn’t back down. “We can still take you out, mate.”

  “Aye, and die doin’ it. But I guess that don’t matter to heroes like yerselves, eh? Well, how about this?”

  Dudley pushed the silver button on one of the boxes, dispensing the aerosol inside and releasing the weaponized gas—straight into Lauren’s face.

  The SPEAR team, to a man, cried out. Machine gunfire smashed into the deck from above as Lauren fell. Dudley sprinted hard and leaped over the side of the ship toward a swinging harness, two boxes still in one hand, and swaying back to offer a powerful arm to Bell’s outstretched hands.

  “Look at it this way,” he yelled. “Now yer feckers have a test subject!”

  Drake found cover as the deck disintegrated under fire.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  Mayhem and chaos ruled in Greece. Dudley proved his madness by refusing to flee and forcing his saviors to pepper the cruise ship with round after round. His screeches of laughter were audible even above the clamor. Drake crawled hand over fist to grab Lauren and pull her out of the line of fire. Dahl took hold of the screaming bikini-wearing girl and Alicia took hold of Yorgi’s ankle and hauled him off the wounded hero.

  “Get inside, Yogi.”

  She scooped up the injured man and carried him inside as bullets chewed the deck around her ankles. Not wanting to appear too hasty she used her free hand to return fire at both black choppers. Drake grabbed her and heaved her to safety.

  Hayden immediately took charge of Lauren and flew down the stairs, Kinimaka at her heels. Smyth and Crouch followed closely, then Karin, screaming into her comms to alert Caitlyn.

  Drake knew they could scream all they wanted. Without an antidote Lauren was dead.

  He stayed put with Dahl, Alicia and Mai. The old soldiers. Waiting for any chance they might get. Russo joined them. Everyone expected Dudley to order his escape at any moment but the irrational Irishman hung around.

  Drake eyed Dahl. “He’s madder than you.”

  “I’m not entirely sure I approve of that statement.”

  “Oh, yeah, now I remember. You dropped out of private school because it was too . . . what? Cliquey? Snobbish?”

  “I dropped out of a private school. They’re not all like that. And I don’t really want to talk about it, particularly not now.”

  “When this is over then. Over a pint?”

  “Ah, Drake, I have to say sitting in a bar with a glass of milk just doesn’t do it for me.”

  Drake stared through wreckage as bullets smashed into the sky deck again, a spotlight for Dudley’s riotous fury.

  “Next time it’s beers all around. Believe me.”

  “Is that wise?”

  “Mai isn’t dead, Dahl, not like Kennedy, and I’m not an alcy. I can handle it.”

  “Of course you can. I was just . . . um, are the two of you okay?”

  Drake smiled a little at the big soldier’s clumsy attempt at sympathy. Truth be told it had come out a hundred times better than anything Drake could have tried. Soldiers like them never became all warm-hearted, most showed their respect and love for their adopted families through time-honored traditions such as cutting sarcasm and caustic wit.

  “Tell you later,” he said at last. “We’ll get drunk together, you and I, Alicia and Mai. And right the world. Who wouldn’t want to be at that table, involved in that conversat
ion with us?”

  Dahl pointed to the skies. “It’s a deal, my friend. So long as we survive this.”

  His last word was accentuated as a Greek military chopper joined the fray. Dudley must have seen it coming, but still chose to remain. As the chopper flew over the ship’s deck Dudley’s men fired on it. The chopper swooped and evaded, men hanging on inside. Its front end rose a little and a missile flew from its underbelly. Drake heard an explosion and then a rain of metal and fire spilled onto the deck. Men crawled through the debris, screaming.

  “Jesus Christ!” Russo yelled.

  “Keep your knickers on, Robster.” Alicia patted his arm.

  “The laws of damnation and luck tell me that wasn’t Dudley’s helicopter,” Dahl said just as the Greek chopper swung hard left, raked by a volley of lead. Metal pings raked its entire right side. Drake saw a skid strike the side of the deck and the huge vehicle bucked forward, nose-diving hard. More bullets shattered its back end. Men leaped clear of the rearing vehicle, slamming into the deck and rolling, some instantly peppered by bullets.

  In another moment the helicopter dropped over the side of the deck, smashing into the sea. Dahl was on his feet and sprinting the moment it was out of sight, four comrades at his heels.

  “We have to save those soldiers.”

  Outside, the fires burned bright and pure chaos slammed into Drake’s every sense, almost overwhelming.

  But he did notice one thing as he stooped to help the nearest soldier.

  Dudley’s chopper was already a speck in the sky. The madman had escaped and he’d taken two aerosolized boxes with him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  Drake and Dahl had had enough. The Pythians had left nothing but death and crisis, heartbreak and devastation in their wake. The world was reeling. Since day one his team had been on the back foot, always playing catch up, but now, after all that had happened this day, the Yorkshireman and the Swede were about to take the bull literally by the balls.

  They were going to squeeze until they got answers. And then there was Smyth, distraught over Lauren; Alicia always up for the destruction of a madman’s dream; Hayden and Kinimaka, ever the professionals, but like coiled vipers when backed into a corner; Mai, having taken a back seat until now, starting to wonder if she could have helped prevent what had happened to Lauren. And Crouch’s team too—Caitlyn, distressed at the news and moving mountains with her investigative knowledge; Russo and Healey, barely able to holster their guns, and Michael Crouch—the man with the wherewithal and the contacts to get anything done.