“Any ideas where to look?” Kinimaka asked.
Crouch shook his head. “We may only get one crack at this. Time is short. Don’t rush, just cover every square inch, and—” he tapped the side of his head “—call in the moment you find something.”
Drake took a moment to stand at the top of the ramp, turn, and study the crowd behind them. Nothing suspicious presented himself so he turned toward the pillars and the darker, cooler areas within. It took a while for his eyes to adjust and then he started paying close attention to the walls, the ceiling, the pillars, just as before. The area back there was narrow, thankfully so as it gave them less ground to cover. The floor consisted of smooth, seemingly haphazard paving, gray in color, and what few depictions there were on the bodies of the pillars were worn and hard to make out. Still, Drake saw nothing even remotely looking like a capstone.
The team completed the outer sweep and moved into the inner courtyard, seeing another row of pillars and tired, sandy walls full of depictions. Again they split up and walked across to study every inch.
Drake kept an eye on the tourists and the locals, noting that Smyth and Kenzie were doing the same. The atmosphere inside was low-key and pleasant, everyone knowing what to expect and quietly awed by the ancient construction. The day stretched out ahead of them.
“Is this weird?” Alicia asked.
Drake frowned. “Is what weird?”
“Us. Like this. I mean . . . fugitives? Really? I know I’ve been on the run most of my life but not like this. Every uniform, every cop I see, even the sound of an approaching siren—it’s all suddenly a concern, you know?”
“I get it.” Drake nodded. “And if it wasn’t for Michael needing our help we’d be on top of it by now. I’m sure we would, love—”
“We don’t even know who burned us,” she interrupted. “Or why. Crowe would be a good place to start.”
“True, but I don’t think she’s behind it all. At worst, she’s compliant. Either way, they need taking down. Especially, as Hayden suggested, there may be more teams.”
Alicia nodded at that. “It would be naïve to think we’re the only ones affected.”
“We’ll get there,” Drake assured her with a clear, open look. “We will.”
“I know.” Alicia turned her attention to the wall and the pictures there. Drake stayed close, again scanning the crowd. A quick flick of the comms and a chat assured him that everyone was where they should be.
Crouch spoke up then. “Nothing here, I’m afraid. We should head down. Try the lower level.”
The team agreed, heading for the ramp again with its central stairs. It was mid-afternoon by now, the tourists out in full flow and the sunshine as hot as it was going to get. They took their time descending, broke out water and snacks, then looked at the lower row of pillars that stood before them.
A few minutes later they were in that shade again, searching, hoping to find the lost symbol.
Drake heard a distant roar, dull at first but gradually growing louder. It wasn’t the approach of anything airborne, nor a powerful car. It was something else.
“You hear that?” He turned and shaded his eyes, staring back toward the road and parking areas.
The approaching roar was not alone. Several engine notes could be heard.
“My ears tell me that’s a Ducati Panigale,” Drake said. “Anyone else?”
“It’s a motorbike, Drake.” Alicia shook her head. “You’re such a child sometimes.”
“Hey . . .”
Crouch was alongside him now. “It is a Panigale,” he said. “And an MV Augusta if I’m not mistaken. Others too. And they’re headed straight for the bloody ramp!”
Drake knew it couldn’t be a coincidence. The riders were large, double-teamed, the bikes the fastest of their kind on the planet that day. Five of them—ten men—and they were headed straight across the car park directly through two masses of tourists, sending them diving and screaming out of the way.
“What is this?” Hayden asked in surprise. “An assault? Here? Surely not.”
“Well, whatever it is, we should prepare.” Crouch unslung his backpack.
Drake scanned for guards, knowing the Egyptians would be entirely on their toes when it came to something like this. “The security?” he breathed. “It’s all gone. There were armed police there.” He pointed. “And there. A couple of undercovers I spotted too. But . . . now . . .”
“It begs the question,” Dahl grunted. “Who on earth are the mercs working for?”
“Someone with the capability to pull the guards away,” Hayden said.
Drake watched all five bikes, their helmeted riders and passengers using the machines to a great degree of their potential, approach the base of the ramp. Quickly, they slowed. Civilians dashed to and fro, desperate to get away from the area. Their screams were almost enough to drown out the roar of the Kawasaki Ninja that Drake had his eye on, but not quite.
“Let’s make ’em pay for this.”
He stepped out of the shade, around a column, and one of the bikers saw him. Shouts went up and helmet visors were raised. One man gunned the engine of a Honda Fireblade, the other opened the throttle of the Ninja. Both bikes spurted toward him.
The SPEAR team spread out around the far side of the bottom level of Hatshepsut’s temple, stood in the heat and beneath the cloudless blue sky, weapons ready, studying the terrain and the scene. Civilians were beyond the oncoming bikes and nobody would risk a stray bullet at this stage.
The fifth bike in the procession—Drake recognized it as an Aprilia RSV—also veered off the path and darted across the dried-out desert, closing the gap at rapid pace. Two bikes remained near the ramp, their occupants staring over at Drake and the team through black visors, surrounded now by angry, mystified people. The bikers ignored everything; they just stared.
Drake and the others had no choice; as the bikes powered closer, engines roaring, they raised weapons. Still no sign of the cops. What the hell is going on?
He sighted the Ninja’s rider, the very center of his pitch-black helmet. What were they up to? Something smelled decidedly off about the entire attack.
“I have a feeling we’ve been outthought,” Dahl said.
Then the Ninja’s rider held up a hand, slowing before Drake and Dahl. He stopped and then waited a moment, dust swirling around him. The other bikes pulled up too, all six riders holding gloved hands in the air.
The first rider climbed off his bike. Alicia held up her own right hand. “What the fuck is going on, CHiPs?”
The man took a moment to remove his helmet. A hard, Eastern European face presented itself, pockmarked and forever bereft of smiles. This man had grown up hard and had only known hardship.
“Who is your leader?” The accent was thick, the English perplexing at best.
“I am.” Hayden stepped forward.
At the same time, Drake said: “Me.”
And Crouch coughed. “Well, I guess you could say—”
“Stop!” the biker snarled. His colleagues were in the process of dismounting and gathering threateningly at his back.
“We’re an unconventional crew.” Mai smiled.
“It does not matter!” the man shouted.
“Then why did you ask?” Alicia said innocently. “C’mon, Barry Sheene, it’s too hot out here for foreplay. Give it to me right between the eyes.”
“You come with us.” The man took a breath and wiped his streaming brow. “You all come with us now.”
Drake stared. “I don’t think so, pal.”
“Then you will cause the death of all these people.” The merc couldn’t keep a vicious smile from lighting his eyes. “I do not care either way.”
Drake and Dahl indicated their gun hands. “You’re the one standing in the sights.”
“Maybe.” The merc pulled out a phone and turned the screen toward the SPEAR team. “Watch.”
Drake squinted as the rest crowded around. Slowly, the potential scenario
became clear and Drake felt an ice-cold torrent of horror drop straight through his body.
“No,” he breathed. “You . . . you can’t do that.”
The merc smiled nastily.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Drake couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen.
It showed the final two bikes, the ones that had remained near the ramp. The riders remained in place but their passengers had climbed down. Now, a man was taking a live video of those passengers and the bombs that were strapped to their waists underneath their thick jackets.
“Choice is yours,” the merc said. “But make it quick.”
Drake restrained a desire to lash out. Alicia couldn’t. She moved fast, but Dahl was ready. His right arm came out as she moved, encircling the top of her chest and holding her back.
“Don’t.”
Alicia fought, but Dahl held on. Smyth was also walking forward, hatred and hellfire plastered across his face. Mai stepped in front of him, pushed him backward, and caught a swipe of his arm. She twisted it back, stopping the soldier in his tracks. Kinimaka was red-faced, puffing, but unable to say a single word.
Crouch caught the merc’s attention. “Just stay calm. There’s no need for violence. What exactly do you want from us?”
“You come now. All of you. Right now. No more talking. Or the first bomber goes in.”
Drake let his Glock fall, dangling below his hand. Dahl did the same. The team stood down. Perhaps it was all a bluff, but the probability was that it wasn’t. Better Intel would have been great, but for now they were flying blind.
“You looked like tourists once. Do it again. Walk with us.”
Under the intense heat the SPEAR team walked alongside the bikes. Soon they joined the others, passenger-less now since they had joined the crowd. The initial appearance of the bikers seemed to have been taken as a prank. Tourists were laughing again and taking pictures, though Drake saw no evidence of locals.
“What’s this about? Who are you?”
“No questions. No answers. You will find out what they want when we get there.”
Drake glanced at Dahl. What they want?
“They’re mercs,” Dahl said. “Basically slaves.”
Drake nodded. He hated that they’d been forced into capitulation by a horrific but ingenious plan of attack. Nobody hurt, not even close. But the bombers were still back there, and the authorities, judging by distant sirens, seemed to have their hands full with something else.
Presently they reached the parking area and were joined by all the bikes, minus the two bombers. Drake cast his eyes over the powerful machines, ticking in the heat. A gray van was indicated and its rear doors thrown open.
“Get in,” the leader said.
“You’re really gonna regret this,” Kenzie said.
“Crap,” Alicia said between gritted teeth. “I normally don’t get into the back of a van like this. Not without first being treated to a glass of Lambrusco.”
The team climbed up and sat around the dirty, gritty floor. A moment before the rear doors were slammed shut the lead merc made another appearance.
“So you know, bombers will remain in place until we reach destination. Understand?”
Drake nodded. The doors closed.
“Shit,” Alicia said. “It’s like a bloody oven in here.”
“Don’t worry,” Drake patted her leg, “we can treat this as a reconnaissance mission. Let’s get some valuable info.”
“Don’t touch me.” Alicia swatted his hand away. “You’re all sweaty.”
“I thought you liked that.”
“Not this kind of sweat.”
“Oh, there are different kinds?”
“Damn right there are.”
Drake stared around. The others all sat in repose, resting, conserving their energy and wondering where they’d end up, and who might confront them. It wouldn’t be Luther, Drake was sure. But another player. A big player.
“Well,” Kinimaka said to make conversation. “I guess this is the first team sauna.”
*
Drake found it interesting that they hadn’t been stripped of weapons or even searched. The threat of a man wearing a bomb-suit was enough. They were free to talk, plan, execute.
“What do we think this is all about?” he asked.
“I’ve been thinking that too,” Crouch said. “Unfortunately, there are a dozen possibilities. The US government, looking for you. Old enemies of any one of us. It could be linked to the FrameHub situation. A rival team. More likely though, it has something to do with the seven seals.”
“Wouldn’t they have waited until we found the fourth clue?” Mai asked.
“Yes, they would. That’s another thing bothering me.”
The van bounced and rattled its way toward an unknown destination, the team holding on as best they could. Several times it slowed, but then sped up again, and soon the sounds of the city were left behind. It felt like they were out in the middle of nowhere—not a single sound outside the truck could be heard.
“They’re taking us into the desert,” Hayden said.
“No good ever came out of a forced trip to the desert,” Kenzie said. “Believe me, I know.”
Dahl shifted beside her. “Do you know any of these guys?”
“Me? Why? You think they might be relic smugglers?”
The Swede shrugged. “Good place for it.”
“I don’t recognize anyone, but if I do—you’ll be the first to know.”
“I am sorry, Kenzie,” Dahl said into the silence. “I know how hard you’re trying to leave that life behind.”
“It’s like . . . kicking a drug habit. Losing that sense of intense danger, excitement, satisfaction. It’s like losing a whole part of yourself that you love.”
“Hey, we’re not exactly the Brighouse and Rastrick Brass Band,” Drake grumbled.
Kenzie nodded and smiled. “Of course, I know. The danger though . . .” She clicked her tongue. “It’s different. Very different. It calls me. It wants me. And, if I’m being honest, sometimes I want it all back.”
“I know this sounds unlikely, but I know what she means,” Alicia said quietly. “Being on the other side for a while—it has an effect you can’t shake off. It calls. Always.”
Kenzie gave Alicia a grateful look and then huddled down. Drake had thought she’d already kicked the bad habit. What did she need to get past it? Listening to them, it seemed that Alicia, Kenzie’s arch-enemy, might even be able to help.
At last, the van slowed and then came to an abrupt stop, throwing both Yorgi and Smyth, who had been standing, to their knees. Men started shouting, many men, and some came running around to the back of the van.
The sound of weapons priming was loud and ominous.
“You come quietly,” the merc leader shouted again. “We have many men and bomber still in Luxor. You hear?”
Drake shouted a compliant reply.
The back doors opened. Drake saw darker skies, full of sunset and glaring lights illuminating a rough paddock, bordered by a fence. At least a dozen men had weapons trained on them.
The merc leader grinned. “Now. You come with us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Scream as loud as you like. In the desert, nobody will hear you.”
That had been the advice of just one of their endearing guards, all of whom were filthy and foul-looking. They were inside a prison, just inside the entrance to a network of caves. The prison was makeshift but it was strong, made up of two mountain walls and strong, thick four-by-four that had been hammered and then concreted into the already sturdy floor. Laths of two by two made up the horizontal braces, giving the guards something to rest the barrels of their guns on when they wanted to have a little fun.
To the prisoners’ left they could see the entrance to the cave system, softly illuminated as the night drew in. To the right the wide passage ran on into darkness, the way marked by flickering torches.
Alicia just watched the guards.
This had been such a terribly confusing few weeks. For her. For them all. It showed the measure to which any kind of powerful authority held their prize employees. It was repeated in all walks of life. In the end you were just a number, only as good as your last failure. The wins only helped those already in front of you. She shook her head violently to dispel the negative thoughts. Stuff like that could get you killed.
So her concentration went, fully, to the guards. There were eight of them at any one time. Others came and went. They didn’t appear to have any structure, any balance. Just animals with weapons and a small slice of power. She figured they’d been incarcerated for the best part of two hours now and had learned zilch. Twice, Crouch and Drake had spoken up, asking why they were here.
The guards snarled like desperate, rabid, grimy dogs and rested their guns on the slats. Once, they fired, the bullet passing in between Drake and Yorgi, and slamming into the mountain wall. Everyone outside the cell laughed. What a great joke.
Alicia loved these people. They were her weakness. Being alone and focusing every day on a new horizon had its drawbacks, yes, but it damn well had its perks too. Caring about nobody, having nobody, meant your heart and your mind and your emotions could never be held hostage. The thought of having loved ones scared her more than any other event in her life.
The thought of losing loved ones was unadulterated hell.
But she turned to her strengths now, knowing they held the best chance of getting everyone out of here alive. It would help to know why they were here, but escape was the priority.
The situation was grim. The team had no weapons, no comms. They hadn’t been offered food or water. Every man outside those wooden bars held a reliable weapon. They were being watched twenty-four-seven. And it was getting cold now, the desert night drawing in. The extra clothes they’d been forced to wear earlier—to conceal Kevlar and weapons—were welcome now, though the bulletproof jackets had been taken from them.
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