Drake didn’t relax. He took his rest swinging on the rope ladder as it swayed them through the air in the direction of the USS Bainbridge. As the ladder rotated, he got 360-degree views from horizon to horizon.
Incredibly, the enormous presence of the Le Rabot was gone. The change in the view felt wrong, like walking into a familiar room to find something missing. Lifeboats plied the waters toward the great warship, closely followed by rescue boats that ensured nothing went wrong.
In minutes the helicopters were lowering them to the ship’s deck and then landing themselves. Drake waited for his team to gather.
Hayden clapped him on the back. Kinimaka offered a wide grin. Even Molokai looked happy. Nobody had to speak to say how relieved they felt to see each other back together in one piece—if not exactly unharmed—but words felt good at this moment.
“We saved a lot of lives today,” Dahl said. “Good job everyone.”
Hayden grinned. “Feels just as good as saving the world.”
“Well,” Alicia said, shielding her eyes as she gazed over the waters. “At least we can see what we fought for today.”
Like a vivid victory parade, the orange lifeboats were converging on the Bainbridge, their accompanying flotilla crowding around them like fans. Drake knew that almost 200 people sat aboard those boats. Two hundred people that wouldn’t be alive today if wasn’t for the efforts of Special Forces teams and the Navy.
“Volkov is there too,” he said and then clicked the comms, speaking directly to Rear Admiral Ryder. “Look out for Volkov, sir,” he said. “As soon as you locate him, we need to meet up and talk.”
“I’ll put out the order.”
“He’s a slippery one.”
“Not a problem for a ship’s captain.”
Drake wasn’t sure if that was sailor’s humor but laughed anyway. “Did you locate the old KGB men?”
“Let’s say that meeting you mentioned is going to be a productive affair.”
Drake nodded in silence then faced the others. “Looks like we won’t get much rest,” he said. “You should take what you need now.”
They all nodded wearily. Even Dahl collapsed to the deck, his back against a gray bulwark. The sun was hot and the breeze welcome; the air a mingled patchwork of odors from sea salt to diesel engines to something fresh and warm carried on the breeze.
“God, I’m knackered,” Alicia said. “Feels like I’ve been up for a week.”
Drake tended to agree and let his eyes droop. It felt like only seconds later, though, when the sound of cheering made him reopen them. He looked up, wondering what was going on, thinking about descending back into a deep sleep. What he saw though galvanized him.
The passengers were being welcomed aboard. They looked bedraggled, beat down and tired. They were a ripped and torn crew of bloody, broken survivors, but they shuffled valiantly across the deck of the Bainbridge, holding their heads high and holding each other’s hands and the hands of their children. They had been through hell. They hadn’t signed up for terror; they had no training, but they had held on valiantly under unthinkable pressure. And now they walked through the best gauntlet they could imagine—a crew of admiring, appreciative naval officers and soldiers. The children started to wave back; even the adults began to crack smiles.
For them, it was over.
Drake joined his teammates in applauding the passengers. Some looked over and nodded at him, at Alicia or one of the others. Most didn’t recognize them. It was always the way with Special Forces.
The best reward Drake could have hoped for came soon after. From the crowd of passengers, a familiar face appeared. The figure sought Drake out and then waved before walking over.
Beside him, was Mary.
Drake smiled his respect. “Volkov,” he said. “Good to see you made it.”
“Nothing can kill me.” Volkov smiled. “As you can imagine.”
Drake thought about the Russian’s life story. “Yeah, you and Dahl here should get together, form a club.”
The Swede shook hands with the Russian. “Heard a lot about you.”
“Really?” Volkov laughed. “Then I fucked up badly.”
“We’ve been looking for the old men,” Hayden told him. “The ones who’ve hunted you for most of your life. Would you like to come with us?”
Volkov nodded, expecting the request. “You have helped me. Now I help you.”
Drake knew they had one of history’s foremost spies right here. The things he knew . . . he could probably rewrite history. How much would he give up? Well, that was a different matter. Volkov had already shown that he had morals, certain values, and, Drake believed, that if new information didn’t serve a good and true purpose Volkov would probably never reveal it.
It took a matter of minutes to contact Ryder and head down below decks. They were directed to a meeting room in the bowels of the ship. By the time they got there the ship’s cook had already laid out a simple but heavenly looking spread.
Drake fell on the food with a vengeance. He hadn’t eaten properly in days. There was water and coffee too. Even tea, although everyone except Dahl avoided it. Drake was trying to think of a suitable witticism when the door opened and Rear Admiral Ryder stepped in.
Everyone in the room nodded and tried to salute. It was tricky with one hand holding a paper plate full of ham, cheese and croissants, and the other carrying a boiling hot polystyrene cup.
“As you were.” Ryder couldn’t help but smile. Today was a good day to smile. In fact, if you couldn’t find happiness in this moment then something you were doing wasn’t right. Ryder was accompanied by his first and second officers.
“Don’t stand on ceremony,” Ryder told them. “Eat your fill whilst we talk. This is totally informal. And Mr. Volkov, happy to meet you.”
Volkov nodded. He had asked that Mary not be part of this meeting. Drake wondered what he’d told her so far and hoped it would work out for them. A man who had thrown out the plan that had kept him alive for thirty years just to take woman on a cruise was a man worthy of a second chance at love.
Gradually, the Strike Force team, Ryder and, finally, Volkov seated themselves around a rectangular steel table.
“So,” Hayden began. “Where are we?”
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
Drake was itching to know what Volkov could tell them about Luka Kovalenko, the new Blood King. This was the very information the Devil had engineered this entire, shocking scenario to uncover. This was why the Devil decided to double cross the old KGB. His hatred and desire for revenge against the Blood King was all-encompassing.
But first, Ryder took it upon himself to inform Volkov of everything they had learned about the men that had made it their lifelong mission to kill him.
“The old KGB existed from 1954 to 1991. Ostensibly, it was the main security agency for the Soviet Union. It included internal security, intelligence gathering and the secret police. It was a military service, governed by the Army. Now, of course, we have the Federal Security Service and the Foreign Intelligence Service—new names, same animal. Now, these so-called three old men are named Morozov, Bakatin and the chairman: Andropov. We believe that, for them, nothing has changed between 1990 and 2019.”
“How old would they be now?” Hayden asked.
“In their late sixties, early seventies,” Ryder said.
“Twisted, evil men,” Mai said. “While younger, better men and women die by the day.”
“It never changes,” Volkov said. “Andropov in particular was molded by his father, a hardliner, an enemy of America, and a proponent of the Cold War. Children of fathers don’t stand a chance when those fathers are ruined themselves.”
“Moving on,” Ryder said softly into the silence that followed. “Andropov and his cronies have enjoyed the fruits of their hard labor. They are rich men, living just outside Moscow. The lifestyle of rich Russians is well-known for its decadence and these men are no exception. They do not need to hold onto old grudges; it is more likely a life
style for them.”
“I have been living in exile, sometimes in the gutter, for three decades,” Volkov said. “Whilst these men grew rich?”
“I’m afraid so. But we have them now. We have their location, their timetables, and their movements. We just need a team to go after them.”
Drake raised an eyebrow, but before he could speak Volkov asked a question. “I don’t understand. Why would the United States risk sending a team into Russia to eliminate men that, let’s be honest, are a threat only to me and people like me?”
“A very good question,” Ryder said. “And let’s be honest—the United States wouldn’t do that. Any team going into Russia would be entirely disavowed, at least for that period of time.”
“Total anonymity?” Hayden asked.
“Total,” Ryder affirmed. “Unmarked gear, weapons, tools. No records. No exfil. No help whatsoever.”
“The Strike Force teams are off the record,” Kenzie said.
“Are they?” Ryder said with a twinkle in his eye. “How fortunate.”
“But the question still stands, disavowed team or not,” Volkov said. “Why would you help me in this way?”
“I’ll get to that,” Ryder said. “Because we’re offering more than this. We will bring you, under witness protection, to America where you can live out your life in peace and quiet. We will provide a new identity, new home. Everything. And Mary. If you want her to, she can join you.”
Volkov blinked. “I . . . I’m grateful.”
But Drake saw through the act. “C’mon, Volkov,” he said. “Let’s not fuck about. You know exactly what we want and we’re willing to put our lives on the line to get it. Hell, we already have. We’ve proved that to you. Now, prove yourself to us.”
Volkov was already nodding. “Okay, okay. I will come to Luka Kovalenko. But first, this Devil character. It feels absurd to me that I have not heard of him. It is terrifying that he looks for me. Who is he?”
“In truth, we don’t know,” Hayden said. “The Devil is a mastermind of assassination, the world’s worst and best contract killer. We came close to catching him a few months ago but since then he has fallen off the radar. We thought the Blood King might draw him out, and I guess we were right. He wants Kovalenko just as badly as we do.”
“You have no background on this man? No history? No intelligence at all? I cannot imagine that. How do you intend to catch him?”
“People are working on it,” Kinimaka said. “We’re at the sharp end of things.”
Volkov stared at them, unable to put himself in their frames of mind. He was an intelligence gatherer, a spy and a massager of the truth. He was a cajoler, a confidence man. The soldier’s fortune was not his to bear or question.
“Throughout my thirty years of exile I have kept certain secure lines of communication open,” he said. “With old friends who I would appreciate knowing are okay.”
He reeled off four names which Ryder wrote down.
“This routine has given me—” Volkov pursed his lips, deep in thought “—a certain closure. It has helped keep me safe. It has made my exile bearable. Unfortunately though, occasionally, I am fed certain bits of information I wish had been kept secret.”
“Kovalenko?” Kenzie urged.
“Yes, old and young. The old man, Dmitry, was utterly evil. I was so glad when I heard he had been killed by American operatives.”
Dahl coughed. “Umm, Swedish.”
Volkov stared at him. “You?”
“English actually.” Drake gave Dahl a subtle finger. “I pulled the trigger.”
“Japanese,” Mai added.
“You?” Volkov was jolted. “All of you?”
“Not strictly this team.” Drake looked around at familiar faces and thought about those they had lost since the death of Dmitry Kovalenko. “But some of it. You see now—this is why we want that bastard’s son.”
“Yes, yes. The people that knew Dmitry even had a son were incredibly few. Less than a handful. I found out a few years ago and have been keeping track of him ever since. As they say, like father like son. I knew this young man would one day grow up to terrorize and kill in the image of his father.”
“A shame nobody thought to take him out early on,” Luther said.
“Oh, they did. But Luka disappeared when his father died. Before that, he was unheard of. Among people of the underworld it is believed Luka vanished to rebuild his father’s empire, to gather men and means to make the Blood King name great again.”
Volkov sighed. “The boy is a monster, fulfilling his father’s legacy.”
“Where is his mother?” Mai asked a question that had never come up before.
“At first it was believed that Dmitry had her killed shortly after childbirth. That was the legend he wanted everyone to believe and, as you know, he was good at inventing legends. Later though, piecing bits of information together, I learned that Luka’s mother was spirited away from the hub of his father’s criminal empire, sent to live in exile. As I was. To my knowledge, she is still there.”
Drake changed the tack of conversation, knowing that particular titbit might come in handy later, but not now.
“What Intel do you have on Kovalenko?” he asked.
“I have . . . I have a terrible knowledge. Luka, the new Blood King, has managed to acquire nineteen mini-nuclear devices and intends to attack strategic cities inside the United States and Europe in an effort to destabilize the world economy, the world powers and civilization itself.”
Drake knew it had been coming but still felt pure ice water flood his veins. “Civilization?”
“It’s an old notion, to be fair. But it is possible. If you destroy enough infrastructure, enough military personnel and installations. If you attack water and electricity supplies. Communication arrays. If you do all this you could, arguably, destroy life on earth as we know it.”
It all sounded so plausible, Drake shivered.
Dahl took up the line of questioning. “I hope you have more than that?”
Volkov nodded. “I know half the targets. I know when and exactly where. And I know the locations of all three of the Blood King’s safe houses. I have that knowledge right here.” He tapped the side of his head.
“Right now?” Dahl sat up so fast he slammed into the table with his left arm.
“Right now.”
Drake eyed his team and then Volkov. Finally, he eyed Ryder. “I guess we’re moving out then?”
“What timescale are we looking at?” Hayden asked Volkov.
“You have two weeks,” the Russian said.
Drake found time to finish his muffin. When he’d finished he looked around and spoke. “I guess we’re headed to Russia then. Take these KGB rats off the map first and then take down Luka Kovalenko.”
The team smiled. It was more than a takedown for them. It was long overdue justice. A welcome revenge. It was a righteous mission to capture the architect of so much misery, murder and terror.
Drake smiled at the thought of the Blood King takedown.
But that would have to wait.
Because now, the old KGB needed to hear its final death knell from up close and very, very personal. As personal as all these innocent men and women had almost heard theirs. As hard as the deaths some of the ship’s passengers had met.
Drake rose to his feet. “Time to kick some old Russkie ass,” he said. “Again.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Drake landed easily, the parachute folding beneath him. He took a moment to gather it up and then hurried over to join his teammates.
“All okay?”
Several affirmations came back. Hayden took a moment to readjust her gear before looking up.
“We’re three klicks from the country club,” she said. “Let’s make short work of them.”
It was early evening, dusk having darkened the skies a half hour ago. They would have preferred to drop in total darkness but by that time the country club would be closed, the three old men gone.
All had agreed this was the best time and place to take out their targets.
And they were all sure on that. This was an off-the-book kill mission.
Luther led the way, running between thick tree trunks through the forest that bordered the country club. The air was thick with loam and rot, the trees dark sentinels watching their backs. The only sound was the hammering of their boots on soft soil or hard-packed earth.
Drake breathed easily, running steadily. It was good exercise. Good to ease away the aches and pains of the last few days. Good to clear his mind from worries about the Blood King and his nuclear arsenal. This was pure, straightforward soldier’s work. This was what he had been born for.
The forest thickened. Luther and now Molokai, ahead, checked for sensors or traps but found nothing. They hadn’t expected to. The old men and dozens more like them had been using this retreat for decades without incident. It was so far off the beaten track those that didn’t know it existed would never know about it. The only safeguards would be rudimentary.
Satellite photos had shown the exterior layout. Blueprints had revealed the internal plan. There wasn’t much else to go on, except that local spies had followed all three men from their homes to the club tonight and, as yet, nobody had left.
Drake was up for it. Taking out rats who ordered global kills from the safety of their armchairs, without thought or care for those that might be affected and purely due to their own internal self-aggrandizing, hateful belief system was part of his job.
They threaded through the trees, slowing as the forest thinned. Through the comms they kept each other up to date, vocal now because they had no back up other than themselves. Here, they could rely on nobody.
“There’s the front door,” Dahl said. “Everyone got their invites?”
Several guns were raised. “Right here.”
Drake gave a grim smile. They were carrying enough unmarked ammo to take out a small town. There was an exfil planned, by an anonymous chopper that was due to land in four hours many miles to the east, but if they missed that they were on their own.
The Sea Rats Page 21