Mai narrowed her focus. Shop fronts and cars zipped past as blurry walls of tunnel vision. Pedestrians screamed at her. A biker was so shocked at her high-speed maneuvers he wobbled and fell off at a set of lights.
The nav took her east on Flagler. The readout told her she’d be there in five minutes. A fish market was a haze of color to the left. A quick dogleg and she saw a sign that read SW1st Street.
Fifty seconds later and the nav’s Irish accent declared: you have reached your destination.
*****
Even now, Mai took no major precautions. She remembered to lock the car and leave the keys behind the front, passenger side wheel. She sprinted over the road and found the plaque she’d seen a little while ago on the shaky camera.
Now she took a breath to steel herself against what she might find. She closed her eyes, centered her balance, and calmed her fear and her fury.
The handle turned freely. She walked through the threshold and quickly slipped to the left. Nothing had changed. The space was about fifty feet from the door to the back wall and about thirty feet wide. There were no furnishings. No pictures on the walls. No drapes on the windows. There were several glaring, hot banks of lights above her.
Chika still sat tied to the chair at the back of the room, eyes bulging now as she fought to move. And fought, it was clear, to tell Mai something.
But the Japanese Intelligence agent knew what to look for. She spotted half-a-dozen CCTV cameras positioned around the place and knew immediately who was watching.
Kovalenko.
What she didn’t know was why? Was he expecting some kind of show? Whatever it was, she knew the Blood King’s reputation. It wouldn’t be quick or easy, which discounted a hidden bomb or gas canister.
The dog-leg at the end of the room, just before her sister’s chair, no doubt concealed a surprise or two.
Mai inched forward, elated to find Chika still alive but under no illusions as to how long Kovalenko intended that to last.
As if in reply, a voice boomed out over hidden speakers. “Mai Kitano! Your reputation is unprecedented.” It was Kovalenko. “Let us see if it is well deserved.”
Four figures slipped out from behind the blind dogleg. Mai stared for a second, hardly able to believe her eyes, but then had to choose a stance as the first of the killers raced toward her.
Running fast, shaping himself for a flying kick, until Mai easily slipped aside and executed a perfect spin kick. The first fighter crashed to the ground, shaken. The Blood King’s laughter resounded through the speakers.
The second fighter came at her now, giving her no chance to finish the first one off. The man was twirling a chakram—a steel ring with a razor sharp outer edge—on the end of a finger and smiling as he advanced.
Mai paused. This man was an adept. Deadly. To be able to wield such a dangerous weapon with confident ease spoke of years of hard practice. He would be able to throw the chakram with a mere flick of the wrist. She quickly evened the odds.
She ran toward him, cutting down his range. When she saw his wrist jerk she dived into a slide, slipping underneath the arc of the weapon, straining her head as far back as she could as the evil blades sliced the air above her.
A lock of her hair fell to the floor.
Mai crashed feet first into the adept, kicking at his knees with all her might. This was no time to take prisoners. With a crunch, she both heard and felt, the man’s knees gave way. His scream preceded his fall to the ground.
So many years of training lost in an instant.
The man’s eyes betrayed much more than personal anguish. Mai briefly wondered what Kovalenko might have over him, but then a third fighter entered the fray and she sensed the first was already up on his feet.
The third was a big man. He pounded the floor toward her like a big bear stalking its prey, bare fleet slapping the concrete. The Blood King urged him on with a series of grunts and then burst out laughing, a maniac in his element.
Mai looked him straight in the eyes. “You don’t have to do this. We are close to catching Kovalenko. And freeing the hostages.”
The man wavered for a moment. Kovalenko was snorting high overhead. “You make me quiver, Mai Kitano, quiver with fear. Twenty years I have been but a myth and now I break my silence on my own terms. How could you…” He paused. “Or anyone like you, ever measure up to me?”
Mai continued to stare into the big fighter’s eyes. She sensed the one behind her also pausing, as if awaiting the outcome of a mental struggle.
“Fight!” the Blood King suddenly screamed. “Fight, or I will have your loved ones flayed alive and fed to the sharks!”
The threat was real. Even Mai could see that. The big man exploded into action, running at her with arms outstretched. Mai reviewed the strategy. Hit and run, strike swift and devastatingly hard, then get out of harm’s way. If possible, use his size against him. Mai let him come, knowing he would expect her to use some kind of evasive move. When he got to her and grabbed at her body, she stepped inside his reach and swept his legs.
The sound of him hitting the floor drowned out even the demented cackling of the Blood King.
The first fighter now struck her hard, aiming for her lower back and landing a painful blow before Mai twisted and rolled, coming up behind the downed man and giving herself a bit of space.
Now the Blood King let out a shriek. “Chop her sister’s fucking head off!”
A fourth man now emerged, wielding a samurai sword. He headed straight for Chika, six steps away from ending her life.
And Mai Kitano knew now was the time to execute the best play of her life. All her training, all her experience, came together in a life or death, last-ditch attempt to save her sister.
Ten seconds of lethal grace and beauty or a lifetime of burning regret.
Mai leapt onto the heaving back of the big man, using him as a springboard to launch a flying kick against the first fighter. His shock barely registered as Mai’s leading foot cracked several bones in his face, but he went down like dead weight. Mai immediately tucked her head in and rolled, landing hard on her spine, but the momentum of her leap carried her far across the concrete floor in minimal time.
She landed farther away from her sister and the man with the sword.
But right next to the chakran.
In a millisecond of pause she centered her being, steadied her soul, and turned, letting loose the deadly weapon. It skimmed through the air, its deadly blade flashing, glinting, already streaked red with Mai’s own blood.
The chakran sliced into the swordsman’s neck, quivering. The man collapsed without sound, without registering anything at all. He never knew what hit him. The sword clattered to the floor.
The big man was the only fighter capable of standing against her now, but his leg kept on giving way as he tried to stand up. She had probably taken out a tendon or two. Tears of agony and helplessness coursed down his face, not for himself but for his loved ones. Mai locked her gaze on Chika and forced herself to run over to her sister’s side.
She used the sword to cut the ropes, gritting her teeth on seeing the purple wrists and the bloody chaffs caused by constant struggle. Finally, she pulled out her sister’s gag.
“Go limp. I will carry you.”
The Blood King had stopped laughing. “Stop her!” He was bellowing at the big fighter. “Do it. Or I will end your wife by my own hands!”
The big man screamed as he tried to crawl toward her, arms outstretched. Mai paused near him. “Come with us,” she said. “Join us. Help us destroy this monster.”
For a moment, hope lit the man’s face. He blinked and looked as if the world’s weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“You go with them and she dies,” the Blood King grated.
Mai shook her head. “She’s dead anyway, friend. The only vengeance you will get is by following me.”
The man’s eyes were imploring. For a moment Mai thought he would actually drag himself out along with
her, but then the clouds of doubt returned and his gaze turned downcast.
“I can’t. So long as she still lives. I just can’t.”
Mai turned away, leaving him lying there. She had her own wars to fight.
The Blood King sent her a parting shot. “Run far away, Mai Kitano. My war is about to be declared. And the gates await me.”
CHAPTER NINE
The Blood King’s hands flew to his knife. The weapon had been stuck point-first into the table before him. He brought it close to his eyes, studied the blood engrained blade. How many lives had he ended with this knife?
One, every other day, for twenty-five years. At least.
If only to keep the legend, the respect, and the fear fresh.
“Such a worthy adversary,” he said to himself. “A shame I have no time to test her again.” He rose to his feet, twirling the knife slowly, its edge catching the light as he walked.
“But my time for action is almost here.”
He stopped at the opposite end of the table where a woman with dark hair had been tied to a chair. She had already lost her composure. It sickened him to have to observe her red eyes, heaving body and quivering lips.
The Blood King shrugged. “Worry not. I now have the first device, though I missed Kitano. Your husband should be delivering the second device about now. If he comes through, you will go free.”
“How—how can we trust you?”
“I’m a man of honor. It’s how I survived through my youth. And if honor was questioned…” He showed her the stained blade. “There was always more blood.”
There was a subdued ping from his computer screen. He walked over and clicked a few buttons. The face of his commander over in Washington DC appeared.
“We’re in position, sir. Target due in ten minutes.”
“The device is the priority. Above anything else. Remember that.”
“Sir.” The face moved away, revealing a view from an elevated position. They were looking down into a parking lot, rubbish strewn and practically abandoned. The grainy picture showed a tramp moving around at the top of the screen and a blue Nissan departing through a pair of automatic gates.
“Get rid of that down-and-out. He could be Politsiya.”
“We’ve checked him out, sir. He’s just a bum.”
The Blood King felt a slow rage start to burn. “Get rid of him. Question me again and I will bury your family alive.”
The man simply worked for him. But the man knew what Dmitry Kovalenko was capable of. Without another word he took aim and dropped the bum with a head shot. The Blood King smiled when he saw a dark stain begin to spread across the roughly concreted lot.
“Five minutes to mark.”
The Blood King spared a glance for the woman. She had been his guest for some months now. The wife of the Secretary of Defense was no little prize. Jonathan Gates was about to pay a dear price for her safety.
“Sir, Gates has passed the deadline.”
In any other situation, the Blood King would use the knife now. Without pause. But the second device was important to his plans, though not imperative. He picked up the sat-phone that lay next to the computer and dialed a number.
Listened to it ring and ring. “It would seem your husband does not care for your safety, Mrs. Gates.” The Blood King twitched his lips in the approximation of a smile. “Or perhaps he has already replaced you, hmm? These American politicians. . .”
A click, and a scared voice finally answered. “Yes?”
“I hope you are close and that you have the device, my friend. Otherwise. . .”
The voice of the Secretary of Defense was strained to the point of breaking. “The United States does not bow down to tyrants,” he said, the words clearly costing him the greater part of his heart and soul. “Your demands will not be met.”
The Blood King thought about the Gates of Hell and what lay beyond. “Then listen to your wife die in agony, Gates. I do not need the second device for where I’m going.”
Making sure the channel stayed open, the Blood King raised the knife and set about fulfilling his every murderous fantasy.
CHAPTER TEN
Hayden Jaye stepped away from the computer when her cell phone began to ring. Ben and Karin were busy resurrecting the sea voyages of Captain Cook, and in particular those concerned with the Hawaiian Islands. Cook, although widely known as a famous explorer, was a man if many talents, it seemed. He was also a renowned navigator and an expert cartographer. A man who mapped everything, he recorded the lands from New Zealand to Hawaii and, as was more widely known, made first landfall on Hawaii—a place he named the Sandwich Islands. A statue still stands in the town of Waimea, on Kauai, as a testament to the place he made first contact in 1778.
Hayden backed away when she saw the caller was her boss, Jonathan Gates.
“Yes, sir?”
Only ragged breathing came from the other end. She walked over to the window. “Can you hear me? Sir?”
They hadn’t spoken since he gave her the verbal reprimand. Hayden felt a bit unnerved.
Gates’s voice finally came through. “They killed her. Those bastards killed her.”
Hayden stared out the window without seeing anything. “They did what?”
Behind her both Ben and Karin, alerted by her tone, turned around.
“They took my wife, Hayden. Months ago. And last night they killed her. Because I wouldn’t do their bidding.”
“No. It couldn’t—”
“Yes.” Gates’s voice cracked as his whisky-fuelled charge of adrenalin clearly began to dissipate. “It’s not your concern, Jaye, my wife. I- I have always been a patriot, so the president knew within hours of her abduction. I remain…” He stammered. “A patriot.”
Hayden hardly knew what to say. “Why tell me now?”
“To explain my next actions.”
“No!” Hayden shouted, banging the window in sudden terror. “You can’t do it! Please!”
“Relax. I have no intentions of killing myself. I will help avenge Sarah first. Ironic isn’t it?”
“What?”
“That now I know how Matt Drake feels.”
Hayden closed her eyes, but the tears rolled down her face anyway. Kennedy’s memory was already fading from the world, a heart once so full of fire now diminished to eternal night.
“Why tell me now?” Hayden finally repeated.
“To explain this.” Gates paused, then said, “Ed Boudreau has a baby sister. I’m sending you the details. Do—”
Hayden was so shocked she interrupted the secretary before he could continue. “Are you sure?”
“Do whatever you have to do to take this fucker down.”
The line went dead. Hayden heard the email report chime out on her phone. Without checking she turned smartly and walked out of the room, ignoring the worried stares of Ben Blake and his sister. She walked over to Kinimaka’s little closet and found him working on a chicken and chorizo sub.
“Where’s Alicia?”
“Got her pass revoked yesterday.” The big Hawaiian’s words were distorted.
Hayden bent in close. “Don’t be a fucking idiot. We both know she doesn’t need a pass. Now where is Alicia?”
Kinimaka’s eyes widened into dinner plates. “Umm, one minute. I’ll trace her. No, she’s too sharp for that. I’ll—”
“Just ring her.” Hayden’s stomach sank even as she said the words and blackness blighted her soul. “Tell her to get hold of Drake. He’s got what he asked for. We’re going to hurt an innocent person to get information.”
“Boudreau’s sister?” Kinimaka seemed sharper than usual. “He’s actually got one? And Gates signed off on it?”
“You would too”—Hayden wiped her eyes dry—“if someone just tortured and killed your wife.”
Kinimaka absorbed that in silence. “And that makes it okay for the CIA to do the same to an American citizen?”
“It does for now,” Hayden said. “We’re at war.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Matt Drake had started on the expensive stuff. A bottle of Johnnie Walker Black was beckoning and looking none too shabby.
Would the better stuff stifle the memory of her face faster? This time, in his dream, would he actually save her like he’d always promised to?
The search continued.
The whisky burned. He emptied the glass immediately. He refilled. He struggled to center himself. He was a man who helped others, who gained their trust, who stood up to be counted and never let anyone down.
But he had failed Kennedy Moore. And, before that, he had failed Alyson. And he had failed their unborn child, a baby dead before it even had chance to start living.
The Johnnie Walker, like every other bottle he had tried before, was making the desperation run deeper. He had known it would. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted it to carve a slice of agony out of his soul.
The pain was his penance.
He stared at the window. It stared back, blank, unseeing and unfeeling— dirtied to the point of blackness, just like him. The updates from Mai and Alicia were becoming less frequent. The calls from his friends in the SAS were still very much on time.
The Blood King had made an attempt on Ben’s parents a few days ago. They were safe. They never knew the danger and Ben would never know how close they came to being victims in the Blood King’s vendetta.
And neither would the CIA agents who were guarding the Blakes. The SAS did not need recognition or pats on the back. They simply did the job and moved on to the next.
A haunting tune started to play. The song was as moving as it was beautiful—‘My Immortal’ by Evanescence—and it reminded him of everything he had ever lost.
It was his ringtone. He scrabbled around the bed sheets a little blearily, but eventually got a hold on the phone.
The Gates of Hell (Matt Drake 3) Page 4