The Gates of Hell (Matt Drake 3)

by David Leadbeater

  Hayden speeded up the paperwork, and before long, they were secured into another tiny office, similar to the one they had left back in Miami. The only difference was from the window they could see the high-rise hotels of Waikiki, the famous Top of Waikiki revolving restaurant and, in the far distance, Oahu’s biggest feature, the long-extinct volcano known as Diamond Head.

  “God, I want to live here,” Karin said with a sigh.

  “I do,” Kinimaka murmured. “Though I’m sure most vacationers spend more time here than me.”

  “Hey, you got to visit the Everglades not so long ago,” Hayden wisecracked as she logged both Ben’s and Karin’s computers onto the privileged system. “And got to meet one of the locals.”

  Kinimaka looked blank for a moment, then grunted. “You mean the gator? That was a lot of fun, yeah.”

  Hayden finished what she was doing and looked around. “How about a quick meal and an early night? We get to work at sunup.”

  There were nods and mutterings of agreement. When Mai acquiesced, Alicia walked out. Drake watched her go before turning to his colleagues. “You should all know something I learned today. I have a feeling it could be one of the most important bits of information we will ever uncover.” He paused. “Dahl contacted me yesterday.”

  “Torsten?” Ben blurted. “How is the mad Swede? The last time I saw him he was staring at the bones of Odin.”

  Drake pretended there had been no interruption. “During their exploration of the Tomb of the Gods, they have found markings consistent with the whorls we found on the displacement devices.”

  “Consistent?” Hayden echoed. “How consistent?”

  “They’re exactly the same.”

  Ben’s brain slammed into gear. “That means the same people who built the Tomb also built the devices. That’s crazy. The theory is the gods built their own tombs and literally lay down to die whilst creating extended life through a mass extinction event. Now you’re saying that they also built the time-travel devices?” Ben paused. “Actually that makes perfect sense—”

  Karin shook her head at him. “Dummy. Of course it makes sense. It’s how they travelled through time, manipulated events and created people’s fates.”

  Matt Drake turned away without a sound. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  *****

  The night air was balmy, tropically warm and laced with a hint of the Pacific. Drake walked the streets until he found an open bar. The clientele should be poles apart from other bars in other countries, shouldn’t it? he thought. This was paradise after all. Then why were the lifers still playing pool, looking like they owned the joint? Why was there a drunk at the end of the bar, head lolling? Why were the perpetual couple sat apart, lost in their own little worlds, out together but alone?

  Well, one thing was different. Alicia Myles was at the bar, downing a double-shot. Drake thought about leaving. There were other bars to avoid his sorrows in, and if most of them looked like this, he’d feel right at home.

  But maybe the call to action had altered his view a little. He walked over to her and sat down. She didn’t even look up.

  “Fucksake, Drake.” She slid her empty glass toward him. “Buy me a drink.”

  “Leave the bottle,” Drake instructed the barman and poured himself half a glass of Bacardi Oakheart. He lifted his glass in a toast. “Alicia Myles. A ten year relationship that went nowhere, eh? And here we find ourselves, in paradise, getting drunk in a bar.”

  “Life has a way of fucking you up.”

  “No. The SRT did that.”

  “It sure didn’t help.”

  Drake glanced sidelong at her. “Is that a sentence of honesty? From you? How many of those have you sunk?”

  “Enough to take the edge off. Not as many as I need.”

  “And yet you did nothing to help those people. In that village. Do you even remember? You allowed our own soldiers to interrogate them.”

  “I was a soldier, like them. I had my orders.”

  “And then you threw down to the highest bidder.”

  “I served my dues, Drake.” Alicia topped her rum off and banged the bottle down hard. “It was time to reap the rewards.”

  “And look where that got you.”

  “You mean look where it got us, don’t you?”

  Drake remained silent. It could be said that he’d taken the high road. It could also be said that she’d taken the low road. It didn’t matter. They had ended up in the same place with the same losses and the same future.

  “We deal with the Blood Vendetta first. And Kovalenko. Then we see where we’re at.” Alicia sat gazing into the distance. Drake wondered if her thoughts centered around Tim Hudson.

  “We still have to talk about Wells. He was my friend.”

  Alicia laughed, sounding like her old self. “That old perv? No way was he your friend, Drake, and you fucking know it. We will talk about Wells. But at the end. That’s when it’ll happen.”

  “Why?”

  A soft voice floated over his shoulder. “Because that’s when it has to happen, Matt.” It was Mai’s feathery tones. She had sidled up to them with soundless ease. “Because we need each other to get through this first.”

  Drake tried to hide his surprise at seeing her. “Is the truth about Wells so terrible?”

  Their silence said that it was.

  Mai moved between them. “I’m here because I have a lead.”

  “A lead? From who? I thought the Japs had subbed you.”

  “Officially, they have.” Mai’s voice carried an amused lilt. “Unofficially, they’re talking to the Americans. They know the importance of capturing Kovalenko. Do not think my government are without eyes to see.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Alicia snorted. “I just wanna know how you found us.” She shook her jacket as if to throw off a tracker.

  “I’m better than you,” Mai said, and now laughing. “And this is the only bar for three blocks.”

  “It is?” Drake blinked. “How ironic.”

  “I have a lead,” Mai repeated. “Do you want to come with me now and check it out or are you both too drunk to care?”

  Drake was off his stool in a second and Alicia swung around. “Lead the way, little sprite.”

  *****

  A short cab ride later, they were huddled around a busy street corner, listening as Mai updated them.

  “It comes directly from a man I trust at the Intelligence Office. Kovalenko’s ranches are managed by a few individuals he trusts. This has always been the case, though it aids him now more than ever when he needs time to. . . well, do whatever it is he plans to do. In any case, his Oahu ranch is managed by a man called Claude.”

  Mai drew their attention ahead to the line of young people filing through the arched and gaudily lit entrance to an upscale club. “Claude owns this club,” she said. Flashing lights advertised ‘Live DJ’s, Friday night bottle specials and special guests.’ Drake scanned the crowd with a sinking feeling. It consisted of about a thousand of Hawaii’s most beautiful young people in various states of undress.

  “We might stand out a bit,” he said.

  “Now I know you’re all washed up.” Alicia smirked at him. “The Drake of a year ago would’ve stood by the two hot women he’s with, grabbed a cheek in each hand, and goosed us over there.”

  Drake rubbed his eyes, knowing she was uncannily correct. “The mid-thirties changes a man,” he managed, suddenly feeling the weight of Alyson’s loss, of Kennedy’s murder, of constant intoxication. He did manage to fix a steely eye on both of them.

  “The search for Claude starts here.”

  They smiled their way past the doormen to find themselves in a narrow tunnel filled with flashing light and fake smoke. Drake was momentarily disoriented and put it down to the weeks of inebriation. His thought processes were fuzzy, his reactions more so. He needed to sharpen up fast.

  Beyond the tunnel, a wide balcony gave a birds-eye view of the dance floor. Bodies moved in
unison to the deep-bass beats. The wall to their right held thousands of bottles of liquor and reflected light in sparkling prisms. A dozen bar staff worked the punters, reading lips, giving short-change and serving the wrong drinks to the club’s uncaring patrons.

  Same as any bar anywhere. Drake laughed with some irony. “At the back.” He pointed, not needing to be covert in the crowd. “The roped-off area. And beyond that, curtains.”

  “Private parties,” Alicia said. “I know what goes on back there.”

  “Of course you do.” Mai was busy scanning as much of the place as she could. “Is there a back room you’ve never been in, Myles?”

  “Don’t even go there, bitch. I know about your exploits in Thailand. Even I wouldn’t try some of that stuff out.”

  “What you heard was hugely understated.” Mai started down the wide staircase without looking back. “Believe me.”

  Drake frowned at Alicia and nodded toward the dance-floor. Alicia looked surprised but then realized he meant to cut right across and head for the private area. The Englishwoman shrugged. “You lead, Drake. I’ll follow.”

  Drake experienced a sudden, irrational rush of blood. Here was a chance to get closer to the man who might know the whereabouts of Dmitry Kovalenko. The blood he had shed so far was but a drop in the ocean compared to what he was prepared to spill.

  As they threaded through the laughing, sweaty bodies out on the dance-floor, one of the guys managed to spin Alicia around. “Hey,” he shouted to his friend, voice barely audible above the pumping beat. “I just got lucky.”

  Alicia struck stiffened fingers into his solar plexus. “You were never lucky, son. Just look at your face.”

  They moved on swiftly, focusing beyond the pounding music, the swaying bodies, the bar-staff threading in and out of the crowd with trays balanced precariously above their heads. A couple was arguing loudly, the man pressed against a pillar with the woman screaming into his ear. A group of middle-aged women were sweating and puffing in a circle with a round of vodka-Jell-O’s and little blue spoons held in their hands. Low tables dotted the floor everywhere, most loaded with gaudy umbrella-drinks. No one was alone. Many of the men did double takes when Mai and Alicia passed, to the great annoyance of their girlfriends. Mai sensibly ignored the attention. Alicia provoked it.

  They approached the roped-off area, which consisted of a thick, gold braid stretched between two heavy-duty, brass rope stands. It seemed the establishment assumed no one would actually challenge the two bruisers situated at either end.

  One of them came forward now, palm out, and politely asked Mai to retreat.

  The Japanese girl smiled quickly. “Claude sent us to see. . .” She paused as if pondering.

  “Pilipo?” The other bruiser quickly filled in. “I can see why, but who’s the guy?”

  “Bodyguard.”

  The two big men eyed Drake like cats that had cornered the mouse. Drake gave them a big smile. He didn’t speak, just in case his English accent aroused suspicion. Alicia held no such misgivings.

  “So, this Pilipo. What’s he like? We in for a good time, or what?”

  “Oh, he’s the best,” the first bouncer said with a wry smile. “The perfect gentleman.”

  The second bouncer was eyeing their clothing. “You’re not exactly—dressed—for the occasion. You sure Claude sent you?”

  Mai’s voice carried no trace of derision when she said, “Quite sure.”

  Drake was using the exchange to assess the hidden alcoves. A short flight of stairs led to a raised dais where a large table took precedence. Around the table sat about a dozen people, most of whom looked rapturous enough to have recently snorted some serious powder. The others just looked scared and sad, young women and a couple of guys, clearly not members of the party group.

  “Hey, Pilipo!” the second bouncer shouted. “Fresh meat for you!”

  Drake followed the girls up the short stairway. It was much quieter up here. So far he’d counted twelve unmistakable bad guys, all of who were probably carrying arms. But when he weighed the twelve local enforcers against Mai, Alicia and himself he wasn’t worried.

  He stayed behind them, keeping as low a profile as possible. Pilipo was the target, and now they were within a few feet of him. This nightclub was about to really start rocking.

  Pilipo stared at the girls. The sound of his throat clicking drily registered his interest. Drake vaguely saw his hand lunge toward a drink and tip it back.

  “Claude sent you?”

  Pilipo was a short, thin man. His wide, expressive eyes betrayed to Drake immediately that this man wasn’t a friend of Claude’s. Wasn’t even an acquaintance. He was more a puppet, a figurehead for the club. An expendable asset.

  “Not really.” Mai had figured it out too and switched from passive female to kick-ass killer in the blink of an eye. Stiffened fingers jabbed into two of the nearest men’s throats and a deep front-kick sent a third falling off his chair into oblivion. Alicia leapt onto the table at her side, landed on her ass, feet up high and slapped a man with flowing neck-tattoos hard across the face with her heel. He crashed into the bruiser next to him, taking them both down. Alicia leapt onto a third.

  Drake was slow by comparison, but much more devastating. An oriental with long hair stood up to him first and drove forward with a jab, front-kick combination. Drake sidestepped, caught the leg and twisted with immense, sudden power until the man screamed and dropped into a blubbering ball.

  The next man drew a knife. Drake grinned. The blade shot forward. Drake caught the wrist, snapped it and buried the weapon deep into its owner’s stomach.

  Drake moved on.

  The unfortunate hangers-on were fleeing from the table. It didn’t matter. They wouldn’t know anything about Claude. The one man who might was predictably huddled as far into his plush leather chair as humanly possible, eyes wide with fear, lips working soundlessly.

  “Pilipo.” Mai sidled in next to him and put a hand on his thigh. “First you want our company. Now you don’t. It’s rude. What’s it take to be my friend?”

  “I... I have men.” Pilipo was gesturing wildly, his fingers shaking like a man on the verge of alcohol addiction. “Everywhere.”

  Drake faced the two bouncers who had almost made it to the top of the stairs. Alicia was mopping up the stragglers to his right. The heavy dance music blasted from below. Bodies threw themselves in various stages of intoxication all around the dance floor. The DJ mixed and grunted to a captive audience.

  “Claude didn’t send you,” the second bouncer gasped, clearly amazed. Drake used the staircase’s newel posts to swing forward and plant both feet into the man’s chest, sending him toppling backward into the noisy pit.

  The other man leapt up the last step and came at Drake, arms swinging. The Englishman took a blow in the ribs that would have felled a lesser man. It hurt. His adversary paused, waiting for effect.

  But Drake just sighed and delivered a close uppercut, swinging from the very soles of his feet. The bouncer was lifted off his toes, instantly unconscious. The noise as he hit the ground made Pilipo visibly jump.

  “You were saying?” Mai traced a perfectly manicured finger nail across the Hawaiian’s stubbly cheek. “About your men?”

  “Are you crazy? Do you even know who this club belongs to?”

  Mai smiled. Alicia paced up to them both, unruffled after taking out four bodyguards. “Funny you should say that.” She planted a foot over Pilipo’s heart and pressed hard. “This guy, Claude. Where is he?”

  Pilipo’s eyes darted like captive fireflies. “I… I don’t know. He never comes here. I run the place but I… I don’t know Claude.”

  “Regrettable.” Alicia slammed her foot against Pilipo’s heart. “For you.”

  Drake took a moment to scan their perimeter. All seemed secure. He bent down until he was nose-to-nose with the club owner.

  “We get it. You’re a lowly minion. I’ll even accept that you don’t know Claude. But you
sure as hell know someone who knows him. A man who visits from time to time. A man who ensures you keep yourself in check. Now—” Drake grabbed Pilipo by the throat, his rage barely concealed. “You tell me that man’s name. Or I’ll twist your fuckin’ head off.”

  Pilipo’s whisper went unheard even up here, where the pounding beats were subdued by the heavy acoustic walling. Drake shook his head like a tiger shakes the head of a felled gazelle.

  “What?”

  “Buchanan. The man’s name is Buchanan.”

  Drake squeezed harder as the rage began to take over. “Tell me how you contact him.” Images of Kennedy filled his vision. He barely felt Mai and Alicia pulling him off the dying club owner.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Hawaiian night was still young. It was barely after midnight when Drake, Mai and Alicia slipped out of the club and hailed a parked taxi. Alicia had covered their way out by gleefully striding up to the DJ, grabbing his mic, and doing her best rock-star impression. “Hey, Honolulu! How the fuck are ya? So glad to be here tonight. You guys are fucking beautiful!” Then she’d sashayed off, leaving a thousand speculations on a thousand lips behind her.

  Now they talked freely around the cab driver. “How long you think before Pilipo warns Buchanan?” Alicia asked.

  “With good fortune they might not discover him for a while. He’s well trussed. But if they do—”

  “He won’t talk,” Drake said. “He’s a coward. He won’t draw attention to the fact that he ratted out Claude’s man. I’d put my mortgage on it.”

  “The bouncers might talk.” Mai said quietly.

  “Most of ‘em are unconscious.” Alicia laughed, then said more seriously. “But the sprite’s right. When they can walk and talk again, they’re gonna squeal like pigs.”

  Drake clicked his tongue. “Damn, you’re both right. So we have to do this quick then. Tonight. There’s no other choice.”