Inca Kings (Matt Drake Book 15)

by David Leadbeater

  Live longer?

  That realization came down hard and fast, like a cloudburst. Their situation, for all of them, was pretty dire. Defending a village with a handful of soldiers against a local insane, motivated and organized enemy was the riskiest venture they’d ever undertaken . . . well, maybe. They’d fought through more than one frenzied battle over the last few years, engaged in several do-or-die confrontations.

  And here they stood.

  Kinimaka and Mai were helping make booby traps around the village. Pits and camouflaged boulder traps; sharpened stakes and rope snares. Smyth was fashioning a hollow in the earth behind the place where the creatures had assembled last time. He would hide here, covered by a ghillie suit of his own fashioning. Made of a strong brown, rough material, originally a bed sheet, he cut it down to cover his body and head, stuck vegetation over it, then covered it in dust, soil and plants. He made sure it blended with the landscape because, soon, it would be his night’s resting place.

  Villagers helped, and now Drake began to recognize people and remember their names. Basilio and Marco were farmers, helping Alicia get the houses’ defenses ready. Anica and Clarabelle were weavers, able to create intricate craftwork, and were helping Dahl, Kenzie and Yorgi to limit access to the village. Fewer routes of entry meant less people deployed randomly.

  Drake trained others too; as much as he was able to in the short hours. They sat in the dirt and ate sandwiches at lunchtime. He listened to their stories, spoken in stilted English just for him, often translated by Brynn, who seemed to be everywhere at once. It seemed that every hour a man or woman came up to him offering some kind of good luck charm, or a thank you gesture. He kept focus, working until mid-afternoon when he decided the team needed a small, private, discussion.

  Together, they wandered up to the summit of a nearby hill, water bottles in hand, jackets turned up against the wind and the all-encompassing cold. Views commanded every horizon, drawing their gazes. Drake waited a moment and then looked back, downward, at Kimbiri.

  “Does anyone else feel responsible as all hell now for those people?”

  “Fighting with friends is tough,” Alicia spoke up, happy to express herself. “You never know what will happen,” A recent loss weighted her words to the dejected side. “But fighting for friends?” She sighed.

  Mai appeared surprised even as she agreed. “I find it harder because they are all so enthusiastic.”

  They all laughed a little, more sadness in the sound than cheer. Drake found himself having to say the hard thing now that Hayden was gone.

  “And our differences? Can we put them on hold for tonight?”

  “At least tonight,” Alicia spoke up. “Despite the personal stuff nobody works better as a team than us lot.”

  Dahl grinned at that. “Even with Kenzie here?”

  The relic smuggler clapped him on the back. “Hey!” The movement set her katana shifting from side to side.

  “I dunno.” Alicia eyed another of her one-time enemies. “I’m taking your word for it, Torsty.”

  “I’ll show my true colors,” Kenzie said. “Just make sure you don’t miss it by doing your girlie, ‘running away from a spider’ act when I do.”

  Alicia cocked her head. “Truly? I can’t promise that.”

  Another round of laughter, another somber silence. Smyth shifted his feet. “I heard from Lauren today.”

  Kinimaka tapped his pocket where Hayden’s phone had been put for safekeeping. “Me too, brah. Through Hayden. Secretary Crowe?”

  “Yeah. Crowe’s pushing for our return. No Secretary ever pushed us this hard before—I mean to quit a job and go to another. It must be hell in Egypt right now.”

  Drake nodded. “It’s a shitstorm over there. When we hit the ground we’re gonna hit it running.”

  “First, we survive tonight,” Yorgi said.

  “Yeah. And Lauren finally wants to talk.” Smyth hesitated. “Sort our own shitstorm out.”

  Drake winced. “Great timing, pal. Did you mention . . . Joshua?”

  “Crap, of course not! Why the hell would I do that? Anyway, it could be better,” Smyth allowed, infected by the odd, mixed mood of cheer and melancholy. “But it’s better than what we had . . .” He paused again and Drake looked away, sensing the gruff soldier might have more to say.

  “When I said I was mentioned in Webb’s statement,” Smyth said. “I wasn’t fooling around. I am embarrassed all the time. That’s me.”

  Alicia clicked her fingers. “So that’s why you’re a temperamental wanker twenty hours a day.”

  Drake made a face and took Alicia’s hand in his own. “Still a long way to go, love.”

  The Englishwoman turned her face up. “What? He is!”

  “I’m embarrassed because of my family. Because of my past, and because of my name.”

  Alicia was on it like a starving piranha. “What name? Smyth ain’t so bad.”

  “My first name.”

  Alicia considered it. “Always wondered about that. Well, so long as it’s not Biff or Cliff you should be okay.”

  Mai made a small noise with her throat. “You know, my friend, you don’t have to share this with us.”

  Drake wondered if she too might be in the statement, though he couldn’t decide which part might apply to her. He backed her up though. “Yeah, mate. No need to force yourself.”

  Alicia nipped his arm. “Shhh!”

  Smyth growled at the whole team. “Whatever. My name’s Lance. There you have it. It’s out there, and I’m clean. Well, apart from the family shit.”

  “Lance?” Dahl repeated. “That’s a good American name.”

  “Ya think, do ya? Well, it’s short for Lancelot.”

  Alicia’s eyes widened to saucers. “Fuck right off.”

  Kenzie started to bow, but Dahl caught her. Drake somehow managed to hold back a witty comment, though a dozen suddenly floated through his head. Smyth studied the group.

  “Get ’em all out, guys. Might as well.”

  But even Alicia knew now was not the right time. “Tomorrow, maybe. Or next week. Because today—we’re all business.”

  Kinimaka pointed at the distant mountains, capturing their attention. “And Hayden’s out there. I hate to think what she’s enduring right now.”

  Drake decided not to voice his own misgivings. As Alicia attested, now was not the time. The team agreed positions, signals, made sure their comms system was working. They discussed the traps and the villagers’ positions. They considered where the night creatures might attack and then run off to. It might be good, this time, to give chase—maybe putting a sense of fear into them. Smyth mentioned making traps all along their escape route—a sound plan—but the plateau and the hills were so wide open a direction could not be decided upon.

  Drake sniffed the cold air, watched the scudding gray clouds above. “Night’s on its way,” he said. “Best be getting ready to fight.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  Hayden watched Bruno carefully as the militia transporter walked around to the front of the truck. Two other men waited there, dressed in warm clothing. Bruno had whispered hurriedly that they were the men that would take the new recruits to the chateau. They were Dantanion’s men.

  She flicked her attention to the back of the truck. It was small, no larger than a Transit, with white rusted paintwork and dented doors. The body was in disrepair; one of the plastic light covers shattered. One of the rear doors stood slightly ajar, and through the gap she made out seated figures. It occurred to her then that she could save these people—get them out of here—but then their one chance of gaining entry to the chateau would be gone.

  Greater good, and all that.

  She’d been working for and choosing the greater good most of her life. Where had it gotten her? No personal life to mention. Not even the sniff of a social life. A love life in tatters. The only thing she was good at, it seemed, was tracking down and engaging with bad guys.

  Footsteps caught
her attention and then all three men appeared around the side of the truck. “Get in,” one told her, and Bruno gestured at the open rear door.

  “Wait,” the other man said. “We have to check her, brother.”

  “Ah, thank you, brother. I almost forgot.”

  Bruno rolled his eyes as the men stepped forward. One said, “You or I this time, Diaz?”

  “You, Benedict. I will again check the truck.”

  Both men bowed slightly to each other. Hayden stood without moving, trying to affect a beaten, weary stance which was as far from her character as possible. She dared not let Diaz see her eyes. In these men she saw a fluid grace, a well-contained power, and also a deference that could only have been forced upon them. The manner in which they engaged was the product of some kind of system, some other person’s ideal, for good or bad.

  Diaz patted her down, pressed here and there, but did nothing to aggravate her. After a minute he nodded at the truck.

  “Get in.”

  She didn’t look at Bruno as she climbed into the back and took a seat on a dusty wooden bench. The seat was incredibly hard, and the backrest only the side of the van, making her hope they didn’t have far to go. Four people sat across from her. Three sat next to her. Two were men in their thirties, she guessed, the third a younger woman maybe early twenties. It was the younger woman that somehow managed a smile.

  “Hey,” Hayden said.

  “You don’t talk,” Benedict said, thick jacket rustling as he walked. “You don’t smile. You don’t stand. This is the law until you reach the chateau. Am I understood?”

  Hayden wanted to challenge him with a stare, to stand and force the issue, but sat as meekly as the others, staring at the dirty floorboards that lined the base of the truck. Benedict grunted as if satisfied before jumping out of the back door and locking it. Moments later the engine started and the truck rolled out.

  Hayden wondered if some kind of listening device might be planted somewhere around them. She didn’t want to risk the mistreatment of her fellow passengers so stayed mute. The journey gave her time to think anyway.

  Snap decisions had brought her here. Was it time to change everything? They couldn’t run around like this forever. Mano annoyed her because he hadn’t made the right call—but who was she to judge that? And could she even trust her own judgment?

  The truck jounced, rattling her spine. The smooth roads turned into ragged ruts, slopes and inclines. Hayden held onto the wooden bench seat as tightly as she could, catching the girl beside her when once she fell.

  “Thanks.” A whisper.

  “You’re welcome.”

  The two men glared.

  Hayden breathed more easily when the truck stopped and the back door opened. Outside, they lined up. Benedict and Diaz checked the area before signaling for Bruno to get on his way. The afternoon sun was bright, but offered no warmth, and the four of them shivered in silence.

  Diaz waited for the noise of the truck to abate before speaking “We have quite a trek so prepare yourselves. You will not speak. You will not smile. You will follow in the exact place in which we put you. Do you understand?”

  Hayden knew why she offered no objections to these slight, imperious oafs, but wondered why the others stood in submissive silence. She took their lead though, and fell in at the back, with Diaz bringing up the rear. The path they chose was tough, with the two chateau-men showing no signs of tiredness. The constant ups and downs, the ruts in the path and the rocks that sometimes appeared to try to trip you, took a toll on the four recruits though; even Hayden nursed a pull in her calf muscle and fought a tightening in her legs. Three times she helped the girl over tough spots, seen by Diaz but not commented on.

  They did not stop for food, but Benedict passed a bottle of water back from which they all drank. Up here, Hayden found the air becoming thinner and thinner and was glad she’d gotten used to the altitude. Still, the lack of air sometimes made her gasp.

  Topping another rise they saw a deep valley below and, across the delve between high lands, the chateau built into the side of the far mountain.

  “Our destination,” Benedict said. “Hurry, or we will be late.”

  Hastening the pace, the man set off. Diaz backed him up from behind. Hayden helped out where she could, again catching the girl an instant before she fell. The two men panted and walked with loose shoulders, almost exhausted. The slope leveled out, became flat land, and then started to climb again.

  The chateau hung over them like the world’s biggest arachnid.

  Hayden shuddered inside as she thought of the description. Shadows lengthening across the land helped fuel the illusion. The sunlight was lowering by the minute.

  Up they went, straining every muscle. The slight girl paused for a rest at the halfway point but received such a glowering look from Diaz that she whimpered and forced herself to go on. Hayden followed close, physically helping her over two piles of boulders and a thick, bristly patch of brush. The thistles were so strong they forced themselves up Hayden’s trouser leg and raked her flesh, but she said nothing.

  At last, Benedict stopped. The bottom edge of the house overhung them by several feet, jutting out over nothing at all. Beneath it, Hayden now saw a door had been fashioned into the rock, a black keypad with glowing blue numerals the only adornment. When Benedict entered a number—she saw three, five, six, but missed the other two—the door clicked ajar. He moved inside and, at Diaz’s urging, so did the recruits.

  A rocky passageway led upward, hewed out of stone, rough and standing in pitch black. Benedict used a flashlight to light the way. Still Hayden’s calf muscles tugged at her and she felt for what the others must be experiencing. At the far end stood another door, giving the impression that the tunnel was a kind of defense system, that could be defended with ease. Maybe there were some infra-red cameras around too. Hayden saw none but since this was part of her mission, kept her eyes open every inch of the way, remembering, questing, cataloguing. The information would be invaluable for the team’s assault.

  Beyond the second door they were led along a wood-paneled corridor, now angling downhill, through a couple of nicely furnished rooms and down a wide spiral staircase.

  “Keep going,” Diaz muttered irritably as the slight girl pulled up again.

  “Please,” she said.

  “One minute can’t hurt,” Hayden appealed.

  “It can if you’re flying off the cliffs,” Diaz said. “Now keep moving and shut up.”

  When Hayden turned her face to him he was smiling sickly-sweet, like icing covering a cockroach. She guessed Big Brother might be watching.

  “We’re all friends here,” Benedict said from the front. “Just one big, happy community, fed and strengthened by a family attachment.”

  Yeah, Hayden thought. What else you fed by?

  A few more corridors; the sound of a large kitchen at work; brief glimpses of apparently normal people, normally dressed, involved in their chores; and she began to feel a draft. Nothing like a chill or a tiny, errant flow of air, but a deep chill that flowed inexorably at her face.

  She shivered.

  Diaz grunted. “Get used to it. The caves will be your home until full initiation.”

  She dreaded even to imagine what that might mean.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  Left alone for a while, Hayden saw a chance and took full opportunity.

  An extensive cave system seemed to exist beneath the house, stretching all the way into the mountain. Efforts had been made to close off all but the smallest tunnels with wooden doors, but nothing could prevent the deep chill of underground chambers from penetrating. Individual cubicles had been fashioned, mere places to sleep or rest, using metal framing and plasterboard to a height of eight feet. Above all those, suspended from the cave’s high ceiling by more metal latticework, hung an array of CCTV cameras.

  “Great,” Hayden muttered. “Not only are we friggin’ freezing our asses off they’re on camera too.”
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br />   The slight girl had stuck with her and now giggled. “You’re funny. Thanks for your help back there.”

  “Anytime.” Hayden stuck a hand out. “Call me Hayden.”

  “Hayden? Hi, I’m Fay.”

  Wondering which way to proceed, Hayden decided upon a more self-deprecating point of view. “How the hell did I end up here?”

  Fay seated herself on a hard rock, since no chairs were in evidence. She was slim of build, around five-foot-four, and with a narrow, pretty face. Her hair was long, sleek, hanging forward over her shoulders. Her eyes, deep and round, now studied the ground as, it appeared, was normal for her.

  “Bad choices, I guess,” she said.

  “You’re American, right? That accent . . . California?”

  “Started off there.”

  “Ah, I’m terrible too. Can’t remember where I slept yesterday.”

  Fay tugged at the sleeves covering her arms, ensuring they were fully concealed. Hayden knew the girl was betraying herself, telegraphing the problem without proper knowledge, and smiled.

  “I’m in no position to judge. Done some bad shit in my time.”

  “But you seem . . . all together.”

  Hayden looked away, genuinely evaluating herself. “Dude, I’m more of a mess than late night TV. I stand up for myself, that’s all.”

  “My dream.” Fay didn’t look up.

  “Late night TV?”

  Her new friend laughed and kicked her feet in the air as she jumped off the rock. “Let’s explore.”

  So they did, having had no orders stating otherwise. The cave structure led down three different tunnels, all ending at wooden doors locked and bolted. To banish any further doubt red signs had been glued to each door.

  “Keep out,” Fay said. “Maybe that’s where they conduct the experiments.”

  Hayden came to a standstill, frowning hard. “What experiments?”

  “Isn’t that why you’re here? Two weeks for two thousand dollars. I passed the checks and I was in. Didn’t really listen to the lingo. Something about crossing barriers, they said. Overcoming taboos.” She shrugged. “They said it could be uncomfortable, but hey, I’ve been uncomfortable since I was nine.”