She was already gone, darting past. His huge pull on the sword unbalanced him for several seconds. By then Kenzie had scooped up the sword that Saint, as promised, had hurled into the ring.
Now, the odds were even.
Kenzie attacked. Drake never expected anything else. What she didn’t see was two guards grab Yorgi and also throw him, unarmed, into the ring.
Fergus saw it, staring over Kenzie’s shoulder and a feral grin lit his features. He feinted a block as Kenzie swung and then pulled out of it, rolled past her and came up in front of a very surprised Yorgi.
Grit and dust from the arena’s floor stuck to his bare skin, trickling to the floor.
The sword came up to disembowel the Russian thief, but Kenzie was far quicker than anyone realized. She’d seen the feint, spun instantly, and understood what was about to happen. Too far away she did all she could—hurling her sword end over end at Fergus. It hit hard, unfortunately the hilt end smashing into the side of his skull. He staggered. Kenzie leapt over and Yorgi fell back,
Fergus swung from the floor, the sword blade swinging in a deadly arc. Kenzie was in full leap but managed to twist her body so that only a small chunk of flesh was lost to the blade. She fell hard, gravel stinging her bare flesh, but scooped up the fallen sword and scrambled to safety.
Fergus met her. Swords clashed under the baking heat and bodies shed sweat in the shimmering still air. A dozen times they came together. Metal met metal and flesh slipped against flesh. Kenzie was wearing Fergus down; there was no doubting it. Her skills were greater, her speed more telling. Yorgi was the unknown factor. He stayed behind Kenzie but couldn’t possibly predict her every lightning move.
Fergus must have realized his poorer standards and launched a desperate attack. He pushed her aside, slipped past and came hard at Yorgi. The Russian had no defenses and stood with his back to the SPEAR team. Guards sensed trouble and squeezed in around them. Yorgi backed away. Fergus came on, grinning with evil purpose. It was clear that Kenzie was too far away to help.
“Attack him!” Alicia cried out in despair. “Move!”
The distance between Fergus and Yorgi shrank quickly. Drake prepared to risk everything, despite the guards. Fergus slashed down the sword, straight at Yorgi’s face.
But a guard struck him then, right at the very last second and, at first, nobody could quite work out what had happened.
Then the Mad Swede bellowed and Drake saw his hands outstretched.
“You crazy bastard, well done.”
Dahl had hefted one of the closest guards off his feet and propelled him uncontrollably into Fergus, effecting a major body strike.
Alicia scratched her chin. “Is that allowed?”
“Guard skittles is always free rein,” Dahl said.
Saint ran up, unsure what to do, and seemingly amused with the outcome. Kenzie raced up to Fergus and stabbed him before he could regain his feet. Blood pooled across the arena floor. Saint took in the scene and held up his hands.
“Spectacle’s done for now,” he said. “I’m calling a half-hour break so we can get out of this dreadful sun.” He threw a handful of water bottles at Drake and Dahl. “Get ready,” he said. “You’re staying right here. And it’s going to be the worst afternoon of your lives.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Barely refreshed, the SPEAR team sprawled across the gravelly floor, arms across their eyes or propped up sideways. They weren’t allowed to sit with their backs to the walls. Weren’t allowed more water or any kind of food. They weren’t allowed any kind of medication for their wounds. One of the guards explained they didn’t want to waste medicine on dead bodies. He was wholly serious when he said it.
“Thoughts?” Hayden asked in a low voice.
“Our only option is a mass attack,” Dahl said apprehensively. “We don’t know where Crouch is, or even if he’s alive. And there are simply zero odds that we will all make it out. Some of us will die.”
“Then I guess it’s better some than all,” Hayden said. “The alternative is grim.”
“Grim is our thing,” Alicia said. “We’ve been in worse holes.”
“Have we? When?”
“Umm . . . when we fought cannibals? Dmitry Kovalenko’s attack on DC. That last man standing bollocks. Every time Kinimaka walks past something or Mai returns from a trip to Japan.”
Even Mai smiled, if only slightly. “My personal problems have ended now.”
“Oh yeah?” Kinimaka brooded. “That’s the feeling right before the worst begins. Don’t get too comfy.”
Hayden reached out to him. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, Mano.”
“Ah . . .” the Hawaiian stammered and then clammed up, surprised. The rest of the team were startled too, but turned away so the pair could have a least a semblance of privacy.
“Don’t say anything,” Hayden said quietly. “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove my sorrow and my worth and hope you can forgive me.”
Saint appeared at the top of the channel that ran from the cave system down into the bottom of the bowl. He brought a long, black whip with him and an enormous, frozen ice lolly, which he opened and started eating in front of them.
“How we all feeling? Refreshed?”
“So when are you jumping into the ring?” Alicia asked with interest.
Saint slurped at the lolly. “Whoa, this thing is juicy. Oh, darlin’, you don’t want that. You wouldn’t last two minutes.”
“Well, darlin’, I’d be sure happy to give it a try.”
“Hmm, well, let’s see how the afternoon goes. The masses are wandering back in. Time to perform, kids.”
Drake rose and the others followed suit, as much to prepare their aching bodies as anything. Lack of food and water would slow them enough. Nobody wanted to be caught out. Saint waited for the crowd to settle and then raised both hands.
“A nice spectacle to start the afternoon off,” he shouted. “It’ll be Mai Kitano versus Ronin the Samurai, and Mai Kitano versus the whip.” He lashed the dirt floor with the whip, sending up a cloud of dust.
Drake gritted his teeth, wishing the day was already over. Mai walked through the team to sounds of encouragement. Drake knew she was the best warrior they had, but that didn’t make her invincible. It only upped the stakes.
Saint smiled at Mai. “I think you’re gonna enjoy this.”
*
Mai Kitano waited patiently at the center of the arena, as calm on the inside as she appeared on the outside. It would do no good to get flustered. As she’d explained earlier, her life had become easier lately. Stiller. The personal issues were done with, the troubles all over and demons all met.
For that she was grateful. It was the main reason she had taken the step back with Drake. It was why she never challenged Alicia. Mai was content; she saw no reason to upset the good, serene fortune that had chosen to flow her way.
Now, Saint cracked the whip, the lashes landing in the dirt by her feet. It was a long, leather-handled thing with three thongs and Saint appeared to know how to use it. Of course, it would be the distraction.
Ronin came into sight. Wearing black robes, carrying a whip of his own. With long, black hair and Japanese features he was short and solid. He moved with grace, with purpose and paced toward her now.
Saint cracked the whip to get them started.
*
Drake found himself biting his lip until the blood flowed. Mai evaded three strikes of the whip, the weapon kissing the ground until clouds of dust whirled up. Ronin was too fast to directly assault; the whip always ready and the man constantly in motion. Drake watched hard, his eyes searing hatred at Mai’s opponent until Alicia’s cry made him whirl around.
“Michael!”
Crouch was dragged down into the arena and thrown among them. He was bloody, bruised and barely moving. Drake wasn’t even sure he was alive at first, until Dahl checked for the pulse and nodded. The guards that had brought him down parted.
Another figure revealed
himself.
The team ignored him, concentrating on making Crouch comfortable. Alicia acted as a prop for his back and head. Drake tried patting his cheeks to bring him back to reality.
“Michael. It’s me. You okay, mate?”
“What did you do to him?” Hayden hissed, confronting the new figure.
“I questioned ridiculous English ponce,” a long, drawling Russian accent came back. “But he . . . he has balls? Yes? For now. Same as all of you.”
“I thought we were here only for revenge,” Hayden said. “Your guy Saint there said as much.”
“Revenge, amusement,” the Russian intoned. “Diversion. We are happy with down time before next phase begins.” He shrugged. “We get bored.”
He came among them without fear. “I am Vladimir.”
Drake ignored the figure, the words. He was staring between Crouch and Mai, alarmed for both. Mai had taken a whip-crack to the bicep, intent on catching the lash and reeling her opponent in, but Ronin had been a tad too quick for her. Another attack resulted in Saint striking at the same time, partially unbalancing her, enabling Ronin to land another strike across her back. Mai’s scar was already red, standing out angrily as the blood rushed through her body.
“I want to know what is the fourth symbol,” Vladimir said. “I want to know it now or I will kill one of you. I will crush you underfoot as my men guard your friends with orders to shoot if they move. I want it now!”
Drake looked up at Vladimir, about to explain to him his place in the world. Crouch’s eyelids fluttered open and he took a moment to study proceedings. “You are fighting for your lives now?” he muttered. “In a pit? God help us.”
“That’d do,” Dahl said. “We’re open to anything right now.”
Vladimir punched Smyth point blank in the face. Blood exploded from the soldier’s nose. Vladimir kicked him in the side of the head. Hayden and Kinimaka made to move but gun barrels swiveled toward them. A bullet kicked up dirt once more. Vladimir kicked out at Smyth again.
“Tell me. You can stop this. Tell me.”
Drake rose, ready to finish all this madness with one last all-out assault. Dahl read his mind and rose with him, the two shoulder to shoulder, head to head. Nobody could pick the time of their death, but right now, in this moment, they could pick who they decided to meet it with and how they went out.
“You stop that,” Drake said. “Right now.”
“You will tell me!”
“Yes,” Crouch finally said through a hacking cough. “We will tell you.” He caught Drake’s eye. “It makes no difference to us. And it will buy us time. Rest. Respite.”
Vladimir came over to him, a bull elephant charging through a pack and knocking everyone out of the way.
“Crouch, you are asshole. You do this now. I will make all deaths quick.”
The ex-British soldier nodded wearily. “Deal.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Mai Kitano ducked and sprang around the ring. The whip was a constant thrashing, side to side and occasionally across her body. Every time she got close to Ronin, Saint joined in but now she had learned to ignore him. He never made impact, but she thought she’d figured out a way to win. It was hard concentrating though, as Crouch was returned and then the new man—Vladimir—appeared, making his threats. She wasn’t sure if she would be needed over there or here, or even among the crowd in the next few moments so she dallied, waited, prepared to move.
Then, something was agreed. Vladimir ordered a man to fetch an iPad and Crouch sat more upright, back to the wall. Hayden and Yorgi crowded around him. Mai saw it as an opportunity to finish this. The T-shirt she wore was already ripped and sweat dripped into her eyes. As Ronin swung the whip hard, sending all three lashes toward her, Mai dropped and spun under them, balanced on one leg, the rotation of her body bringing her to within an arm’s length of her opponent. With the whip arm at full length, he was off balance. Mai was a flash of forked lightning, rising up and striking again and again with her clenched fists, eight times before he cried out. The last two were crushing throat strikes.
He collapsed, choking. Mai walked away from him.
Saint tried to calm the baying crowd.
*
Drake watched Crouch flick at the iPad. “It would have made better sense to wait until we found the bloody thing,” he said to Dahl with Vladimir listening.
The Russian gave him a deadly look. “I work with what I can get,” he twanged thickly. “You allow them special bikes to help with their mission, they get carried away.” He shrugged. “What can you do?”
Crouch spoke as he worked, giving the Russian no chance to doubt him. “We cleared the upper level,” he said. “Then went all the way down to the bottom to start there.” A white lie to extend their time. “Your men came before we got started.”
He studied the photographs of Hatshepsut’s Temple carefully as Vladimir and his men looked on.
The SPEAR team took rest, managing to get four more bottles of water between them. Vladimir even allowed them bread to eat. Drake felt a surge of energy as he finished and his stomach begged for more. The intense heat was declining now, making the whole area a little more comfortable. With Dahl, Alicia, Kenzie and the others he sought a way out.
Crouch took an hour to search through the temple photographs they’d already studied. Then inexorably, he came to the final level, the level they hadn’t examined.
“Last chance.” He looked at Vladimir but the words were for his friends.
“You had better find it, English.”
The team stirred ever so slowly, wondering what might happen next and not enthusiastic about throwing more of their number into the ring. The mercs, gathered around the stands, were like restless children forbidden to play.
Crouch looked up. “Got it.”
Vladimir was already staring, having seen Crouch’s initial hesitation. He studied the picture now, carved upon the base of a column at the bottommost level of the temple. “What is that?” he intoned. “A pyramid? Which one?”
Saint was watching them closely. “We can determine that,” he said. “But now, you have to end this.”
Drake and Dahl made ready. The team jumped to their feet.
“Throw these animals into the ring,” he growled at the guards that held guns upon them. “Boys!” he shouted up into the stands at the hundred-or-so assembled mercs. “Have your way!”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Before they could even think the guards were upon them, shoving and pushing, with guns raised. The team were already depleted, bruised and battered; the day’s exhaustion slowing their reaction times as well as everything else.
Drake felt a boot to his spine, folded and rolled into the ring. Bodies fell all around him; his friends, sprawling head first or staggering left and right. Crouch was hurled in with them and lay groaning. The guards backed away and up the first few tiers of stands.
Mercs roared in their seats, grabbed weapons and started jumping and running down the steps and the channel, all converging on the fighting arena.
Drake struggled to his feet.
Alicia dragged herself up too. “This is not a good day.”
“What is it they say?” Drake watched the oncoming blood pack. “Live every day as if it might be your last.”
Dahl shaded his eyes. “Well, time to knock a few heads together,” he said. “This should be fun.”
Drake looked askance at the Swede. “A little warm up before taking Saint and Vladimir down?”
Alicia shivered. “And don’t we bloody need it.”
Drake smiled, the camaraderie lifting his spirits as they faced down a hundred mercenaries. “You guys fancy takeaway tonight?”
“Chinese,” Alicia said. “And beer.”
“Italian,” Dahl said. “With wine.”
Drake shook his head. “We’re gonna have to work on that since my own choice would be fish and chips and Pepsi.”
The entire team readied themselves as the mer
cs attacked.
*
Bodies struck hard, muscled men swinging in with everything they had. Drake blocked a blow, sidestepped another and kicked the first man in the chest. It did no good. He took the blow, grinned and came on. Drake used the only weapon he had—a rock he’d grabbed from the side of the ring—and smashed his adversary across the face. The man’s nose smashed and blood flew, blinding a nearby merc so that Mai could get a couple of incapacitating blows in.
Great teamwork, Drake thought before a forehead flashed down into his own.
He fell back, seeing stars. The ring was large but not large enough for over a hundred people. The saving grace was that only about thirty mercs could attack at one time, but even that was more than enough.
Drake shook his head, ducking another blow. A boot struck his knee, folding his leg. He went down, caught himself, and threw his body clear of another attack.
Straight into an oncoming merc. The man brought a knee up. The non-stop blows were dizzying Drake, causing his focus to wane. Figures came and went through his vision. Dahl, slamming mercenaries from side to side. Mai, using her speed and size to precise purpose. The downed bodies of their enemies, in double figures already. Yorgi, on his knees, bleeding but still trying. Hayden, meeting men blow for blow and watched over by Kinimaka.
Was this SPEAR’s last stand?
Drake pushed off one man to regain his balance. The arena was a total melee, just a chaos of men and women all trying to fight or defend or die. Guards had been stationed around the steps, just in case anyone tried to escape. Drake saw only death here.
But it wasn’t his way to give up.
Yelling to fire even more adrenalin, he front-kicked a man into his partner, sending both to their knees. The first he kicked in the throat, the second he landed on with an elbow to the spine. Rolling off, he came up and headbutted another attacker under the chin with the top of his head. The guy never knew what happened: instant lights out. A blow came in from the left; Drake took it and jabbed at another nerve cluster, but the man evaded, coming in strongly again. Drake took more punishment.
The Seven Seals of Egypt (Matt Drake Book 17) Page 14