“Move, little sprite!” Alicia said, at her back. “Stop dawdling!”
Around the corner of the cabin came the sound of gunfire. Hayden and Kinimaka stayed to take care of that, whilst Mai sped after Dahl. The Swede had cleared the counter in a single bound, wounded the man crouched beneath it, and was advancing on the main cabin. He slowed at the arched entrance. A bullet crashed into the big frame.
Mai planted herself against the wall opposite him. They counted to three, then peered through the doorway, firing twice, once to confuse and once to kill, at the same time evaluating their enemy and the room.
Alicia crouched beside them. “How we looking?”
“Two at my side, both under cover,” Dahl said.
“Two at mine. Exposed,” Mai whispered.
They counted to three again and fired. Dahl cursed, “Still two.”
Mai turned back, smiling. “One left.”
“Damn, we aren’t playing that bloody game again are we?”
“Not if you can’t keep up, Torsten.”
Mai fired blindly around the corner. The sound of a man groaning, and the crash as he toppled to the floor brought another tight smile to her face. “That’ll be zero.”
Dahl sniffed. “Well, mine are hidden behind desks.”
A man suddenly appeared behind them, coming through an inner side door that had to lead to a storeroom or toilet. Alicia swiveled her aim with godlike reflexes, spraying his knees and double-tapping the top of his head as he hit the deck.
“Ah, bollocks to this,” Dahl said, and let the gun rip on full auto as he stepped around the frame. Mai backed him up, springing to the opposite side of the main cabin in one bound and presenting a different deadly target. Bullets slammed into the desks, ripping splinters away from their edges. Timber, plastic and hot lead exploded across the rear of the cabin in a devastating mushroom cloud. One man screamed as shards of wood speared his face. Another had his head so close to the floor his ass was visible over the top of the table. Mai winged it, just once.
Dahl ran forward, staying low, and kicked the table aside. At that moment another man popped up from the office beyond, but Mai took him out like a tin duck at a shooting gallery. His body flew back against the cabin’s rear window, shaking the whole structure.
Alicia stepped in, closely followed by Hayden and Kinimaka. “All good?”
Mai nodded. “We should interrogate them separately. Make sure they’re telling us the truth.”
Alicia produced a steel hammer. “On it.” She crouched beside the nearest fallen Russian, brandishing the weapon.
“What’s your name?”
“V . . . Vladimir.” His eyes were wide with fear, hands creeping automatically to his scalp.
Alicia eyed him closely. “You been hit by one of these before, Vlad?”
Mai watched as the man shuddered. She vaguely remembered the name Vladimir from Drake’s report. Wasn’t he the one running around with a hammer sticking out of his head? She left Alicia to her work and walked to the back of the cabin, finding the Russian she had winged in the ass.
She crouched down, whispering in his ear, “I don’t need tools. I can make you scream and die with only my hands in less than a minute. Would you like to try?”
The Russian shook his head vehemently, rolling on to his side and groaning with the pain. Mai took hold of his windpipe between two fingers and gave it a little squeeze. “Alright then. I want the address of the jail. The one connected to Zanko. You have five seconds.”
Kinimaka stayed with Hayden, watching the cabin whilst Mai, Alicia and Dahl completed their work. It only took a moment for Hayden to notice the charts and maps pinned to the nearby wall; the same ones Drake had momentarily scanned.
“Mano,” she said, pointing. “Take a look.”
Kinimaka followed her example. He still couldn’t quite shake Kono’s disturbing phone call from out of his mind – she was vulnerable living in LA – and he did know some people who lived out that way and would be willing to look out for her. But for how long? He couldn’t seriously ask colleagues to watch over her indefinitely. Besides, he was sure Aaron Trent would have better things to do.
His contact with Kono and the occasional calls were always kept a secret from their mother. Kono had walked away from the family home years ago, brash, rebellious and disrespectful, not the way the Kinimaka family had been brought up. The split had almost put his mother into therapy, especially coming so soon after the unexpected death of his father.
Now Mano tolerated his sister because, deep down, he loved her. Any layer above that was still raw, exposed and full of hate.
“Mano?”
“Sorry.” He squinted at the place where Hayden was pointing. It was an ancient map of the city of Babylon, complete with the eight gates, including the Ishtar Gate – the main entrance – with an added notation – Ishtar was the Babylonian Goddess of sex and love – the assumed site of the enormous Ziggurat and the Tower of Babel, the mound of which can still be seen today, and a very interesting highlighted sentence at the bottom.
Babylon literally means, ‘Gateway of the Gods’.
Hayden stared at Kinimaka. “Oh no.”
“I thought we were done with those freaky tombs. They’re so small, you can barely swing a cat inside one.”
Hayden shrugged. “Not while they’re still translating most of the gods’ language. Not whilst the doomsday device still exists. You gotta remember, Mano, they’re discovering new stuff nearly every day.”
“The Ishtar gate seems to be a prominent landmark,” Hayden said. She snapped a few photos on her phone. “Look. Here’s a map of how Babylon looks now.”
Kinimaka studied it. “Big difference.”
“And what’s this? The Dance of the Seven Veils. The Saber Dance. Sounds kinky. Want me to learn it for you?”
Kinimaka tried to pretend he hadn’t heard. He respected his new girlfriend too much to talk that way within earshot of others.
“And the pit of Babylon. Wow, it’s the original foundation of the original city. Quite the landmark.”
Kinimaka let his eyes wander over a few more details. He hadn’t realized Alexander the Great – the man said to be the greatest king and one of the wisest men of all time – had died in Babylon. He mentioned the fact to Hayden.
But his girlfriend wasn’t listening. She was staring, eyes wide, at a third map. “Crap.”
Kinimaka leaned forward. It was a map of Germany, marked by a big red circle and a set of coordinates. “Shit,” he echoed. “That . . . that’s Singen.”
“The location of the third tomb. What the hell’s going on?” There was a thick red line linking tomb three to the pit of Babylon.
Mai listened hard as her prisoner whispered the location of the prison to her. She had to listen hard because his voice was croaky due to a bruised windpipe. But the address still came, eventually.
She looked over at Dahl. “Got it?”
“Yes. It’s just outside the city.”
“I have the same.” She shifted to Alicia. “You?”
The Englishwoman grunted. “Damn, Vladimir, you really want this hammer back where it belongs? You do? Okay.” She brought the hammer slicing down, claw end first, halting a millimeter from the man’s skull, so close the curved blades parted hair.
Vladimir screamed out the address.
Mai smiled. “They all match. We know where Drake is.”
Dahl jumped to his feet, face like thunder and fury. “Let’s roll.”
CHAPTER NINE
Drake spent a night in his cell, unmolested. Not daring to sleep, he rested his eyes and allowed his mind to drift, whilst keeping his senses attuned for any sound of unwanted company. Most of all, he missed Mai. Keeping company with her lately had made his whole existence more upbeat. A bright future existed with the Japanese girl and the rest of the new team. It was time to embrace his newfound fortune.
There was just the small matter of escaping Razin’s prison and deciding
if this ‘Babylon thing’ needed further attention, to deal with first.
A loud klaxon sounded the call to breakfast. Drake’s door slid open with the rest. He wondered if he might get away with staying put, but a guard soon began to rattle the bars with his baton, quickly joined by two more.
A barrage of Russian swear words proved that cursing was a universal language.
Drake followed them out of the cell, along the walkway and down the steps into the mess hall. Half the benches were already occupied, and the other half of the inmates queued up for food. The gym area was empty, but Drake immediately spied several of last night’s opponents eyeing him from a far table.
No doubt downing their porridge, he thought. Fuelling up on energy for a big day of Drake-bashing.
He sat down at an empty table, at the end of a long bench, watchful. Hunger pangs played on his stomach like an orchestra, but he ignored them. No way was he joining that queue to find minced rat and chunky coleslaw waiting for him at the end.
Nothing happened, but the atmosphere grew steadily more charged. He watched the clock, seeing it jump past 0900 hours. No way could he expect an extraction in the next twelve hours. If the team did try, it would be without sufficient planning – maybe Dahl’s style, but not Hayden’s. She would ensure sufficient, superior resources before making her move. At 0930 a side door opened and sunlight flooded through. The inmates began to file toward it.
Exercise yard.
He watched the guards watch him. They were waiting for something. Half smiles ghosted across their faces. Itchy fingers twirled batons. There was a reason he hadn’t been accosted yet, and it wasn’t to let the prisoners’ food settle.
The last man to rise, he drifted slowly toward the open door. The sounds of raised voices and a bouncing ball indicated at least one game was underway. When Drake stepped outside, he quickly shielded his eyes from the sun, not that it was overly bright, but he’d been dwelling in interior gloom for a few days.
A row of long, stepped benches stood off to his left, like the bleachers at an American football game. Men stood and sat along them, the higher their position the higher their standing in the prison. King of the hill mentality. A wrought iron outdoor gym sat in the far corner. A basketball court-cum-football pitch in the center. Many inmates lounged or walked around the exterior fence, staying away from the melee in the middle. Drake looked up and saw two occupied guard towers and a balcony attached to the prison wall, where more guards could patrol or lounge, as they did now. He walked to the right, staying close to the prison fence.
The football game continued, the men ignoring most of the rules. Groups congregated together on the bleachers, gangs designated by their prison tats. Loners circulated around the edges, staying watchful or handing out tiny plastic packets. Money changed hands. Drake was surprised to see Yorgi lounging up ahead and slowed down when he passed the thief.
“Tonight?” Drake mumbled, face pointed at his toes.
“Watch your back,” Yorgi whispered. “Something will happen. Watch the guards. When they move away, get ready.”
Shit. Drake had been right. The prisoners did have something planned. He quickly made another reconnoiter of the area, identifying possible weapons, areas to fall back to, certain inmates who held themselves in the way that said they were actually dangerous rather than just muscle-bound and deranged.
The sun rose higher. The football game ended. Some of the men sneered at Drake and challenged him by raising fists and grinning. Drake saw the chance of a little payback.
“You want me to play? Well I—”
A guard vanished from his field of vision, slipping back indoors. Another stepped down from a watchtower. The balcony guards turned away and vanished through an unseen door. Total silence descended over the exercise yard.
A half-naked figure walked out through the door, into the light. Drake turned to study him and breathed, “For fuck’s sake.”
Zanko.
CHAPTER TEN
Kinimaka watched as Dahl paced impatiently.
“Are they ready yet, Hayden? We can’t wait all bloody day.”
Hayden cupped the receiver. “I’m talking to them now. Gates already made the call. It shouldn’t be long.”
Alicia came up to Kinimaka. “What’s the deal, big boy? Karin set up that new HQ yet? Ready to watch our backs.”
Kinimaka nodded. “She’s almost there. The only thing they’ve had time to do is set up the comms and the total surveillance systems. Very high-tech.”
“Don’t give a fuck. So long as it helps get us an escape route, it can be Captain Jack’s spyglass for all I care.”
“You’ve watched Pirates of the Caribbean?”
Alicia gave him a saucy wink. “The first ten minutes. Then the middle ten. Then the last ten. Besides, ain’t no movie gets by me starring the Deppster.” Alicia moaned. “Should call him Johnny Viagra.”
Kinimaka choked. “That’s more than I need to know. Jeez.”
“True. But I never disappoint, Mano. You should know that by now.
Kinimaka thought over the heart-to-heart they’d had, what seemed an age ago now. Back in that hotel in Vienna, the night before they had charged the terrorist battlefield like the veritable Light Brigade. Alicia had revealed a part of her past, a tragic part, and secured a place in his heart forever.
“Of course I know, Alicia. You can say anything you want to me.”
“Well, I did want to check something with a real man.” Alicia leaned in close. “Y’see, Lomas has this problem down below. He keeps on—”
“No!” Kinimaka yelped and danced away. Alicia laughed. Mai had to physically grab hold of Dahl’s shoulders to stop the man’s frantic pacing.
Hayden replaced the receiver and turned to them. “We’ve been allocated a chopper from a local base. Plus ammo. But they’re not risking any men. We’re on our own.”
Dahl headed straight for the door. “Not a fucking problem.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Drake sensed rather than saw the crowd of inmates melt away. His full focus latched firmly on the man-mountain stalking toward him. Zanko flexed enormous chest muscles as he walked, pecs beating away like a base drum. The hands, spread wide, made him think of Mai’s relatively small hands when she placed them in his.
And Mai could probably kick his arse to hell and back.
Drake moved sideways, aiming to give himself space, placing the gym and its well-used equipment at his back. Zanko increased his pace.
“Now we tangle, little man. Let’s see if the famous Matt Drake is made of the same shit as the rest of them.”
Drake slipped away as the great, growling bear reached for him. A light drizzle began to fall across the exercise yard as the clouds obscured the sun. Zanko lunged. Drake ducked and stepped in before delivering a stinging blow to the giant’s ribs and then his kidneys. The Yorkshireman ducked under another wild, swinging blow, came back around to Zanko’s front, and delivered a push-kick to the chest with all the strength he could muster.
The Russian coughed and shrugged, but didn’t waver. “My grandmother can hit harder than that! And I really do mean it. Come on, fight me!”
Drake lunged, struck, then danced away. Zanko took another blow to the ribs, grinning. He mimicked Drake’s movements stride for stride, slowly pushing him back. Drake caught a flicker in Zanko’s eyes and suddenly realized—
The other inmates had formed a cordon at his back. Half a dozen more steps and he would be close enough for them to fling him straight into Zanko’s arms! He skipped quickly among the gym equipment, lifting a small set of dumbbells and pacing warily behind a heavy lifting frame. There was only one way this fight was going to end.
Zanko roared and charged, stopping only to heft the big frame and fling it to the side. Drake slammed the dumbbells against the side of his head, arm vibrating with the impact. Zanko staggered and went down on one knee. Drake brought the dumbbells down again, this time aiming for the Russian’s exposed skull.
Zanko tore his legs away with an arm sweep. Drake suddenly saw sky and landed flat on his back, the air rushing out of his lungs. He held on to the dumbbells, legs already scrambling to get away. But Zanko landed on his lower body like a beached whale, sending jolts of agony shooting around Drake’s nerve clusters. Quickly, he brought the dumbbells overhead, using every ounce of strength to heave them at Zanko’s head.
The Russian threw up a massive forearm, blocking the blow. But even he grunted in pain when they hit. Drake withdrew the dumbbells and tried to move. Zanko righted himself and sat on Drake’s legs, practically crushing his knees. With his right arm, Zanko blocked Drake’s next blow and ripped the dumbbells from his hand, then threw them away so they landed hard against a far wall.
Zanko leaned forward, head the size of a rhinoceros suddenly blocking all the light. “It seems you lost.”
Drake struggled, twisting beneath the immense weight. With a speed that surprised Zanko he sat up, striking his forehead against the bridge of the Russian’s nose, then struck with both elbows, twisting his torso each time to deliver a more brutal blow. Zanko grunted again and appeared to flinch. Blood streamed from his nose and over his lips. Drake heard the inmates’ collective gasp.
The hammer blow came out of nowhere, stunning Drake, causing so much instant pain his whole body froze upright for a second as it tried to process. Stars exploded in his brain. Clouds obscured his vision.
Zanko had smashed a fist into his stomach. Drake found himself holding on to the Russian’s shoulders as he gasped for air, even the barest slither of breath eluding him.
Zanko laughed, blood spattering everywhere. Drake wheezed in his face, still unable to breathe. Zanko jumped up, then hefted Drake above his shoulders, holding him like a powerlifter grips a barbell.
The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake 6) Page 4