Palladino nudged her. “We did good, Blake. Well done back there.”
She couldn’t help but stare. “We, Dino? We?”
“Hey, we’re a team. Thought you knew that.”
We’ll see what you say when the recriminations start.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Unlike many places he had visited, Drake found Dubai to be exactly as he’d imagined. Colossal airport with heightened security, rank upon rank of limo drivers brandishing cards emblazoned with people’s surnames or flight operators. Broad walkways where passengers could feel relaxed rather than shoved along in a tide of humanity, and a duty free shop to end all.
“Y’know,” he said. “I could just as well spend the night here.”
Alicia flicked him a glance. “Eh, saucy. They have rules about that kind of thing in the Middle East.”
“That’s not what I meant, love. A guy could actually get lost in here.”
Beau pointed out just a few of the hidden cameras. “I am sure they would find you.”
Hayden hefted her carry-on. “Which should tell you all to keep your heads down and get a move on. We don’t want some eagle-eyed airport employee tagging us all together.”
The Frenchman looked a little aggrieved. “Well, it is not me they will recognize, I assure you.”
“Nah,” Alicia coughed. “It’s the ‘extra package’ you got in your trunks. Ha ha.”
Hayden couldn’t help but smile. Drake leaned in close to Alicia. “Love, it’s a little off-putting when you talk about your old boyfriend’s knob right in front of your new boyfriend. Just so you know.”
Alicia battered her eyelids. “It is? Oh, well.”
Drake sighed. “Yeah. Good talk.”
Outside, the heat struck them immediately and everyone removed their jackets. Drake took a look at the group and broke out into a smile. After so much military work he’d gotten used to seeing everyone in combat gear and now it felt wrong to see Alicia in jeans and a T-shirt, sporting a thick rainbow bobble, Hayden wearing three-quarter baggy pants and the incongruity of a gold watch, Mai dressed in a flowing black dress with slits up the sides, and Beau in formal wear. For himself he’d gone for the Yorkshireman’s uniform of choice: T-shirt and jeans, a black military watch—Chase Durer for the rugged quality—and brand new white trainers. The team had already made a play of shielding their eyes every time he walked ahead of them.
A taxi whisked them away from the airport, its size and shape still capturing Drake’s attention. Soon they joined traffic and saw familiar shaped hotels on the horizon, and famous shapes, rows of restaurants, car showrooms and local stores along the side of the highway. Drake wasn’t surprised to see much of the local fare was interspersed with well-known American names—Wendy’s, McDonalds and more.
The Burj Al Arab appeared and flitted off to their right, a little misty in the distance, its sail-like appearance unmistakable even in a city stippled with splendorous vistas. The road meandered lazily before them.
Their driver half-turned and spoke in good English, “Is the temperature okay for you? Not too hot?”
“Leave it where it is, pal,” Drake said. “It’s nice to be warm. Where I come from the winters can leave you in a dozen pieces.”
“We are approaching the Jumeirah Palm,” the driver told them. “From here, all is man-made.”
Drake knew much of the story around the famous Dubai palm islands. Designed in the shape of palm trees topped by a crescent, they were entirely artificial, built on sand dredged from the Persian Gulf and protected by breakwaters containing several million tons of rock. Each rock was placed individually and given a GPRS tag.
The Palm Jumeirah itself—the one they were interested in—consisted of a tree trunk, the main highway through, a crown with sixteen fronds, and a surrounding crescent island forming the breakwater. Adding to the Dubai coastline itself, each frond housed hundreds of multi-million dollar homes and status symbol addresses.
A much more interesting fact for Drake was that the entire island was built only from sand and rocks—no metal whatsoever was used—and was the brainchild of the Prince of Dubai, who came up with the idea for the Palm Islands and also their design.
A hands-on boy, Drake thought. And not a man we want noticing us today.
And a forward thinker. The islands were primarily constructed as a tourist attraction to counteract the drop-off in revenue as oil reserves diminished in the region. Drake could see their appeal to the casual vacationer.
The taxi driver took them to their destination, Frond F; basically a long curving road with exclusive houses built on both sides. Gardens were greener than emerald jewels and every palm tree was lopped just right, perfection personified. Drake lifted his sunglasses up for a minute to get a better view but the glare bouncing off the white walls and the brilliance of the horizon sent him back under the shades.
“It’s quiet,” Hayden remarked as the driver pulled up.
“Not many live here all year,” he said. “Mostly vacation homes. Some American, some European.” He shrugged.
Drake didn’t have to voice what they were all thinking. The group, even dressed as tourists, were going to stand out like flies on a wedding cake. Still, tourists did visit the fronds, if only for curiosity.
“We shoulda hired a car,” he said.
“I can organize that for you,” the taxi driver said.
Drake blinked. “You can?”
The man laughed. “This is Dubai. We make everything happen.”
Hayden touched him on the arm. “Have it sent here, keys under the front wheel. Soon as you can.”
“I will need you to authorize a credit card.”
“Of course,” Hayden said. “And here’s something extra for you.”
With the transaction complete the taxi driver held her gaze one more second. “And why leave the keys under the front wheel? This is the Jumeirah Palm, not New York.”
Alicia whistled. “I do believe Lauren might call you on that.”
Hayden cracked open the door, allowing the intense midday heat to rush in. Drake followed the others until they were all standing around on the sidewalk, fake cameras in evidence, baseball caps slung low. In truth Drake actually felt more like a tourist than a soldier at that moment, a little awkward and a little dubious in the bright, hot, mega-rich area of Dubai. Hayden suggested they saunter up the road until they came closer to their destination.
Sounds reached their ears at last. The hum of a lawn mower, the clatter of a sand raker. Even a smattering of whispered conversation from places unknown. All the windows were dark and the upper balconies on every house were empty. Drake paused to stare up and down the wide road and saw no vehicles in either direction.
“Weird,” he said.
“Must be the time of day,” Beau offered.
“Maybe.”
Another ten minutes sauntering and they were nearing their destination.
Drake felt the absolute focus descend over him. He scrutinized every window, wall, hedge and door; every discreet garden and thick palm; the driveways and double garages; a parked 4x4 across the road. The house they sought looked very similar to all the others; except now there were several signs that it was being lived in. One of the two single garage doors was slightly raised and a yellow car sat in the driveway. Three adult pushbikes lay on one of the front lawns.
“Somebody’s home,” Mai said.
With no weapons, no comms systems save for their phones and no Kevlar, they were not best prepared. Still, they were exactly where they needed to be.
Hayden smiled and pointed at the horizon, leaning in as the others crowded around. “We walk up to the door. We look around. Got it?”
“Any sign of weapons?” Beau looked doubtful. “Or guards?”
Negatives were muttered all around.
“I feel naked,” Alicia complained, “without my armor.”
“God forbid,” Mai muttered. “Talk about visiting horrors upon the world.”
“Are my eyes fried out of my head?”
“They could be.” Alicia turned on Mai, but Hayden hushed them with a word. Drake could see the exponential advance of the new enmity expanding between the two, and worried. The paths of their lives were coming together fast, and hard. The end was unknowable, but there was no way it would end up pretty.
It would be best to end it all, he thought. In our finest hours. In all of our finest hours.
The driveways were short, just over a car’s length. An arched front portico led to a solid oak door. One side of the house was inaccessible, blocked by what looked like an electrical box and then dense shrubbery. The other side looked more promising.
Three steps led up to a narrow pathway leading around the side of the house. The five of them ducked under the window ledge and made their way to the path, watching every angle and houses across the street. No sudden shifts were apparent, no movement of any kind. Hayden stopped at the bottom of the three steps.
“Ready?”
Beau slipped around her, nothing but smoke and shadow even clothed in his civvies. Low to the ground he pressed ahead, disappearing around the corner.
“I guess we’re clear then,” Drake grumped and followed Hayden around.
Alicia and Mai brought up the rear—bad planning perhaps but then this operation couldn’t be rationally organized. Even the SPEAR team were well out of their comfort zone.
The path was dark, secluded and narrow, its chest-high wall bordering right on next door’s property. Drake was surprised at the near proximity of the next fifty-million dollar home; he’d imagined money would bring legroom. But it did help their cause.
Drifting along, Beau paused at a side door, tried the handle, and gave them all a nod. So far the Dubai gods of fortune were liberally showering them with luck. Or, more likely, this was the norm for the Palm Islands.
Drake followed Hayden inside the house, hyper-alert, finding himself inside a kitchen whiter than white with contrasting smooth, polished black units, tables and even picture frames hanging on the walls. The floors were clean enough to eat off, mirror-polished enough to brush your teeth in.
“Spread out,” he said, feeling crowded. “We—”
A tall, thin man walked into the kitchen, clapped eyes on them and gave a slow wave.
“Hey.”
Drake paused in mid lunge, eyes widening in surprise. The man wore a white thawb with mirror sunglasses, and limped along at a languid pace, at peace with the world and his surroundings. Drake backed off, allowing Hayden to push forward.
“How you doin’?”
“Pretty good, sister. Pretty good.”
Drake watched the man head for the fridge, expecting him to pull out a beer, but was surprised to see a bottle of juice. He leaned toward Alicia. “Are we in the right place?”
“Headquarters of a vicious cult, hell-bent on protecting some ancient dude’s secrets without caring who gets killed in the crossfire?” The blonde studied the kitchen. “Who knows?”
“Are you . . . surprised to see us?” Hayden asked carefully.
The Arab took a swig before answering. “It’s all good,” he said. “Grape juice is right there. Fruit on the patio outside. They’re preparing boats for later.”
He headed for the door. At that moment two more men wandered through, stared at the newcomers, and offered greetings. Drake saw no signs of drug or alcohol abuse, heard no party noises, and tried to accept their graceful, languid attitude.
“How many are there of you?” Hayden asked, forcing a laugh.
“A couple of dozen. Every day is different,” the same man said. “C’mon. You’ll enjoy.”
Drake trod very carefully, wary beyond expression as he followed three languorous Arabs into the strangest, dreamiest nest of vipers he’d ever seen.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Beyond the kitchen a pearlescent-walled hallway gave onto four more rooms. Their euphoric guide led them into another room where a huge picture window looked out onto a deck, a pool and a private beach that led to the glistening sea. The room was highly populated, both Arabs and Europeans lounging on plush sofas and drinking water or juice whilst chatting to their neighbors. Drake managed to keep his mouth from falling open, but only just. He turned purposely toward Hayden.
“This has to be the wrong place.”
“This address was verified by three different mercs in three separate rooms and at different times. Same address.” She watched everything. “This is the place.”
“Or what they wanted the mercs to believe.” Beau leaned in.
Alicia picked from a golden platter heaped with fruit. “Can’t say it’s been a wasted effort though. These strawberries are amazing.”
Drake studied faces for the one that they might know. The merc closest to the cult’s leadership had provided them with a sketch of a distinctive looking man with a well-trimmed beard and piecing blue eyes. Their last piece of information was his name: Amari.
Drake tapped a young woman on the arm and spoke the name. Her face lit up and she pointed at the picture window. “By the pool. Say hi for me.”
The team made ready, still distracted by the spaced-out ambiance. It was rare to see villains living it up so carefree and unprotected; even rarer to see those around them so content and trusting. Drake felt confident with Mai and Alicia at his back, but couldn’t help turning to check they were okay. This environment wasn’t right, and made him disbelieve most of what he was seeing.
They approached the picture window. A double set of open patio doors gave onto an elevated, concrete deck. Tiered pools lay to the right and an eating area to the left, and straight ahead steps led straight onto the beach. Tanned bodies swam and lounged and walked this way and that, taking in the beautiful day. Drake made his way poolside.
“Make ready,” Hayden breathed.
Scrutinizing the faces, he saw a man surface, water spilling down his face. After the man wiped it away, blinked and then locked eyes, Drake knew they were in the right place.
“Amari? That you?”
“Join us.” The Arab slipped into a comfortable backstroke. “We have spare bathing suits, even for the women.”
Alicia frowned. “What does he mean by that?”
Drake skirted the pool, watchful as Amari glided toward the pool steps. No threatening moves were made, but he was also mindful that half a dozen other Arabs were stroking for different exit points. And the laughter had stopped.
Amari climbed out, curtains of water sluicing down his tanned body. “Would you like to join the party?” he asked as politely as a man could.
“Not my style,” Drake said. “I’m a bangers and burgers on the barbie kinda guy to be fair.”
A blank expression said it all.
“Answer’s no,” Alicia translated. “But we do need to talk.”
For a few more seconds Amari studied them, considering, perhaps dissecting their intentions. Drake was aware of the six other men climbing out of the pool, all empty handed but none less threatening.
Nobody moved, nor spoke. Drake found himself in the middle of yet one more perplexing situation. No threats had been made, no peril was obvious. This could still be a mistake. What was the answer?
Alicia found it in just two words.
“Saint Germain.”
It electrified the entire area so much Drake thought a lightning bolt might have struck. Amari went rigid, blue eyes blazing and the six onlookers gasped as if in chorus.
“You are not my guests!” Amari cried, looking inexperienced, raw and strangely shocked to the core.
“What the hell are you people?” Hayden drawled. “You don’t come across like . . . terrorists.”
Amari’s mouth fell open. “We protect. We preserve. We defend.”
“And, mate, I’d love to hear the one about the rich Arab who fell in love with the long-dead Transylvanian count.�
�� Drake grinned.
Amari surprised him with a bit of venom. “The Ascended Master is not dead. And one day, he will reward us.”
The Arab spun and ran, bare feet slapping the mosaic tiles. Drake went one way around the pool as Beau went the other. They reached the point where the top pool stepped down to the next amid a little waterfall. Amari bent down to rustle among shrubbery.
Warning bells grew to claxon quality in Drake’s mind. This may be the oddest leader of the oddest terror cult he’d ever come across, but one bad guy was just the same as another. As Amari turned with the handgun in his hand, Drake was already leaping aside and shouting out a warning.
Beau flipped out of sight, clearing the top of the pool and landing amid sun-loungers. Hayden, Alicia and Mai fell away, scrambling for cover. Drake found the bushes as Amari’s trembling arm swayed from left to right.
“Stay away,” he cried. “We are not fighters, but we can fight. We will fight. To protect the Master.”
Drake now guessed these people handed down attack orders through a phone connection, insulated and oblivious to the terror they caused; uncaring, happy in their bright fantasy world. Fanatical in one way, utterly green in the other.
“Put the gun down,” he called. “We can talk about all this.”
“No, no! You will hurt the Master. You are questing the world for his treasures just like that other American! You have no idea, not even the faintest inkling, of the supreme power you are up against.” The next phrase came out as four separate words. “He. Is. A. God.”
A living man become a god? Drake thought. Where did these freaks come from?
Without further idiosyncrasies, Amari pounced down the steps. His six acolytes flowed with him, saying nothing, but seemingly attracted to the magnet that was their leader. Alicia’s head popped up from behind a low wall, and then Mai’s.
All seemed surprised there had been no gunshots.
“We’re dealing with a different kind of animal,” Drake said. “But no less dangerous.”
Matt Drake 14 - The Treasures of Saint Germain Page 14