The Tomb of the Gods (Matt Drake 4)

by David Leadbeater

  Hayden abruptly forgot all her aches and pains. “What?”

  She could tell Ben was smiling as he repeated his words. “We have a location for tomb number three.”

  Hayden thought quickly. “Listen, Ben. We’re on the run. I don’t know who we can trust. Get out of the building and meet us at LAX. Do it now. Plan B. You get me?”

  It had been Drake’s idea, of course. Ben was, by now, comfortable with the concept of a plan B—a “drop everything and get the hell out of there” scenario. This was it. Dahl was signaling her.

  “Terminal?”

  Hayden nodded and asked. “Which country, Ben?”

  “Germany. You won’t believe this, but we’re looking for an extinct volcano beneath one of the world’s oldest castles. Awesome, eh?”

  “Ok. We’ll find you. Be. . .” She faltered. “Be safe.”

  “I will.”

  Hayden heard him mutter something to Karin as he cut the line. She watched Kinimaka thread the needle between two slower cars and approach the exit. So far, so good. No one stepped out to stop them. Of course, there had been a mass desertion of cars in the last few minutes. Their misfortune was now also their security. Flashing blue lights were just entering the park as they left. Big, black unmarked vans were pulling up to the ticket booths.

  Dahl shook his head in sorrow. “This’ll ruin some poor kid’s day,” he said with meaning.

  Belmonte looked askance at him, still holding Emma. “You thick-skulled Viking.” He sputtered. “How can you?”

  “I’m sorry,” Dahl said, much to everyone’s surprise. “But she’s dead, my friend, and your love for her will not bring her back. You can only get even now.”

  “Love?” Belmonte said quickly. “She was my protégé. My friend’s daughter. That is all.”

  “I think not, but have it as you will. In any case, I believe in the magic of places like this. The cynics call them dens for big business, places for fat cats to get even richer, but I pride myself in one thing—being able to see as a child sees. Disneyland can bring a tear to my eye. Universal and Sea World can fill me with wonder. I see no shame in that. And the person who can’t feel at least some wonder in their hearts as they stroll around the Magic Kingdom I pity because they have no magic left in their lives.”

  Belmonte stared at him.

  “My children,” Dahl said, “will experience all the wonder of childhood. Because you’re an adult for a very long time.”

  Belmonte nodded at him and then laid Emma’s body down gently along the rear footwell. “I get what you’re saying and you’re right. I’m sorry too. I misjudged you. You’re right about getting even. Did Cayman kill Emma?”

  “He sure ordered it,” Gates spoke up again now that the action was over. Hayden could see the darkness in his eyes and the black circles surrounding them. The secretary was on a collision course with twin-paths of exhaustion and depression. It was just a matter of time.

  “But someone ordered him to order it,” Gates finished. “And they’re the people we need to find. They’re the people who are looking for the third tomb and the doomsday weapon inside.”

  Dahl nodded in agreement. “I’ll try my man in Iceland,” he said, pulling out a phone. “See what luck he’s had in deciphering the ancient language.”

  Hayden looked at her own phone. “If we’re on our way to Germany, heading for the third tomb,” she said, “I guess it’s time to call in Matt Drake.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Drake jabbed the button on the central dash to answer his ringing mobile through the cars Bluetooth connectivity device. “Hayden?”

  “Ben and Karin cracked the location of tomb three, Drake. It’s in Germany.”

  He sensed Alicia and Mai suddenly rise from their respective positions of repose. Hayden recounted the incidents in LA as quickly as she could. Alicia whistled. “Sounds like we’re missing out on all the action here.”

  Drake didn’t look at her. “We’ve had some action of our own.”

  Alicia snorted. “We joined playtime at nursery.”

  Drake told Hayden about their day so far. “Which leaves us about twenty miles out in the middle of nowhere. Nearing Sevenoaks, and the home of Wells’s friend.”

  “According to our online gurus, we’ll be landing in Germany about three a.m., German time. Can you make it by then?”

  Drake made a few quick calculations. “If we get lucky with the flight times, we won’t be far behind you. So long as Wells’s old friend is cooperative.”

  Mai said, “Excuse me. You say you’re ‘on the run’ now. Are you not CIA? Are you running from your own agency?”

  “No. It’s a whole new ballgame now. We’re choosing to run because we don’t know who to trust at government level. Because every second counts if we’re to beat Cayman to that tomb, and because we have the resources to seize it.”

  “You think?” Alicia sounded surprised. “Cayman seems to be bollock-deep in resources by what I’m hearing.”

  “The Secretary has some major pull, as you know,” Hayden said. “The only problem is when you start to exert that kind of pull—most everyone hears about it.”

  “So. . .”

  “So we’re calling on people from smaller units that owe us. Units from Europe. Some of Dahl’s buddies. Komodo’s men. Whoever and whatever’s available are hauling ass to meet us there.”

  “I know some people,” Mai said quietly. Drake eased the rental car, a snazzy new Nissan Juke, off the country road and onto an even quieter B-road. He pointed at a property ahead, lit by a patch of soft garden lighting. “We’re here.”

  Hayden pushed one last time. “The race is on, guys. We need to get to that tomb and find this doomsday weapon before Cayman does.”

  “Understood,” Drake said. “I’ll find some men. Wells wasn’t my only friend in the SAS.”

  He killed the engine and the phone call. They quietly exited the car. Drake took a moment to look around. Moonlight threw a stark glow across the scene. A large two-story house stood in front of them, curtains drawn against the night, a soft glow emanating from a downstairs room. Sporadic shrubs dotted the garden as if planted on a whim. Drake noticed that the garage door was only halfway down, the telltale sign of a man unused to late night visitors and not worried about local thieves.

  They formed a wary huddle outside the front door. “Eyes peeled,” Drake said and knocked.

  In a matter of moments, the porch light clicked on. Then a voice came from behind the door, a shadow outlined through the patterned glass. “Yes?”

  “Andrew Black?” Alicia spoke up because a woman’s voice coming from outside your door on pitch-black night was always going to be less threatening than a man’s.

  “Who is it?”

  “We’re friends of Wells.”

  “Who? I don’t know any Wells. Now please—”

  Mai shook her hair out, unbuttoned her coat and stepped into the light. “Just check, Mr Black. Just check whatever hidden camera you have. I’m Mai Kitano. Wells may have mentioned me.”

  Silent moments passed, measured only by the unruly blasts of a menacing wind and the ragged gusts of storm clouds across the silver-patched skies. At length, the shadow returned. “There should be a password,” an inscrutable voice whispered. “I hope to God you know it.”

  “It’s either Maitime or sprite,” Mai said with impatience. “Now open the damn door.”

  A fumbling preceded the appearance of an old man’s head in the frame. Andrew Black was bald and probably rounding sixty, but when he stepped into sight, Drake saw he was still fit, shrewd and capable.

  “The legend herself.” Black stared at Mai with genuine delight. “Never thought I’d get the pleasure.”

  “You won’t,” Mai said. “But try Myles here. If you live in the UK, you’re probably related to someone who has.”

  “Oooh.” Alicia laughed, not taking any offence. “The sprite cracked a funny. What next? Stories of her undercover years in Thailand?”
>
  Andrew Black led the way into a warmly lit living room. Pristine leather sofas and easy chairs stood all around, as if trying to occupy the space. Old family photographs crammed the walls. Wells’s old friend had all the trappings of a man who’d raised, loved and set free a family, and now lived only for the everlasting memories that remained imprinted on his heart.

  “Wells did talk about you.” Black motioned them toward the chairs. “Sometimes he talked about little else, truth be told. But he was very clear with his instructions. If you ever came by, ever, I was to give you everything. Every bit of his research.”

  “Research?” Drake frowned. “What on earth would Wells be researching?”

  “The Shadow Elite, of course.” Andrew Black looked at Drake as if he were a shop-floor dummy. “Wells was making careful investigations into the small group of people who run our world, Mr. Drake. And he was making some remarkable progress.”

  *****

  “Shadow Elite?” Mai’s voice was the essence of politeness, but forced Black to get to the point.

  “I know very little.” The old man’s eyes flicked nervously toward the pictures that hung on his walls, perhaps fearing repercussions.

  “No one will ever know you told us,” Mai assured him quietly.

  “I know only a few things I overheard and what Wells would spout off about in moments of anger or insobriety. It’s all on here.” Black reached under the big, puffed-out arms of his chair and removed a strip of tape. A small, black device fell into his hand, which he held out to Mai.

  “A Dictaphone?”

  “He recorded everything on there. Never wrote a thing down. My old friend had his failings, Miss Kitano, but he never forgot a thing and he was a gifted commander.”

  “Before we listen to that,” Drake spoke up, “please tell us what you know, Mr. Black.”

  “This Shadow Elite—it’s what they call themselves—are made up of individuals from a group of old families. A very old group that date back to when rough and rugged men were first making their fortunes. Their wealth is ancient. It goes beyond heritage, beyond royalty. It’s the original wealth of our world. And thus, it can never be tainted.”

  “Go on.” Mai prompted him gently.

  “That’s most of what I know. Wells opened up one night about the origin of the families. Their leader is called the Norseman. He’s God, so to speak. The supreme ruler.”

  Drake shook his head. “With the third tomb, the eight pieces being relocated, and now this, I’m beginning to think we’re nowhere near done with the bones of Odin yet.”

  Mai reached out and pressed the Dictaphone’s play button. Drake frowned to hear his old commander’s voice fill the empty room. It took him a few moments of readjustment.

  “Above all I am a patriot. A servant of Britain. When Cayman first came to me, he convinced me that the Shadow Elite were, in fact, the ruling body of this world. Simply put – they gave every government its orders, including my own. So have I truly not become a greater patriot by serving them?” There was a lengthy pause. “A question for a more insightful mind than mine. But it later became clear to me that the Shadow Elite did not have the people’s interests at heart. What government does, I hear you ask? I would like to think—my own. I believe that every British man who becomes a politician starts out wanting to help his fellow man, no matter where he ends up.” Another pause.

  Alicia said, “How long has he been digging?”

  Black shrugged. “Seven? Eight years? Wells became a changed man.” He shook his head regretfully. “Terribly changed.”

  That was around the same time Alyson died. Drake did not miss Mai’s meaningful look.

  “I decided, after the conclusion of the Doubledown operation, to delve a bit deeper into the motivations of my employers, and perhaps learn their intentions. Were they just men playing chess with civilian lives? Or did they have hidden, honorable aspirations?”

  Mai paused the recording and again glanced at Drake. “Have you ever heard of Doubledown?”

  Drake felt the icy trickle of unhappy memory crawl the length of his spine. “It was an operation I headed. My last. At first, we made excellent progress. The whole thing fit together perfectly and it seemed we were going to finish in record time. Then. . .” He shrugged. “It got shut down. No explanations. We were ready to move on this big guy.”

  Drake thought back. “He owned some kind of mansion in Vienna. Then, Wells came in and told us we were done. Pack your bags. First flight home. Even—take some time off. Then, about a week later—” He sighed. “Alyson died.”

  “Doubledown seems to have been some kind of catalyst,” Mai said. “For Wells and for you, though you didn’t know it at the time.”

  She restarted the Dictaphone. Drake tried to block out the sound of the wind as it swept and scoured the dark garden paths and the scraping of trees at the windows. Wells’s ghostly tones filled the room.

  “The Norseman is the key figure of the Shadow Elite, though obviously all six of them are principal figures. Still, I have no names, but I do have a possible location, and other more personal revelations that will not put me in a good light. But I cannot tell it all here. Even this is too public. There are files. Many files.”

  The voice stopped. Drake and the others in the room all looked at each other.

  “You old bastard,” Mai said vehemently. “Not like this.”

  But then the voice spoke again. “There’s a stash of old and new stuff at the secret SAS facility in Luxembourg. It’s in my archived file. I know because I put it there. I ask you not to judge me, Mai, no matter what you find. I remain, above all, a patriot, and I carried out what I judged to be the course of action that best served my government and my country.”

  Drake let out a deep breath. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Which bloody bit?” Alicia exploded, unable to keep her cool any longer. “Wells’s admission of guilt? The fact that all his papers are inside a friggin’ SAS base! Or his hint that there’s worse to come? Fuck!”

  “Exactly,” Drake said. “My friends in the regiment would do anything for me, but I can’t ask them to steal for me.”

  “Of course,” Mai said without hesitation.

  “So we’re going to have to do the stealing,” Drake went on. “If we want to know what Wells found.”

  “He might have found the Shadow Elite,” Mai said, and Black nodded in agreement. “Six men who rule the world. And they’re connected to Wells, to Cayman, and to the tomb and the doomsday weapon. We can’t ignore them, Drake.”

  “So you intend to infiltrate an SAS base, steal some documents, and then escape without being noticed?” Alicia hissed. “Are you serious? Those guys invented stealth.” She grunted. “I mean—us guys.”

  Drake smiled. “But even the best of the best ain’t seen anything like us,” he said with conviction in his voice. “What was it Wells used to say? Heroes never quit. They stay strong until the end.”

  *****

  The drive to Heathrow didn’t take long. Drake tried Hayden again, but didn’t expect to reach her. She was in the air, en route to Germany where the last and deadliest tomb of the gods had been located by both the good and the bad guys. Tomb three held all the vilest gods. The worst of their kind.

  The race to reach it first was well and truly on.

  “No luck,” Drake said and cut the call. He looked at Mai swiping away at her 3D smartphone. “A three a.m. flight, you say? That will get us in two hours after Hayden. Hopefully, she’ll wait.”

  “She’ll wait.” Alicia echoed. “That girl has faith. And, naturally, she needs us.” A bounce of energy sent her blond curls flying.

  Drake typed in another number. He wasn’t surprised when the man from Hereford answered on the first ring.

  “Drake?”

  “Hello, Sam. Thanks again for guarding the Blakes for me, mate. A debt like that—” He faltered.

  “Never needs repaying between friends.” Sam finished for him. “You sav
ed my life a hundred times. Now, what’s up?”

  “How’re you fixed for a German op?”

  There was a brief pause. “Not too well, mate. Of our people, I can get three for about two days. Four including me.”

  “Then go now,” Drake told him. “Meet me in Singen, Germany, as soon as you can.”

  Drake saw the bright lights of Heathrow swinging around to the left and ended the call. He raised an eyebrow at Mai. “I got four. How about you?”

  “Two.” She half-smiled and then threw a glare toward the back seat. “How about you, Alicia? How many friends can you count on?”

  Alicia let out a loud snore, as if asleep.

  Mai snorted. “Thought so.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Russell Cayman knew hardship. His junkie parents had abandoned him in a ditch when he was four. They were caught and tried, but that didn’t save Cayman from being shuttled from one cruel, uncaring foster family to the next. Having never known love, he would never know how to give it or recognize it.

  Children of the “system” were always on the radar of the more clandestine sections of governmental agencies, and in particular, the ones who ended up demonstrating a brilliant skill-set in one area or another. The CIA moved in when he was fourteen, and with no real guardian and no family, Cayman was happy to accept their friendship. It was many years later that he understood it was to be a friendship with fangs, and with no way out.

  Now, Cayman threw his keys onto the tiny table by the door and headed into his apartment. The place would have made a Spartan happy. There were no furnishings, no home comforts, just a chair to sit in, a bed to sleep on, a table to eat off, and a TV to keep up to date with the world news. But it gave him some peace. Here he was happiest.

  Cayman possessed no social skills beyond what the agency had taught him. So now, stressed to the point where he wanted, needed, to kill, he walked into the kitchen and quickly began choosing pots and pans. He rummaged through the fridge and picked out a chicken breast, some Italian chorizo sausage, peppers, celery and green beans. Furiously, he began mixing up some meat stock whilst he fried an onion and added fresh garlic.