The Lost Kingdom (Matt Drake Book 10)

by David Leadbeater

  For today.

  He returned from his surveillance with Dahl to find the spacious warehouse abuzz with activity. Yorgi in particular sat with his chin resting on the floor, amazed, and Drake personally didn’t blame him. Alicia, Mai and even Chika—though she and Grace weren’t going to be involved in the operation—stood around in various stages of undress, trying on different variations of clothes and colors.

  Dahl stopped in his tracks. “So this is a little inappropriate. Should we wait outside?”

  “Are you kidding? This is my dream.”

  Drake headed inside, whistling tunefully. Mai turned toward him, dressed in a floor-length, split-to-the-thigh, midnight-colored gown. With her hair pinned up and styled she took his breath away, this softer version of her one he rarely saw. Her slight smile tugged at his chest and he remembered again why he’d loved her all these years.

  Not only for the vision she presented but for the strong-hearted, headstrong, perfectly capable woman within. For the insecurities she could not hide. For the way she held a blade. For the way she kissed him, heart and soul. For the woman that she was.

  Then Chika spun her away and the moment broke, a fragile thread trying to tether their stormy emotions. Now Alicia moved into his eye line.

  Again, he gawped.

  Draped in a knee-length dress, golden and glittering, Alicia’s blonde hair hung free. A wolf in sheep’s clothing if ever I’ve seen one.

  Dahl grunted at his shoulder. “This just makes me worry about what they bought for us.”

  “Really? That’s your only thought?”

  “Well, I’m also wondering how Smyth will react when he sees the girls. He’s not the subtlest of characters.”

  Drake shook his head and approached Yorgi. “So what they got you wearing? Burberry? I hope it’s off the bloody shelf.”

  “It is and so is yours, my friend. Over there.”

  At that moment, Alicia came up and linked his arm, gliding him across the dusty floor toward a pile of bags. The touch of her skin sent a spark through his body. Life was becoming more confusing by the minute.

  “Yours was the most obvious choice of all,” she said and held up the plain two-button, double-vented, black jacket. “The two-button styling ensures that whilst the suit remains sharp enough to charm the knickers of an unsuspecting air stewardess, it still offers enough movement to scale the walls of a military compound. Can you say: ‘Drake. Matt Drake’?”

  He started to laugh, unable to help himself. Alicia was like a breath of air on a sunny day. “I can,” he said. “But I like the way you say it better.”

  *

  By the time Hayden arrived, the team had rested and were counting down the last ten hours. Sans reunion they briefed each other on the latest developments and then the newcomers were dispatched to the Pacific Place Mall. As the hour neared the full SPEAR team took a moment to stand back and look at themselves, all expensively attired for the first time together, looking sharp and feeling awkward.

  “If the purpose of this is to make me unnerved,” Kinimaka said, tugging at the point where the knot of his tie met the top button of his shirt. “It’s working. If it was to render us weaponless. That’s working too. Can’t we get anything past security?”

  “Not this fast,” Hayden said. “And we can’t risk revealing ourselves to the authorities, otherwise we won’t come away with the box. Look at it this way, Mano—the ‘no weapons’ directive goes for everyone.” The American smoothed out the front of her pure white dress, making it hug her curves even tighter and turned to Kinimaka. “How do I look?”

  “Amazing.”

  “Hmm, good choice of words, I guess. I’d have enjoyed a few more though.”

  Kinimaka wiggled his tie. “At the first sign of trouble this tie’s taking flight. And so is the jacket. One thing’s for certain, my arms are splitting this crappy stitching tonight.”

  “What are you—the Hulk?” Alicia asked.

  “No. Just a little ham-fisted.”

  “Coming from Hawaii, shouldn’t that be spam-fisted?”

  Kinimaka groaned, as did the entire team. Drake took a look at his crew, his extended family, and offered up a silent prayer for their safety. Couldn’t hurt. Smyth appeared as awkward as Kinimaka in his black suit. Komodo wore his with surprising sharpness, citing a boyhood of attending his father’s military lectures as the reason. Only Karin remained in civvies, ready to work now as ever on comms and op logistics, cuddling into Komodo’s strong right arm as if it was for the last time.

  Drake touched the bud buried deep in his ear. “They won’t detect these?”

  “Military grade. Should be completely invisible. I’ll be with you the whole way, with eyes on blueprints of the hotel and all surrounding areas. Real-time. And by the way, Hayden, I’ve been thinking. If Tyler Webb is indeed stalking our homes, wouldn’t it be a good idea to task a satellite over them, let him do his thing, and then follow him home?”

  Hayden stared as Drake, Dahl and Alicia questioned, this being the first they had heard. Ignoring the others she said, “We’ll see. It all comes down to money and operational priorities. Personally, we don’t really have either.”

  “He is king of the Pythians.”

  “Sure. I’ll check with Price when we get back. He’s a little busy trying to stop a war right now.”

  Drake read Hayden’s reactions, seeing that she really didn’t want to talk about her stalking problems. Were they really that bad? Poor old Mai and Chika were dealing with much worse from the Yakuza. And then there’s this bloody Ramses bloke. He shrugged it all off and checked his watch. “Time to go.”

  The team took stock for one more moment, content among friends; no terrible adversaries in this relaxed room. The camaraderie strengthened their unit, made them more than a whole. And it helped remind them of exactly what they were fighting for.

  Alicia typically moved first. The rest followed.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Drake paced across the hotel lobby, submitting to a pat down and showing his invite, happy to have Mai on his arm but feeling strange and detached from the whole thing. Surreal didn’t do it justice. This wasn’t his world, this high-society, posh-knob kind of stuff, and he wasn’t the least bit unhappy about that. The elevator arrived, its polished gold, gleaming surface sliding open. He urged Mai inside, followed by most of the others. A tall, dark-skinned man dressed in hotel livery punched a button.

  Alicia stage-whispered, “D’you think we should tip him? I never can remember the etiquette at a time like this.”

  Drake gave her a glare. “Google it.”

  “Oh, I seem to have left my Android in my other knickers.”

  Drake stared at her gilded purse. “So what do you have in there?”

  “Are you kidding? Three hundred dollars and it’ll barely fit a lipstick inside.”

  “I don’t think it matters now,” Hayden pointed out as the elevator arrived. The operator kept a straight face as they all filed out.

  Drake stopped immediately, trying to collect his senses and focus. The room was large, circular and resplendent. First, he looked up because most people never did. A spherical light gantry hung over the room, spotlights rolling and flashing. A three-tier chandelier was suspended through its center and twinkled like fire and gold. At the center of the room stood a raised stage, also circular, a lighted palisade running around its circumference, interrupted in four places to allow entry. Tables stood everywhere, full of fresh flowers and plates of food whilst waiters were arranged around the outside of the room, serving champagne and canapés on silver trays. Drake turned to his group.

  “Anyone spot our mark?”

  Hibiki shook his head. “We’re a little early. Shall we mingle?”

  Drake grunted in protestation, but allowed himself to be dragged further into the room. Mai sashayed alongside, appearing to be enjoying this distraction and perfectly at home. Conversely, behind Drake came several uncomfortable-looking male individuals, all tug
ging at their collars. Only Dahl looked relaxed, commenting softly on the layout, entry and exit points and offering other salient observations. Drake turned his attention to the guests. Women were painstakingly coiffured, impeccably dressed and all able to offer that haughty yet appealing guise that defined their status in life. Men were more daring, some bearing stubble and pink, open shirts beneath dinner jackets and others so bronzed they might be mistaken for valuable statues. Most walked at a steady gait across the highly polished floor or stood around in groups, smiling carefully and remaining observant. Drake noticed a large easel set at the center of the stage and guessed it held details about the charity that was the purpose of tonight’s event.

  A waiter appeared to his left, offering Mai a glass of champagne and then him. He waved it away. Behind, he heard Smyth choke at the very thought of bubbly.

  “Got any Bud, bud?”

  The waiter affected a slight smile. “I wish.” He drifted away.

  Drake surveyed the entire room again. “Hibiki,” he said. “It’s almost eight.”

  Mai tugged at his jacket. “He said center-stage. Let’s go there.”

  Almost unconsciously, the team ranged out, knowing not to bunch together and cover the angles. Alicia took hold of Dahl’s arm, the lights dazzling around her dress and hair. Mai was the opposite, a stunning shadow in the light. Hayden wore the white dress as if it were a second skin, attracting straying eyes as much as any glitterati. Drake climbed a short set of polished wooden steps to the stage; noting the intricate design set into its surface. As he arrived a sudden rush of ice water flooded his veins.

  Trooping up the other side, all in a line, were Dudley and his three remaining comrades. The SPEAR team stopped and spread out, surprise to them only a fleeting thing. Dudley came to a halt and grinned, his men also fanning out.

  “Gotcha,” the Irishman said.

  “Ya reckon?” Drake said thickly. “Then you’re as dumb as you fucking look.”

  Dudley’s eyes flicked to the right, the grin never leaving his face. Drake didn’t take the bait but when Mai gasped he glanced over.

  Hibiki couldn’t hold in a nasty profanity, then said, “What do we do now?”

  Drake saw twelve Yakuza warriors coming up onto the stage. Their leader, Hikaru, fixed Mai with a seething stare as the rest flexed their muscles, taut beneath sheer shirts. For a moment there was utter silence as dinner jackets were discarded.

  The party melted away, the chatter and the clink of glasses and the scraping of cutlery all receded into the background. Time stretched on a taut wire, as delicate as a shop full of fine china.

  All they needed was a bull to start the destruction.

  Alicia Myles pointed to the easel. “So? You guys gonna donate or what?”

  Drake moved before she finished speaking, targeting the harshest thorn in their side—Dudley. Mai skipped away behind, heading for the Yakuza. Hibiki and Smyth went with her. All Drake knew was that Dahl and Alicia were at his back and then he was in the middle of a pitched battle. Shrill screams rose amidst yells of warning and outrage. Dudley slipped through his grasp, leaping to the side. Drake kicked him full in the chest, sending him crashing backwards through the ornate palisade, timbers shattering to all sides. A man came in from the left, facial characteristics revealing him to be Dudley’s brother, but Dahl slid in to intercept. Malachi swung a haymaker which Dahl caught, twisted, and then used to lift the offender off his feet. A second later Malachi was airborne, slamming down into a table full of flowers, half-empty champagne glasses and side plates. Malachi groaned as the whole mess tipped over him.

  Drake raced after Dudley as Alicia clashed with the Irishman’s other two comrades, Komodo also in attendance. Dudley came up swinging, his blows hard and true, almost bone-bruising. Drake covered well, constantly moving, leading Dudley away from his backup.

  “Do you think they even have a box?” Alicia asked at one point as she skidded by.

  “Maybe. He described it pretty well.”

  Dahl caught up with Malachi, the Irishman grabbing a passing waiter and hurling him toward the Swede. Dahl caught the waiter in one hand, steadied him and brushed him down with the other.

  “Exit’s over there.”

  Then Malachi attacked, and Dahl shrugged out of his suit jacket, using it as a weapon to lash his opponents head. Malachi became more angry than hurt as the thick material thudded around his cheeks and skull, eventually dipping his head and charging like a maddened bull. Dahl threw the jacket over his head and then brought a knee up. The crunch of broken bone was loud even with the sound deadening afforded by the jacket.

  Across at the other end of the stage an even larger battle was underway. Mai engaged Hikaru but then found her way blocked by three more Yakuza.

  “Sakurai! Eto! Kiharu! Get her!”

  Mai threw herself into battle. The gunshot wound pulsed sharply but she ignored it. Reality was, if she didn’t survive this battle the wound wouldn’t matter. A jab to the throat sent Eto reeling, another to the midriff stunned Kiharu. Only Sakurai plowed through her bombardment, taking the pain and using it to fuel an angry fusillade of his own. Mai utilized the split in her dress to use her legs without restriction; Hayden had no such luxury. Form fitting, her dress only hampered her movements. First, she kicked off the heels, glad she’d worn stockings not tights. Then she flung her empty purse at one man’s face and jabbed another. Kinimaka barged them aside to her right, flinging two straight over the top of the palisade where they became entangled with tables and chairs. Smyth growled angrily as if expecting his attitude would make them bow down, and when they didn’t he grew even madder. Hibiki held back a little, helping to cover Yorgi, but soon the extra Yakuza numbers forced both of them to join the battle.

  Punches flew, blows to the head and chest and groin slammed home hard, bones shattered. The stage was a wild melee, a brawl, the center of a ruckus that quickly began to expand around the room. Waiters protested and then, seeing the gravity of it all, rushed to the exits. Security guards tried to get involved and were thrown to the ground. Drake smashed Dudley on the bridge of the nose and received a stunning cheekbone blow in return. Dahl pulled his jacket away from Malachi’s face, saw the pouring blood there and then reeled as the dripping face launched in his direction. Alicia split the hem of her dress whilst kicking McLain in the throat just as Komodo went down under a hail of blows from Byram. Alicia used the time she’d made to drag the soldier free, slamming Byram in the haunches so that he flew head first out of the stage area like a human cannonball.

  “Fly, ya evil little leprechaun, fly.”

  She held the hem of her skirt up. “Look at this. A thousand quid just ruined. Beau woulda loved it.”

  “Thanks for the save,” Komodo said, panting a little.

  “Any time, my friend.”

  “And the dress? I doubt it would have stayed on long,” Komodo commented.

  “Oh yeah? Well, that’s not the point is it?”

  Komodo turned as Byram came in hard again, the seasoned 27-Club member not looking in the least daunted by his recent unexpected flight. This time, though, the soldier was ready, hitting hard from the beginning and making every blow hurt in imitation of the Irishman.

  Drake broke away from Dudley and quickly evaluated the scene. Hayden was already relaying their unfolding situation through the comms but it was always better to get eyeballs on it.

  “If we knew he didn’t have a Z-box we could let the authorities deal with him and slip away.” Hayden was saying. “But . . .”

  Drake knew they couldn’t risk losing a box. He saw Mai picking the Yakuza warriors apart. Those boys were no slouches, he knew, but were hand-picked and deadly, yet Mai’s skill and fury overwhelmed all. The palisades were shattered, standing like broken toothpicks; the tables and chairs were wrecked; those guests who still remained crouched or crawled through the debris. He ducked as Dudley threw a heavy champagne bottle at him.

  “Do you even have the box, ya bloody
madman?”

  “Mebbe,” came the drawl. “Mebbe not. What do yer think?”

  Drake thought that he did. “Where is it?”

  “Petition me. I’ll get back to yer.”

  Drake lunged. Dudley slipped away, firing out a jab at the last minute. Drake felt its power across his lower jaw.

  “Walked into that one didn’t yer, soldier boy?”

  Drake tried hard not to get into a slanging match. It would only destroy his focus. Dudley threw a glass at him, then a coat, grinning all the while. The entire room still glittered with golden light as if too superior to notice the plebeians ruining its ambiance. Drake sidestepped within range, dodged a jab and a cross punch, then struck hard, staggering his opponent. Dudley folded. Drake stepped up to finish the job but was hit from behind by a solid object. He turned, feeling a trickle of blood starting to flow. Malachi stood grinning crazily at him.

  “The other side of the mirror.”

  Dahl grabbed the Irishman, glancing apologetically toward Drake. “Slipped away for a moment.”

  Drake couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t let it happen again.”

  As he closed in on Dudley and the rest of the Irish gang started to falter, the other free-for-all swept closer. A Yakuza collapsed in front of Dudley, receiving a heavy swat for his trouble. Kinimaka stumbled over a broken chair, neck suddenly exposed. Drake swooped down to help, blocking a Yakuza strike and helping the Hawaiian up in just a few seconds.

  “Mahalo.”

  Drake found the Yakuza tussle spreading among them. Dudley drifted away. A gravel-faced Asian aimed multiple hits at his face and chest, grunting with the effort. Drake blocked them all, then kicked out, but his expensive black shoe was deflected. Standing back, he straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. A man dived in from the right but Drake, unruffled, looped an arm around his neck and twisted. The man fell. Drake unfastened his tie, used its knot to whip another Yakuza hard in the face, striking his eyeball. He glanced down, nonchalantly straightening his cuffs.