Theatre of War (Matt Drake 28) Tenth Anniversary Novel

by David Leadbeater

  Kenzie waited as the concrete pillar trembled. Debris struck it hard, pitting the sides. Her ears stung from the detonation, her eyes were dry with the surrounding heat. Fifteen seconds passed. To Kenzie, it felt like minutes.

  Eventually though, she ducked back out into the driveway.

  Cam and Shaw picked themselves up off the floor, none the worse for wear.

  Kenzie looked away from the burning wreckage of at least seven bikes as the heat assaulted her eyes and face. The riders were running, most of them. The blast had caught at least three, two of whom were lying prone and unmoving.

  Kenzie saw movement in the third.

  She ran over to him, skirting the blaze. Around her, flames and black smoke surged toward the skies. Kenzie pulled the groaning guy away from the blaze and then knelt at his side.

  “Who organized this?” she shouted into his face.

  The man, still wearing his helmet, reached into his jacket for a weapon. Kenzie caught his arm, twisted it violently and then snatched off his helmet.

  A young, pockmarked, white man stared back at her, his face twisted with fury. “Get off me,” he snarled.

  “I saved your life. You weren’t suicide bombers. Just weak fucks looking to hurt some innocent people.”

  “It’s not like that. We are the People’s Army. We want change. America should be free, along with its people.”

  Kenzie studied him for a moment. “You want to free America? Fuck, man, just be glad you don’t live in Saudi or North Korea. You have no goddamn idea, you weak piece of shit. The very opportunity you’ve been given to pull this crap is because you’re already free.” She turned her eyes upward. “I guess they’re breeding them even dumber these days.”

  She turned back to the guy. “Who hired you? I don’t believe you idiots planned all this.”

  She leaned in close, sensing he was close to passing out.

  “They... the guy that hired us called them the... Scourge.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Kenzie leapt to her feet as the sound of machine-gun fire stung the air.

  It was distant, and solitary, the sound of a lone individual. But then Kenzie heard other gunmen start up, something that she imagined would be echoed across Las Vegas. One lone shooter could cause terror in a certain area, a dozen could paralyze a city.

  But how could she help?

  The cloying, helpless feeling of inadequacy again swept through her. Cam and Shaw were looking around expectantly but, throughout this horrendous attack on America, the SPEAR team had been rendered powerless, unable to prevent the strikes. Kenzie searched for the right thing to do.

  We’re just three people.

  “There,” she said.

  She ran. A hundred yards further along the drive, near the front doors of the hotel, several people were huddled on the ground. Kenzie reached them and checked the first over, finding a broken arm which she quickly splinted. Cam bandaged a deep wound. In the distance they could hear approaching ambulances.

  Kenzie assessed the blown-apart front doors. The glass, the frame and some surrounding concrete had disappeared, leaving a shattered hole that revealed the building’s interior. Kenzie saw several more wounded lying inside.

  She started toward them, but Shaw grabbed her shoulder. “Shouldn’t we... deal with the shooters?”

  Kenzie raised her arms. “Where? How many? I mean—how? We grab one and another one pops up. Meanwhile, people are dying all around us. What do you propose?”

  Shaw shrugged her shoulders inside her leather jacket, frustrated, but nodded and ran to help staunch the blood flowing from a young man’s arm.

  Cam dragged a woman clear of a patch of burning wreckage.

  Kenzie worked with them, kept checking their surroundings for enemies, and called Hayden on her mobile.

  “It’s bad,” she said, and explained everything that had happened.

  “We’ll be there soon,” Hayden said.

  Kenzie pocketed her phone. The ground was cold beneath her knees, the air filled with acrid smoke and alive with the sound of sputtering fire. Traffic along the Strip had ground to a halt and the more sensible people had rushed off to their hotel rooms or homes. She could see news vans arriving on the scene before ambulances, stupidly blocking their way.

  More gunshots echoed from nearby buildings. Kenzie winced but kept at her job, making as many of the injured as comfortable as she was able. When she saw an ambulance approaching, she waved the driver toward the worst of the victims.

  And watched him closely.

  She didn’t trust them until they were on their knees working to save the more severely injured. If the Scourge’s attacks had taught her anything over the last few days, it was that they could infiltrate any organization, any group or society.

  Kenzie finished up working outside the hotel and moved inside.

  The lobby was a mess, debris scattered far and wide. Kenzie saw a young woman slumped over the security desk and hurried toward her.

  “Are you okay?”

  “My head,” she whispered.

  Kenzie saw the large bruise, caught hold of the woman and eased her down to the ground. Behind, Cam and Shaw sought other victims. They couldn’t work any harder, and they could never hope to reach everyone. But it was good, necessary and rewarding work. Most of the time, the SPEAR team raced from confrontation to confrontation, never seeing the aftermath.

  Today, they were a major part of it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Drake and the rest of the SPEAR team touched down on a helipad atop the Venetian hotel and casino, having gained permission from one of Bryant’s local contacts. The city of Las Vegas had been struck about an hour ago. As they approached the landing pad, Drake saw columns of smoke and flashing lights that had nothing to do with billboard ads.

  The mood in the cabin was somber, and not only because Dahl was piloting. Drake guessed that this particular assault had been partly to cover the theft of the eggs and partly to show America that the attacks were far from over. The cold, calculating callousness of it made him feel sick at heart.

  The team ran from the helipad to an elevator and took it all the way to the ground floor. Outside, instead of the raucous, jubilant, secure atmosphere of Vegas they’d experienced before, they walked into a simmering cauldron of anxiety and ruthlessness.

  They spread out, not wanting to look like a unit of soldiers. They left the Venetian itself and started across the covered Rialto Bridge before seeing several figures lying on the ground below. Drake realized they’d been shot. There was no sign of the shooter.

  “We can’t leave them there,” Mai said.

  Dahl was already headed down toward the injured. Together, the team helped patch them as best they could and stayed with them until an ambulance arrived.

  Then, they headed left toward Caesars and, beyond it, the Bellagio.

  All along the Strip, people were standing or walking, shellshocked. Many had left the streets, but some still hung around as if expecting everything to return to normal.

  Drake and the others jogged in the direction of the Bellagio.

  They met Kenzie, Cam and Shaw outside and exchanged reports. Standing on the sidewalk along Las Vegas Boulevard, they listened for gunfire or any signs of trouble. There were none.

  “They’ve gone,” Drake said. “Taken the Fabergé eggs and gone. We missed the bastards.”

  “Not by much,” Kenzie replied. “Though that’s no compensation. These attacks would have happened anyway.”

  Drake had no doubt. “I’m lost,” he admitted. “Standing here, right now, I’m lost. We can’t police a bloody country. We can’t stop these attacks. What the hell are we supposed to do?”

  The twisted truth was that if a nation’s leader wanted to destroy his country and had deniability, close assistance and blind supporters on his side, then he could make it happen. The Scourge had recognized—undoubtedly long ago—that the key to America’s downfall lay with its leadership and those pe
ople’s weaknesses.

  “Looking around,” Alicia said. “I see disbelief. Doubt. Nobody wants to believe this is happening. Not in their backyard. They want it to be over and everything back to normal. I get it.”

  Drake did too. But there was nothing they could do here in Las Vegas. Their little side trip to intercept the Relic Hunters had cost them, but they had learned invaluable Intel from the meeting; yet even so, Kenzie, Cam and Shaw had arrived too late to stop the attacks. A few hours earlier might have saved the eggs... given the Scourge something to consider, to bargain with.

  “We’ve been attending the wounded,” Shaw said. “It seems to be all we can do.”

  “We gotta find the Scourge.” Hayden’s sighed with a heavy heart. “Only stopping them can end this now.”

  “Or they could find us,” Cam said.

  Drake looked at him, wondering what he had in mind, but then he saw the mass of figures stalking toward them from the other side of the wide road. It was surreal. Against the backdrop of the extravagant hotels, the lines of palm trees and a million other distractions, a heavily armed force was coming for them.

  “Time to move,” Hayden said.

  Together, they ran. Kinimaka sighed, looking glum as he set off, but all that changed when Kenzie threw a shot glass at him. The Hawaiian caught it with a grin and pulled out a handgun.

  They picked up speed along the sidewalk, and were able to dash across the wide, normally traffic-busy, junction at East Flamingo. They ran under a footbridge near the old Flamingo hotel and casino.

  The Margaritaville bar caught Drake’s attention if only because he needed a few slugs of spiced tequila, and then the armed men opened fire on them.

  There was plenty of cover around. The verge was filled with thick hedges, sturdy palm trees, and more. Bullets clattered through the vegetation and struck solid trunks. The SPEAR team kept running.

  The bright lights of the Mirage came up next to the left and Harrah’s to the right. Drake was struck by a lasting old memory of watching the Siegfried & Roy magic show at the Mirage, and being astounded at the incredible tricks they performed.

  The whiz of a passing bullet slammed him back to reality.

  He ducked and ran on. Without having to communicate, the team knew that their best chance of survival was to reach the Venetian and the helicopter on the roof.

  Beyond Harrah’s, Drake saw the Casino Royale and couldn’t prevent his feet slowing.

  Alicia was ready and shoved him hard in the back. Across the Strip, their opponents were keeping track, although some streamed across the road.

  “Faster,” Hayden shouted.

  “How many you counting?” Kinimaka yelled.

  “Thirty minimum,” Dahl responded. “And they have the new SA80s.”

  “What’s an SA80?” Shaw asked.

  “British Army rifle,” Dahl said. “One of the best in the world.”

  Ahead now, Drake could already see the famous Strip landmark that indicated the Venetian hotel and casino. A replica of the Campanile in St. Mark’s square, Venice, it rose high above the surrounding buildings and opposite the famous old Treasure Island, outside which Drake recalled watching a pirate ship battle at some time in his life.

  As they passed the Campanile, a wide area of land opened to the right, the vast entrance to the Venetian. It’s twin hotel, the Palazzo, sat just a few hundred yards further along the Strip.

  They cut right toward the entrance to the Venetian, running between abandoned cars and emergency vehicles. The ambulances were still on the scene, the paramedics working with wounded and terrified people. Dahl yelled at them to take cover, warning about the approaching gunmen.

  Drake raced up a sloping ramp toward a row of arches forming part of the spectacular entrance. Huge banners were furled down the building announcing the Grand Canal Shoppes and several celebrity restaurants within the hotel.

  People were standing along the bridge, staring out at Vegas. Drake yelled at them to take cover.

  As he headed for the doors, the Yorkshireman looked back.

  At least thirty mercs were spread out behind them. Two police cars to the left had already taken notice, their occupants approaching, but on seeing the men and their arsenal the officers understandably retreated and screamed into their shoulder-mounted radios.

  Drake saw their attackers clearly for the first time—men and women, all ethnicities, the only thing uniting them appearing to be the SPEAR team itself.

  “Inside,” Dahl cried, opening the doors.

  Drake found himself in a lobby full of opulence, of gold, marble and detailed paintings. A bank of elevators was still a few minutes distant.

  Kenzie yelled at several people milling around inside the entrance, unsure of what to do. Drake understood their uncertainty to a degree. If these people were far from their hotels, if the streets outside were unsafe and the businesses inside closing, where were they supposed to go?

  The nightmare sound of striking bullets rattled across the frontage outside. Lead spattered the entrance, breaking glass and slamming through pillars.

  Drake threw himself headlong across the lobby, sliding over the polished floor. Alicia was by his side. When his momentum stalled, Drake stayed low and scrambled forward.

  Hayden and Mai shepherded two European tourists toward a staircase up which they could run.

  Drake spotted the bank of elevators ahead.

  Glass shattered across the floor. Bullets skimmed through new holes, ricocheting around the inside of the hotel.

  Drake and the others chose that moment to slide to cover, using wide, round pillars, huge plant pots and staircase banisters, then pulled their own weapons from their packs.

  So far, they hadn’t returned fire, thus hopefully lulling their enemies into a false sense of security.

  “We ready?” Hayden asked through her comms.

  “As ever,” Dahl grunted back.

  Drake watched figures approach the entrance, large hulking bodies wearing thick jackets and carrying automatic weapons. They came fast and without mercy, swinging their guns left and right, firing at every movement.

  Drake clenched his fists around his machine gun.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  As one, the SPEAR team unleashed a salvo of bullets.

  The gunmen had just breached the doors and were fanning out inside the gleaming lobby. Drake targeted two men, taking them out of play, their guns clattering to the floor. More figures fell as the other members of his team hit their marks. Screams rang out and up to the intricately painted ceiling, and washed around the marble walls.

  But it was only a matter of time until their enemies hit back.

  Running, twisting, they fired as they ran. Bullets sent Drake ducking for cover, now facing the innards of the vast hotel.

  Shaw stood by a set of open elevator doors.

  “One minute,” he told her through the comms.

  They laid down more covering fire, sending the attacking force scuttling. Those that tried to push forward died where they stood, their chests riddled with bullets. Drake noticed almost straight away that not one of their assailants ran to assist their fallen colleagues.

  It spoke of a ragtag force thrown together at the last minute. Somebody had recognized the SPEAR team on the streets, or through Las Vegas’s wealth of surveillance cameras, and had ordered their closest gunmen to take them out.

  Drake knew they might be targeted for any number of reasons. Teams like his had clearly been on the Scourge’s radar from the very beginning. Teams that might help sway the balance of power. The Scourge had been instrumental in ghosting them. President Lacey knew of them, since his rise to power occurred when they took out the Blood King. Zuki, that appeared to work for, or with, the Scourge, was highly aware of them. Also, the Scourge had been involved in raising funds through the Carnival of Curiosities, which Drake and his friends had shut down. And an entity that had planned and executed this attack over a number of years couldn’t help but have k
nowledge of Team SPEAR.

  Ergo, this attack should be no surprise at all.

  Drake waited as bullets dug into the pillar at his back, gouging out piles of thick plaster and marble cladding. Dust filled the air. Hayden and Kinimaka returned fire. Alicia and Mai scrambled toward the elevators.

  Together, the team inched away from the lobby.

  Drake stayed behind. When the others reached the elevators, he laid down a withering volley until the mag was expended and then ran, head down, bearing right.

  Dahl and Cam opened fire, their bullets flying past his left shoulder back toward the lobby.

  Drake reached the elevator doors and stepped inside, sweating. Already, their enemies were pounding after them, taking bullets as they came. Drake reckoned they’d lost ten men so far, some of whom were still wounded and groaning on the lobby floor, untended by their colleagues.

  Dahl, the last to leave the fray, stepped inside the elevator, gun barrel still out the door, unleashing lead. Shaw slammed the button. The doors closed. An abrupt and overwhelming silence fell across them.

  “They targeted us,” Cam breathed, his youngish face torn between anger and suspicion.

  Drake went through the many reasons why that might have happened. The elevator whooshed upward, clicking past floors on its journey to the roof. Drake wondered if the indicators below would tell their pursers where they were headed.

  “Surveillance cameras,” Mai said. “It’s the only way they could have spotted us.”

  “The Scourge are everywhere,” Dahl said. “And nowhere. I can’t see a way forward.”

  “Maybe Sutherland will get a breakthrough,” Hayden said. “Or even Bryant.”

  Drake readied himself as the elevator slowed, finally coming to a stop and emitting a discreet sound. The doors slid smoothly apart to reveal the enormous, flat roof space lit sparsely against the night sky. Drake stepped out first, his face caressed by a cool desert wind that made the sweat on his forehead chill. The others fanned out behind him.

  Their black helicopter sat untouched just twenty feet in front of them.