The Faberge Heist

by David Leadbeater

  “Bad move,” he growled.

  The guard’s nose was bleeding. He wiped his eyes. Steele used that time to grab his wrist and bend it until the Taser was nestled against the guard’s own chest.

  Steele grinned into his eyes. “Told you.”

  He thumbed the switch. The Taser’s charge made the man crumple. Steele kept it on until Cara pulled him away.

  Jax took hold of the first guard’s head and smashed it once more against the edge of the desk. He let go and the man struggled to rise. Jax punched into his kidneys and then his throat, sending him down to the floor, gasping for breath.

  “That’s enough.” Cara had hold of Steele and raised a palm at Jax.

  Jax landed on his opponent’s back, knees-first, grinding them into his spine. He raised a clenched fist, preparing to smash it into the back of the guy’s neck.

  “If you hurt him any more, I’m out.”

  Cara’s words scared Jax. They couldn’t pull this job off without her. And that put Bella in danger. He looked over, trying to force down mixed feelings of anger and fear.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Then let’s go. Now.”

  Jax pushed himself off the guard. Kushner was alongside them, holding the gloves. Steele checked the corridor and gave them the all clear.

  Jax held Cara’s eyes. “He’ll be fine.”

  “We’re normally the perfect crew. Legends. Ghosts. But something’s going on. You’re unravelling. Me—I love the thrill and the artistry of the heist. What are you here for now?”

  Now? He caught the nuance in her question. He couldn’t answer. He was reclaiming the merciless weapon mantle he used to have because he knew that, after the heist, he was going to need every advantage. Kushner moved off and Jax followed him, leaving Cara to bring up the rear.

  Jax let them sort the exfil with Faye’s help. He heard alarms and saw more shenanigans but didn’t take much in.

  Was Bella alive? How could he give his lifelong teammates to the cartel? Had somebody ratted them out?

  The One Percenters were the best of the best, but there was no way they would survive what was coming.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE LAST SIX MONTHS

  Matt Drake sat in idle contemplation. It wasn’t a state of mind he was accustomed to. It wasn’t a state of mind he enjoyed.

  A floor to ceiling window offered up a spectacular view. A short walk away, a gently rolling deep-blue sea lapped at a meandering bay and white sands. The window was about fifty feet above the ground, at the top of a cliff and part of a luxurious Caribbean hotel. Drake was sitting on the edge of a bed, naked, with a sumptuous gray duvet covering the important parts. He was relaxed. Not prepared for battle in any way.

  It didn’t feel right.

  But it had felt much worse five months ago when President Coburn had agreed to create a new kind of rolling strike team that responded only to the gravest threats to the United States and its closest allies. Threats so great, it seemed, they never materialized.

  A figure crossed his vision, walking past the window to the French doors. It was Alicia Myles and she captured every ounce of his attention.

  “Ey up,” he said. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Breakfast,” she said, stepping through the open doors.

  He saw she was carrying a tray filled with two mugs of steaming coffee, croissants and butter. Not a bad way to start the day, but not as good as seeing her lithe, bikini-clad figure barely covered by a flimsy beach wrap.

  “Dessert looks good,” he said.

  “Hold your horses, boy,” she said. “Before you call her dessert you gotta properly motivate a woman.”

  Drake craned his neck at the door. “All right. When you see one let me know. I’ll jump right on it.”

  She dumped the tray on his lap a little too hard. “You’re not jumping on anything, Drakey.”

  She closed the door and switched on the air conditioning. Drake took a mouthful of croissant and washed it down with coffee. He watched Alicia eat her breakfast.

  “Stop staring at me. Are you bored again?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Remember when Dahl went on holiday? He ended up fighting with some cartel. Why can’t that happen to us?”

  “I guess we’re not lucky that way. Still, we’re both half-naked and we can compare war wounds. Again.”

  Drake smiled in speculation. “We’ve been in a few good scraps, haven’t we, love?”

  “Yeah. Even with each other. The sunshine has a way of healing, though.”

  Their recent bruises, wounds and scrapes inflicted during the escape from Devil’s Island and all the adventures before had healed faster under the Caribbean sun. Before that mission, the team had decided to take a step back, to recuperate and revitalize before the endless, dangerous operations they undertook as the SPEAR team got them killed through exhaustion. Hayden had come up with an idea, a proposal. They’d already saved President Coburn’s life more times than they cared to remember so Hayden’s words were heard almost immediately.

  She suggested that they dismantle Team SPEAR and change the format. Instead of utilizing dozens of teams to take on every threat that reared up, they would save crews like SPEAR for the worst-case scenarios. They would be able to rest and revitalize in between, which was reward for everything they’d accomplished during the last five years. But when the time came to act, they would have to perform.

  Hayden took to calling the special teams Strike Forces, so Team SPEAR became Strike Force One. The team reluctantly went their separate ways three days later to see how they coped with real life and real relationships.

  Drake and Alicia were bored after three days. They visited New Orleans and then California. They checked in with the others every thirty-six hours. Some were faring better than others. Hayden and Kinimaka were doing well. Dahl not so good. Mai and Luther were far afield, in Tokyo, keeping busy. Kenzie and Dallas were treading dangerous waters, as expected. Molokai came and went, losing contact for weeks and then popping back up as if nothing had happened. Karin and Dino went to ground for a while, barely leaving their DC hotel room. Yorgi, unfortunately, remained in hospital.

  There was no fresh news concerning the Blood King or the Devil, two evil individuals at the very top of their hit list. It seemed odd that both men would just vanish, but Drake remembered that Dmitry Kovalenko had squandered years of scheming when his plan to kill the President and the SPEAR team failed and had since acquired twenty low-yield nuclear devices. He also remembered that the contract killer known as the Devil needed to relocate and readjust. There was no doubt they would hear from them again.

  After several weeks of nothing, Drake started to question why they remained idle. Ever since he joined the army in his teens and, later, the SAS, prior to joining SPEAR, he’d needed very little rest. The constant action had served only to invigorate him and drive the demons away. It was the same for Alicia, he knew, and Torsten Dahl. The hard part was finding the perfect medium between combat and respite.

  And some of the criminals they met, those who escaped, haunted his every waking moment.

  Still, Hayden assured them there was nothing sinister about their inaction. She kept tabs on current threats almost every day. Yes, jobs came up. Missions that they would normally have undertaken. But nothing within the scope of their new boundaries. So they walked the beaches, grazed over the buffets and watched a bit of Amazon Prime.

  It all seemed alien, and bizarre.

  Now, Alicia sat on the bed beside him. “When are we due to fly to DC?”

  “Three days’ time.”

  “Wanna go today?”

  Drake took in his surroundings—the sumptuous bed, the bright sunshine that seemed in endless supply, the perfectly blue waters and the sandy beach. He thought about the polite waiters and happy fellow tourists. The well-mannered service staff. The only danger here came from eating dodgy food.

  “Aye,” he said. “I don’t feel like I fit in.”

  “Th
e memories don’t help.”

  Drake looked down. Yes, they’d had some great times with SPEAR, and endlessly good camaraderie, but for every prized memory there were two or three bad ones. And the bad ones always held sway.

  “When you have time to think,” he said, “to break it down . . . that’s when it gets dangerous. You second guess. Every decision. Every mission. You start questioning your actions.”

  “I guess we weren’t meant to be tourists,” Alicia said.

  “We weren’t meant to be fighting-robots either.”

  Alicia gave him a grin. “That actually sounds cool, but I know what you mean.”

  Drake studied his attire, the incongruous flip-flops on the floor. “Y’know, I find it hard even to socialize with normal people. When a guy passes me on the beach or along the corridor and says ‘hi,’ I find myself struggling for the proper response. Do I repeat what they said, or do I go for something more in-depth?”

  “I guess it’s gonna take some readjustment. Fitting in, I mean.”

  “Not sure that I want to, love.”

  “Well, what do you want?”

  He turned to study those deep, experienced eyes. It was a great question. This was limbo. It wasn’t real work and it wasn’t actual relaxation. He felt like he was playing a role, forcing himself into some semblance of normality. Or abnormality.

  What was the answer?

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “We can’t work, fight and chase criminals flat out all year round. Maybe you’re right . . . maybe it’ll take time.”

  He reached out for the top of her bikini bottoms, just managing to brush the material before she slapped his hand away.

  “Careful,” she said. “You touch those without consent again and you’ll be minus some fingers.”

  “Aw, come on.” He flapped once more but she grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and jumped on top of him. For a moment she stared down into his eyes, straddling him, the heat rising between their bodies.

  “Is that a gun in your shorts, Drakey?”

  “Does it feel like a gun?”

  She reached down. “Not sure. It could be a .45mm.”

  “Hey!” He rolled on top of her, but she used his momentum against him. He fell off the bed, hitting the floor with a crunch. “Ow, my spine.”

  Alicia laughed. “There you go. Does that feel more like a working day?”

  “Only if you punch me in the face too.”

  Alicia drew back. Drake grabbed her hips and pulled her forward so that she sat upright in his lap. “I’ll pass on the punch,” he said. “Let’s do something else instead.”

  For once in her life, Alicia did as she was asked.

  * * *

  They landed in DC a few days later, returning to the same hotel rooms they’d been living out of for the last few years. It hadn’t occurred to either of them to start looking for a proper place, at least not that they spoke of. The thought of buying a home to share was an odd one at this stage. Privately, Drake thought they’d vacationed so long that they wouldn’t have to face a new problem—where and how the hell would they start living together? Still, they showered and changed and met at a local coffee shop to check for any new updates.

  The whole team shared a page where they could study the latest missions, which were rated by color. Red flags would signify a Strike Force event, although they could choose any of the others. The closest they’d come was amber, one down from red, of which there had been two this week. Drake and Alicia read through them whilst sipping hot coffee.

  “Looks like someone found the Amber Room,” Drake said. “I’d have liked to be in on that.”

  “Yeah,” Alicia agreed. “But you can see why it wasn’t a red-flag event. By the time the alert was raised they just needed to secure the area.”

  Drake nodded. Another parameter Strike Force faced was coming in at the beginning of any mission. Of course, enormous, imminent danger might change that. This time around, their purview wasn’t limited in any way. It wasn’t just relics, artifacts and old gods. It wasn’t just the Blood King or the Devil, although both those individuals were at the top of the list. They could be sent to any incident, anywhere in the world.

  “The other amber event,” he said, “is still emerging. Based on long-lost artifacts and papers concerning Nikola Tesla.”

  “We’ve encountered him before.”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s an interesting guy. Can’t imagine why Hayden would decline this one. Especially since it says here—” he tapped at the screen “—that several parties linked to both the Blood King and the Devil have shown interest through known contacts.”

  “Why don’t we ask her?” Alicia plucked a cellphone from her pocket.

  Drake nodded and sat back, but as Alicia went to dial, both their phones rang.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Kenzie ducked low before the tattooed man saw her, falling onto her elbows and feeling a spike of pain.

  She came face to face with Dallas.

  “All good?” he asked.

  “Did you see me dive for cover?”

  “Yeah, but that’s not unusual for you.”

  Kenzie ignored him and monitored the rest of the team behind them. They were eight strong, fully loaded, all wearing camouflage gear, all with the customary black grease marks across their faces, all with grim, determined expressions. She tapped the comms system in her right ear.

  “Listen up. I see ten goons, all armed. Main targets are the two men standing by the sarcophagus. They’re finalizing their deal and are covered by four potentially capable bodyguards. We ready?”

  One man replied swiftly, “Are there any . . . swords around?”

  Kenzie sighed. “No. Don’t worry. No swordplay today.”

  Relief crossed many faces, including Dallas’s.

  Kenzie counted three seconds down with her fingers, then they were running, up and over the mound of earth they were using for concealment. Five goons went down immediately, shot through their chests.

  A falling automatic weapon discharged by accident, the slug narrowly missing one of Kenzie’s companions. Within seconds she was past the earth mound and running on concrete, toward the sarcophagus and the small plane that waited behind it.

  Darkness made it harder to keep track of the two bosses when they split, and their bodyguards that dropped down and returned fire. Kenzie killed one and then sprayed the plane with bullets. No way were these assholes going to escape tonight.

  On leaving SPEAR, Kenzie had chosen to go it alone, returning to Israel and then traveling to Egypt. Dallas had tagged along with her, not for any reasons other than they respected each other and didn’t want to be alone. Kenzie fought to forget Torsten Dahl and the feelings she had for him. Dallas avoided as many flights, boat rides and coach journeys as he could because, typically, they made him ill. At first, they didn’t check in with Hayden and the others or look at the joint webpage where they could see their mission status or keep an eye on any new jobs that might come in. For weeks, they had no ties, no responsibilities, and no danger.

  Kenzie grew bored. She fought her true inclinations, which called for a return to the relic smuggling business. But she’d been pardoned of all crimes. This was a clean sheet. Most of her wanted it to stay that way, but there was that rebellious part, that dark side that didn’t care.

  She had a vast network of connections through Europe and the Middle East, and it was through this that she heard of a new elite task force being set up by the Egyptians, a task force whose sole purpose was to stop valuable, ancient relics leaving the region. Conversely, she’d been initially warned about the task force, but soon decided to approach it with the idea of joining up. Her experience, the contact network and her connection to SPEAR made her the ideal candidate. Dallas had joined her. It turned out the operations were simple raid and assault missions. The job of tracking the relic smugglers down was undertaken by someone else.

  It kept Kenzie busy. It kept her mind off Dahl and the rest of t
he team. It kept her in shape and on the edge. She was too young to take an extended break, she told herself. In truth, there were too many demons railing at her brain. She couldn’t bear the thought of confronting them.

  The task force started well, thwarting three out of three smuggling operations and suffering only two casualties, both just scrapes. They were so good, in fact, that word spread, and criminals became wary. The task force’s fourth assault was an ambush. They barely escaped with their lives, mostly thanks to Kenzie and Dallas, but two of their team were hospitalized and another lost his hearing. Nevertheless, the team continued to operate, getting savvier and even more deadly. In three months, they took out seven long-term smuggling enterprises.

  Of course, success resulted in more danger. The gangs increased in number and carried deadlier weapons. Surveillance and infiltration attempts rose. The task force was given no extra resources, just told to get on with it by politicians more concerned about their own appearance.

  Now, she stayed low and raced around the plane, just in time to see the two bosses having a confrontation of their own. Guns were out and aimed. A blond man fired first, blowing the other man’s brains all over the plane’s fuselage. Kenzie shot him in the stomach before rolling underneath the fuselage in an attempt to escape his bodyguard’s return fire. Dallas was in concealment behind the wheel. He darted out then and fired two shots that took the bodyguard out. She rolled back the way she’d come, and took stock of the situation.

  Only two smugglers remained standing. Two bodyguards were trapped behind some crates, unaware of what had happened to their bosses. A grenade looped toward them and then exploded, ending their involvement. After that the remaining goons surrendered. Kenzie rose, dusted herself off, and took a close look at the sarcophagus.

  “Break it open,” she told Dallas. “Carefully.”

  He nodded. Kenzie saw a flicker of movement underneath the plane, dropped and saw the boss she’d shot crawling for a discarded weapon. She shook her head, aimed and fired. There was no directive saying they had to bring back these assholes alive.