Matt Drake 11 - The Ghost Ships of Arizona (11 page)

“Fair enough.” Drake nodded. “So what’s next? We set out at first light?”

Kelly tipped the flask until no more liquid fell out. “Ya got any more of this?”

“No, mate. But I could warm you a plate of beans.”

Kelly wrinkled his face up. “I’ll pass. Unless—”

Suddenly Drake was up and on his feet, listening hard, as desert noises became scrambled and made no sense. The balance had been broken.

By someone.

Or some
thing
.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

They came over the dunes, descending on the small camp like desert apparitions; silent, black and lethal. Drake saw their intent, the weapons they carried—knives in hands that knew how to use them. He kicked at the fire, spreading glowing embers far and wide and spiraling up into the night. Smyth didn’t waste a second meeting the enemy dead on, engaging the first as he hit level ground and grappling for his weapon. Behind him Lauren took out a pistol. Drake met his first attacker, wincing at the thought of a shot ringing out in the desert silence—now
that
might wake the dead.

But Lauren wasn’t the first to fire. Gunfire shattered the dark. Bullets kicked up sand around his toes.

“Get among them!” he shouted.

There were snipers atop the dunes.

As they separated, more shots rang out. Drake ducked and made to drag Kelly along with him, but several bullets kicked up around the fire . . . and one slammed into the old man, knocking him onto his back. Blood flowed from a stomach wound. As he lay there, a split-second later another projectile hammered into him.

“No!” Drake struggled across to him.

Life had already left his eyes. His chest was still. Drake closed his own eyes for a second, but then his sense of imminent danger sang out—a soldier’s sixth and seventh sense.

Drake caught a knife thrust, averted it, and smashed its initiator on the bridge of the nose. Only a grunt came forth and the man wrenched his arm free, thrusting again. Drake sidestepped, caught him under the chin and tipped him backwards. His body hit the ground with a thud, slipping a little in the streaming sand. Drake was aware of another attacker at his side, registering a misstep even as he fought the first. Quickly, he diverted to the second, striking while the dark-clad man faltered, breaking his windpipe before he even knew he was a target. Drake then heard Yorgi’s warning shout, and glanced beyond the first attacker to see another man had launched himself into the air, using the slope to gain momentum. Drake hit the sand in less than a second. The man flew over, landed at Yorgi’s feet and one more gunshot rang out.

A frantic battle ensued. Drake kept his pistol tucked away and drew his own knife, dispatching two enemy combatants almost immediately. To his left Smyth followed suit. At Karin’s urging, still only minutes into the battle, they angled to the left where a smaller, unmanned sand dune offered a way out. Lauren used her pistol to pepper the top of the dunes, giving the snipers up there plenty to think about. Drake witnessed her lightning-quick magazine change and knew Smyth had spent many hours coaching her.

Not the most obvious way to impress a girl. But then Smyth is hardly typical.

He sidestepped at a rapid rate, taking care to allow for the unstable surface. A bulky figure came straight at him. Drake dipped and hurled the man past his right shoulder, straight into the remains of the fire. A bullet cleaved the air in front of his face, right where he would have been if he hadn’t taken time to deal with the larger figure. Karin was already near the top of the slope, taking risks, urging Smyth and Lauren after her. Yorgi fired into their pursuers. Drake made sure they gained several feet of clear ground.

“Run!” he cried.

With a last look at the old man’s motionless body, Drake pounded up the short slope, seeing Karin and Smyth flying over the top. Yorgi fired his pistol as he ran, but Drake urged him to concentrate on getting his head down and putting some distance between them and their attackers. The darkness around them became absolute as they escaped the vicinity of the still smoldering fire. Drake knew from earlier reconnaissance that running dead east from this position would lead them to a dried-up river bed within minutes. Hopefully Smyth remembered the same. Their pursuers thumped after them, some tangling with fallen bodies, others clearly unsure of their orders now that their quarry had escaped the net.

Drake saw now that there was a little illumination offered by a new sliver of moonlight, its eerie glow adding to the desert’s sinister appeal as it slipped between passing clouds, a hide-and-seek specialist. Smyth hit level ground and stopped to allow the group a chance to reform. Drake risked a look back, and saw dark bodies not far behind.

“We’ll lose them ahead,” Drake said, voice low, showing the way.

He pushed Karin, Lauren and Yorgi ahead, making sure at least two of them were armed, then brought up the rear with Smyth.

“How’d the Pythian assholes find us?” Smyth breathed.

“You think it’s the Pythians?”

“Who the fuck else could it be? They know we’re searching for the ship.”

Drake considered this as he ran. Nicholas Bell was leading this operation and had probably scouted the entire area for miles around, leaving spotters behind. Finding and gaining access to a lost desert ship wasn’t a small-scale operation—it was relatively huge and he’d want first-hand knowledge of any interlopers who might be heading his way.

It was a theory anyway.

The train of thought brought him back around to poor Kelly. Drake had wanted the old man to fulfill his dream of finding the lost galleon, and wondered briefly where his ‘abode’ might be. Somewhere close by. The Badlands out here were so unpredictable it might be an old dwelling or even a cave. He checked behind as they ran, and saw a bunch of darker night following them.

“Yorgi. A couple more bullets please.”

The Russian obliged, aiming into the pursuing throng. Drake saw the land dip ahead just in time as shots were returned. The group raced down toward the dry stream bed, their boots slipping in shale at the bottom. Smyth muttered for them to follow, choosing a direction and heading out. Drake heard scrabbling at his back and knew one of their pursuers had broken from the group. Quickly, he turned, bringing his knife up. The man ran straight into it, but, wearing a knife vest, merely grunted. A haymaker smashed into Drake’s jaw, staggering him. Without going down, he kicked out, hitting the exposed pistol and sending it flying through the air. Even this close the man’s features were nothing more than shifting forms of shadow. Precious seconds were slipping by. Drake kicked out the man’s knee and then punished the other place he had no obvious protection—his skull. A sharp cry demonstrated a direct hit. Drake instantly whirled and set off at a sprint, catching up to the others.

“They’re too close,” he said. “We either stand and fight or find a place to hide before we start getting shot in the bloody back.”

“Yeah, maybe this arrow-straight stream bed wasn’t such a good idea,” Karin said.

“How many did we put down?” Lauren panted at her side. “Surely they’ll drop back when they start losing men.”

“Not these guys,” Drake said. “Not if it’s the Pythians. It’s all about overwhelming force now.”

“It feels—” Karin said. “It almost feels like they’ve hit the self-destruct button. Man, I hope so.”

Drake grunted. “Something new will always come along.”

“Man, I hope so.”

Drake eyed Karin, learning nothing in the dark contours of her face.
What did that mean exactly?
Ahead, Smyth spotted a break in the river bank and aimed for it. Within seconds they were scrabbling and scrambling up a short slope and then headed back into the desert wilderness, the high empty vault of the cool night above.

Drake and Smyth carefully cast around for another mercenary force, one that might be trailing them from above, but it seemed their leader hadn’t thought of such an obvious idea. Drake eyed Smyth with quiet surprise.

“And again we overestimate our enemy.”

“Ain’t the worst thing in the world, bud.”

Drake urged the others past, setting out into the desert. Scraggly brush littered their path, threatening to upturn them and break an ankle at every step. Still, they could not slow down. The sounds of their pursuers were almost as close as ever. It occurred now to Drake that if the team had been at full strength they would already have ended the chase. Here, right now, was a strong argument for never splitting up the group. Not that he could actually do anything about the likes of Alicia or Mai. Both were off fighting their own battles.

Something rose up out of the shadow-strewn darkness ahead. At first, Drake almost stumbled, heart pounding, convinced the sudden appearance was an insubstantial ship, a ghost of the desert. But then a haphazard structure revealed itself: a tumbledown cluster of walls and empty doorways.

Smyth jumped behind the lowest wall and drew his weapon, taking a bead on their pursuers. Drake ran hard, opening the gap even more. A gnarled root caught his foot, sending him staggering headlong and shoulder first into an upstanding wall. The impact knocked the breath out of him.

“Crap.”

Smyth started firing fast and accurately, if the screams were anything to go by. Drake ducked behind another wall, seeing the others pressed behind vertical pillars of bricks. Even then a bullet smashed off stone, sending slivers and dust right past Yorgi’s nose. Drake added to Smyth’s firepower, sending shadows dipping to the ground, but the sheer numbers of their attackers soon proved too much.

Yorgi ducked out of hiding, as did Lauren, both emptying their clips. At last they saw an end to the chasing group, but those who still lived were suddenly within the stone dwelling. Drake smashed a man to the ground and elbowed another. Still another leapt at him, bowling him over. His head hit a fallen pile of rubble, sharp edges splitting skin. For a moment there were more stars in the sky than before. He rolled away, groaning. A man landed where he had been, cursing. Drake shot up randomly into the night sky. In another moment Yorgi was at his side, new clip loaded and in full use. Drake sat up too fast, taking a few seconds to allow his head to stop spinning. The man who had initially struck him knelt at his side, staring, seemingly also dazed. For a second neither he nor Drake made a move and then they both exploded into action.

Drake punched an ear, then the neck twice with lightning strikes. His opponent tried to twist away. Drake grabbed his arm and spun him back. The man rolled but now with a small handgun tucked within the meat of his enormous left paw. Instant reflexes born of years of battle saved Drake’s life. The quick shot zinged past his head and on toward the moon. Acting as best he could in the dire situation he jumped atop the gun hand, preparing to take bullets to the vest. As Dahl would say—
they’re only bullets. It’s not as if it’s a fucking cruise missile.

The man’s hand was trapped though, the gun pointed at the desert floor. Drake took advantage and smashed down until the eyes glazed and then, on Yorgi’s warning, rolled clear. Another man landed hard an instant later, this one already shot dead. Drake twisted around to take in the scene.

Stragglers were now coming toward the crumbling structure, but these more warily and spread out. Drake counted maybe five shadows and knew there might be more. Smyth picked one off as he watched. To a man all the others fell to the floor. Were there more out there in the crawling darkness?

“Sit rep?” he called.

“All good,” Smyth came back. “And well rested.”

Drake allowed himself a grim smile. The dilemma was whether to break cover now they’d stumbled across the ruin’s moderate security. If the Pythians had more men in the area they could easily ambush the ruin from all sides. Probably best to keep moving.

“Fall out,” he whispered. “Quietly.”

Smyth withdrew, ever the soldier. Lauren followed as carefully as she could. Karin waited for Drake who fired off three more bullets before loading his final mag.

“We should kill these bastards,” Karin whispered. “All of them.”

“I’m not entirely sure we could,” Drake said evenly. “Live to fight another day, love. They caught us by surprise tonight. It won’t happen again.”

“I hate to leave even one alive.”

“That’s not the way we do things and never will be.” Drake, staring up, noticed a faint lightening of the skies. “So come on. Dawn’s coming. They used the dark to ambush us; now we’ll use the last of it to escape from them.”

He pulled Karin along, worried now that all the recent suffering might have changed her disposition forever. The team used several minutes of enemy misunderstanding to open a substantial gap, picking up pace the further they left the ruin behind.

Drake felt for a compass. “Time to head back to town and stock up before we even think about heading out again. Put this all down to a bad loss. We should catch up with Hayden too, see how they’re getting on. This desert trekking’s a bit more perilous than we thought. Lauren, you spoke about Nicholas Bell as a man who might be turned. Do you still think so?”

“Well, yes, I do. Despite everything, he seemed nice and still does. I liked him. I’m convinced it’s merely circumstance that keeps him with the Pythians.”

“Circumstance?” Smyth said sarcastically. “Doesn’t turn you into an expedition leader. He might have even ordered those mercs to move on our position.”

“He’s worth a try,” Lauren said with conviction. “That’s all I’m saying.”

Smyth sent a look of disgust her way.

“I wonder if poor Kelly left anyone behind,” Lauren said, changing the subject.

Smyth took her arm. “We’ll ask when we’re safe. Now keep moving.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Hayden, Dahl and Kinimaka headed for Silicon Valley at a rapid rate of knots. Weapons were prepped on the way, teams armed. If the last assault was anything to go by, the one on Silicon Valley would be huge.