The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake 6)
Read The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake 6) Online
Authors: David Leadbeater
SWORDS OF
BABYLON
(MATT DRAKE #6)
BY
DAVID LEADBEATER
Copyright © 2013 by David Leadbeater
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher/author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
For my family.
Books by David Leadbeater:
The Bones of Odin (Matt Drake #1)
The Blood King Conspiracy (Matt Drake #2)
The Gates of Hell (Matt Drake 3)
The Tomb of the Gods (Matt Drake #4)
Brothers in Arms (Matt Drake #5)
Chosen (The Chosen Few trilogy #1)
The Razor's Edge (Disavowed #1)
Walking with Ghosts (A short story)
A Whispering of Ghosts (A short story)
Connect with David on Twitter - dleadbeater2011
Visit David’s NEW website –
davidleadbeater.com
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http://davidleadbeaternovels.blogspot.co.uk/
All helpful, genuine comments are welcome. I would love to hear from you.
THE PRESENT
Alicia Myles was not the kind of person to look back on her life. In fact, the only time her old life caught up with her was when she slept. If, when awake, she could look upon her seven
-year-old self, she would not recognize a single scrap of the person she was today.
That was before she’
d been forged.
Aged eight, she remembered sitting up in bed and hugging her knees to her chest, bathed in the silvery glow of moonlight that filtered through the broken blinds; a wraith or an angel, barely formed, the promise of the future still fresh, pure and alive in her mind. The terrible, unfamiliar sounds had only recently started.
Her father shouting. Her mother – at first – answering back. The sound of a glass smashing. The sound of the fridge door crashing open and, no doubt. the sight of her father reaching in to grab another one of those cans he'd started drinking – the ones he seemed to like even through the day.
Drink and crush. Drink and crush.
The awful noise of those cans being crushed in anger still reverberated through her memories. It was the sound of her innocence being taken, the sound of her family life being torn to shreds.
So she sat, huddled in bed, trying desperately not to hear, but at the same time dreadfully curious to understand what her parents were angry about. Were they mad at each other?
At someone else? At the world outside their locked doors? Then she heard her mother start to cry. She felt her heart beat faster, the anxiety making her temperature rise. She gritted her teeth together in an attempt not to cry herself.
The fridge door smashed again and then, faintly, she heard her father consoling her mother. That was the start of it.
It would get much worse.
****
She woke in the dark, bathed in sweat, and sat up in bed. Alicia immediately hugged her knees to her chest in unconscious imitation of the girl she used to be. Tatters of old memory stirred smoldering ashes in her soul. In less than a second she had shrugged them off. She took a moment to evaluate where she was. So much had happened lately.
Naked, in bed, with a man beside her.
That was nothing new. The first difference was that she knew exactly who this man was. He wasn’t just a body to numb away the night terrors. This was Lomas. The man she’d left Drake’s new team to be with. At least until the journey curved her away in another direction.
She slipped out of bed and moved soundless
ly over to the window. A finely sculpted, tree-lined eighteen-hole golf course stretched away from her, nothing but a clump of shadows in the full moonless dark. Alicia shivered slightly. She had never been comforted by the dark, nor by the bed sheets or the solitary act of sleeping. Bad memories died hard. She heard Lomas’s breathing change and knew in that moment that he had come awake.
“Go back to sleep,” she said, tonelessly. “I’ll join you soon.”
Darkness shifted outside, trees stirred by the breeze. The biker gang had decided to enjoy a few days of R&R at Uncle Sam’s expense, part of a small package Drake had managed to secure through Jonathan Gates and his new agency SPEAR.
What the hell did it stand for again?
Alicia couldn’t remember. She’d seen more than her fair share of action lately, and it was time to let the alertness slip a little and relax. Not that she ever could. Her dreams reminded her of that. At the age of nine she had sat up every night after her lights went out, attentive, prepared, waiting for the shouting to start.
And it always did.
Chasing away the anxiety, Alicia rushed back to the bed and jumped on Lomas’s prone figure, straddling him. She laughed, forced at first, but then slipped quickly into the person she had become. Lomas grunted and tried to push her off, but she pinned him with her knees.
“Not a chance, biker boy. Just lie there and enjoy the ride.”
She began to move on him, the pleasure forcing away the memories, her noise scaring off the old fears. Her hair whipped back. Her hands clutched his big shoulders, gripping painfully. Time, life, decisions, the past and the future all ceased to exist. This was her freedom, her true release.
When they finished, she rolled off. Lomas immediately rolled on top of her. “Now, how about we do this
my
way?”
Alicia held his gaze.
“So long as you take your time. I’m no Ducati, to be ridden nought to a hundred in seven seconds. More like your luxury Harley chassis.”
“I think I know that.” Lomas bent his head to kiss her.
At that moment Alicia’s cell phone rang. She whispered, “Don’t stop,” to Lomas and picked it up from the bedside table.
“Hello? Not the best timing, Torsten.”
“Alicia? It’s Dahl.” The big Swede spoke rapidly as if he hadn’t heard her. “We need you . . .”
“Oh yeah?
I heard—”
“It’s about Drake, Alicia. The Russians have taken him.”
Alicia sat up, ungraciously flipping Lomas’s body away in an instant.
“What?
Taken him where? What happened to Mai?”
“Russia.
Where the hell do you think? Meet us there, Alicia. We’ll let you know the exact location. And . . . be quick . . . it’s not good.”
Dahl ended the call. Alicia closed her eyes for a moment and sighed inwardly. Then she whispered, “For
fucksake, Drake.”
3 HOURS EARLIER
Matt Drake would later look back and wonder why on Earth Mai and he hadn’t been better prepared. Any rookie would have seen that the only chance the Russians had of abducting him was at sundown, when the two of them made their nightly sojourn to the Little Fountains Café on 18
th
Street. They made some of the best pulled pork sandwiches Drake had ever tasted, and offered them an anonymous romantic meal. The price was leaving the heavy cordon of security that surrounded their CIA-owned hotel and driving a few miles north.
Maybe it was the comedown after defeating the arms dealer, Shaun Kingston, and his North Korean accomplices only two days ago. Maybe it was because Jonathan Gates hadn’t secured them a new HQ yet, and they had no job to focus on. Or maybe it was just because Mai and Drake were a little lost in each other . . . for the second time in their lives.
As it was, the team were all taking a few days. Drake didn’t know the details, but Hayden and Kinimaka were working some things out, Karin and Komodo were at it like rabbits, and good ole Torsten Dahl was spending most of his days talking to his wife and kids via his laptop’s video link. Until Gates could acquire a new HQ, their options were somewhat limited. Homeland wanted them. The CIA wanted them. But those agencies would use the team for their own ends and means. Gates wanted SPEAR to retain its elitist image, determined to retain them as the best of the best, required only for the most critical missions.
And by critical,
Drake thought.
The Secretary meant crazy and desperate. Something verging on the apocalyptic.
He already missed Alicia and her odd, slightly unhinged wit. He wondered when he would see her again. Not soon enough, probably.
But Mai filled his days and nights with her inexplicable mix of tenderness and toughness. He barely remembered most of their previous relationship but, as they joined together again, some of the more complex elements came flooding back.
Like her insomnia. And how she hardly ever relaxed her guard, as if always afraid someone from her past was looking for her and would eventually find her. This was arguably true, but extremely unlikely.
Drake was driving one of the CIA pool cars. It was the third time they had made the trip in as many nights. The traffic, as always, crawled along like a snake stalking its prey, so Drake engaged the satnav and punched in the ‘previous address’. The machine began its monotonous directions.
The in-car phone bleeped. Drake answered, “Ay up.”
Hayden’s voice reminded him of work, taking him away from the moment Mai and he were sharing. “Just some info to pass along. Gates came through with the new HQ. It’s opposite the mall on Pennsylvania Avenue.” She coughed. “Could be worse.”
“When do you want us in?”
“It’ll take a few days to get the comms up and running, but most of the infrastructure is already there. It’s an old CIA secret ops hole.”
Mai grunted. “It sounds charming.”
“Today’s Tuesday. Let’s say Thursday. I’ll let you know the address.”
Drake disconnected and looked out the window. “Wonder what’s gonna kick off next? Between Odin, the Blood King, the Shadow Elite and North bloody Korea
, I don’t know which is worse.”
“The Blood King,” Mai whispered without pause. “No question.”
“And those latest Russkies weren’t exactly Care Bears,” Drake assured her. “Especially that Zanko. Big, hairy bastard.”
“How is Romero?” Mai asked. “Have you heard from him?”
“Nope. Not a thing. Guess he’s back at Delta. Why, you heard from Smyth?”
Mai smiled.
“All the time.”
“Want me to . . .
y’know . . . take him out?”
“Why? Are you jealous?”
“A little.”
“He’s just flirting. He thinks he loves me. He’ll get over it.”
“He’d better,” Drake said tetchily, but it was all a game. Both Drake and Mai knew how much they owed the Delta soldiers. Drake turned the wheel as the satnav directed them away from the main arteries and through some quieter back streets.
“I think you should call Ben. See how he
’s getting along.”
Drake nodded. “I will.
Soon as I find the time.”
“Well, don
’t stay out of touch too long. He was one of your best friends.”
The words stirred up memories Drake wanted to stay dormant. And lately, any memory of Kennedy Moore sent a barb through his heart.
Have I fallen for Mai too soon after Kennedy’s death?
“I
’ll do my best.”
Mai changed the subject. “So, are you going for that pork thing again tonight? You really should try the seared
Ahi, it—”
A car pulled out in front of Drake. He swerved hard to avoid the collision.
“Christ!”
He jammed on the brakes and skidded broadside across the road, the hood of the car narrowly missing a parked minivan. The car in front of them, a black Escalade, had stopped dead.
Mai said, “I don’t like—”
A second Escalade pulled out behind them, swerving across the road, effectively blocking them in.
Drake reached for the glove box, finding only a single Glock. “This thing bulletproof?”
“I doubt it.”
Drake tapped the phone. “Better call out the whole nine yards,” he told the CIA tech who answered. “I think we’re being ambushed.”
Both Escalades erupted with black-clad bodies. Men literally spewed out of every door, holding small devices that looked like tasers in their hands and shouting. Drake
’s car was quickly surrounded. All the men wore full-face balaclavas with the eye and nose holes cut out, their body language screaming that they were being held on a very tight leash.
“Stay in the car,” Drake said and revved the engine. “We can—”
A man stepped forward and placed a small black box on their pool car’s hood. Then he held up a remote control and depressed his thumb. Instantly, the engine’s note became a low burble, then died. Drake stared at Mai.
“What the . . .”
“You go nowhere!” a voice screamed. “Except with us. Get out now!”
Drake showed them his hands, dropping the Glock into his lap. Mai gently clicked open the door. “They have tasers, Matt. We have a Glock.”
“But they just killed our car.”
“Be ready.”
As soon as Mai put a foot out the door, the men ran forward. She moved fast, flinging the door viciously at the first two to arrive and smashing them aside. The next she kicked in the head and scooped up his fallen taser. More came at her. Mai turned sideways on to meet them.
Drake flung his door open, bringing the Glock
around. Men ran at him from all sides. He turned toward the back of the car, the quicker target, and fired three shots. Three men collapsed, but the rest were on him. Drake took a punch in the face to evade another man’s taser, then broke the second man’s arm, relieving him of his weapon. The first man tried another punch, but this time his fist met hard taser. There was a sudden crackle and the flash of a lightning bolt. Thousands of volts surged through the man, making him scream and dance before finally slumping at Drake’s feet.
More men leaned in. Drake fired his gun again. He ripped at one of the balaclavas, seeing a glimpse of a rough, pock-marked face and
colorful neck tattoos. He could hear them all grunting curses in a guttural tongue. One of the fists that struck at him and missed had painful-looking self-inked tattoos inscribed on the knuckles.
Russian letters, Drake knew, even if he couldn
’t turn them into English. He threw a man against the side of the car, smashed another across the bridge of the nose with his now empty gun, used the taser again and then flung it aside when he realized it was out of charge. He stayed behind the car door, limiting his enemies’ angle of attack.
If they survived for a few more minutes, the CIA would have men here.
A gap opened up as his opponents fell over each other. Drake leapfrogged them and raced for the back of the car. There would be more weapons in the trunk. But before he could even lay a hand on the metal, they accosted him again, facing up to him and striking with fists and legs. Drake blocked and backed away. There was a clear escape route past their enemies’ rearmost Escalade, but he couldn’t leave without Mai.
He chanced a glance around her side of the vehicle. Mai danced and leapt amidst a heap of the fallen. With every blow she broke bones, ruptured organs and crushed windpipes. She held a taser in each hand. Drake saw the assembled Russians gather and launch a six man attack at her, but even then she killed four with lightning quick reflexes and leapt back, making space between herself and the remaining two.
“Mai!”
His shout caught her attention. He indicated the escape route, still blocking and fending off his attackers. He was being driven toward the
sidewalk where he’d have to slip between parked cars, then there would be a high fence at his back. He could see occupants of the nearby houses looking out of their windows and leaning over balconies, some of them filming the fight on their cell phones. He shouted, “Call 911!” more in an attempt to unnerve the Russians than to get help.
“Hurry!”
The leader of the assault party sounded agitated now. “We must leave!”
Drake backed up until he felt Mai behind him. “Ay up.”
“One day,” Mai flipped an assailant, guiding his flight so that he landed hard and struck a colleague on the way down. “You’re going to have to explain that crazy Yorkshire dialect to me.”
They broke for the escape route, leaving their attackers momentarily bewildered. The gap between the rear Escalade and the
sidewalk was big enough for them to squeeze through without slowing down. Suddenly free, Drake chanced a look back.
“Why the hell are they using tasers? They could have had us . . . oh shit!”
Their attackers hadn’t given chase because they had been joined by two men carrying oversize, outlandish guns. The lead Russian screamed at them. Drake saw them kneel, take aim, and fire . . . then the pain kicked in and the road rose up to strike his face. The last thing he heard was a murderous whisper close to his ear, something about ‘
prison food’
.