Brothers In Arms (Matt Drake 5) (13 page)

She launched herself off the bed, catching him by surprise. Her thighs locked around his head and her weight sent him crashing to the ground. She landed on his face and neck, wishing for once that she was a little heavier.
She heard his nose crack, maybe the sound of his jaw breaking. His grunt was lost in the flesh of her thighs and ass.

“Not quite t
he treatment our clients usually have in mind,” said a deep voice from the open doorway.

Lauren looked up, instant
ly relieved to see Arnie standing there. Arnie was an awesome guy, a bouncer, a broken-nosed boxer, a friend to all the girls. The way he looked had given him his nickname. But not a girl at the agency ever forgot to lay one on him every chance they got.

Now
Lauren rolled off Quinn, slightly surprised when he climbed straight to his knees. Asshole was probably on some serious shit anyway, eyes like that.

Blood f
rom his broken nose spattered across her expensive white rug.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

She saw his hands were down his pants. She heard Arnie approaching. Then she remembered. “Shit, he’s got—”

But by that time
, his hands were free, gripping a small 9mm pistol. Lauren hit the carpet, but Arnie never even saw it coming. He walked straight into the first round, looking shocked when his right ear exploded in a gout of blood, and staggered when the second round slammed into his gut. The third bullet thudded into the meat of his shoulder, spinning him around and the fourth imploded the back of his head.

He collapsed
, dying fast, eyes staring hard into Lauren’s with a glint of blame. Her brain screamed at her. It was fight or flight. She had seconds to decide. . .

No decision necessary. To run was to die.
Had always been the case for her. She kicked out, striking the weapon and sending it arcing high onto the bed. When Quinn went for it, she grabbed his ankles and pulled hard. Again he fell, landing on his nose. His scream shattered the almost silent cocoon of exertion that had surrounded them. The young man pushed up off his arms, blood now coating his face and the front of his clothes. He swung a haymaker. It glanced off her temple, making her see stars. She reeled back, settling on her heels.

End of fight
, time to die. Quinn was six inches from the gun. No way to reach him in time.

So Lauren did the only thing she could
—for the first time in her life, she chose flight. But not toward the open door. Instead, she sprinted for the window. It was always left slightly ajar, secured on its hinge-clip. Now she hurled her entire body at the frame, smashing the hinge and crashing through the window, glass shattering all around her. The apartment was three floors up.

She hit the concrete floor of her balcony,
still rolling, and slammed firmly into the thin, iron railings. The entire row of balconies shuddered, but held. Twisting her body she looked up just as Quinn fired. What remained of her window smashed outward in an explosion of glass and splintered wood. The bullet whizzed past her, whining like an angry wasp as it went, half-destroyed by the impact.

Quinn advanced across the bed, lining her up in his sights.

Now what?
The leap had gained her seconds. The gap to her neighbor’s balcony looked like the Grand Canyon. And not only that—she couldn’t hit it running, she’d have to jump atop the railings and then make the leap from a standing start.

No
good choices left.

Scrambling forward, red silk kimono untied and flapping behind her like a cape, she grabbed hold of the bars as another shot rang out. The bullet pounded into the concrete a hair
’s breadth from her right knee, digging up sharp shards and dust and spraying her with metal fragments.

Lauren climbed onto the railings, bare feet slipping across the cold metal. She had nothing to hold onto, but leaned against the brick wall. The wind whipped at her. The
terrifying drop lay before her, three floors straight down to the street. She swayed, and suddenly understood what people meant when they said “my heart climbed into my mouth.” It was the undiluted fear of imminent death.

She waited, not even considering the jump.

When Quinn strode over the destroyed threshold of the window frame, Lauren lunged at the hand holding the gun. Time stood still as Quinn held onto it and turned the barrel toward her, but Lauren fell at his feet and heaved her entire body in the air, sending his shot high into the sky and loosening his grip on the trigger.

Sirens filled the streets below.

Quinn didn’t react. With the gun dangling loosely from one finger, he sought to subdue her with his free hand. Not a chance. Lauren, seeing one more opportunity, seized his wrist and upper arm and spun as hard and fast as she could. He spun with her. When she let go, the momentum she had built up sent him smashing into the railing.

And as his upper body leaned
backward, she leapt at him, both feet hitting his torso hard. The force of the blow sent him cartwheeling into space, free falling soundlessly all the way to the street. Lauren landed hard on her shoulder, almost crying with the pain, but shocked and relieved and happy to be alive.

Her
seventy-year-old neighbor now poked her silvery head over the adjacent balcony. “Not like it was in my day,” she said with a dry crackle in her throat. “Back then, a man respected a girl. Even if he had just paid for an hour on her ass.” She chuckled. “Bastard.”

Lauren
shook her head. Her neighbor, Miss Finch, was a reluctantly retired prostitute who Lauren had made the mistake of confiding in one drunken, wretched night. She’d regretted it ever since. Now she hung her head and crawled away to meet the cops.

This confrontation promised to be just as hard as the last.

From below, a gunshot rang out.

Mai
hurried away as the kitchen began to burn. Flames were already leaping over the surfaces and would soon start capering up the walls to the ceiling. It was the signal Drake needed, in more ways than one.

The unspoken possibility had lurked like a disgruntled poltergeist between them all day. The chance that the teams might become separated, forced to go on alone. Mai and Smyth would have to continue as if the worst had happened, whilst hoping for the best. Same for Drake and Romero. There was no other way.

She
followed Smyth to the rear of the building. The marine grunted. “Thought you might like to see something I found earlier.” He pointed to the floor.

Mai’s eyes followed his fingers.
The rough frame of a trapdoor lay beneath a hastily upended bed. The door was closed.

“Thoughts?” Mai’s mind worked overtime, never stopping evaluating their situation.

“Don’t look like anyone made it down there.” Smyth kicked at the dust that coated the frame. “They’re waiting for us outside. We no longer have the element of surprise. I’d say—” Smyth stamped lightly on the frame, watching it judder. “Take our chances.”

“And hope it’s not a basement? A torture chamber? A storage room?”

“Sure. Ya got a better idea?”

Mai glanced up at the
darkened windows. It wouldn’t be long before someone seized the guards’ attention and forced them back into shape. They might yet attack, despite the flames.

“Damn.” She bent with Smyth and together they hauled the door upward. Cold, fresh air washed past their noses.

“Good sign,” said Smyth, lowering his body down first. Mai took a moment to improvise two torches out of hardy bed sheets and shattered table legs, and hopped onto the ladder.

Hungry flames ate away the darkness to reveal
a room no larger than the kitchen upstairs. Ripped apart boxes were strewn across the floor. Mai almost started straight back up the ladder before she saw Smyth gesticulating toward a corner.

“Breeze’s coming from that way.” The marine hurried over. Mai clung to the rungs, holding the flames away from her face.
There was a sudden crash from upstairs.

“Fire’s spreading
,” she said. She jumped down. Smyth turned, a look of cheeriness on his face.

“A tunnel.”

“Stop smiling, Smyth. It doesn’t suit you.”

Quickly, they
traversed the short tunnel, Mai handing over the second torch and gripping hers as long as she was able. It turned out to be just long enough. A solid rock wall soon faced them, the only way up a well-made wooden ladder.

“From the direction I’d say it’s going to bring us out in the lab.” Mai sighed.
“At one time this could have been a way to transport patients unseen, or get the guards in and out during a typhoon. Crafty Devils, these Koreans.”

Smyth studied the Japanese agent for a moment. “
Still trust your friend, Hibiki?”

“Do you trust Romero?”

“It isn’t the same.”

“Are you sure? What exactly do you know about Hibiki and I?”

Smyth’s face twisted back to its customary scowl. Mai smiled at his back. “That’s what I thought you knew.”

The marine scrambled up the ladder. Mai listened but heard no sounds of pursuit. In another half second
, she was directly below Smyth as he inched open the trapdoor. Mai recognized the shadowy room immediately. It was the same room she had hidden in earlier, listening to the conversations of the doctors.

“Slowly.” She hissed. “
This room was clear earlier.”

Smyth
eased up the door until he could clamber out. Then he was up with a quick cat-like movement, weapon ready. Mai writhed her body after him with a fluid grace any middle-eastern belly dancer would have been proud of.

They crouched in darkness, listening.

Then, from behind them a voice whispered. “Don’t shoot.”

Mai
recognized the voice. Quickly she stayed Smyth’s hand. “Hibiki?”

“I saw you earlier, Mai. I have been here for some hours, hoping you might return.”

“Ya got fuckin’ lucky there, bro,” Smyth sputtered. “In more ways than one.”

“Or we Japanese are
better than you allow,” Hibiki said without inflection. “But Mai. What are you doing here?”

“
Long story that started with a message. From you.”

“Ah. I was not sure it got out.”

“It got out alright.” Smyth hissed, with one eye on the half-open door. “To half the world’s intelligence agencies.”

Mai hung her head. “I must
apologize. He is not with me.” She looked up. “Not for long, at least. Hibiki—” she said insistently. “Dai. What is going on here?”

“I don’t have long
,” Hibiki said. “They will soon miss me. But the truth is—I don’t know. Not exactly. It is a long-term op. Very long term. Worth keeping my cover for.” The Japanese agent hesitated. “Do you see?”

“I see
,” Mai said instantly. Inwardly, she worried about the fervent light in her old friend’s eyes. “Dai, listen to me. Are you alright? This has already been a long op.”

“Nothing like yours.” Hibiki hit back. “When you took down the Fuchu triad. That was legendary, Kitano. Legendary.”

“I know,” Mai said. She didn’t need to brag. “But this. . .it worries me. More importantly the
endgame
worries me.”

“
More reason for me to stay in.” Hibiki nodded. “Until we know.”

“
What
do
you know?” Smyth asked, shifting position.

“The patients arrive by warship.” Hibiki flicked his eyes in the direction of the
harbor. “They are collected
en masse
in North Korea, but originate from Europe. I believe they have an abduction chain that stretches from Germany to Russia and through China. I have heard all the places mentioned, and more.”

“Quite an operation.” Mai mused, then looked hard at Hibiki. “
And quite a coup. For the agent who takes it down.”

“Naturally.” Hibiki inclined his head.

“Tell me more about the patients.”

“It’s not
good for them. They are already broken—most of them. Men and women from the streets. But the transformation is breathtaking. I have seen a down-and-out slob of an east-European, a broken-down wreck, turned into a fine American in months. The accent smooth with a Yankee twang—” Hibiki now couldn’t resist goading Smyth a little, it seemed. “Fit. Strong. Confident. Assured. And terribly obnoxious. The process must include a form of advanced brainwashing, I’m sure.”

“But then what happens to them?” Mai asked.

“Six months later. . .they’re gone. I don’t know to where.”

“Is it always Americans?”

“No. But mostly.”

“Answer’s fuckin’ obvious.” Smyth swore. “They’re gone to America.”

“They would fit right in.” Hibiki raised an eyebrow in the dark.

Mai
pursed her lips. “It seems a bit of overkill. Most people
fit
in America. It’s a country of many cultures.”