Matt Drake 11 - The Ghost Ships of Arizona (16 page)

“Hold.”

The minutes ticked by. Drake shaded his eyes from the heat.

“Drake?” An American twang focused his meandering thoughts. “Is that really you? Shit, man, I heard all about your exploits. Thought you’d forgot about lil’ old me.”

“Course you did,
Colonel.
It must truly suck to be you.”

“You have no idea. But I’m sure you understand it’s not all pancakes and maple syrup at the top.”

“Oh, I do.”

“And Matt,” the Colonel’s voice lowered, “I was sorry to hear about Sam and Jo. And even Wells.”

Drake nodded to the desert. “Thank you.”

“But Crouch is still out there. One of the good old boys, that one. A stalwart. Called in a favor only a few weeks ago. I’m pretty sure he owes
me
now but I would never tell him so.”

Drake was silent, contemplating all that had gone before. It was odd how the quiet and stillness of a desert panorama brought forth his inner thinker. He was still musing when Rudd spoke up.

“Drake? You still there?”

“Aye, I mean yes. I was just lost in all that has already slipped by.”

“Don’t even think about that scary shit. Now, what can I do for you?”

Drake responded to the change in tone as Rudd knew he would, the brusque tenor catching his attention. “Well, I have a strange request.”

And he launched into Karin’s story, telling as much as was relevant and ending with her request and his own promise to help. Rudd listened carefully without interruption and when Drake was done probed him with some hard questions as to her mental and physical health and prowess. Drake heard a shout—Jenny’s raucous summons—and realized time was short.

“Can you help her?”

“Matt, this is a fully functioning, hard-learning military base. If she does come here there can be no special favors.”

“That’s exactly the point.”

“And she has some idea what to expect?”

“Karin has been around soldiers for years now. Acted positively in some of our worst situations. I will vouch for her.”

“Well, what can I say to that? I don’t like it but I’m not gonna refuse you. Try again, but if you can’t change her mind send her here immediately, but once she’s in—she’s in. Get me?”

“Affirmative. I’ll explain it to her.”

“Be clear. This ain’t the fuckin’ World Championships and she ain’t that Ennis chick, Drake.”

“I understand, I think.”

Rudd sighed long and hard. “As if I ain’t got enough shit to contend with. If this fucks up, Drake, if she fucks up in any way, I’ll come looking for you.”

Drake knew it was no idle threat. “I appreciate this, mate, more than you will ever know.”

“All right, no need to bring out the English-isms. That friggin’ language of yours is hard enough to get your head around with referring to me as your ‘mate’. Shit, I’m military. Talk to your friend, Drake, and if she still wants in—send her.”

Drake signed off. The small convoy sat beyond hearing distance, now clearly waiting for him. What he would have liked right now were many moments of contemplation. An hour of examining morals and needs and plain old gut instinct. What he actually had was no time at all—not even a minute. Brushing himself off he rose and jogged back to the cars, climbed in and made ready. The two-way crackled into life and Jenny’s raucous tones lit up the air.

“We all good now?”

“We’re good. Let’s kick this mother into action.”

“Say what?”

“Let’s go.”

The cars rolled out. Drake immediately turned to Karin and relayed the conversation he’d just had with Rudd. The expression of relief that took residence in her face said it all—she needed this more than anything in her whole life. From far too young an age Karin had been losing the people most dear to her. The simple fact was that by taking control and earning confidence and training to win she saw the way to becoming the manager of her own destiny.

“First chance,” he promised. “You’re out of here.”

Yorgi piloted the car, saying nothing. Jenny broke in over the radio at random intervals, explaining their route, crossing an actual road to continue into the wilderness and avoiding human contact at all turns. The satnav told Drake they were heading in an unwieldy direction for the large body of water known as the Salton Sea, what used to be a much larger inland sea at the time of the American Indians. What even might once have been connected to the Gulf of California. The area around there was as connected with lost desert ships as much as anywhere in the world.

Karin spoke up. “An interesting thing about Thomas Cavendish, the man who attacked the Manila galleon and divided her treasure between the
Content
and
Desire
, is that he limped back into London a year later, obviously minus the
Content
which was never heard from again, sporting new blue sails of pure damask—he was a huge success financially and by all other means, and at twenty eight faster than Sir Francis Drake, and then knighted by the Queen—”

Drake wondered for a moment where she was getting all this information. No laptop sat open on Karin’s knee. Then he remembered. “It’s so odd knowing someone with an eidetic memory.”

Karin ignored him. “And then being dead three years later.”

“Three years?”

“Yes, buoyed by his overwhelming success Cavendish set off on a second voyage of circumnavigation and died. Unknown causes. Unknown place. His name lost through time, remembered only by a brand of pipe tobacco.”

“That is thing about time,” Yorgi said. “It erases everything.”

Drake nodded wistfully. “Eventually, even heroes turn to dust.” He spoke before his brain caught up, then kicked himself. “Bollocks.”

Karin laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right.”

Drake, embarrassed, fished out his cellphone and distracted himself with a call to Hayden. The unofficial boss of SPEAR told him that in addition to their attempting to stave off a third mercenary assault she was in touch with a local facility that was studying ground penetrating radar images of the entire Arizona/California area in question, seriously searching for anything out of the ordinary, but had so far come up blank.

“You don’t realize the size of the area you have to cover,” Hayden said.

Drake grimaced at the windshield of the car. “Y’know, I think I do.”

“The old fashioned way not so good?”

“There’s a reason it’s called ‘old fashioned’.”

“Fighting for the US government has turned you marshmallow soft,” Dahl chimed in.

Drake laughed. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

“Not that you Brits ever get far past soft, given the limits of your training.”

“Don’t even go there, pal.”

Dahl’s laugh drifting away told them he’d won that particular head-to-head, easily getting a rise out of Drake. Hayden returned and Drake explained what was going to happen to Karin. Hayden’s questioning eventually came back around to the subject of the ghost ships.

“So nothing’s jumped out at you yet?”

“Nothing that’s been buried in sand for five hundred years anyway.”

“Maybe it’s all a hoax designed to split us up.” Hayden sounded disappointed.

“And on that subject I think we should rejoin. We’re stretched. Alicia’s on the way, but still . . .”

“As soon as we’re done at Sierra Nevada we will rendezvous.”

“Good. Then
you
can take the ghost watch after midnight.”

“Sounds spooky.”

Drake was about to say, “It can be,” then heard Dahl mimicking a moaning ghost in the background. “Maybe you leave the Swedish chef behind? Do us all a favor.”

Jenny called a halt over the two-way as a glistening body of water came into view off to the left. The perimeter alone stretched further than the eye could see and there were stories that most of these reportedly lost ships were now
underneath
this actual sea, buried in its darkest depths. Drake suddenly felt a little overwhelmed.

“There has to be an easier way than this.”

Jenny clucked at him. “What? Ya don’t trust me now?”

“There’s one last thing,” Hayden said quietly. “We do have reinforcements on the way, but the sheer weight of enemy numbers tells us the Pythians have no concerns over that and no thought about the welfare of their men. We feel exactly the opposite. I have the ISN—the Institute of Soldier Nanotechnologies—on board. They’re based at MIT but have been tasked to supply us with their latest awesome invention—nanofoam body armor.”

Drake had heard the rumors. “It exists?”

“Of course it exists. We only hear about these things when they’re old news and the military experts have moved on. Yes, they’re still being tested but we might be able to get our hands on some.”

“I’m not sure I’d want to.”

“Trust me, you do. But hey, I’ll let you know.”

Drake ended the call, wondering just how many mercenaries were out there waiting, how big his reinforcement company might be and just what would happen when the showdown began.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Hayden joined Kinimaka and Dahl in the lobby of their hotel. The trio had just arrived back from Sierra Nevada, having spent the entire day prepping for an attack that hadn’t happened. With nothing more to be done they had decided to get some rest. Hayden was too tired for a sit-down meal and opted for taking a sandwich to bed. Kinimaka looked gutted.

“You stay.” Hayden pointed to the well-lit archway that led to the hotel’s restaurant. “Order a horse. With chips.”

The Hawaiian looked suspicious. “Are you saying that I’ve put on weight?”

Hayden laughed. “Of course not. But I do know you like your food.”

Kinimaka admitted defeat and headed inside. Hayden said goodnight to Dahl and took the elevator to their floor. Withdrawing her gun she entered her hotel room, eyes flicking left and right. A cursory check told her the room was empty and nothing appeared to be out of place. That led to a detailed check which also revealed nothing. Even so, Hayden didn’t undress when she went to bed. Instead, she kept the lights on and slipped under the top cover, logging onto the Wi-Fi and flicking randomly through her cellphone. Gradually, the automated exercise began to dull her mind and send her to sleep. There was a reason these phones were called Android, she mused, considering the robotic nature they implanted into their user.

Kinimaka came in not long later and never saw Hayden’s hand under the pillow, gripped around her Glock.

“Lock the door, Mano. Double lock it.”

“Always do.” Kinimaka gauged her weariness and then began undressing. “You tired?”

“I’m never too tired for that,” Hayden laughed at his obtuse question. “But, in truth, you did just choose a meal over me.”

“Eating’s important.” Kinimaka climbed into bed. “Gives you energy.”

Hayden knew the reply should be “you’re gonna need it” or something naughtier that might green-light their private carousing but the thought hit her then:
private?

Inhibition pierced her like a long needle. Tyler Webb had the uncanny knack of being fully able to invade and spy upon her most private life and God only knew what he had already seen. Right now, she was drawing the line. There would be nothing more before they brought the bastard to cold, hard justice.

“Actually, Mano, I am a little tired. I think I’ll go to sleep.”

“Okay. Maybe in the morning then.”

Kinimaka slid in beside her, not noticing that she lay fully clothed beneath the sheet. He switched the light off without checking her wide-open eyes. Within seconds he was asleep, leaving her to make sure her phone was switched to “loud” in case the facility was threatened, to set her alarm and, with a deep breath of fear, to turn out the light.

*

Hayden woke early the next morning, feeling oddly refreshed. She stared at the ceiling, at the light flooding through the imperfect windows. The sunshine invigorated her; maybe she could slip onto the balcony and bask in it. A rumbling mountain lay at her side, most likely the reason she had awakened.

Did I really sleep so long?

Considering her final thoughts of the night it surprised her. Pleased though, she sat up.

And met the eyes of the stalker standing at the foot of her bed—the man with the smug grin, the man whose eyes spoke of an infinite horror, the man who haunted her dreams and tore strips from her soul, the Pythian leader—

Tyler Webb.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Hayden screamed and then went for the gun, but found her hand grasping only air and pillow.
How the hell had this bastard gotten so close without waking me up?

Never mind. Webb had outplayed himself this time. Trying to ignore the chagrin she felt at screaming—a sense of embarrassment and failure that months of this kind of torture naturally fostered—she threw off the single sheet and jumped to her feet. Webb grinned soullessly at her.

Something wasn’t right.

Kinimaka was suddenly in motion, shifting the bed with the sheer force of his instant momentum. Webb grinned even wider. Hayden would get to him first, but every forward move she made was stunted by a wave of caution.
What are we missing?

She grabbed his shirt, hauled him toward her, ready to vent months of frustration and feeling a moment of elation when the other great fact occurred to her—

This was the Pythian leader! Captured . . .

“The end is coming,” Webb hissed in her face. “But not today.”

His tongue flicked out, touching her cheek, and then the great bulk of Kinimaka was there. Except there were
two
bulks, and one was considerably more sinuous and deadly than Mano’s.

Even without seeing the face Hayden knew.

Beauregard Alain.

It was the reason Webb remained so calm, so infuriatingly smug. Beauregard had already removed their guns and they were no match for him in hand-to-hand. Still, that didn’t stop them trying. Hayden shoved Webb into the far wall and spun with a straight elbow to the face. Beauregard dipped and glided away, straight into Kinimaka’s bulk. The Hawaiian grabbed eagerly, then grunted as striking blows hammered against pressure points. Webb stayed up against the wall, watching. Hayden kicked at the back of Beauregard’s legs, digging into his calf. The Frenchman jumped as if hit by a cattle prod, lashing out in mid-air and catching her a painful blow on the arm. He came down on the bed, jabbed Kinimaka with a right and Hayden with a left just below the ear.