The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake 6) (25 page)

Jonathan Gates accepted the hugs from Karin and Lauren Fox, and even Komodo. This was a team he could depend on, enhance, and trust to always have his back. When Smyth and Romero came forward, he heartily shook their hands. It had been a good outcome to a terrifying situation, and one to be celebrated, but he had the dreadful feeling that it would not always be so.

What was coming next?

Monsters swam near the surface, and there was always another one waiting to rear its twisted head. New threats were the staple diet of the men and women who safeguarded the free world. For them it would never end.

Gates soon excused himself and left Karin and her colleagues to their celebrations. He took a moment to talk to Lauren Fox outside the main comms room.

“Thank you,” he said. “I know you were prepared to see through all I asked.”

Lauren had flown down to D
.C. at his request. Now she explained her most recent experience in New York.

“My apartment was being watched, sir.
At least, from the ground floor. Who knows if anyone broke in and bugged the damn place?”

“I find it hard to believe that General Stone figured you out, let alone found you so quickly. Are you sure it was his men?”

Lauren blinked, and fingered the threads of the old cardigan she wore. “Who else could it have been?”

Gates voiced his thoughts. “You
’re on record as being part of the SPEAR team. C
onfidential
records,” he stressed. “But records nonetheless.”

Lauren frowned. “I don
’t like the sound of that. I’ve been around, sir. I
know
how confidential those things actually are.”

“Then stay here.” Gates didn
’t respond to her cynicism. His own impression was that the government’s security systems were quite thorough. “Just for now. On my dime. I’ll make some enquiries.”

Even as the New Yorker started to smile, Gates turned on his heel and walked away. It was time to get back to his office. There still remained a matter that required urgent attention. As he walked, he passed by the heavily barred, steel door that led to the facility
’s underground escape route. Whoever designed it to surface in the Pennsylvania Mall was a genius. More escape routes than the New York Zoo.

He laughed aloud,
then looked around self-consciously. It wouldn’t do for a senator to be seen laughing to himself. No point in giving the opposition ammunition. He allowed himself one more grin by entertaining the idea of suggesting the same escape route strategy to President Coburn, before slipping his game face back on and stepping out into the open air.

He saw the Secret Service agents straight away. That was good, normal. Beyond them was a second car,
government issue, also watching. Why would they send two?

Don
’t be an idiot,
he thought.
We just escaped a calamity. Of course they would assign more men to your safety.

Well, the calamity was over. And now he had that other urgent matter to attend to.

Pulling out his cell phone, he called Sarah Moxley. It seemed a good day for a celebration after all.

****

Matt Drake drove Mai and Yorgi through the sand dunes to Camp Babylon. The crisis across the world had been averted, and he was hoping it was time to take a break. He felt like he’d been fighting hard for months on end, ever since the gods first reared their divinely hideous heads.

Now it was time to soak in a little sunshine, a little Mai-time, and a little Dinorock time.
All the good things in life.

He chose not to think about Mai
’s crisis, not yet.

As they bounced over the rugged roads and sandbanks Mai took five minutes to call her sister, Chika, and then Dai Hibiki. She asked about Gyuki and about the old clan. She asked about recent sightings and recent assassinations across the globe. She listened quietly for a long time, eyes unreadable in that true Japanese manner. When she ended her call, Drake spoke up.

“You know, Zanko told me that Zoya knew Coyote.”

Mai didn
’t take her eyes off the road. “Hmm, well, I saw Zoya too, Matt. I wouldn’t put much faith in Zanko and Zoya if I were you.”

“But still,” Drake breathed. “We should revisit her place sometime. Maybe we
’ll find some clues.”

“Maybe.”

The U.S. Army camp came into view. Drake showed his I.D. and, after confirmation, drove through the inner gates and took a little time out in the camp barracks. After a shower and a meal he sought a quiet corner to make a call.

“Hey mate, how
’s it going?”

Ben Blake grunted down the line. “Not bad.
Finally got myself a new bird, anyway.”

Drake laughed. “Thank God.
Thought you were licking the other side of the stamp for a while there.”

“Piss off.”

“What’s her name?”

“Stace
y.”

“Stace
y?”
Drake laughed. “As in
Stacy’s Mom
? Has
she
got it going on?”

“Like I haven
’t heard that one already. Even my dad said it. What the hell do you want anyway?”

“I wanted to tell you,” Drake said somberly. “The Odin thing
’s finally over, mate. The tombs are gone. The device is gone. It’s all finished. Thought you should know.”

Ben was silent for a long time. Then, “Thank God.”

“Well, thank
Drake
, at least.”

“Next time you
’re in York . . .”

Drake smiled in the dark. “Yeah, next time.”

****

Mai Kitano watched Drake
’s shadow from her own world of darkness. She could tell when he smiled, when he frowned, when he grew sad, all through observing his body language.

It was what she had been trained to do.
By
them.

By the C
lan. The people who owned her. The bastards who had purchased her from desperate parents, without giving the barest hint of what they would ultimately use her for.

And what had they done?
she thought. Turned her into a killing machine, a mindless, mechanical robot with gears so twisted she could never return to her former self – innocent, free, full of promise. The young Mai had a whole life of potential before her. They had taken that with the selfish detached greed of monsters.

And now, it seemed, they wanted everything she had left.

The assassin of assassins, Gyuki, had just called her cell. Using a minimum of words and with only the most basic of emotions, he had literally ordered her to meet him in the center of Tokyo on Friday at 1300 hours.

“Meet with me or die. You belong to us. And if you choose not to come . . . you will know our true vengeance.”

Mai felt real, debilitating fear for the first time in almost two decades. If she hadn’t been leaning against the window frame she would have slipped to the floor. Gyuki’s key words cut deeper than any blade she had ever known.

You belong to us.

The old man walked in line, keeping step, chains jangling between the manacles clamped around his ankles. The orange jumpsuit didn’t flatter him. It was baggy and torn, and like nothing he’d ever worn before. The eyes of the prison guards latched onto him, running deep with pure hatred. He noted how each man’s fingers went deathly white around the chunky stock of his gun as he passed them, and how confident they seemed when hiding in their own little cages.

Standing safe, for now.

Down in the mess hall, he sat apart. They were all seated separately, with only fifteen allowed to eat at the same time. Nevertheless, he was a man of limitless means and unimaginable power, and when he wanted a message passed on . . . someone died horribly if it didn’t happen. Not in here.
Out there.
He had maintained contact with the outside world.

Today, his bought guard turned a blind eye when he momentarily paused between two tables. The guards, to the government
’s credit, had all proven fruitless sources of corruption for many weeks. But then something had happened. The old man was only too aware that something always happened. Something unforeseen. And that’s when his men had pounced.

And the promise of a personal little island near Zanzibar never hurt when winning the heart of a peasant.

The Blood King dropped his plastic fork and bowed his head, speaking to both lieutenants at once.

“Are we ready?”

Mordant, his chief, inclined his own head. The man’s appearance never failed to unsettle the Blood King, despite all he had seen in his life. Mordant was an albino. His huge, egg-shaped, perfectly white head was completely hairless. Now a pink tongue flicked over pale lips.

“On your word.”

The other lieutenant, Gabriel, a wiry African, concurred. The Blood King actually counted himself lucky that he had come across these two whilst taking a few months convalescence in this so-called ‘secret’ penitentiary. They were blood brothers – known as The Twins
 
– despite their obvious differences. But more than that – they were far beyond the worst of the worst, sadistic nightmares that the real world couldn’t cope with or contain, beyond skillful, highly intelligent, pure psychotic gold.

Either man made Kovalenko
’s old lieutenant, Boudreau, look like a newborn kitten by comparison.

Indeed, they were so violent and ferocious, the Blood King always remembered to show them respect, a fact in itself that complimented them. It was something he had never afforded any man before.

“Thank you,” he said and, standing upright, made his way to his table. The food on his plate was piping hot, the coffee smelled good. But he wasn’t really in the mood. He was already looking forward to a much more satisfying meal.

And much more than that.
His question hadn’t merely been aimed at the state of their preparedness in this prison. It had also been querying the readiness of their forces
out there
, on the outside. The very same enquiry he had been making for weeks. The proposal he had originally outlined for The Twins had brought simultaneous grins, the monsters inside them shining forth. Later, it had been passed on to his concealed forces on the outside and had taken months to put in place, involving the deaths of many innocents, the greasing of countless palms, the purchase of much hardware and White House secrets, and of course the constant surveillance of a chosen few.

His plan was monumental. In one stroke, he would devastate the Americans, leave the country crippled and bleeding, and show the world how he, the Blood King, extracted his terrible blood vengeance.

THE END

For more information on the future of the Matt Drake series, read on:

Next time, everything changes as the Blood King gets his revenge in Matt Drake 7 – ‘Blood Vengeance’, due for release January 2014.

. . . Matt Drake’s team is torn apart around him. Washington D.C. is under siege. The President has been taken . . .

The Blood King is back.

Prepare for Hell . . .

And since I often get asked about when the Coyote will make her appearance, I’d like to say, now that I positively know, that it will be resolved in Matt Drake 8.

As some might already know, I have taken one or two small liberties with the U.S. Army camps of Iraq in this book, and the general layout of Honolulu airport. I hope it didn’t spoil your enjoyment.

Word of mouth is essential for any author to succeed. If you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a review at Amazon, even if it’s only a line or two; it makes all the difference and would be very much appreciated.