Read Matt Drake 07 - Blood Vengeance Online
Authors: David Leadbeater
Matt Drake 07 - Blood Vengeance (17 page)
Kinimaka pulled his handgun out and fired even before figures burst through the breached doorway. Two men ran into his rounds and sprawled half-way across the room, lifeless; but more quickly followed. This was a full-scale breach. Smyth was closest to the door and used the smoke created by the blast to launch a surprise attack, wrestling with the next two attackers. One he punched so hard Kinimaka saw his face cave; the other he spun around and grabbed in a chokehold.
Komodo slid belly first across the floor, reaching for the weapon he had left lying on the sofa. Karin kicked it toward him, at the same time scrambling over the back to find shelter. Komodo caught the gun and shot another attacker in the knees, then the head.
Already that was five down. More surged inside the house.
Smyth used his captive as a shield whilst wrestling away his gun. Kinimaka was shocked to see Yorgi step up and stand in front of a dazed Sarah Moxley. Not even the closeness of her own death penetrated her stupor. Yorgi fired as a bunch of attackers burst into the room.
Kinimaka stood at the bedroom door. The attackers were bunched together, expecting sheer numbers to win the day. And it just might. At this rate the SPEAR team would be overwhelmed in minutes. Then the battle took a turn toward something much worse.
Kinimaka saw the albino arrive, slip like a wraith around the shattered door and square up to Smyth. To his credit he waited until Smyth threw his current assailant to the side, but then he hit like a cargo plane. Even Smyth staggered under the onslaught, barely able to defend
himself; each defensive deflection seeming to cause him pain. When he found a second to attack, his strikes were blocked, turned aside, then punished.
Kinimaka emptied his clip and rammed home another. Hayden was trying to sit up in bed.
“Mano?”
“No. Lie down. You’ll die if you move, Hayden.”
“I’ll die if I don’t. It’s the Agents’ Grid, Mano. And no way . . . no way to shut it down unless . . . unless Karin can—”
“Got it.
I know.” Kinimaka saw Yorgi shoot a man and Smyth’s huge bulk lifted into the air as if he were a rag doll.
“Shit,” he said. “We’re in trouble. That fuckin’ albino could take us all out.”
Smyth crashed down, crying out loud. Komodo scrambled toward the door. Bullets laced the air. Rounds struck the sofa, the floor, the walls, and the windows. The safe house was a crazy melee, swarming with hired madmen and their bloodlust; heavy with death.
Kinimaka saw Karin crawling around the back of the sofa. He beckoned her over, covering her brief run with gunfire. When she gained the bedroom she went straight to Hayden’s side.
“What can I do?”
“Nothing.
But we might have to move her, so get ready. There are two more ways outta here. One through a trapdoor, the other out the back. Hayden can’t go down the trapdoor, that’s for sure.”
“Okay.”
Kinimaka loosed another bullet. “And Hayden seems to think they found us by using the Grid. That sound right to you?”
“The
Grid?
You mean the Special Agent Grid? That’s unhackable.”
“
So’s the DOT’s secret traffic signal system. But they broke into that.”
“Bloody hell.
I’m not even sure
I
could—”
“We need you to unhack the hack,” Kinimaka said. “And fast.”
“Well, I need a computer first. And how do they even know the Grid exists? Very few are privy to that kind of information, Mano.”
“This bastard, Kovalenko.
He has his fingers into everything.”
“No. He has a major insider
—”
“Not now.” Kinimaka saw they were losing the battle. The team was on the defensive. They only had scope for one more gigantic effort.
“Gotta go.”
The big Hawaiian plowed into the room, lining up his targets. In a matter of seconds he plucked Lauren from the floor and threw her bodily back into the bedroom, sending her tumbling through the open door. In another second he was level with Yorgi and yelling at him to take Moxley and retreat. The Russian thief took her weight and dragged her away. Kinimaka held strong as a bullet smashed into him, striking his Kevlar vest. He charged at the crowd of men, splitting them apart like bowling pins and then, when he reached the other end of the room, he ripped the shattered, dangling door right off its broken hinges.
The attackers turned toward him. Kinimaka swung the big door like a baseball bat, smashing every man aside. The timbers shattered, falling apart as they hit. Kinimaka was left with shards of wood in his hand and an open front door behind him.
Could they . . .?
But then Smyth collided with him, bouncing clear. Kinimaka locked eyes with the albino.
“Fancy a shot
at the title, big boy?”
He didn’t. Kinimaka grabbed hold of Smyth and hurled the ex-Delta soldier toward the far door. At his feet
, felled men were beginning to stir. He had dropped his gun when he wielded the door and now didn’t have time to look for it.
“Back away,” he said to the albino.
“Now.”
“You
ever been to jail, big boy?”
Kinimaka felt pissed. Suddenly, it was okay for everyone to be sizist was it? “No. And stop calling me ‘big boy’, you
vile white devil.”
“In jail, you speak like
that, it’s like issuing a challenge. You need to learn more respect . . .
big boy.”
Kinimaka never stopped moving, easing carefully past the one remaining attacker, knowing that he didn’t want to provoke this man. Now was one of those times when retreat seemed more prudent than wading into battle. Not only that, he had seven bruised buddies about to wake up.
Komodo rose unsteadily, giving the Hawaiian a hard look. Kinimaka realized he might have inadvertently taken his own man out too. That sure wouldn’t help his clumsy reputation. Smyth finally managed to compose himself and turned, reaching for a weapon.
Kinimaka backed away.
“You good enough to take all three of us, chalky?”
The albino’s eyes raised
and narrowed, red-rimmed and bloodshot against his pure white skin.
Shit,
Kinimaka thought.
The crazy bastard’s up for it!
Faster than thought, Kinimaka turned and ran. Komodo moved with him. Smyth squeezed off a round. Maybe they could have stayed and defeated the albino, but Hayden’s life was more important now. They flew into the bedroom. Karin already had Hayden sitting in an upright position, and had wrapped some duct tape they had found in the kitchen around both her wounds. Hayden’s head hung low, but
rose when Kinimaka ran to her.
“Let’s get outta here.”
He started to scoop her up, but then Smyth held out a hand. “Wait,” he said.
“We can’t wait.”
The angry man glared over at Kinimaka. “I said wait. I didn’t say it for fun.”
Komodo’s stance changed. His whole demeanor altered from one of aggression to one of relief.
“They’re gone,” Smyth said. “They just got up, listened as the albino took a call, and left.”
Kinimaka sighed with relief. “Now we can get her to a hospital.”
“For that to happen,” Karin said. “Kovalenko must have called them off. Only he could do that. And that means . . .”
“Something huge is going down,” Komodo said. “
Only that would make the Blood King feel the need to interrupt his vendetta.”
“Fire up a computer,” Kinimaka told Karin. “See if you can take down the Special Agent
Grid. And Komodo, grab a satnav. I want the nearest hospital programmed in. And Smyth—”
The soldier still glared at him.
“Go outside. Take a look around and over the city. Maybe head up to the roof. I wanna know what happens the moment it hits.”
Drake felt like a man leaping to his own doom as he jumped onto the escalator’s central divide and sailed down in Dahl’s wake. The surface was slippery smooth, contributing to a swift increase in their speed. Drake heard a whoop from behind and knew that Alicia had climbed on too.
One after the other, the three SPEAR team members slid toward the Blood King, his men, and the President at high speed, firing high but still making them duck their heads and lose focus. One man tripped and fell headlong down the escalator. Dahl smashed through an oblong-shaped upright in the center of the divide, but barely noticed. His balance was perfect and never altered. He flew down the entire escalator at high speed, in just a few seconds hitting the end with his legs high and tucking to control his inevitable tumble. He landed, rolled and came up with his gun raised just as the Blood King’s men jumped down the last few steps.
The African leaped at him. Drake landed in a tangle. Alicia cheered, enjoying the air time as she flew off the escalator, landing on her knees and sliding across the polished floor. Dahl stood up to the African, offering no quarter and giving no retreat. The Blood King and two of his men ran straight at Drake. The other man collapsed at the bottom of the escalator, right onto his face. It appeared his hands were tied.
President Coburn stooped down to help him.
Drake rose and waded right into Kovalenko, welcoming the attack. It felt good to pound the Blood King’s flesh. He doubled the man over with a strike to the plexus, broke his nose with a rising knee, and smashed an elbow into the upcoming neck. All standard stuff, but Kovalenko staggered away, gurgling. The next two men looked to be
a tougher prospect. Drake sidestepped a knife thrust and broke the wielder’s wrist, then maneuvered the man so his colleague couldn’t get past. The first man was far from finished, however, and propelled Drake back against the wall. Once there, his colleague stepped around. Drake ducked a stiffened fingerstab, letting it strike the wall, then grabbed hold of the man by the back of the neck and smashed his face against the hard surface. He turned once again to the man with the broken wrist.
To find President Coburn in the act of stabbing a piece of jagged plastic hard into the
man’s neck from behind; an act that took some solid balls.
When the man folded, blood spraying, Drake nodded. “Mr. President.”
Kovalenko cried out in rage. In a moment of frustration he lunged toward Coburn, but the President stood his ground, shrugging off the Russian’s attack. Kovalenko staggered, seemingly bowed by defeat.
But it was far from over. Dahl traded blow for blow with the African, both men standing toe to toe and refusing to back down. Kovalenko held a gun and fished a phone out of his pocket.
Just then, Bravo’s team leader barged down the last few steps of the escalator. His face beamed a bright shade of crimson.
“Late to the fuckin’ party,” Alicia murmured as she came up behind Dahl.
“Don’t you guys listen to your goddamn comms?”
“We’ve been
kinda busy saving the President’s ass.”
“Well,
do you remember Kovalenko’s other two teams? They also dropped into the underground a while back, through other Metro stations. No trains means empty tunnels. And they’re all converging here,
now
!”
Drake’s eyes widened and he risked a glance behind him, where a
wide-open, empty platform led to the train tracks. Sure enough, men were starting to climb onto the platform.
Kovalenko planned this?
Seconds to decide.
What to do
?
“And not only that,” Kovalenko said with a grin,
having regained his composure and holding up his phone. “DC’s about to go boom.” He spoke into the phone. “Send in the drone!”
Soldiers pounded down the escalator.
Drake knew he only had seconds to weigh the options. The Blood King was right there, backing away slowly and with a confident grin stretched across his craggy face; his remaining two backup teams mere seconds away. President Coburn stood behind Dahl and Alicia, staying quiet for now, but already signaling to the descending soldiers that something was wrong.
Gabriel stood between Drake and the Blood King, bruised and bloody but none more so than Dahl, still with that manic grin stretched across his face. If anything, the wiry African looked even more delighted.
Drake pretended to wrestle with his inner self, but pure common sense dictated the right thing to do. America needed its President back in one piece—and the SPEAR team had helped to accomplish that. The Blood King would wait for another hour, another day.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said as Kovalenko backed away.
“The Blood Vendetta will never end. Not whilst I live. I have already ruined you, Drake. I have ruined my great enemy. I too look forward to the last act, dah?”
A clatter of grenades bounced across the floor, followed by a loud explosion. Debris erupted from the blast point, a small chunk slamming Drake in the vest and doubling him over, the jolt of pain so intense he could barely breathe. He fell to his knees, losing focus, but battled to stay conscious. Shouts sounded from all around. Shattered brick, timber and stone continued to rai
n down from the ruptured walls and surroundings.
Drake crawled forward, barely able to see two feet in front of him.
His outstretched hand touched Alicia, who was kneeling and shaking her head. Beside her, Dahl sat as though in a daze. Drake slapped his face once, twice.
Dahl blinked and sighed. “That’s enough.”
Drake made it three times the charm, to Dahl’s annoyance. Alicia looked to be planning a fourth when Dahl rose carefully and slowly to his feet.
“Bollocks.”
Drake followed his gaze. The arched entrance to the train tracks was completely blocked off. The damage had been almost completely localized.
“One more failsafe for Kovalenko,” Drake said.
The President still stood, shoulders covered in dust and little bits of rubble, and shouted at the first soldier who reached the bottom of the escalator. “Warn them up top. Something’s about to hit.
Warn them!”
he shouted into the wavering soldier’s face.
“Give them a chance!”
“Mr. President, my orders are for the sole—”
Coburn wrenched the man’s comms away. The Bravo team leader had already reported a possible strike, but the President’s voice would add immense potency to the threat. The rest of the soldiers surrounded the President, completely ignoring the Blood King’s mode of retreat, Drake, and his team.
Alicia eyed a man who shouldered by her. “You’re welcome.”
“They’re just doing their job.” Dahl steadied her. “Soldiers do that.”
“Let’s go.” Coburn threw the comms device back at the luckless soldier and started toward the ascending escalator. Drake watched him walk away,
then turned again to track Kovalenko’s retreat.
“Bastard’s gone.”
Dahl came up beside him. “Op’s complete,” he said. “Time to go up top and find out what the hell’s happening up there.”
Drake reached for his phone.
“And to call our friends.”
****
If anyone had had any conventional thoughts and plans about tracking and capturing Dmitry Kovalenko through the miles and miles of underground tunnels, junctions, cross-passages, old stations and rabbit warrens which snaked beneath Washington; if anyone had pointed out that the lack of running trains aided his escape; if anyone had realized that the team led by Mordant, his other lieutenant, would eventually meet with him, then those generally uninspired thoughts had been ripped to tatters by the time President Coburn saw the rising sun.
Smyth and many others saw
the menace first, the UCAV, the Unmanned Combat Air Vehicle, rise up and swing in low across the heart of the city. If it had been near the White House, Capitol Hill, or other major buildings, it might have been shot down by their defenses, but it swooped in an arc over the Dupont Circle, then settled into an unwavering flight pattern.
Kovalenko would have known where the main forces and main
players would be situated by now. Had he ever actually intended to take the President any further than this Metro station? Had he intended to kill him there? Conceal him in the blast? No one would ever know. Maybe Coburn’s death had been planned as the last act in the Blood Vendetta and the drone was a distraction technique.
Smyth had seen this kind of drone before, a US Hunter Killer. It operated under real-time human control, boasted a big payload capacity and hours of flight time. The subject of unmanned drones was a highly sensitive one, and this fiasco sure wasn’t going to help. Even the new ones, called ‘full autonomy’, which could think and learn for themselves, continued to rack up collateral damage in various war zones. If Kovalenko had somehow managed to get his hands on one he must have a mole inside the United States Air Force.
Not exactly the biggest surprise of the day. And, as Smyth knew, anything could be stolen. It just took the right minds and enough ruthless men.
Smyth watched with eyes that had seen it all before. These things used stealth technology and were able to deploy a range of munitions over a number of targets, all with surprising speed. It could defend itself against manned and other unmanned aircraft. It could deploy countermeasures to foil missiles. There was nothing he could do except watch and report.
“Is Hayden prepped?” He spoke directly to Karin.
“Ready to go.
You’re on speakerphone.”
“I’d wait a while. This won’t last long, but Washington’s about to come under attack.”
Smyth ended the call as gasps of disbelief bombarded his ears.
****
Drake sprinted hard up the escalator, taking the metal risers two at a time. When he emerged from the shadow of the underground and reached the top, he found a station in chaos; the entrance leading to the street thick with soldiers, FBI agents, SWAT, almost every acronym Drake could think of, and plenty more that probably didn’t officially exist. The President was surrounded by a force of soldiers, and a small detachment of Secret Service agents were making their way to his side. Though 23
rd
Street was wide there was barely a space to be had between the Metro entrance and the Circa restaurant and Citibank across the road and along the road to the right that led deeper into the University area.
Drake, recognizing men of his own natural vocation, strode over to a group of Special Forces soldiers. The men who eyed him nodded after a few seconds, before returning their attention to a small screen held by their captain.
“Snipers have a bead on it,” one of them breathed. “Wait. Gonna take it out.”
“Fucker has to be guided by a hacked military satellite,” another muttered. “Command should just take
that
out.”
“It might not
be
a satellite-controlled drone,” someone else answered. “Could be hacked locally, retrofitted with some kind of GPS software.”
“Even,” another man said. “Stolen or hijacked from one of our private security companies.
Someone like Blackrock. They have drones all over the world guarding their mercenaries.”
Then Drake looked up as
the drone blasted overhead.
****
Smyth watched the drone employ its super-agile air defenses as it came under fire. Switching between precision-guided and precision-miniature weapons, it suppressed the army defenses and strafed the open spaces around the Metro Station. High-velocity rounds stitched a curving line through the massed forces down there, continuing through Washington Circle Park, taking chunks out of the monument and peppering the walls of nearby buildings.
Smyth hung his head. “God help us.”
The drone swooped, then rose almost vertically and made to come around for a second pass. Fighter jets would have been scrambled almost immediately, but even those already on alert would take two to three minutes to hit the skies over Washington.
A fully
armed drone could do a lot of damage in two minutes, depending on the skills of the human controller. No doubt he was just aiming for mayhem, and was cruelly accomplishing just that. The drone flew down like an attacking hawk, firing its lethal projectiles at a terrifying rate. Parked cars jumped and shook as they were torn apart. Running men fell in the street. Glass windows and the sides of buildings shattered and fragmented, pouring debris down onto the men below. Even the hospital came under fire, along with the ambulances and white FBI cars parked outside. Street lights, trees and exterior stalls collapsed, crashing down among a group of soldiers. Outside the Metro station, I Street was clogged with vehicles and personnel, most in disorder and chaos as they tried to deal with the first few minutes of Kovalenko’s newest strike. The drone came in at about treetop height, a deadly black-painted predator, and mowed a wavering line from one side of the street to the other. The sound of bullets discharging and plowing into hard concrete and solid steel was overwhelming as the UCAV felled all in its path. Before it began to pull up again, an echoing boom was heard as two F-22’s sliced through the skies.
The drone swerved between buildings.
****
Drake ran toward the madness, Dahl and Alicia at his side. When they burst out of the
furthest station entrance the drone had already blasted overhead, stitching the ground along its flight path with a good chunk of its payload. Drake saw snipers on the roofs and soldiers on the streets, all with rifles aimed high, along with black-suited agents pointing their guns to the skies, all standing in the face of the onslaught and returning fire. They put up a stiff, heroic resistance but the drone passed by intact. Seconds later, the F-22’s tore the clouds apart as they spotted and locked on to their target. The drone vanished along a wide street but couldn’t just sit there. It soared out of the far end, hurrying to get some altitude before it began a third devastating run.
Drake could imagine the frantic communications passing between the fighter pilots and command. All they needed was the go-ahead to destroy the drone over downtown Washington and the battle would be done. All they needed was a man with a set of brass balls.
To his right, Drake heard President Coburn ask for an immediate line of communication to be opened to command. When the mobile comms was passed to him he ordered the drone to be shot down, no bluster, no airs, but also no doubt. “Just take that bastard out.”
The drone lined up for
another strike. One of the F-22s fired an AMRAAM, a fire-and-forget air-to-air missile with full active guidance.
“Fox
Three . . . away.” Drake heard the pilot’s voice clearly through Coburn’s open comms. The missile streaked toward the drone, hitting and blasting it apart in under a second. A cheer went up as smashed pieces of the drone fell to earth, scattering across rooftops and a good part of I Street.
Drake breathed a sigh of relief. At last, he could point his gun at the floor, a sign that the threat had lessened.
For now.
Dahl made a quick gesture. “Now,” he said. “Call the others.”
