Matt Drake 14 - The Treasures of Saint Germain (24 page)

Dahl leapt from the footrests, came down on two feet and blew the side window from a high black vehicle. Blood splashed and a figure slumped, the engine note withering away. The second 4x4 shot forward in a gravel-churning skid.

A sword swung at Dahl. He skipped back, letting the blade pass an arm’s width away. He kicked the owner, seeing the sword fall, and then rendered him unconscious. Another attacker screamed in from the right but Kenzie caught his plunging sword with her own, jerking the man’s weapon free and almost breaking his wrist in the process.

Dahl saw a gap to the bloodied 4x4 and clicked the comms. “With me,” he shouted out. “Fast.”

They ignored their few remaining opponents and ran hard for the 4x4. Dahl jumped through the open front door and kicked the dead driver aside. The engine was still running. A robed figure came at him and he closed the door against the man’s face, wincing as metal struck bone with an ungiving crunch.

Kenzie remained by the passenger door, fencing with two men and keeping them at bay. Smyth shot one as he jumped into the back. Yorgi and Lauren jumped off their perches and dived in lengthways, tangled and sprawling in the footwell. Dahl pressed the accelerator hard.

Kinimaka bounded into the back.

The Swede set off in a black cloud of rubber, racing hard into the heart of Zurich.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

Drake sauntered along, a tourist alone returning to his hotel in the heart of Dubai. They had chosen a place near the Dubai mall, both because of its distance from the Palm Jumeirah and proximity to the main airport highway. He entered the lobby now, holding the door open, casting around to see who might lie in wait.

All looks well.

The interior was bright and shining, the staff all smiling. Guests came and went, despite the late hour. Drake made his way through carefully, went for the stairs and paused on the first landing. All was quiet. In truth, nothing set his alarm bells ringing.

Looks like I’m safe, but what about the rest?

Their strategy hadn’t worked well—a fail for the SPEAR team. They had endangered civilians and themselves. Questions would be asked . . . somewhere. He was unused to failure, especially during the last few years. Sometimes a man might be forgiven for thinking he was a little superhuman, but elite Special Forces soldiers were trained to deal differently, to think differently, accomplish feats those without the preparation of decades of experience might think unachievable.

It had to be said they were working on the back foot though. Webb was clearly following an agenda he’d had in place for many years. The cultists were reacting . . . until now.
Now,
he thought.
They will be putting new schemes in place.

He entered their room, close to the fire escape. Heads swiveled and a shadow moved to the side, but Drake knew immediately that the figure was Mai.

“Took your sweet old time,” Alicia commented.

“Hey, less of the old.”

Hayden rose from her seat by the window, the lighted-up skyscrapers shining beyond. “So, we’re all here. Thoughts?”

The group fell into a discussion relating to what had happened. Hayden fielded a call from Argento and the team considered what to do next. The mood was despondent; nobody liked losing. And whilst they hadn’t strictly lost, the outcome was not good. Drake consoled himself a little when he found three boxes of pizza, all half-eaten. With care, he fished out two slices of pepperoni and drank a full bottle of water.

Hayden called Dahl.

The Swede answered immediately, sounding out of breath. “I hope you have better news than us, Hayden, because we just damaged half of Zurich and lost Webb.” He paused.

Drake munched disconsolately.

“We screwed up big time,” Hayden said. “Lost Amari and his boys. They could be halfway to Europe by now.”

Dahl asked them to wait a moment whilst he gathered his thoughts, then said, “So, Webb was meeting with a High Master, some Adept and a big knob Mason, I guess. The lad was guarded to the max by some sword-wielding loonies who chased us down a bloody mountain.”

Alicia pursed her lips. “Sounds like you had a better time than us.”

“It had its moments,” Dahl admitted. “Anyway, Webb took off in a chopper which we tracked all the way to the city. Caught him close to a helipad, chased, rode through some red lights. Crashed.” He sighed. “I’d like to say it was Kenzie’s fault, flailing that bloody sword out of the window, but it was my hands at the wheel.”

Drake stopped mid-munch. “Kenzie has a sword now?”

“Yeah, I keep trying to get it away from her but . . .”

“You don’t have the balls?” Drake asked.

“Yeah, that’s the real risk.”

Drake winced a little as Dahl went on. “So, a crash, but we plowed on. Webb slammed through a shopping district and across a bridge and that’s when the police got involved. Argento asked them to let us take the lead but some local hothead ignored him and went head on with Webb. The outcome was not pretty.”

Hayden gauged the room. “Yeah, same here.”

“Webb’s mercenaries did not hold back and even though he only seemed to have three or four of them it was enough to help block the roads with police cars and make his escape. Luckily for us he has Sabrina with him.”

“She stayed?” Alicia looked impressed.

“She did. I have faith in her. And her information matches the merc’s list. Despite having the chance to escape, she remained with Webb. We have Interpol searching, but given Webb’s proclivity for disappearing, I believe she is still our best chance.”

“What did we learn about Webb’s trip?”

“Very little,” Dahl admitted. “Saint Germain helped found Freemasonry here, so maybe their secret chants or handshakes are what he needs to progress, but Sabrina intimated that it may well be something to help pave his future. An introduction to a million open doors, or something. Who knows? The point is—he’s on to the next place now and Sabrina already told us where that is.”

Drake cracked open another bottle of water. “My guess is Europe. The Count seems to have traveled further than bloody Boeing.”

“And you would be right. The next stop for Webb is London, and the Haymarket Theatre. Lauren is no Karin when it comes to computers but she did find that Germain composed songs, and performed there.”

Hayden scratched her head. “So now he’s a composer and actor too? Jeez, who the hell
was
this guy?”

“Interesting,” Beau spoke up. “You’re on the side of the ‘dead’ camp.”

“Whaa . . . say again?”

“You believe he is dead.”

“Of course he’s friggin’ dead. The man was born in 1712!”

Beau said nothing. Alicia looked like she wanted to get a huge and sarcastic comment off her chest, but reined it in as she met Drake’s eyes.

“Is it because you’re French?” Smyth rumbled bluntly. “You know, the romance of it all, the nostalgic passion and whatever?”

“Aye,” Drake nodded. “The French sure love a weepie.”

“What happened over there in Dubai?” They heard Kinimaka’s voice.

“We lost ’em,” Hayden said very simply. “But the guy has at least six primary followers and can’t handle weapons. I don’t know yet how he ended up obsessed with Germain but he
is
a fanatic, a crusader dedicated to his cause. Amari is different again though—pampered, affluent, out of touch. Believes everything happens at the click of a finger, probably because all his life, it has. I truly believe the man has no grasp of the consequences of his actions and no sense of human life. Of course, that doesn’t help us much.”

“Anything at his home?”

Hayden clucked. “Another mistake. We cleared out of there in fast pursuit and now the cops have the house cordoned off. Must have traced the trouble back to him already. Bottom line is—we can’t access the house.”

“So what next?” Dahl asked, more of a rhetorical question because everyone knew the answer.

“So we’re heading for London,” Hayden said. “We’ll meet you there, guys. But just remember, everything has changed now. It’s sped up. Grown more dangerous. Amari and his cult know they’re being hunted, but my guess is they’ll still stop at nothing to protect their precious Count and all his treasures. He’s totally invested now. This is where it really begins. This is where the shit really starts to happen.”

Drake nodded and rose to his feet. “Webb will follow his set of clues all the way to the end. If need be he’ll raze everything in his way. Same for Amari. At the very least we need to catch up with them.”

“See you in London,” Dahl said.

“See you, Torsty.” Alicia said with a smile. “And don’t forget—Kenzie’s a bitch. Don’t get on her sharper side.”

“Yeah, thanks. I think I’m already there.”

“Believe me,” Alicia muttered. “You’re nowhere near.”

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

London was dismal the following morning, drizzle falling constantly from a gray slate sky. A cold wind whipped the lackadaisical Scotch mist to and fro, all over London Town, making the residents and the tourists miserable, cold and wet. Drake remembered thinking this kind of weather was “just for the sake of it”, something his mother used to say during the long, usually cold autumns north of Woolley Edge. The mood all around was dour, and wasn’t helped by the fact that Dahl’s team had been waiting for hours.

Piccadilly Circus buzzed with activity; its flashing signs grabbing what attention they could; its statues standing tall, hard and cold, as leaden as the skies; its bright stores and restaurants standing closed, a non-tourist hour this, allowing its residents brief respite so that they might take a breather from a relentless life.

Alicia looked up from underneath her hood. “You’ll have to wait for me,” she said. “I never, ever, pass a Cinnabon without opening my purse.”

Drake tried but couldn’t restrain a healthy guffaw. “Purse? As if.”

Alicia sniggered. “Yeah, that didn’t come out right. Chuck us a fiver, love.”

In the end, Hayden managed to fish some crumpled English money out of a zippered pocket, leaving Drake wondering about the last time he’d made a personal purchase. In truth, he couldn’t remember. Their lives did not revolve around comfort and belongings. As Alicia came back, lips covered in cinnamon-dusted icing, he wondered what it would be like to lick it off.

“C’mon guys,” Hayden interrupted his fantasy before it grew too intense. “Incredibly, we go down this road here called Haymarket.”

“Just shows how important the theater is,” Dahl said.

“Ah, but what was here first? The road name or the showhouse?”

The Swede laughed and paused at the wide curving junction where cars and buses appeared to have full leave to aim at the scuttling road-crossers and slow-moving older people. The team waited for the lights to turn green, feeling a little out of place in traveler’s London, standing among the drifting crowds.

As they waited, Hayden’s cell rang and she directed them all into a shop doorway. “Sabrina,” she said, then answered.

“Are you okay?”

“I am now,” came the hushed but still fiery Italian tones. “So long as you keep that sword-wielder you have away from my face. Many times she almost cut me. I am traumatized.”

Kenzie grinned and leaned forward to say something but Hayden cut her off with a stare. “Sorry, she’ll never do that again.”

Dahl held his hands out, palms up. “You weren’t there. We couldn’t have done it without her.”

Drake nudged him. “Sorry to break it to you, pal, but you
did
fuck all except cleave a bunch of monks.”

“Ah. And how did Dubai go?”

“Better than your vacation, for sure.”

Dahl looked ready to take it further, looking beyond disgruntled now, but Drake’s attention was grabbed by Sabrina.

“We came by jet some time ago and ever since have been prowling the Haymarket Theater. Webb talks to me of his quest, how important it is and
he
is. How I might be invited to worship his glory in the future.” The thief sounded sick. “He is a vile man. But he knows no better. Wait . . .” Moments passed as she moved to a better position, the phone rustling in her pocket.

“I am back. First, Webb already knows where the next and penultimate clue will be found. He has not explained further but I think I remember his words as being ‘at the place of his death.’ So now, this Saint Germain has a connection to the London theater scene. The greatest philosopher who ever lived, who always looked forty five, no matter at which country house, treaty, or party he was spotted, also had an extraordinary proficiency for the arts. The violin. Harpsichord. He was an improviser, an inventor in all walks of life.”

“You memorized all this?” Smyth barked.

“No. I have had it drilled into me for many, many hours,” Sabrina sighed back. “Torturous hours. I’m sure that I will dream of this long-dead Count tonight.”

Hayden chewed her lower lip. “Better than dreaming of Webb, believe me.”

“So, he was a composer, this Count. His works were given to Tchaikovsky and Lobkowitz whilst at least two others were played at and gifted to the Haymarket. In 1745 and 1760, it seems. Webb says the next clue is in the composition, the words or notes of the song.”

Hayden looked up through the drizzle, to the top of the highest buildings. “Of course. He would hide vital information in something that would live long after he was gone. I guess, if a follower has gotten to this point, the Count may already believe he is worthy.”

“I can’t talk much longer and will then be unavailable for some time, as we’ll be moving on to . . . wherever. I do not know. Webb says our next stop is our penultimate prize. I suggest you move quicker.”

“Does he have backup?” Hayden asked quickly as Drake gauged the road ahead and their path to the Haymarket. “Men? A trap? Anything?”

But Sabrina was gone, called away by Webb himself it seemed. The team took a long look around.