Matt Drake 8 - Last Man Standing (15 page)

Drake
led the way as the team pounded toward the location of the closest nano-vest and the unfortunate person Coyote and her mercs had forced into it.

The appearance of the green signals alongside their own red ones
had galvanized them all into action. If any doubts remained as to Coyote’s iniquity—especially within Drake—they had now departed. The stretch between sugary Shelly Cohen and merciless Coyote was still a tough one, but it was becoming easier to make. All those years, all that time laboring in the field, isolated, sometimes under fire, never knowing if they were going to make it out; the only thing his men and himself could look forward to were those homely, sweet tones at the end of the day. Shelly had pulled more than one man home through with the sheer charm and reassurance she offered.

A
t the same time she’d secretly been plotting her next kill.

What type of person could do that?

Drake shrugged it off as they raced up the final steep hill toward the graveyard. Dahl was staring intently at his screen, pinpointing the closest green-colored signal. Mai and Alicia led the way, keeping lookout but moving fast, hyperaware that Coyote had given them only two hours to defuse four bombs. Up into the graveyard they hurried. Drake slowed as a hundred timeworn, dilapidated gravestones appeared, some standard designs, others crafted into many different shapes and sizes.

He turned to Dahl. “C’mon mate. You got a position?”

“It’s not that accurate.” Dahl pointed ahead. “There.”

They aimed at a cross-section of paths, beyond which lay a flat, sparser area of ground. Drake was the first to see the partially filled shallow grave
. . .

. . .
and the coffin that sat inside.

“No.” He gasped in horror. “Oh no.”

Mai came to a sudden stop. “They buried him alive?”

Alicia raced through and jumped straight down into the grave. “No time to fuck about. Help me!”

Alicia wrenched at the lid of the coffin. The earth beneath her feet, which ended just below the lid, hampered her movements. Drake saw immediately that the thing had been nailed shut with some heavy duty fixings.

“Jump in
,” he cried. “Shit. Just everyone get in there.”

The team hurled themselves into the open grave, trying to get a decent handhold, and straining their muscles until the lid squealed. There was no thought as to whether the lid might be booby trapped, no thought as to whether or not a sniper was watching. The man in the coffin was dying in m
ore ways than one; the team’s ethics put him first.

Drake felt small splinters jab at his fingers, slicing under his nails. He gripped harder. Maybe they would give him better leverage. He wrenched again and again, grunting with the effort. Dahl scooped out a mound of earth with his shovel hands then leaned back, pushing himself into the ground. Then, after setting himself, he kicked hard at the lid.

Bit by bit, against the wishes of its tough squealing fixings, the lid came up.

Now with space to work
, the team dipped their shoulders and heaved. Drake immediately saw the man trapped inside, a duct-tape gag across his mouth, hands tied in front of him. The eyes said it all—they said, “Look out!
Look out!
”

Drake held his palm out. “Don’t worry. We know you’re wired and we brought an expert.”

He looked up. Alicia’s eyes were slits, as if to say, “Oh yeah?” Mai frowned. Dahl assumed Drake meant him and started blowing expertly on his hands.

Drake smiled. “Not you. Him.” He pointed.

The slightly belabored figure of Michael Crouch had just entered the graveyard.

“Christ
,” Alicia whispered. “I forgot about him. Did ya get lost, old man?”

Crouch toiled up and then leaned over, breathing heav
ily. He held up a finger for three seconds, then straightened and stared at Alicia. “Fuck you.”

Drake hid a smile. Crouch may be the big boss, the biggest in fact, but coming up through the ranks meant he shared the soldiers’ camaraderie. He was one of them. Accepted. He turned again to the bound man. “Where’s the vest?”

Dahl shook his head. “Luckily I’m not a dumb Northerner,” he said as he worked. “An education can sometimes come in handy.” He peeled the duct tape from the man’s mouth. “That should help.”

Drake was about to retort, but Crouch stopped him.
Still panting a little, he dropped down into the coffin and leaned over the man. After a second he lifted his tied hands up and pulled the shirt from his trousers.

“Not a vest as such
,” he said. “More a belt.”

Drake moved around to get a better look. Alicia called out that twenty minutes had already passed. Although this man was the relatively lucky one of the four
—he was their first—time would now count down at an exponential rate, increasing the pressure with each tick of the clock.

“
Can it be defused?” Dahl wondered.

“Of course. It’s essentially an explosive vest
,” Crouch said. “It’s the
nano
side of things that worries me.”

Drake had heard of nanotechnology but knew only the basics. “You mean, why use nano explosives when C4 is so much easier to find?”

“Exactly.”

Mai spoke up. “This isn’t something w
e can investigate right now,” she said. “We’re at the heart of a tournament. Cut off from the rest of the world and stuck in this unlucky town. Can you defuse the vest or not?”

Crouch glanced around at her then held the vest up in his hand, le
tting it dangle toward the ground. “Yes, Mai. I can.”

Mai looked surprised.
Dahl smiled. Alicia clapped like an overexcited seal. “Man can’t run for shit, but slip a bomb into a man’s pants and Mr. Crouch is all over it.”

Crouch handed the belt off to Drake then turned to help the prisoner up. “Do you people have to put up with her
all
the time?”

Drake stared intently at the vest-cum-belt. “Yeah. Except when she’s off shagging someone’s boss. Usually her own.”

Alicia leaned over to help Crouch. “Seriously, what the hell did you do?”

Crouch shrugged. “Removed the electrical detonator, staying wary of static sparks, of course.”

Alicia nodded wisely. “Of course.”

“Contrary to what the movie makers would have us believe all you have to do is remove the detonator or timer that controls the bomb. It’s not terribly complicated but I guess doesn’t make for good ratings.”

Dahl suddenly shook the tracking device to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s move, guys. We still have three more to deactivate.”

Mai studied the trees. “And I just wonder at which one we
’ll finally meet Coyote.”

Drake shared her sentiment. “It’s been a long time coming.”

Crouch joined them, having untied the prisoner, directed him toward the open church doors and instructed him not to try to escape the town. “The British forces will be massing outside,” he said. “Readying a full-scale assault. We have to hurry. This town’s going to become a battlefield and no mistake.”

Dahl shook the tracking device. “Ten minutes to the next vest, I think.”

They moved off. Crouch reached for the nano-vest that Drake carried. It was the shape of a normal belt, but wider and with a plastic buckle. Made of leather, the vest had loops that helped it fit snugly over the shoulders and was extremely flat, so that it left no tell-tale bulges.

“Incredible
,” he said. “Our enemies would love to get their hands on this shit.”

Dahl said, “I guess nanotechnology is the same as any other kind of technology. Helpful to humankind until some maniac thinks of a way to
exploit its potential for war and personal gain.”

“Nano
-thermite—the explosive—is a cutting edge nano-particulate mix of aluminum and ferric oxide. The key is the extremely small particle size. They have more surface area in contact with the particles of the different chemicals that make up the explosive. After a reaction is initiated this greater surface area causes a faster rate of reaction, making for a more powerful outcome. And by making these things at the nanoscale engineers can actually custom design
each
explosive, enabling them to manufacture the perfect application for any desired event.”

Mai shook her head. “That’s crazy.”

“Conspiracy theories abound regarding nano-thermite,” Crouch went on. “The biggest of which, of course, is the twin towers. The photograph that shows the top of the towers starting to crumble—that’s a nano-explosion. The rate of collapse bears more similarities with a nano-blast than anything that might be caused by a plane.” He shrugged. “But that’s all theory, of course. We live in the real world, and we know that the
unknown
happens every day. Every hour. What appears to be real might in fact be a clever illusion and what appears to be false can in fact be true, just an unknown coalescence of unfamiliar reactions. Any man that disputes that is a fool.”

Drake drew him back to the vest
as they hurried along. “So why that?”

“Seriously, I have no idea. Obviously, it’s custom made. It has a purpose. An engineer built this vest from a careful design, and that design, in my experience at least, was envisioned by his boss.”

“Is this nano-thermite hard to get hold of?” Mai asked.

“Almost impossible
,” Crouch confirmed. “Outside of high-ranking military personnel with appropriate security credentials and the like.”

“So somebody has an
agenda,” Drake said. “And this is maybe just the start? I mean, it can’t have been manufactured only to be used in Sunnyvale, surely.”

“Agreed.” Crouch said. “Nanotechnology is high stakes. World stakes.”

Alicia had been twisting her head in a complicated movement, trying to scrutinize the vest. “So where are these bloody explosives? All I see is a leather belt.”

“That’s the idea, dear.” Crouch gave her a devious smile. “
Nano-thermite explosives are manufactured and modified on a micro scale. You certainly can’t see them.”

“So they’re inside the belt.”
Alicia let the ‘dear’ comment slide. This time.

“Assuredly so.”

Alicia slowed as Dahl held up a hand. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Why don’t terrorists use this kinda technology then?”

Crouch breathed slowly. “They don’t have access to it
. . . so far. The devil with staying ahead of our would-be murderers is that we have to be
several
steps ahead. The technology that
beats
nano-weapons also has to be realized. Recently, through nanotechnology, a liquid was developed that can totally neutralize explosive substances the kind of which the shoebomber tried to use. It can be sprayed on. All airports should carry this by now. Do you see?”

“It never ends
,” Alicia said. “I see that.”

Drake agreed. “Long after we’re dead and gone there
’ll be others out there saving the world. Because for as long as there are good men striving to use their skills to help advance the world, there’ll be schemers, cheats and fanatics that want to own it.”

Dahl hissed for silence. Drake glanced over the Swede’s shoulder and saw that the flashing green signal put their next tormented civilian in the middle of a building under construction. It was a two
-story affair, narrow and only two-thirds built, still with scaffolding on the inside and out, and with window and door frames open to the elements. A concrete mixer and rubble-filled skip stood in the front yard. Through the gaps Drake discerned various odd shapes, now becoming clearer as the dawn started to rise. In the surrounding houses people were starting to stir, some oblivious to the night’s events, others wise and staying low.

Very soon, a reckoning would be reached.

Dahl pointed through the gap where the front door would be. “Just a few feet down the hallway,” he said, “is my closest estimate.”

Drake led the way, closely followed by Mai. When they passed the area indicated by the flashing dot, Dahl called out to them. When they passed it again, still seeing nothing
, the Swede shook his head.

“I don’t get it.”

Drake surveyed the hallway. It was wide and high, with plasterboard to both sides. Empty doorways provided dark outlets further away. The ceiling was an untidy jumble of exposed timbers and hanging wires. Again, Dahl called out as they passed the correct location.

Drake let out a breath. “There’s nothing here but floors and walls, Dahl. Is your equipment malfunctioning?”

Dahl lowered the tracking device. “Floor and walls? Oh shit, remember the grave?”

Drake caught on in the blink of an eye. Instantly, he turned and kicked at the plasterboard, his boot cracking the gypsum and going straight through. He pulled out a chunk with his hands, ignored the white plume, and kept going. To his side Mai attacked another eight-by-four sheet and Alicia another. Gypsum dust filled the air
, making them cough. Mai curled one hand around a jagged hole beside her head and pulled hard. The piece came away, leaving her staring into the frightened eyes of another victim.