The Blood King Conspiracy (Matt Drake 2) (8 page)

Harrison took the unspoken hint. Quickly he lifted his huge briefcase and, despite its awkward bulk, took off at a fast pace.

Drake blinked at Ben. “I know what I said, mate, but I’m just the muscle here. Where the hell do we start?”

Ben opened his mouth to speak, but before he could express himself there was an explosion so loud they all looked up to see if the roof was caving in on them.

The entire ship shuddered.

Bradey was already on his wrist mic. He looked dumbfounded. “This ship is under attack,” he said in utter disbelief. “Under
attack.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

For a long moment Drake and his friends stared at each other. Bradey took his marines and raced off, the shock of it all still apparent in his voice as he barked out orders.

Drake regarded the box. “
Last
place we wanna be.”

He moved into the passageway. The fading footsteps of the racing marines still echoed from the bland walls.

“Remember the way out?” Kennedy asked.

Drake shot her a ‘don’t be silly’ look and set off. Moving blindly like this and with limited cover and escape routes, he felt extremely uncomfortable. Bradey needed his bollocks tweaking for not leaving them a gun. Harrison was blethering on, only further confusing the ex-SAS man’s radar.

“Let’s keep it down,” he rasped along the line. “We have no idea what we’re dealing with here.”

“I
do.” Hayden said softly. “Boudreau.”

Drake paused and looked along the line. At the back stood the man-mountain, Kinimaka. His steely eyes met Drakes’ and expressed just one word.

Revenge.

Drake moved off. “I’ll tell you this, Hayden. Boudreau ain’t the hardest man on
this
vessel.”

The passageway ran straight for twenty feet before hitting a ninety degree junction. Signage was noticeably absent. Drake felt a moment of frustration and then turned right, almost sure it led to their cabins from which he could easily find the deck.

The odd thing was they walked in utter silence. On board a ship of hundreds he heard not a single voice. Creepy thoughts of the Bermuda Triangle entered his head.

At last they reached their cabins. As Drake paused to have a quick look a second intense explosion shook the U.S. cruiser, making the walls and the floor shiver and shake.

“Above decks could be worse,” Kennedy said.

“Now, maybe,” Drake told her. “But if those guys made it down here we’d be gravy.”

“Down
here?”
Hayden looked shocked. “How could they ever get down here? There’s a boatful of U.S. marines to get through.”

“But they already knew that,” Drake said. “And yet still . . . they’re attacking this ship.”

The ex-soldier led them on, trying to exercise speed and caution and, at last, they were standing before a set of stairs that led up to the deck. Now, the sounds of combat were more apparent.

“Seriously,” Kennedy reiterated, “wouldn’t it be easier to hold them off down here.”

Drake felt a moment’s frustration. He was trying to save their lives. Questions weren’t helping. “Stop thinking a step ahead,” he said shortly, “and try thinking four or five steps ahead. They
will
have planned for that contingency. Now follow!”

Boots hammering the steps, he pounded upwards, cracked open the door and glanced out. One . . . two . . . three. Five seconds, then he ducked back in.

“Ship’s clean,” he said. “No bad guys. The marines are holding them off.”

He cracked the door again and they filed out. The big five-inch gun mounted on the bow was before them. Behind them bristled the various radar arrays towers and illuminators. The deck was jammed with hard-faced marines. Alarms and sensors were going off everywhere.

But Drake read the confusion behind their eyes and saw the panic they were concealing at the shrieking warning bells and stopped dead. “Don’t like the look of this.”

He started towards the big gun and then something happened that made the British seen-it-all SAS soldier stand and gawp like a three-year-old on a visit to Disneyland.

Above the bow, above the massive gun, above the port and starboard side, and rising like prehistoric moths appeared at least a dozen choppers. In less than a second they all opened fire. The sound of metallic hell filled the air so loudly that Drake found himself unable to think.

He fell to the deck and crawled. As his senses returned he glanced underneath his own body. His friends were in a similar state, stunned into immobility. Bullets clanged and whined and ricocheted off every metal surface - a category-five hurricane of lead that tore through skin and bone and left men screaming in its wake.

Drake looked up when it stopped, relieved to be in one piece. Half a dozen helicopters were drifting over the ship, rappel lines unravelling. Drake foretold the future and scrambled quickly for a discarded weapon. There were plenty about. The carnage around him was indescribable. At least three-quarters of the downed men were still alive, in various states of hurt, but there was nothing he could do for them now.

It was kill or be killed, and this was
his
stage.

“Stay with me!” He ran instinctively for the side of the boat where he knew life-rafts were positioned. Emergency escape. That was all they had in their favour now.

But quicker than he would have believed possible the rappel lines quivered and men were landing lightly on deck all around them. Drake punched the first hard in the face, the second he clubbed with the machine-gun.

Many marines were still functioning and began to fight. A melee erupted on deck, gun-battle and hand-to-hand fighting of the most violent kind.

Drake led his small party through the middle of it. Mano Kinimaka bulldozed straight into a gathering group of enemy combatants, scattering them like bowling balls.

“Run, damn you!”

The life-rafts were about ten feet away. All of a sudden Drake saw half a dozen bouncing grenades litter the deck.

It was then that the war really began.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Dive!”
Drake screamed, hoping everyone got the message. He felt Ben hit the deck by his side, groaned as Kennedy landed on his legs, and thanked his lucky starts it hadn’t been Kinimaka. Explosions ripped through the ship. Soldiers died on both sides, twisting and yelling as they collapsed.

Drake grunted again as one of the enemy landed on him, having bore the brunt of the shrapnel that was heading his way. Still, a few shards tore through Drake’s skin, causing a searing pain that he ignored.

He pushed to his knees. They had to get to the life-rafts. Their survival depended on it. But around the corner of the steel radar column they hit serious obstructions. Marines were taking cover among the girders, both at deck-level and further up amongst the tree-like stanchions. Bullets pinged from surface to surface faster than a man’s eyes move at a women’s beach volleyball tournament.

Bradey was in the midst of it, firing and shouting orders through his radios, trying to hold together a makeshift team of some of the best men in the world who, in a matter of minutes, had been sent reeling.

That
was the key factor here, Drake thought. Not skill or bravery, but shock and awe - the Americans being played at their own game on their own soil. By Christ, there would be some repercussions.

The life-rafts were effectively cut off. And the battle behind them was only getting fiercer and closer. Drake knew the only way to protect his people was to fully engage in this fight. He fired his weapon at the men slithering down the ropes. Enemy bodies fell and crashed to the deck. The sound of breaking bones made even the hardest man wince. Some bad guys paused in mid-fall to level their weapons and fire a few bursts in Drake’s direction, but their aim was spoiled by the sway of the ropes.

Kennedy snatched up a gun and started firing.

Ben ducked behind them as a metal sleet drove above their heads. Luckily, the raucous sound of his mobile ringing distracted the enemy more than Drake and his friends.

“Sis?” He answered it without thinking. “Karin? Yeah, yeah, not bad. Look-”

Drake dived left, hitting the deck in a roll and came up firing. More bodies somersaulted from the skies, trailing fountains of blood, and came crashing down amongst their own brethren below.

“No,” Ben was saying, “I’m in the States. Look . . .
what?
What’s wrong with seeing Hayden?”

A man had surprised Kennedy, sneaking up behind her amidst the turmoil and strong-arming her around the neck. She struggled, bucking and kicking fiercely, suddenly reminded of her contest with Thomas Kaleb in the battle arena, reminded of that rank smell, those evil, blood-smeared hands. How he touched her. How he drooled on her . . .

Fight!

The inner voice, so loud and commanding, was pure self-preservation. She lifted her body, using her attacker as a fulcrum, and then swung all her weight backwards, still holding the light machine-gun.

Her heels crashed into his shins, making him buckle but not relent. The butt of her gun jabbed his ribs. The back of her head, on the return swing, then smashed against his forehead with stunning force.

The man staggered away. Kennedy turned and mercilessly opened fire, sending his body reeling against the bulkhead.

Ben was on his knees, eyes a centimetre away from deck, looking for all the world as if he had found a new breed of insect on a still, sunny day in the calmest meadow. “Karin. I hear you, but Hayden’s alright. She’s good for me-”

The soldier Kennedy had shot landed face down beside him, broken and bloody. The knife he had been holding but never gotten the chance to use bounced off Ben’s head and struck the floor.

“She’s
CIA,”
Ben said with a dollop of sarcasm. “Not Marine Force Recon!”

Drake allowed himself to join the fray again instead of keeping half an eye on Kennedy’s struggle. The deck was crowded now, much of it covered in pitch battle. One thing was obvious to Drake - the cavalry, by now, would be well on its way.

So that pointed to another, more-important thing - the attackers and Boudreau, if the sadistic murderer was indeed behind this - would have planned for all this. Thus they would more than likely already have secured the device.

All we have to do is hang on, he thought. We can’t escape, we just have to
live.

“That way.” He pointed back past the door they had come through. There was a corner bulkhead and a storage bin over there - meagre coverage but better than their current position.

They scooted across. Drake made to grab an opponent who was in their way, but Mano Kinimaka beat him to it, bulldozing past and ramming a stiff arm into the guy’s head. It was instant lights-out for their adversary, and a better way out for him than Drake had been planning.

As he ran, Drake sought to help his fellow soldiers by firing single shots at their rivals, relieving pressure, saving lives, backing the team. His own mobile had vibrated twice, and that meant either Wells or Mai, or both.

Another explosion, and this time fire and frag blasted past the corner they had just vacated. A member of Bradey’s SOG squad tumbled into view and lay without moving.

“Watch that corner,” Drake instructed as he now moved carefully to the starboard side of the ship and peered over the railings. If he had been expecting aircraft carriers, a deadly armada or swarms of choppers he was hugely disappointed. Beyond the choppy, wide seas and the foggy shore in the distance there was nothing to see. He had to assume Boudreau’s assault and getaway crew lay to the port side.

How on earth were they ever going to escape?

Hayden was breathing shallowly beside him. She nudged his shoulder. “It’s the same set-up as back at the safe house, Matt. Overwhelming surprise. I tell you, there’s more than one insider helping them here.”

“Stunning,” said Drake shaking his head. “I’ve never heard of anything like this. Look, Hayden, we’re soldiers, but they’re not.” He nodded at Ben and Kennedy. “We need to help the marines from here and just survive. Boudreau’s men
have
to depart soon.”

“With the box!” Hayden looked like she was about to head below decks.

“Lost,” Drake said. “For now.”

Ben’s voice was starting to rise. “Karin! I’ll call you back. You just can’t talk to me like that!”

Hayden’s eyes held a depth of pity that suddenly made Drake scared for Ben. “He’s a great kid,” the ex-soldier said quickly. “His family mean the world to him.”

“As my father meant to me,” Hayden returned. “But he’s gone, and all I have are some memories of him. Funny, how such loving feelings can fade with time, leaving you knowing you had them, but not remembering the overwhelming
depth
of them.”