Brothers In Arms (Matt Drake 5) (12 page)

Drake had already guessed as much.
The rising dawn amplified the fire in Mai’s gaze. Smyth might well regret his choice of words.

“Use Hibiki only if you’re convinced about him. Otherwise. . .”

“I know.”

“A simultaneous attack?”

“Yes. We’ll hit the base and go for the ship’s Captain. When we do that—” Mai paused. “You need to be on board. Just in case.”

Drake frowned. “We could help by
—”

“Best if you’re on board
,” Mai said softly. “No mistakes.” She met his eyes. “Besides, it won’t be a problem. You have your work cut out finding a place to hide and then leading us to it. And we’re more than likely going to land in North Korea,
if
we survive the trip.”

“Piece of piss
,” Drake said quickly. “North Korea. China. Russia.” Drake counted the places off on his fingers. “Europe. Washington. Like I said—”

“A cellphone would be good too
,” Smyth said drily, but with a rare smile. Maybe he was looking forward to working with the legendary Mai Kitano. Maybe he thought she really was Maggie Q.

Drake hunkered down and rummaged around for food and water. “Right
then. Let’s thrash this out. We want to be ready for tonight.”

*****

As darkness invaded the land, Drake and Romero crept among the thick trunks, staying as close to the tree line as they dared. The warship was a large, ugly chunk of steel sitting at ease among the calm waters of the natural harbor a short swim away. The decks were quiet, seamen lounging around as if bored. This may well be a regular, monotonous trip for some of them.

The two men found a flat piece of earth to dig into near the water’s edge
and secured their weapons. All they were waiting for now was Mai’s signal.

*****

Mai crouched alongside Smyth, waiting for the shadows to creep even farther over the guards’ quarters. They had decided to strike at them where they felt most comfortable—the place they rested, the place they slept. The weapons they had lifted from the dead guards were held loosely in their hands, two Dragunov SVUs and a Bullpup sniper rifle. With a sound suppressor and special muzzle-break to help absorb a large amount of recoil, it was perfectly suited to their needs. And interestingly, it was Russian made.

At last the darkness was enough. Mai
strode toward the main door with Smyth watching her back.

“Go
, Maggie,” he said as she neared the entrance.

She paused and looked back. “Have you got a little crush on me, Smyth?” Without waiting for an answer
, she opened the door and stepped inside, straight into a communal room complete with a widescreen TV, several loungers, a big sofa and a round table pockmarked with knife scores.

Several men stared at her, stunned.

Mai opened fire without mercy. There wasn’t a man on this base worth saving. She believed that as much as she believed in herself. Bodies pounded back into the walls or tumbled over the sofa. Mai allowed a man to scramble out the open window to raise the alarm and bounded across the hallway.

Into a kitchen. A Korean guard was
running at her in mid-flight, checking his weapon whilst still clutching a mug. His mistake. Mai sent him and the mug’s contents against the window, smashing the pane and staining it red.

Smyth fired behind her.

She stepped back into the hallway. Enemy guards were jumping into the line of fire, clearly dazed and unused to action. Maybe at one time they had been a crack force, but today, they were cats in a barrel.

But then, the entrance door behind them, the one Smyth had closed, suddenly crashed open. Mai heard a cry of
“Get them!”
before a bunch of troops swarmed toward her.

*****

Drake heard the gunshots and prepared to slide into the water, but at that moment, the warship erupted with activity. All hands hit the deck running and the great engines began to turn. Was it coincidence?

Never mind. Drake
dove forward, hitting the murky waters with a splash and cutting through the waves with a strong stroke. As he swam, he saw both the warship’s boats cast off from the dock and rev their engines.

He trod water for a second. Romero rose beside him. “What gives, man?”

“They’re heading back to the ship.”

“No
t even a Korean with his ass on fire could get to the boats that quickly.”

“
Agreed. It’s coincidence. But look—they’re not changing course.”

“They have orders
,” Romero reasoned, “from their high command. Shit, man, we’d better hurry it up.”

“But Mai
—”

“Ain’t gonna make it! Come on!”

*****

Mai fired around Smyth, then turned back to the hallway. A few bodies still twitched
, but otherwise, the coast was clear. She raced forward then dropped to her knees and skidded, twisting her body as she did and shouting at Smyth to move.

The marine back
ed toward her, firing carefully. Bullets whizzed around him. At one point, he half-twisted and yelled, but it was only a bullet tearing through the sleeve of his jacket, nothing to really shout about.

Korean
s fell at his feet. But more came. It soon became apparent that he wasn’t going to make it.

At least not alone.

“Damn!” Mai waded in. Jumping among her enemies, she sent one tumbling against the other so they fell hard to the floor. She smashed heads against heads, turned rifles inside out and disengaged their firing barrels with a deft turn of the wrist. She ripped a handgun from a man’s hand, turned it on him first and then shot two of his colleagues in the blink of an eye. She caught a knife a hair’s breadth from her throat, having allowed it time to get that close to dispatch another enemy, and then wrenched it away from its owner.

“Here, have it back
,” she muttered, burying it through his sternum.

He was the last.

Smyth stayed on one knee, eyes sweeping the bloody mess for survivors. “Jeez, lady,” he breathed. “If I didn’t have a crush on you before I sure as shit do now. That was—”

A booming gunshot drowned out his words.
The bullet nicked his ear. Smyth whipped round calmly and fired. The guard collapsed noisily.

“Grab some weapons
,” Mai said without stopping. “And light these bastards up. There’s more outside.”

*****

Drake allowed the current to take him closer to the big, steel-hulled ship. They had been waiting for the distraction of Mai’s fire to use the ropes they had salvaged from one of the Zodiacs. A rough plan to be sure, but then a man from the north of England prided himself on being rough around the edges.

Now it was a bigger gamble. The warship
’s own dinghies were already back in place and the great anchor was rising with a savage clanking sound, as if all the ghosts of purgatory had risen at the same time. Drake heard shouts from up top. Even the Naval Officers were sounding shocked. Mai and Smyth had set something alight alright.

“Now or never.” Romero pushed him. “Do it.”

Drake set his jaw. Mai could still make it. He set his sights to the back of the ship where several taut lines had still to be cast off and above that, where the depth charge rails were. Hand over hand he climbed up, facing the skies, listening only to the sounds of Romero aping him on a nearby line and the tramping of feet above. Once, when the sound of voices became too clear, Drake froze, hanging in mid-air, praying for a stroke of luck. Then more cries struck the air. Drake scurried up the last few feet like a rabid monkey.

The Korean staring over the ship’s rail got the shock of his life, but before his eyes had widened to more than a saucer
’s diameter, Drake snapped his neck and hurled him into the waters below. Romero nodded as he alighted to his left.

“Good work.”

Drake made to skulk over to the starboard side, but Romero grabbed his heavy jacket. “We should get below. Our mission can’t fail now, bud. She’s on her own.”

Drake angrily shook the marine’
s hand off and moved stealthily onward, but then stopped.  “Balls,” he whispered.

Romero was right.

Lauren
Fox didn’t like to think too hard about what her next client might enjoy or fantasize about. Like any girl, she had her hang-ups, but they weren’t overly plentiful. The way her clients looked or dressed didn’t matter. They had been vetted by the agency. They weren’t serial killers or cops or wives or private investigators. Actually, one of her best clients
was
a private investigator, but he was an old friend and harmless, in all aspects. All things said, she was an easygoing girl—which was just as well in her profession. But some requests were just plain
wrong.

Lauren climbed out of the shower, dabbed herself dry with a luxurious towel and crossed over to her vanity.
Expensive perfumes and after shaves lined up like willing suitors, eager to play. She checked the discreet carriage clock. Her next client was due in twenty minutes. Still time to tidy and prep, and turn herself into the high-class, two-thousand-dollar-an-hour call girl he was expecting.

She dabbed on a little
Notorious, dressed quickly in sexy underwear and styled her hair. If a client ever saw her getting dressed, they wouldn’t believe it was the same woman who controlled them so easily when she stripped. But they never would see her. Even with the overnighters and the weekenders, she retained a measure of privacy.

Ten minutes to go. Lauren shook off the everyday world and put on her game face. It was almost fantasy time. The new client
—a guy called Quinn—hadn’t requested anything specific, but sometimes they were the nastiest ones—the ones that couldn’t quite explain themselves over the phone.

No matter,
she thought. There were protocols in place and she’d already discovered she was none too shabby with an improvised weapon. Lauren Fox was streetwise to the max, quick-witted and smooth talking. All abilities that helped evoke the false veneer that she treated her rich clients to every day.

Nightshade.

The buzzer sounded and she checked the little monitor out of habit. Guy looked okay, but so had Freddie White, the one she’d had to subdue with a toaster whilst naked and standing on one leg because he’d been trying to eat the other.

She
still bore the teeth marks.

The toaster still stood like a trophy in her kitchen, dented
, but still usable. This guy—Quinn—didn’t look anything like Freddie. He looked more like an all-American football player, a fraternity jock, a rich kid enjoying daddy’s money. She hesitated for a second, finger poised over the lock-release button, wondering why he hadn’t looked up.

“Come on in
,” she said sweetly, but still he stared at his feet. Of course, many of her first-timers did. Most of them were call-girl virgins, or at least high-class call-girl virgins. It took several sessions for the shyness to wear off.

They were the best ones, of course. The sweet, shy ones.
And the agency had already vetted him. Lauren jabbed the button and waited to hear footsteps outside her door. A lightning check of her attire, a glance in the mirror and she flicked the lock open.

Quinn stood outside, and now he was looking at her.

“Hey? You okay?”

She
could tell immediately that he wasn’t. The question was a way of stalling, of gaining precious moments to think. And the bulge that ran down the trouser leg of his tight jeans? That shape was definitely all wrong.

Lauren threw the door back in his face as hard as she could. He caught it, making the frame shudder. She backed into the apartment
, unable to tear her gaze away from those dead eyes. The eyes that saw her, knew her, but stared at her with the coldness of a shark or a crocodile assessing its prey.

Quinn
advanced stiffly into the apartment, lacking even the presence of mind to close the door behind him. Lauren backed up until she felt the base of the bed at her heels. Her cell phone lay on the bedside table. The agency would already be wondering why she hadn’t dialed the special support number, the one that approved the client. But they would wait a few minutes before acting. And, right now, that was a few minutes too long.

Quinn lunged. Lauren flung herself across the bed and reached for the phone. Quinn’s hand closed over her ankle. She screamed and lobbed the phone at his head, making him flinch. So much for that idea.
She leapt for the kitchen, but he blocked her path and came on. Again, she was backed up against the bed. She jumped onto it, feeling wobbly and unsafe. Quinn’s emotionless eyes tracked her every movement. For a college kid, he moved like he knew how to handle himself in a fight.

And that’s just what you’re gonna get, asshole
,
Lauren thought. No way would she give up easily. Every day of her childhood she’d had to fight tooth and nail not to be bullied or cut or raped. Those days still lived strongly with her. This crazy mother had picked on the wrong girl.