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

The lead man spoke again. “And we need two more.” He pointed to Kinimaka and one of the agents behind her. “That big bastard we can torture for longer,” he said, his lips curling in a sneer. “And
him,
he’s the last one standing.”

Hayden whipped her head round and tried to hold in a gasp. Wyatt Godwin stood swaying in position. The other three agents, Bowers, Mawby and Carrick lay prone on the floor, writhing, gasping, having taken bullets.

Men pushed past her and bound Godwin’s hands before shoving him to the ground next to Kinimaka. She saw the men trying to bind the big Hawaiian’s wrists with plastic ties, trying hard to hide the fact that they wouldn’t reach all the way around.

Lead man saw it anyway, eagle eyes everywhere. “Fools. Just keep your guns on the big bastard. If he looks dangerous treat him like a rhino. Shoot the kneecaps.” The warped grin showed how amusing he thought he was.

But even in his sleep Mano Kinimaka looked dangerous. His guards glanced at each other with worried looks.

Now lead man finally turned his eyes towards Hayden. “We don’t have a lot of time, I know that. So you’ll hear it straight. That’s my promise. You will all die. Eventually. These three,” he motioned towards Bowers, Mawby and Carrick with his big Desert Eagle, “are dead already.” A slimy tongue flashed across dry lips. “You three have a choice. Die easy or . . .”

The man shocked her by suddenly leaping in her face and grabbing her throat in a steel-fingered choke hold. Almost immediately she saw stars, and her legs threatened to give way. But even that wasn’t enough. The man buried his fist into her stomach, grinning as he struck once, twice, three times, and all the while his fingers tightened.

“Name’s Boudreau,”
he whispered.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Hayden Jaye.”

He walked away, letting her slither to the ground just for show. Hayden lay there a minute, trying to breathe.

Boudreau came back and stuck a boot before her blurry eyes. “What was I saying? Oh, yeah, die easy . . . or die screaming, bitches. Your call.”

Hayden began to gain some focus and managed to sit up. She saw that Boudreau’s men had already dragged Bowers to his feet. The tall, good-looking father of two was white with fear and pain, gasping so hard his sides were heaving. Blood soaked through the side of his jacket.

“I doubt you’ll talk,” Boudreau addressed his comment to Hayden. “So this one’s for the fun of it all.”

The leader walked over to Bowers, took out a wicked blade, and cut the agent’s throat before anyone could react. Even then the wickedness employed by their captors wasn’t over. The men holding him deliberately kept him upright and walked him around as his throat sprayed red mist everywhere. Walls. Carpet. Windows. It was a mercy when Bowers finally crumpled and they let him fall to the floor.

Boudreau raised his eyebrows towards Hayden. “Like that? He’s next.” The blade levelled at Mawby, short and stocky and due to be married in eight weeks.

Hayden played for time. “You haven’t even asked a question, for Christ’s sake. What do you want, Boudreau?”

“Not to be played for a fool, Miss Jaye. You see, my boss is, quite possibly the craziest, most dangerous man in the world. And he’s asked
me
to get answers. So-”

Quickly, Boudreau spun on the spot and threw his knife. It slammed through Mawby’s throat. The agent would have staggered back into the wall if it weren’t for the men holding him. They wasted no time parading him up and down. Hayden turned away from the bloody spectacle, sickened.

Boudreau said
his boss
was the craziest? The guy was registering high up the whacko-meter himself.

“And so we come to the last,” Boudreau had retrieved his knife and was now winking at Carrick. “Where d’ya want it, son? C’mon. Where?”

Hayden snapped.
“What the hell do you want, Boudreau?
Our investigation? Details?”

“Now you’re talking.”

Hayden was counting down. Help couldn’t be more than three minutes away.  

“The Blood King,” she said cryptically. “We’ve heard about some guy called the Blood King today.”

“You’ve
heard
of him!” Boudreau’s eyes practically bulged.
“Heard!
Love of God, no wonder he wants an example made of you all, CIA or not.”

Another minute ticked by.

Hayden said: “Not
just
the CIA, Boudreau. The American government.”

The southerner’s eyes widened a little and for a moment Hayden thought the crazy, hard-man betrayed a glimmer of fear. “Nothing,” he breathed. “Even that is nothing to the Blood King.”

He spun away and strode over to Carrick. The agent stood half-bowed, blood already leaking from a thigh wound, but his eyes betrayed nothing as he stared the evil man with the knife right in the eyes.

“Good,” Boudreau drawled. “I almost feel a pride in you. Almost-” The knife flashed.

“We know someone’s found the answer . . .”
 Hayden cried, desperate and sweating and shaking with emotion.
“ . . . to the Bermuda Triangle! We know, you evil bastard.”

Boudreau shot her a smug, evil leer and then deliberately turned and slowly pushed his bloody blade through Carrick’s neck until it emerged the other side. The strength of the man was shocking.

Carrick slumped. Boudreau left the knife where it was and signalled his men. “Double-time. The cavalry’s coming,” he winked in Hayden’s direction. “Don’t fret, dear. Those three got off easy compared to what’s gonna happen to you.”

After they vacated the house the only sound that remained was the slow drip of blood and the gentle whirring of the laptop.

CHAPTER TWO

Ben Blake sat staring at the dark computer screen for a few moments, then started screaming. Within seconds Drake and Kennedy were at the door.

“What the hell are you pissing about at, Blakey?” Drake was carrying a tea towel, a somewhat strange look for the ex-soldier. “Nappy rash playing you up again?”

Kennedy was smiling. “Maybe the Backstreet Boys are getting back together? Again?”

“H . . . Hayden. She,  . . . ” Ben’s felt a heavy pounding in his head, as if a demon was trying to smash its way through his skull, “ . . . something just ha . . . happened.”

Drake realised his best friend was terrified. “Hey! Hey, mate, calm down. Just sit back for a sec. It’ll be alright. Breathe.”

Ben took a moment to gather his nerves. “I was just talking to her. Hayden. I think . . . I think they got ambushed, or invaded, or whatever. There was fighting.” Ben’s voice fell. “Gunshots.”

“No way.” Drake twisted his head to take in the computer screen. It offered nothing but an empty wall that sported a colour so drab and life-sucking it could have been used to decorate a tax office.

“I can’t hear anything,” Drake said. “Did you hear anything?”

“It was muffled, but I heard screaming and fighting and a few words at the end.”

“Where was she?”

“Miami. At a safe-house. That’s all I know. All I’m
allowed
to know.”

Kennedy laid a hand on his shoulder. “Any ideas what she was working on?” Straight to what she thought was the heart of the matter, Drake thought.

Ben shook his head. “No idea.”

They all stared at the empty screen.

Then Ben said, “The last thing I heard her say, well, scream, was
we’ve found the secret to the Bermuda Triangle.”

Kennedy took a deep breath.

Drake didn’t move for a moment, and then closed his eyes.
Here we go again.

*****

Drake and Kennedy made eye contact and doubled-ribbed Ben for his increased pleasure. “Barry Manilow, eh? Didn’t know you were a fan, Blakey?”

“Worst song of all time?” Kennedy bobbed her head with mock-seriousness. “I think so.”

Drake snapped his fingers.
“Maybe
you could cover it on the new album?”

Ben’s worried, blank face showed that he wouldn’t be placated lightly.

Drake and Kennedy immediately began to make calls. Since the ‘Odin thing’ they both had access to some high level people, including the U.S Secretary of Defence’s aide, a weedy, geeky guy who always ran around with a briefcase that practically dwarfed him.

As the phones rang and buzzed and lost signal they met each other’s eyes. Kennedy had been living with Drake for six weeks now, ever since the demise of Abel Frey. She had taken an extended vacation from the NYPD with a view to never going back. The couple were warily enjoying their time together, careful not to push the wrong buttons or scratch at any raw wounds.

For now, none of them needed to work. There had been some quiet remuneration after they helped save the world. Ben was even looking at moving out and renting his own place, especially since his band, the Wall of Sleep, had picked up a recording contract on the back of his Odinic success; a development that held much juicy mileage for Matt and Kennedy.

Drake got hold of Wells immediately. “Hey.”

“You again.”

“Missed me?”

“Only in the field.”

Drake paused. “I guess we never did get that Mai time, eh mate?”

“I’m used to being let down, Drake . . . by you.”

“Christ! Don’t be a pansy, Wells. Something big has come up.”

“It might. If I got
me
some Mai time.”

“Listen. It looks like a crack CIA team were . . .” Drake hesitated to repeat anything
final.
“hit today. In Miami. It happened a few minutes ago and I need details, Wells. Real fast.”

The SAS Commander seemed to take an interest. “Really? OK, mate, I’ll make a call.”

Drake was about to hit another number when Ben shouted again. He raced back into his lodger’s room, Kennedy a step behind.

“Someone just burst in,” the young man was pointing at a black screen. “I heard voices, shouting. I heard real shock, Matt, as if someone got the shit scared out of them. Someone swore, and then I think the laptop was slammed shut.”

“Can you Skype it?” Kennedy asked. “You know. Make it ring again.”

Ben clicked a few buttons. Nothing happened. “The connection must have gone down.”

Kennedy shook her head. “All we friggin’ need. Wait . . . Hi, is that Justin?”

The Secretary of Defence’s aide was called Justin Harrison.

Kennedy affirmed it was and hit him with the news. To the guy’s credit if he worked as fast as he walked they’d have answers in about five minutes.

Drake sidled quietly out of the room and tried one last number. The phone was answered on the first ring.

“Long time, my friend. Long, long time.” The voice that whispered in his ear was a memory of former, delicious days, sorely missed and revered.

“Well, I thought I had retired.” Unconsciously he tried to clean his Yorkshire twang up to suit her cultured tones.

“It will never end, Matt Drake. You should know that. It never ends for people like you and me.”

“I know you’re in Florida.”

“Hmm. How do you know that?”

“I still have friends in the loop.” He tried to not to sound too defensive.

“I’m sure. Is Mr Wells now a stalker as well as a pervert?”

Drake winced. “To be honest, he’s always been a bit of both.”

“Of course. Well, what do you need?”

“It sounds stupid now. But have you . . .” he shook his head in embarrassment. “ . . . heard anything about the bloody Bermuda Triangle!”

Her laugh was like the barely remembered sound of summer rain to his ears. God, he missed that sound. “I know the operation you are talking about. I know some things but not enough. Let me give you a call back.”

“Brilliant.” He listened as she closed the connection. He closed his eyes, remembering. After a few seconds he heard a sound from behind and whirled to look.

Kennedy stood in the doorway, staring. “Who was that?”

“Old contact.” Drake collected himself and strode past her towards Ben’s room. “What do we have?”

Ben’s eyes were watery. He shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.”

It was Kennedy’s mobile that rang first, a tune by The Pretty Reckless that shattered an uncomfortable stillness. She answered and punched the speaker button.

“It’s Justin Harrison.”

“I know,” Kennedy drawled, still showing her cops’ abruptness. “What have you got?”

“Bad news I’m afraid, Miss Moore. The CIA are still gathering information, but it seems one of their high-security Miami safe-houses was literally
taken out.
Quite a mess down there. Reports of some
very
bad deaths. Terrible stuff, Miss Moore.”

Kennedy’s eyes filled with tears. Drake felt his own throat choke up. “Hayden? Hayden Jaye? Is she-?”

“Well, like I said, they are still gathering but it seems three agents are missing. Possibly taken captive or . . . well, who knows? Names are Jaye, Kinimaka, and Godwin.”

Drake felt his hands clench into fists at the careless use of Harrison’s rhetoric.
Names are . .

“She’s missing? Hayden is missing?”

Ben was on his feet, trying and failing to keep his emotions in check.

Drake looked at Kennedy as she cut off the connection. “Fancy a trip to the homeland, love?”

CHAPTER THREE

Deep inside the Florida Everglades, Hayden Jaye twisted on the concrete floor. Her hands were still bound but she used Mano Kinimaka as a fulcrum and pushed to her feet.

She looked around.

They had been thrown into a makeshift cell. The place they were in was a ramshackle mess; nothing more than a few old buildings knocked together. Obviously a temporary base, but for how long? Their cell was full of empty, torn-apart cardboard boxes. Wyatt Godwin, the only other surviving member of her team, sat propped in a corner and gave her a weak smile.

Beyond a row of heavy, black bars lay a vast, untidy room, dominated by a chaos of technological clutter and weaponry that had clearly just been thrown together. Hayden counted dozens of men making their way among the jumbled islands; none wore masks.