The Gates of Hell (Matt Drake 3) (18 page)

Then her cell phone began to ring. When she glanced at the screen, her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Hi,” she answered immediately. “How’ve you been?”

“Most excellent, thank you, but this tomb exploration business has one serious side-effect. My tan has almost faded away.”

Hayden smiled. “Well, Torsten, there are salons for that sort of thing.”

“Between the command post and the tomb? Not really.”

“I’d sure love to chat, Torsten, but you Swede’s do pick your moments.”

“Understood. I tried Drake first but went straight to voicemail. Is he okay?”

“Better than he was, yes.” Hayden saw the shape of Kauai looming off to the right. “Listen—”

“I’ll be quick. The op was proceeding well here. Nothing untoward. All as expected and in a timely manner. But…” Torsten paused and Hayden heard him draw breath. “Something happened today. I would say something feels ‘off.’ You American’s might term it differently.”

“Yes?”

“I received a call from my government. From my go-between to the Statsminister
.
A high-level call. I—” Another hesitant pause, most unlike Dahl.

The jagged Kauai coast swept past below them. The call came over the radio. “Eight minutes to target.”

“I was told that our operation—our Scandinavian operation was about to be taken over by a new agency. A joint task force made up of high-level, but unnamed, members of the American CIA, the DIA and the NSA. Now, Hayden, I’m a soldier and I’ll follow a command from my highest superior, but does that sound right to you?”

Hayden was shocked despite herself. “It sounds like bullshit to me. What’s the name of the man in charge? The one you will hand over to.”

“Russell Cayman. Do you know him?”

Hayden searched her memory. “I know the name, but I know very little about him. I’m sure he’s DIA, Defense Intelligence Agency, but they mainly look after weapon systems acquisition. What on earth would this Russell Cayman want from you and the Tomb?”

“You read my mind.”

From the corner of her eye, Hayden saw Mai’s head snap around as if she’d been shot through the skull. But when Hayden turned questioningly toward her the Japanese agent looked away.

Hayden thought for a few seconds and then asked in a quiet voice, “Do you trust all your men, Torsten?”

Dahl’s overlong pause answered her question.

“If the DIA have been tipped off about something, then they have a very long reach. Their priority might even exceed the CIA’s. Tread softly, buddy. This guy, Cayman, he’s nothing short of a ghost. A troubleshooter for black ops, Gitmo, 9/11. If something huge and sensitive goes wrong, he’s the sort of man you turn to.”

“Fuck me. I wish I hadn’t asked.”

“I have to go now, Torsten. But I promise you I’ll speak to Jonathan about this bullshit as soon as I can. Hang in there.”

Torsten signed off with the world-weary sigh of a professional soldier who had already seen it all and was loathe to be assigned as some lackey to an American upstart. Hayden felt for him. She turned to Mai, about to ask what she knew.

But the call came over the radio,
“Target.”

Ahead and below the fields were burning. As the chopper swept lower, tiny figures could be seen running haphazardly in every direction. Ropes deployed from the cabin and men leapt for them, slithering quickly to the blasted landscape below. Hayden and Mai awaited their turn, Mai’s expression blank, as they heard their own men open fire.

Hayden checked the readiness of her Glock for the third time and said, “Boudreau’s down there.”

“Don’t worry,” the Japanese woman said. “He’s about to find out what Mai-time really means.”

The two women rappelled together, landing at the same time, and moving off in a classic one-two cover advance. This practice required absolute trust in each other as, whilst one person ran, the second person watched their peripherals. One, two, like a leapfrog formation. But it was a fast and devastating way to advance.

Hayden surveyed the area as she ran. Some rolling hills ended at a gated and fenced compound wherein stood a vast house and several big outbuildings. That would be Kovalenko’s second ranch. Judging by the fire and chaos, Boudreau hadn’t arrived too long before them.

Or, more likely, he had been taking his sadistic time about the whole thing.

Hayden ran, firing with her loaned marine-issue M16 assault rifle at muzzle flashes and men she saw in concealment. Two minutes and her turn was up and she shouted, “Reload!” and took an extra few seconds to slam a new mag into her weapon. Fire was rarely returned at them, and when it was, it was so disorganized that it missed them by several feet.

To either side, the crack marine teams were advancing at a similar rate. The fence loomed ahead now, the gates left invitingly open, but the teams drifted to the left. A well-thrown grenade made the fence supports collapse, leaving the team a clear run into the ranch.

Bullets now whizzed dangerously close.

Hayden took cover behind a generator outhouse. Impact sparks fizzed off the brickwork as Mai dived for cover. Clay and metal shards splintered everywhere.

Mai wiped a line of blood from her cheek. “Boudreau’s soldiers were trained at your Kindergartens.”

Hayden breathed for a moment, then took a quick glance at the house. “Twelve feet. You ready?”

“Yes.”

Hayden ran. Mai stepped out and laid down a wall of lead, making their enemy duck for cover. Hayden reached the corner of the house and flattened herself against the wall. She threw a stun grenade through a window and then covered Mai.

But at that moment, a stunning amount of chatter burst through her earpiece. The team leader was urging men to make for the far warehouse. Something terrible was about to happen there. As Hayden listened, she managed to glean that Boudreau’s men had half-circled the building and were about to open fire at whatever might be within.

Captives no doubt. Hostages.

Hayden raced behind Mai, running out into the clearing and firing together. Other soldiers joined them, fanning out to either side, forming a deadly, charging wall of courage and death.

The senseless slaughter about to be committed was the trademark of Boudreau. He would be there.

The running soldiers never stopped firing. Bullets laced the air, pinged and zipped off walls and machinery, and found at least a half-dozen enemy targets. Boudreau’s men recoiled and squirmed away in shock and fear. As the soldiers passed their hiding places, they tried to sneak gutless shots off from the side, but the marines were ready and tossed grenades at them.

Explosions shot high into the air to either side of the runners. Shrapnel fizzed away from the blasts; tongues of fire spread hot death so rapidly the eye could barely follow. Screaming men lie in their wake.

Hayden saw the barn ahead. Her heart clenched in utter horror. It was true. At least fifteen of Boudreau’s men were stood around a locked barn, aiming their weapons at the paper thin walls and, as Hayden lined the first man up in her sights, they all opened fire.

*****

Alicia Myles hit the ground running and firing as the Hawaiian forces and their allies launched their attack on Kovalenko’s Big Island ranch. The terrain was rough. All deep canyons, high hills and forested flats. Before they had even gotten near the ranch, an RPG had been launched at one of the attack choppers, catching it but not destroying it, forcing them all to make an early landing.

Now they hurried on as a team, negotiating the dense forestation and the rugged hillsides. Already, they had lost one man to a booby trap. The advance had been prepped by the Blood King’s men. RPG’s rocketed through the trees aimlessly.

Mercenaries having fun.

But the marines were gaining ground, only about thirty feet and one final steep-sided valley away from the fence now. Alicia could make out the grinning faces of their enemy. Her blood began to boil. At her side, the big CIA agent, Kinimaka, loped along quite nimbly for a giant. He was turning out to be quite an asset.

The communication devices in their ears kept the news of atrocities coming. The hotel on Oahu, the Ala Moana Queen, had been sealed off. A tourist had been thrown to his death from a tenth floor window. Grenades had been hurled out into the street. A SWAT team was being readied for an operation that was likely to be quickly green-lit on account of the death and mayhem the mercenaries were causing. On Kauai, the lone suicide bomber had let loose a few rounds at gathering news vans, winging a reporter. And now, on the Big Island, a coach load of tourists had been abducted and their coach fitted with a bomb. They had been locked inside whilst their captives sat around outside in deck-chairs, drinking beer and playing cards. It wasn’t known which one of them had the detonator, or how many there were.

Alicia leapt down the side of the valley. An RPG exploded in front of her, raining dirt and rock high into the air. She jumped through it, laughing, and turned when she sensed Kinimaka’s hesitancy.

“C’mon, tubby,” she said with a playful curl of her mouth. “Stick with me. This is where things really get dirty.”

*****

Hayden fired again and again, trying to stay calm and thus maintain her accuracy. Three heads exploded in her sights. Mai still ran beside her, saying nothing. Other soldiers dropped to one knee, squeezing off shots and felling the mercenaries before they could spin around.

Then Hayden was among them. One man turned and she smashed her rifle across the bridge of his nose. He went down with a scream, but kicked her legs, sending her tumbling headlong over him.

She quickly scrambled up, but his bulk was on top of her, bearing her down. When she looked up, she stared straight into his hate-filled, pain-soaked eyes. With a bear-like growl he punched her and clamped thick hands around her throat.

Instantly she saw stars, but she didn’t try to stop him. Instead, her two free hands found weapons of their own. In the right, her Glock. In the left, her knife. She shoved the barrel of the gun into his ribs, letting him feel it.

His grip relaxed, eyes going wide.

Hayden fired three dull shots. The man rolled off her. As the view above her cleared, another mercenary’s face came into view. Hayden shot at the nose, saw the man fly back and vanish.

She sat up and saw Mai. The last remaining mercenary facing her. Hayden blinked. The man was a ruin. His face looked like it had been painted red. Teeth were missing. His jaw looked out of line. One arm had been dislocated, the other broken at the elbow. He stood on shaking legs and then collapsed to his knees in the bloody dirt.

“You picked the wrong person to challenge,” Mai said with a sweet smile, aimed her borrowed Glock, and blew his head off.

Hayden gulped despite herself. That was some serious piece of woman.

The barn door was being opened by marines shouting out their presence. Hayden’s heart sank at the amount of puncture holes in the fabricated walls. Hopefully, the hostages had taken cover.

Amidst her rapidly clearing thoughts something became apparent above all else. Boudreau wasn’t here. She looked back at the house. It was the last place she would expect him to hide, but still—

A sudden commotion caught her attention. Marines were stumbling back out of the barn, one holding his shoulder as if he’d been stabbed.

Then Boudreau and a horde of mercenaries poured out of the barn, guns firing, screaming like demons. Did that mean the other mercenaries had given their lives to be decoys? Had they been firing blanks or at a designated position?

Reality hit her like a nuclear payload. The Blood King’s men were among the marines now, fighting, and Boudreau was pounding toward Hayden, knife raised in challenge.

*****

Alicia spurred the team on with her ingenuity and spirit under fire. Within minutes, they had reached the top of the final rise and were laying down a halo of fire at the entrenched defenders. Alicia spied a big house, a big barn and a double garage. The property backed onto a wide river, no doubt a means of escape, and a helipad stood near the barn, complete with one shabby-looking chopper.

She glanced behind her. “Grenade launchers.”

The team leader frowned. “Already on it.”

Alicia pointed to enemy positions. “The low wall there. The backside of the house. Behind the Rolls. To the right of the fountain.”

The team leader licked his lips. “Flush the bastards out.”

Multiple explosions made the ground shake. The attackers fired three rounds of grenades and then rushed forward in one-two formation, still firing as a unit but fanning out in a deadly arc.

With a devastating severity, they stormed the Blood King’s ranch.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Drake’s booted feet touched the floor of the chamber. Before the others started to descend, he set of a luminescent flare to brighten their way. Immediately, the walls came to life, their etchings now standing out starkly to Drake’s shocked eyes.

Whorls, like the ones on the two portable devices. Now confirmed as being exactly the same as the ones Torsten Dahl and his team had discovered in the Tomb of the Gods back in Iceland.

What manner of ancient civilization had they stumbled onto lately? And where would it all end?

Ben and Karin and the rest of the Delta team repelled down the drop rope until they all crowded around the huge archway of the Gates of Pele. Drake tried hard not to look too deeply into the inky blackness beyond.

Ben and Karin fell to their knees. The actual arch itself consisted of some kind of dull metal, perfectly smooth and symmetrical. Upon the surface of the metal were etched the same tiny markings as the rest of the cave.

“These markings”—Karin touched them carefully—“are not random. Look. I see the same whorl repeated time after time. And the rest of the cave…” She glanced around. “Is the same.”

Ben fumbled out his phone. “This is the pic that Dahl sent us.” He held it up to the light. Drake leaned forward, confident that the Delta team would be alert for intruders.