The Gates of Hell (Matt Drake 3) (25 page)

As the dart flew, a heavy line unraveled behind it.

The other end of the line was then inserted into the same weapon and fired into the nearer wall, embedding itself several feet higher than the first. The rope was quickly tensioned.

They had created a zip-line.

Drake thought quickly. “If we’re gonna stop him, we need that line,” he said. “It would take too long to set our own up. So don’t shoot it. But we also need to stop them cutting it when they’re across.”

“Think more like the Blood King,” Karin said with distaste. “Think of him cutting the line when the last few of his men are still on it.”

“We don’t stop,” Drake said. “Not for anything.”

He burst from behind the cover and opened fire. To his left and right, the Delta force ran, shooting carefully but accurately.

The first of Kovalenko’s men zipped across the chasm, picking up speed as he went and landing deftly on the other side. Quickly, he turned and began to lay down a wall of covering fire on full-auto.

A Delta soldier hurtled sideways, shot to pieces. His body crashed in front of Drake, but the Englishman jumped over without breaking stride. As he approached the first S-ledge, a wide gulf of emptiness opened up before him. They would have to leap onto it!

Still firing, he sprang over the chasm. The second of Kovalenko’s men flew down the line. Boulders were dislodged from the nearby cavern wall as bullets impacted with devastating force.

Drake’s team sprinted and leapt behind him.

A third figure jumped onto the highly-tensioned line. Kovalenko. Drake’s brain shrieked at him to take the shot.
Risk it!
Take the fucker out right now.

But too many things could go wrong. He might sever the line and Kovalenko might still fall to safety. He might only wound the bastard. And—biggest of all—they needed the Russian arsehole alive to lift the blood vendetta.

Kovalenko landed safely. Three more of his men made it across. Drake dropped another three as the two forces came together. Three close shots. Three kills.

Then a rifle flew at his head. He ducked, hefted the assailant over his shoulder and heaved him off the ledge into blackness. He turned and fired from the hip. Another man fell. Komodo was at his side. A knife was drawn. Blood sprayed across the cavern wall. Kovalenko’s men backed up slowly, driven to the sheer drop at their backs.

The remaining four Delta soldiers knelt at the edge of the chasm, shooting carefully at any of Kovalenko’s men who lingered near the line. It was only a matter of time though, before one of them thought to retreat and start taking pot shots.

Speed was all they had.

Two more of the Blood King’s men had climbed up to the zip-line and now pushed off. Drake saw another start the ascent up the jagged wall and fired, blasting him off like a swatted fly. A man charged at him, head down, screaming, no doubt seeing that he was cut off. Drake sidestepped toward the wall. Komodo bundled the man off the ledge.

“Up!”

Drake wasted precious seconds casting around.
What the hell had they used to hold the bloody line?
Then he saw. Each man must have been given a small purpose-made pulley, the kind used by professionals. There were several lying around. The Blood King had come prepared for all eventualities.

As had Drake. In their packs they carried professional Caving—spelunking—equipment. Drake quickly dragged a pulley out and attached a harness to his back.

“Ben!”

Whilst the young man crab-walked over, Drake turned to Komodo. “You’ll bring Karin?”

“Of course.” Gruff, hard-faced and battle-scarred, the big man still could not hide the fact that he was already smitten.

Of all the places. . .

Trusting the Delta men to keep Kovalenko’s goons at bay, Drake kept up the pressure by rapidly linking his pulley onto the highly tensioned zip-wire. Ben fastened himself into the harness and Drake passed him the rifle.

“Shoot like our lives depend on it, Blakey!”

Screaming, they pushed off and shot down the zip-line. From this height and at this speed, the distance appeared greater and the far ledge seemed to recede. Ben opened fire, his shots spreading high and wide and sending chunks of rock showering onto the Blood King’s men below.

But that didn’t matter. It was the noise and the onslaught and the threat that was required. Picking up speed, Drake lifted his legs as the air whipped past and the great, bottomless chasm opened up below. Terror and exhilaration made his heart pound. The sound of the metal pulley whipping across the zip-wire fizzed loudly in his ears.

Several bullets zipped by, splitting the air around the speeding pair. Drake heard return fire coming from the Delta team. One of Kovalenko’s men folded noisily. Ben roared and kept his finger on the trigger.

The closer they got, the more dangerous it became. The godsend was that there was no cover for Kovalenko’s men and the constant barrage of bullets coming from the Delta team was beyond withering. Even at this speed, Drake could feel the cold rushing up beneath his feet. Centuries of blackness stirred beneath him, roiling, churning, and perhaps reaching up with shadowy fingers to try to pluck him down into an eternal embrace.

The ledge rushed up to meet him. At the last minute, the Blood King ordered the retreat of his men and Drake let go of the pulley. He landed on his feet, but his momentum was not enough to maintain the balance between forward thrust and rearward weight.

In other words, Blakey’s weight toppled them over backward. Toward the abyss.

Drake deliberately fell sideways, throwing his entire body into the ungainly maneuver. Ben was grabbing frantically at the unyielding rock, but still gamely holding on to the rifle. Drake heard the sudden whip of the zip-line tautening and knew Komodo and Karin were already on it, zooming down toward him at bone-breaking speed.

The Blood King’s men were darting along the ledge toward the rear of the chamber now, almost in a position to make the final leap onto the vast rock plateau where the mysterious staircase began. The good news was he was down to a dozen men.

Drake dragged himself across the ledge before unbuckling Ben, then allowed himself a few seconds respite before sitting up. In a flash of motion, Komodo and Karin flew across his sight, the pair landing gracefully and not without a little sly smile.

“Kid’s put on some weight.” Drake indicated Ben. “Too many full breakfasts. Not enough dancing.”

“The band doesn’t
dance.”
Ben hit back instantly as Drake assessed their next move. Wait for the rest of the team or give chase?

“Hayden says when you dance you look like Pixie Lott.”

“Bollocks.”

Komodo was also staring after Kovalenko’s men. The zip-line went taut again and they all moved against the wall. In quick succession, two more Delta soldiers arrived, their boots grating loudly over grit as they decelerated to a quick halt.

“Keep moving.” Drake decided. “Best not to give them time to think.”

They raced along the ledge, guns ready. The Blood King’s progress was momentarily hidden from sight by the curve of the rocky wall, but when Drake and his team beat the curve, they saw Kovalenko and the remainder his men already on the rock plateau.

He had lost two more men somewhere.

And now it seemed they had been ordered to take extreme measures. Several men were breaking out portable RPG launchers.

“Damn, they’re muzzle loaded!” Drake yelled, then stopped and turned, heart suddenly falling through the earth. “Oh no—”

The initial
pop
and whistle of a muzzle-fired grenade rang out. The last two Delta soldiers were whizzing down the zip-line, zeroing in on the ledge when the missile struck. It hit the wall above the zip-line anchors and destroyed them amidst an explosion of rock and dust and shale.

The line sagged. The soldiers flew down into black oblivion without even a sound. Somehow, that was even worse.

Komodo cursed, rage distorting his features. These were good men he had trained and fought with for years. Now the Delta team were only three-strong, plus Drake, Ben and Karin.

Drake shouted and bullied them along the ledge, frantic with the knowledge that more RPG’s were about to be launched. The survivors raced along the ledge, guided by glow sticks and the abundance of amber flares. Every step took them closer to the rocky plateau and the strange staircase and the mystifying but incredible sight of the giant throne jutting out of the rock wall.

A second RPG was fired. This one exploded on the ledge behind the runners, damaging but not destroying the pathway. Even as he ran and pushed every ounce of speed from his overworked muscles, Drake could hear Kovalenko screaming at his men to take care—the ledge might be their only way out of there.

Now Drake came to the bottom of the ledge and saw the gap he had to leap in order to reach the rock plateau and confront the Blood King’s men.

It was big.

So big, in fact, that he almost faltered. Almost stopped. Not for himself, but for Ben and Karin. On first sight, he didn’t think they’d make the leap. But then he hardened his heart. They
had
to. And there could be no slowing down, no going back. They were the only people capable of stopping the Blood King and putting an end to his crazy plan. The only people capable of taking down an international terrorist leader and making sure he never got the chance to hurt anyone ever again.

But he still half-turned as he ran. “Don’t stop,” he shouted at Ben. “Believe. You’ll make it.”

Ben nodded, adrenalin taking his feet and his muscles and firing them with willpower, glory and strength. Drake hit the gap first, leaping with arms spread and feet still pumping, arcing over the gap like an Olympic athlete.

Ben came next, reaching, head all over the place and his sense of balance shot through with nerves. But he landed on the other side with inches to spare.

“Yes!”
he cried and Drake grinned at him. “Jessica Ennis ain’t got nowt on you, matey.”

Next, Komodo landed heavily, almost turning his body inside out as he twisted immediately and looked for Karin. Her leap was beautiful. Legs high, back arched, oodles of forward momentum.

And the perfect landing. The rest of the Delta team followed.

Drake spun to see the most shocking sight he’d ever laid eyes on.

The Blood King and his men, screaming and wailing, most covered in blood and gaping wounds, were all charging straight at them and brandishing their weapons, like demons from hell.

It was time for the last stand.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Matt Drake stood strong and met the Blood King head on.

First, his men arrived, cries resounding as rifles clashed and knives flicked and flashed like swords, catching the amber light and glinting their fire in myriad directions. A few shots were fired, but at this range and in this maelstrom of testosterone and fear, none were properly aimed. Yet still there was a sharp cry from behind Drake, another Delta solider fallen.

Drake’s muscles ached like he’d fought a three-hundred pound gorilla. Blood and dirt coated his face. Nine men came at him, at them, but he took them all on because the Blood King stood behind them, and nothing would stop him from claiming his revenge.

The old soldier was back, the civilian now diminished, and he was back up there in the top ranks with the baddest motherfucking soldiers alive.

Point-blank, he shot three men, straight through the heart. The fourth, he stepped into with his gun reversed, completely pulverizing the man’s nose and breaking part of the cheekbone at the same time. Three seconds had passed. He sensed the Delta crew almost back away from him in awe, giving him space to work. He left them to contend with three mercenaries whilst he advanced on one man and Kovalenko himself.

Komodo head-butted a man and stabbed a second in one movement. Karin was beside him and didn’t back down. Not for a second. She used a face-palm to send the stabbed man stumbling back and followed with a jab combination. When the mercenary growled and attempted to rally, she stepped in and used a tae-kwon-do technique to throw him over her shoulder.

Toward the sheer edge.

The man slipped off, screaming, claimed by the abyss. Karin stared at Komodo, suddenly aware of what she had done. The big team leader thought quickly and gave her a thank you sign, instantly saluting her actions and giving them relevance.

Karin took a deep breath.

Drake faced the Blood King.

At last.

The last man had put up a short fight and now lay squirming at his feet, wind-pipe crushed, both wrists broken. Kovalenko gave the man a disdainful stare.

“A fool. And weak.”

“All weak men hide behind their wealth and the semblance of power it brings them.”

“Semblance?” Kovalenko drew a pistol and shot the writhing man in the face. “Is that not power? Did you think it a semblance? I kill a man in cold blood every single day because I
can.
Is that a semblance of power?”

“Like you ordered the killing of Kennedy Moore? And my friends’ families? Some part of the world may have spawned you, Kovalenko, but it was not the sane part.”

They moved quickly and simultaneously. Two weapons, a pistol and a rifle, clicking at the same time.

Both empty. Double clicks.

“No!”
Kovalenko’s shriek was ripe with infantile rage. He had been denied.

Drake thrust with his knife. The Blood King showed his street smarts by dodging to one side. Drake threw the rifle at him. Kovalenko took the blow on the forehead without flinching and, at the same time, drew a knife of his own.

“If I have to kill you myself, Drake…”

“Oh aye, you will,” the Englishman said. “I don’t see anyone else around. You’re not a full fucking shilling, mate.”

Kovalenko lunged. Drake saw it coming in slow motion. Kovalenko might think he’d grown up hard, might even think he’d trained hard, but his training was nothing compared to the severe demands and trials endured by the British SAS.

Drake stepped in from the side, striking with a swift knee that temporarily paralyzed Kovalenko and broke some ribs. The gasp from the Russian’s mouth was instantly stifled. He backed away.