The Tomb of the Gods (Matt Drake 4) (24 page)

Drake advanced steadily, Mai and Alicia—the two people he would most want at his side in this situation—keeping pace. Every few seconds, more shots rang out. He could only imagine the panic in the plaza, the arms being packed away and the choppers being warmed up. With a quick jab he keyed his chest mic. “Make sure the Norseman’s kept handy. If anyone knows who has the pieces, it’s him.”

The chance was slim, he knew, but they couldn’t afford to miss even the slimmest opportunity here today.

“I miss this,” Alicia said happily at his side. “Late nights, days of battle and rough sex. My kind of living.” She opened fire as a man peered around a corner ahead, blowing a small part of his head away.

More streets, and the attackers spread out even more until their line grew dangerously thin. Drake saw the final few houses ahead where the ground sloped away towards the plaza and hurried forward.

His mic buzzed.
“Problem.”

“What?”

But then he reached the summit of the hill himself and flashed a glance down. A large amount of terrorist guards and what looked like hired mercenaries were running toward them, staying low and firing in sequence so that never a second passed without a bullet in flight. A well-organized force.

Drake cast quickly about. The containers were a few hundred yards to their right, offering advancement and cover. He keyed the mic. “Move right.”

They side-stepped quickly, backs to the houses, firing tenaciously and throwing dozens of grenades. Bullets flashed in both directions, hammering against the house walls like thunder, showering those around with mortar, digging up dirt around the advancing terrorists, spinning some around and sending others hurtling back down the bloody slope. Explosions tore up rock and soil, flesh and bone. A desperate melee of death and destruction saw Drake’s whole team dodging to the right and digging into positions among the high, steel containers. Drake threw himself to the hard earth, kicking up dust and stones, wasting no time as he sighted on those below and blasted out another barrage of lead.

Then the attackers crested the hill, still firing, and were suddenly among them. Drake fired twice, still prone, taking two men out, then rose and met a head-on assault. He smashed the butt of his rifle into the man’s teeth, felt a spray of blood, lifted the weapon and brought it hard down on the top of his head. The man fell to his knees. Drake drew the knife with his other hand and finished it. Another man flung himself at the Englishman. Drake simply stood, unbendable, and met the man’s flight with a powerful head-butt to the face. Without sound or movement, his attacker collapsed in a heap.

Gunfire, grunting and screaming, shouts of mercy and cries of bloodlust pierced the day. Mai took a surprise elbow to the face and stumbled back against a metal siding, weapon falling. Drake was almost too stunned to react, to help her, but before he could even move, Alicia drew her pistol, spun and shot the adversary in the time it took him to draw a single breath.

Mai blinked at her. “Thanks.”

Alicia just winked before turning her attention back to the man she had by the throat.

Drake shook his head. “This is all just a delay tactic.” He could see beyond the edge now, down into the plaza. The terrorist leaders were just finishing up their business as if it were a steady day at the local meat market. They didn’t hurry. Barely a single one cast even a glance up the hill to the place where men fought and died on their behalf.

“Damn their arrogance,” he whispered furiously. “But it’ll cost them.”

As the onslaught began to thin out, Drake advanced. He took a quick look around, taking stock. He couldn’t see everyone, but saw no fatalities on their side.

“To me,” he said into the mic. “To the plaza.”

Men emerged from between the containers, weapons ready, steadfastly determined to make the next advance. With high and constant vigilance, they swept down the hill, shooting everything that moved ahead. Now, to Drake’s satisfaction, the terrorist leaders and arms dealers were fleeing with abandon, leaving personal bodyguards and crates and boxes of armaments and missiles in their wake.

Beyond the plaza he saw choppers with rotors already whirling and many of the terrorist’s security personnel digging into strategic positions. Some of the weapons he saw being readied were more than daunting. The huge tent sat serene, its sides flapping in the breeze, an oasis of calm amidst the storm.

To Drake’s left, Hayden appeared in his sight, bounding alongside with the ever-present Kinimaka watching her back. The Hawaiian seemed even more concerned than usual with keeping his boss safe. Probably due to the painkillers, Hayden would be thinking she was invincible. Drake fired at movement ahead, wishing he felt the same way. More gunfire and a stray shot slammed into a box of missiles, sending the lot up in a humongous explosion that rivaled the best New Years Eve firework display.

But these were deadly missiles, exploding fragments and small, deadly warheads. Drake and his team, to a man, threw themselves headlong into the dirt and kept their heads down. When he looked up, Drake saw a fireball whooshing to the sky. Trails of thick, black smoke streamed all around it. He scrambled up. Members of the enemy force, twisted hunks of metal and smoldering timbers now littered the plaza.

Drake advanced onto the square, roughly paved surface, cracking off a shot every now and then when something moved. A man ran at him from behind a fiery hunk of destroyed timbers, but Dahl was quick to meet and stop him dead in his tracks. Literally.

The team hiked across the square, surrounded by flames and destruction, sweeping for any signs of life or enemy snipers. Dahl found an untouched box of RPG launchers and their missiles, which he quickly doled out. Drake saw Ben and Karin and Gates now running down the hill behind them. Belmonte, to his surprise, was already part of the attack team, holding a light machine pistol and a handgun.

So far so good. He wondered again about the eight pieces and experienced a surge of fear.
What if Holgate lied even under extreme regret and duress? What if the pieces were already gone or even on their way to Singen by now?

God help them all.

Then he crested the final rise and got a first real look at the valley below.
A valley of death¸
he thought. On the flatlands, more than a dozen choppers were waiting or being boarded. One lifted off as he watched. The slope down into the valley was heavily covered on both sides of the road by small knots of men holding every weapon imaginable.

They were dug in, and they were waiting, knowing that if Drake’s team wanted to advance any more, they’d have to go past them.

Drake’s entire team lined up in a staggered formation, two deep along the rim of the valley. At that moment, the big tent’s door-flaps were pushed back and out came a small troop of rugged men all wearing
thawbs—
or robes—and
Keffiyeh—
headdress. Behind them came soldiers carrying machine guns, dressed in jeans and jackets and behind
them
came a final group—a scurrying band of European men—probably mercenaries—hefting all eight pieces of Odin between them.

The sale had been completed. The choppers were already warmed up and itching to fly.

Drake saw no other way. He looked across at Dahl and Sam and their men, and thought of the future of their world, of their children, nothing else.
For our children,
he thought.  “For our future!” he cried aloud.

The charge was on.

*****

Hard down the grueling slope they flew, feet tugged at by bloodied clumps of dead grass, guns tight against their shoulders, meeting bullet with bullet, battle cry with war cry. And death filled the air. Choppers rose ahead like black birds of prey only to be blown out of the sky by expertly aimed RPG launchers. Fire rained down from the skies. A creeping column of explosions and a deadly wall of lead marched before and among the sixty, the unsung heroes, men eaten by fear but forging ahead despite it all. And even as they fell, they kept firing, even as their dying bodies hit the ground they threw a last grenade or took another bullet for those who still lived and still ran headlong into the face of death.

All across the hill, they were ranged, sweeping down toward the guns. Not one among them wavered, but fought fire with fire and stormed through the deadly onslaught like a wave surging across a reef.

Drake felt more than one bullet sear past his face. A great fiery explosion lit up the hill before him, but he forged through it. Something nicked his ear, probably shrapnel, but he barely felt it. Every stride brought the enemy within reach. Every stride brought the pieces of Odin closer to safety. With precise fire and expert magazine changes, he pounded round after round into their assailants. Bullets, grenades and rockets fired high into the air as men cartwheeled backward, struck at the very moment they pressed their triggers. At one point, a chopper smashed down into the very heart of the terrorists’ defense, bursting apart on impact and blasting metal shards, men and terrible tongues of fire outward in a horrific display of absolute mayhem.

That same blast destroyed more enemy fortifications from the rear. Drake’s team fell among them, up for blood and battle, offering no quarter. Drake jumped over a high mound, landing amidst a tangle of men and fired three times, three directions, into the chests of his enemy. They fell back with heavy thuds. Mai landed beside him. Belmonte came down on the other side. The thief shot at a masked man emerging from the smoke downslope. Drake lifted his head.

“Keep going.” He keyed his mic. “We have the momentum. Don’t stop now!”
But at that moment, there was the horrendous sound of heavy gunfire, the kind of sound made by a big caliber weapon that seems to shoot right up from the bowels of hell. They hit the deck as gigantic chunks of earth blasted into the air, chewed up by the huge shells.

“Fuck me!” Mai yelled. “What is
that?”

“Some kind of heavy machine gun,” Drake shouted back. “Bollocks! They have our position. We’re pinned.”

“No time!” Mai cried, but at that moment the big gun coughed again and a shell exploded beside her, sending her body slamming across the shallow depression.

“Mai!”
Drake screamed.

Belmonte scrambled over to her. Suddenly a shadow blocked out the sun and Drake looked up to see four enemy soldiers leaping towards him.

The big gun had been used as distraction.

Now Drake, alone, rolled and came up to his knees, blasting one of the men away. But the others were in too close. One knocked his gun away. Another reached for his throat, but too slow. Drake gripped the arm and twisted it down, breaking it at the elbow, then slammed it back up so that the man’s body smashed into one of his brethren. Another came at him from the side. Drake fell back, watched an arm holding a wicked knife scythe through the air a millimetre above his nose, and rolled into the body and around until he was behind the man. Then he drew his own blade and buried it into the nape of his neck.

A bullet slammed through the gap between his legs. He looked up. A truly enormous soldier stood before him, grinning, weapon steady, the blood of good men already dripping from his face.

Drake had no way out. He felt a second of regret. . .

. . .the gun fired, but shot wide. An SAS soldier had launched a desperate attack, hitting the giant around the waist. The soldier bounced off. The giant, seven feet of bulging muscle and pure fury, didn’t even wobble. He simply re-aimed the gun and ended the other man’s life. But now Drake was up and Mai was shaking her head, instantly alert, and diving in from the other side.

Drake struck from the front, three punches and a kick in lightning time. The giant took them all without flinching as he concentrated on Mai, recoiling from her deadly strikes but batting them aside anyway.

Drake struck again. “You’ll feel this, you bastard!”

The giant grunted. “I fink you need bigger hands, small man.” He kicked Drake in the chest with the force of an elephant, sending him flying back, stunned and winded. Mai dove in again, breaking her enemy’s arm but, still dazed, found herself being crushed at the giant’s feet.

Then a brief respite came as he stared in confusion at his dangling arm. “It’s no bovver.” He growled, not even wincing as he prodded the jagged bone back through torn flesh. “I’ll mend later.”

The enormous man still held a pistol in one oversized hand. His cackle of madness and delight stung even the death-laden afternoon air with frenzied malice.

For the second time in as many minutes, Drake faced death down the sights of a barrel. With no hope he struggled to thrust his body upright. But the giant fired immediately. No speech, no more chatter, just a spark of ignition lighting his eyes firing the thought that he could finish up here and lumber over to his next target.

With the quickness of a bullet, a shadow dove between Drake and Mai and instant death. Then the shattered body of Daniel Belmonte landed beside them, bleeding badly where the neck met the collarbone, eyes hopeful.

“Did I save the day?”

Still running on adrenalin. . . he didn’t know quite yet that his wound was fatal.

But the giant just shook his big, shaggy head and raised his gun again. Belmonte noticed and then, against all odds, pushed himself up and grabbed the big man in a hug. Bullets punched through Belmonte’s frame, jerking the body terribly with every impact. As Drake watched, he saw the thief’s last act in this life—to bring his arm around and bury the knife he had taken from Drake right through the giant’s thick neck.

Both men fell in a heap. It still took both Drake and Mai nearly a minute to stand. They both heard Belmonte’s final words, no more than a whisper of breath. “Now I will meet her again.”

By then the battle had moved on. Drake and Mai checked their wounds, scooped up lost weapons, and continued with a nod to Belmonte’s already cooling body.

*****

Hayden obliterated an enemy defense post with Kinimaka, Dahl and several of his Swedish compatriots before looking ahead. Toward the bottom of the slope, the men escaping with the eight pieces had cleared the tent and were heading for an area crowded with helicopters. Hayden cast about. Smoke and fire fogged the area around them. She couldn’t rely on anyone else coming to help, so she set off at a run, now starting to feel the return of fire in her side as the painkillers wore off.