Weapons of the Gods Read online

  Weapons of the Gods

  (Matt Drake #18)

  By

  David Leadbeater

  Other Books by David Leadbeater:

  The Matt Drake Series

  A constantly evolving, action-packed romp based in the escapist action-adventure genre:

  The Bones of Odin (Matt Drake #1)

  The Blood King Conspiracy (Matt Drake #2)

  The Gates of Hell (Matt Drake 3)

  The Tomb of the Gods (Matt Drake #4)

  Brothers in Arms (Matt Drake #5)

  The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake #6)

  Blood Vengeance (Matt Drake #7)

  Last Man Standing (Matt Drake #8)

  The Plagues of Pandora (Matt Drake #9)

  The Lost Kingdom (Matt Drake #10)

  The Ghost Ships of Arizona (Matt Drake #11)

  The Last Bazaar (Matt Drake #12)

  The Edge of Armageddon (Matt Drake #13)

  The Treasures of Saint Germain (Matt Drake #14)

  Inca Kings (Matt Drake #15)

  The Four Corners of the Earth (Matt Drake #16)

  The Seven Seals of Egypt (Matt Drake #17)

  The Alicia Myles Series

  Aztec Gold (Alicia Myles #1)

  Crusader’s Gold (Alicia Myles #2)

  Caribbean Gold (Alicia Myles #3)

  The Torsten Dahl Thriller Series

  Stand Your Ground (Dahl Thriller #1)

  The Relic Hunters Series

  The Relic Hunters (Relic Hunters #1)

  The Disavowed Series:

  The Razor’s Edge (Disavowed #1)

  In Harm’s Way (Disavowed #2)

  Threat Level: Red (Disavowed #3)

  The Chosen Few Series

  Chosen (The Chosen Trilogy #1)

  Guardians (The Chosen Tribology #2)

  Short Stories

  Walking with Ghosts (A short story)

  A Whispering of Ghosts (A short story)

  All genuine comments are very welcome at:

  [email protected]

  Twitter: @dleadbeater2011

  Visit David’s website for the latest news and information:

  davidleadbeater.com

  Contents

  Other Books by David Leadbeater

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  Other Books by David Leadbeater

  CHAPTER ONE

  “We are the core elements of Tempest,” General George Gleeson told CIA high-flyer, Mark Digby. “But our goals are too widespread to reach on our own.” He waved at a bank of monitors positioned on the desk in front of them. “Switch them on.”

  Digby activated all five monitors with the push of a button. Gleeson waited for the newcomers to realize they were on-air, settling back in his padded leather chair and basking in the ambiance that surrounded him: four walls of solid oak paneling, low light bleeding from underneath gold colored lampshades, a whole wall full of old hardbacks that he’d never even looked at, and a vast, imposing desk—the centerpiece and workstation of his private house.

  Digby coughed. The new attendees looked up.

  “Are we ready?” Gleeson asked.

  Digby jumped straight in. “The events in Egypt didn’t pan out quite as we hoped,” he said. “And the Sword of Mars eluded us before that. Other players got in the way,” he conceded. “SPEAR. FrameHub. Luther. Even the goddamn CIA.” He chuckled at the joke made at his own expense. “It was too dangerous, too much risk. Tempest were exposed and some people out there are now aware that we exist.”

  Five faces returned his gaze with unhappy glares of their own, among them a judge, a police commissioner, a Wall Street wiz and a presidential aide. The latter spoke up first.

  “Where does that leave us?”

  “Well, Mr. Troy, it leaves us with a challenge to overcome. Tempest was created to gather together the greatest weapons known to man—the weapons of the gods—and to discover if there’s a way to use them together, concertedly. To date, just a single one of those known weapons has surfaced. The Sword of Mars, which now resides in London . . .”

  Gleeson leaned forward before Digby could continue. “From here on in, gentlemen, we’re at critical mass. Or, to put it another way you’ll understand—we gotta throw everything at it, tirelessly, dispassionately, even unethically. If you want to win—it’s no holds barred from here on in.”

  Troy nodded. “Do we have the new, up-to-date list of weapons?”

  “It’s in your inbox. All twenty of them.”

  “And Luther? Did we lose Luther?”

  “At this stage of the game,” Digby sighed, “we must assume that we did.”

  The banker and the police commissioner shook their heads in anger. Gleeson reminded them of the contingency plan.

  “The Syrian camps are well underway. They’re already radicalizing hundreds and our mercs are training them. Soon, we’ll have an army to distract not only the masses but every police force of the First World. Then we can barnstorm our way to the weapons.”

  “Are we strategically ready for all those lines of attack?” the police commissioner asked.

  “Truthfully . . . no. Not yet. But it won’t be long.”

  “And all the disavowed, alienated and disordered Special Forces teams out there? How long can we keep a lid on it?”

  Gleeson deferred to the presidential aide, Troy, to answer that.

  “I’m working tirelessly at it but even I—with the General’s help—won’t be able to alleviate suspicions forever. A few weeks maybe.”

  “Another reason why speed has become imperative,” Gleeson said. “We can’t use CIA assets anymore. We’re fortunate we prepared some of our own. The camps are viable. Let’s start using them.”

  The general took in the mood of his comrades as best he could. He preferred face-to-face at the place he’d dubbed The Chamber. The military was all about physical confrontation, but he was also forced to admit modern communications were far faster when matters were pressing. This wasn’t a case of deciding which one of them was in deep and who dangled their toes in the pool. No, they were all up to their necks in it. This had become more of a test of courage.

  His mind also considered the possibility that one of them might betray him.

  “Questions?” he barked.

  There were none. Gleeson didn’t like it. T
hese people should be spouting, chattering all sorts of rhetoric back at him. Their silence betrayed their doubts and the fact that they weren’t fully invested.

  Well, that would change.

  He glanced over at Digby, the one man he could trust. “I think we should convene a meeting.”

  “I agree.”

  “That’s gonna be extremely hard for me,” the presidential aide said negatively. “I’m juggling a hundred balls over here.”

  “The Chamber,” Gleeson said, ignoring Troy and then snapping out a time and date. “No excuses, gentlemen. It will be good to catch up.”

  He tried not to let any malice seep into the tone of his voice.

  Once they agreed to it, Gleeson signed off. He took a moment to confer with Digby and then rechecked the status of their Syrian terrorist camp with his commanders on the ground. All was progressing well, and at speed. The weapons of the gods were almost within reach. Gleeson knew they could be tracked due to an incredibly rare element in their makeup, but the tracking device had to be close in order to work. That still left them with the problem of getting close.

  Not so much the Sword of Mars.

  He allowed a smile to grace his heavy features, patting his fresh stubble of hair down as he did so. The mole he’d planted in the British government six years ago would finally prove worthwhile.

  Maybe tonight. Damn, how he would like to get that first weapon under his belt. Figuratively speaking, of course.

  Gleeson laughed at his own small joke, ignored Digby’s stare, and left the room. Once in the hallway, he fished out a cellphone and called a private number.

  “Hello? I need a whore.”

  The woman he knew as Madam Masuda sighed in her worldly way. “Another so soon? Okay, I have Nightshade here and ready to go. She is . . . exotic.”

  “I bet,” Gleeson laughed and then thought: Nightshade? But his desire got the better of him. “Send her right over.”

  “Good. Please give her one hour.”

  *

  Madam Masuda never took her eyes away from the tall, dark-haired woman sat before her. “I cannot say how dangerous this is. He might recognize you.”

  Lauren Fox inclined her head as a sign of agreement. “This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for,” she said with a sassy accent. “Bring it on and let Nightshade live one last time.”

  “I can make you up.”

  “Good. But make it heavy. We don’t want him to recognize me now, do we?” She laughed, feeling good. At last here was a way to help her friends, get close to Gleeson and maybe even find out who the presidential aide was—the man or woman that had been blocking all her attempts to reach President Coburn. When Secretary of Defense Kimberly Crowe came to their side, Lauren had been hopeful that her knowledge and experience with Gleeson would pay off.

  Gleeson may or may not have seen her photo when he decided to target SPEAR after Peru and then during their Egypt jaunt.

  But he’d never seen Nightshade.

  It was time to start destroying the evil pyramid that rose against them, their reputations and the entire civilized world. She would start at the very top.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ignoring the clamor of internal warning bells, Lauren Fox slipped into her Nightshade persona. It had been a while, but Lauren and Nightshade had been alter-egos for many years and the traits soon came rushing back. Of course, her “costume” was back in New York these days, but Madam Masuda was able to lay her hands on almost anything.

  “Leather,” Lauren had confirmed. “Boots mostly. The outfit can be lacy, I guess, but not too revealing. I’ll need whips and gloves. Good gloves. If I have to touch this creep I don’t wanna feel it.”

  Madam Masuda held up a black object. “Strap on?”

  “No! I don’t even wanna get close to this guy.”

  Traveling in the car on her way to see Gleeson, Lauren recalled the time, not so long ago in Peru, when she walked away from the team, returned to DC and started unearthing the truth. It had been a frustrating period—striking one closed door after another—but now she sensed a better opportunity. She imagined the conversation she would need to engineer to extract all the right answers.

  The car stopped, the big, burly driver half-turning in his seat to look at her. “You okay, miss?”

  He saw only Nightshade wrapped in a knee-length beige coat. “Yeah, thanks. The hardest part is meeting them.”

  “I’ll be right here,” his voice rumbled deeply. “You need me, you hit the button.”

  Lauren nodded and climbed out of the car. Gleeson had invited her to a hotel about half a mile from the Capitol building, set back from a busy street and popular with tourists. The old perv probably had a bellboy on retainer, one that could loan him an empty room for an hour or so. Lauren had seen it many times before. Money corrupted in every imaginable way, and people like Gleeson in their powerful roles used it to get exactly what they wanted.

  Through the hotel doors Nightshade stalked, heading down a level to the elevators and then punching the button for the third floor. She swept along a quiet, echoing corridor, then stopped and knocked at a door. Within seconds, it was pulled open.

  “Come in,” he said. “I have less time than I thought. The wife wants to meet me for dinner.”

  Nightshade stepped inside and closed the door, thumb hovering over the button that would summon her driver. Gleeson appeared to be at ease but hurried. She saw nothing dangerous in his body language but that might change. She slipped off the long coat and waited until he turned around.

  “Answer me this first,” she said. “If a girl told you she had a whip, would you want her to use it on you, or would you want to use it on her?”

  Gleeson struggled with a reply, but he was also distracted by her lithe body clad in stockings, suspenders and skimpy underwear. Finally, he said: “Both?” in a husky, questioning voice that told her she already controlled the room.

  “Right,” she said. “Let’s start by removing those trousers.”

  Nightshade fell into her role, taking over, giving orders that Gleeson certainly appeared to appreciate. The darker persona took over, propelling her easily through the first half hour. The action was pretty much routine until Gleeson asked to switch roles.

  You’re fucking kidding me? No way in this world would she let this pompous, corrupt wedge of debased beliefs have any power over her. But this was where the Nightshade personality helped. The game expanded, the stakes went higher, and she took him to a higher realm of dominance.

  She was conscious of the opulent room, the tightly closed crimson drapes; the widescreen television on low volume and tuned to a sports betting channel. She wondered if Gleeson would be signed in. She noted a carryall perched upon a small, round table and a change of clothes neatly pressed. Of course, the objects she preferred were a cellphone and a laptop.

  And time.

  The essential trick was getting away with it, and she had to act whilst Gleeson was still excited about being immobile. Luckily, this was Nightshade’s last outing. Lauren would never use the identity again. In truth, Nightshade had retired some time ago—this final collision with her questionable past was only to help her friends survive the trouble they were in.

  With a flourish, she stuffed Gleeson’s own jockey shorts into his mouth, smiling at the faint confusion that came across his face. She pulled duct tape from her coat pocket and fastened it first across his mouth and then around his wrists and ankles. She made sure all coverings were off the bed because she wanted this ass to feel maximum embarrassment when they found him—assuming he could feel anything beyond superior. Time was short, so she made a point of searching for his wallet, his jewelry and any other valuables. She then took his phone and laptop.

  Gleeson’s eyes bulged and he writhed around on the bed. Lauren shook her head at him. “You’re going nowhere, bud. Keep struggling and you’ll break that baby-white skin. I’d wait for maid service tomorrow, if I were you.”

  Gleeson looked l
ike he was reverse-humping the mattress he struggled so hard.

  Lauren cast a sad glance between his legs. “And, I’d seriously think about retiring that wrinkled insect between your legs, bud. It ain’t up to much.”

  Quickly then, she hefted her burden and blew him a kiss. The last indignity was to unhook the do-not-disturb sign from the door and indicate she would hang it outside.

  “Enjoy your evening.”

  Gleeson grunted and shouted at her, every syllable muffled by the gag. Lauren gave him a last pout and some quick words to embellish her cover.

  “Hey, calm down. You’ll get most of this shit back anyway once I’ve sold it on. Business is business and I’m pretty sure I need the cash more than you.”

  The door clicked loudly behind her. She made sure she hung the sign around the door handle then headed for the stairs.

  Next stop, Shake Shack. Kimberley Crowe’s contact would meet her there—a man, she had assured Lauren, that could hack into anything with a circuit board.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Deep underneath London, in dank and wet subterranean caverns, a surprising amount of work gets done and not even half of it by known criminals. Drake was surprised when Captain Cambridge of the SAS asked to meet the SPEAR team there, but couldn’t think of a better man to help them in their current situation. Cambridge had led the SAS team that had taken the Sword of Mars and, presumably, organized its journey to England. Kimberley Crowe had initially arranged the London meet to introduce SPEAR to a new influential figure inside the British government and gain support for their search for the weapons.

  The entire team stood waiting at a crossroads of arched tunnels, each one leading to an unknown destination. Noises echoed out of the dark and the incessant drip of water soon began to scratch at their nerves. The walls were black and slimy, dripping with damp. Smyth and Yorgi stood at the back, covering the tunnel they’d used whilst the others spread out around the small, circular space.