The Blood King Takedown Read online

  The Blood King Takedown

  (Matt Drake #24)

  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)

  Weapons of the Gods (Matt Drake #18)

  The Blood King Legacy (Matt Drake #19)

  Devil’s Island (Matt Drake #20)

  The Fabergé Heist (Matt Drake #21)

  Four Sacred Treasures (Matt Drake #22)

  The Sea Rats (Matt Drake #23)

  The Alicia Myles Series

  Aztec Gold (Alicia Myles #1)

  Crusader’s Gold (Alicia Myles #2)

  Caribbean Gold (Alicia Myles #3)

  Chasing Gold (Alicia Myles #4)

  Galleon’s Gold (Alicia Myles #5)

  The Torsten Dahl Thriller Series

  Stand Your Ground (Dahl Thriller #1)

  The Relic Hunters Series

  The Relic Hunters (Relic Hunters #1)

  The Atlantis Cipher (Relic Hunters #2)

  The Amber Secret (Relic Hunters #3)

  The Rogue Series

  Rogue (Book One)

  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 Trilogy #2)

  Heroes (The Chosen Trilogy #3)

  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

  Other Books by David Leadbeater:

  CHAPTER ONE

  Torsten Dahl braced himself as the plane came down.

  It was going to be a fast and hard landing. He and his fellow companions—Mano Kinimaka and Kenzie—were in one hell of a hurry. Their brains were racing, their adrenalin pumping. Coming in over the North Sea, their plane sped over the ferry port of Zeebrugge and then the oval-shaped city of Bruges, aiming to land at a private airfield to the north. Dahl saw a busy, complicated city below, dissected by canals, enriched by forests of medieval spires, and sporting a bewildering network of departing roads leading to every direction of the map.

  Dahl readied himself as the plane’s nose angled downward and then leveled off. The tires skimmed the ground and then bounced twice more. Kinimaka held on in the next seat, Kenzie at his side. There was a collective sigh, even though they trusted their pilot, when the plane had all of its wheels on the ground and taxied in.

  Dahl rose, checking his guns. There were no rules here. No seatbelt rules; no weapons rules; no security or immigration. This was part of their Strike Force One purview, and they were here to do some very real, very intense business.

  Dahl held onto a leather strap as the plane took a wide sweeping curve toward a waiting vehicle. As the gap closed, he turned to his companions. “Time for—bollocks!”

  Kenzie was less than an inch from the back of his neck, leaning over. “Time for what?”

  “You surprised me.”

  “I’m watching your back.”

  “Well, watch it from further away.” Dahl waved at a point about three feet away. “I’d feel more comfortable.”

  Kinimaka tucked a Glock into his shoulder holster. “Listen up for the latest info.”

  The big Hawaiian had been on a secure comms line with Hayden, who was back in DC, for a good part of the flight. Dahl had thought part of the reason was because the two were missing each other—and maybe it was—but Kinimaka came through now with everything they needed to move ahead.

  “The old Russian—a man called Grigori—has urgent information pointing to an imminent nuclear attack on US soil. Grigori was a part of the Blood King’s inner sanctum but he, like many older Russians it seems, thinks that this newest attack goes far beyond the boundaries of morality.”

  “They can’t stomach it and want out,” Dahl said as the plane came to a stop. “But how far in are they, what do they really want, and what do they know?”

  “Everything,” Kinimaka said, “or so this Grigori tells us. But he won’t say a word unless it’s face to face. Old school, I guess. Careful and clever too. No paper trails, real or digital. Grigori has seen and done it all. Hayden’s read his file. He’s a hard liner, a real Russian zealot. A militant and a revolutionary. But . . . I guess he got old.” Kinimaka shrugged. “Maybe he mellowed.”

  “No.” Dahl shook his head. “It’s because he got Luka Kovalenko.”

  The trio exited the aircraft and descended a mobile flight of stairs onto an expanse of black tarmac. The sun was high overhead, but a stiff sea breeze tugged at them, making the day chilly. Dahl jumped into the back seat of the waiting car and settled.

  Kinimaka squeezed in last. “You know where to go?” he asked the driver.

  There was a nod of affirmation. Kinimaka turned to Dahl and Kenzie.

  “Grigori has turned,” Kinimaka continued, “on Kovalenko. As you know, the Blood King’s son showed his hatred for the President of the United States and us by targeting us in London and Paris.” th
e Hawaiian closed his eyes for a moment. “He then fled to Devil’s Island where he was welcomed and protected for more than a week. But . . . Kovalenko wasn’t resting or recuperating. He was forcing six East-European scientists to make twenty mini-nukes. Once they were complete, the Blood King blew up Devil’s Island and vanished.”

  “Until now,” Kenzie said.

  “Yeah.” Kinimaka took a deep breath. “Grigori says the Blood King will detonate three mini-nukes on US soil within the next twenty-four hours.”

  “Where?” Kenzie asked, although she already knew the answer.

  “Only Grigori can tell us that, and only face to face.”

  Dahl listened with intense concentration. He didn’t have to tell anyone that even this might be a trap, engineered by the callous and devious Blood King.

  “But it’s bigger than that,” Kinimaka said. “Much bigger.”

  Dahl was unaware of this. “What do you mean? How can anything be bigger than nuclear weapons?”

  Kinimaka shrugged. “Apparently, Grigori’s gonna explain.”

  Their driver steered them at high speed and with precision, cutting through traffic with sirens and lights blaring. They were shoved left and right with the momentum. Red lights were ignored. The Strike Force HQ and the President of the United States had requested Red Flag status for this mission—which meant it was globally, imminently crucial—without revealing the intimate details.

  Dahl was on edge, his teeth clenched. Their last mission, facing the Sea Rats in the Indian Ocean, had ended successfully for the most part and had fired him up once more. Gone was the dwelling on a broken marriage, gone was the hope of reuniting. And he was determined not to let Kenzie draw his focus away from his mission, any mission, but especially the current mission. Just over a week ago Dahl had jumped aboard a diving submarine and fought it, opened the hatch and forced it to rise. The raw, primal rush of adrenaline he’d experienced during and after had reset his system and made him recapture something valuable and visceral that had been diluted for some time now.

  The driver killed the car’s siren and lights as they approached their destination. He pulled up to a curb then pointed to a building ahead and to the right.

  “Right there. Fourth floor.”

  Dahl saw a four-story, timeworn hotel sat in the middle of a row of nondescript buildings. He cracked the door and climbed out, crossing the road with Kinimaka and Kenzie at his side. They reached the front door and entered a dim lobby.

  A white-haired youth with spiky hair and stubble glanced over at them. “Help you?”

  Dahl flashed a badge without stopping. They found the stairs and jogged up. Kinimaka relayed a last message to Hayden, telling her that they were approaching Grigori’s door.

  Dahl knocked. There was a shuffle of feet from the other side.

  “It is better to be slapped with the truth,” a low, grizzled, old voice came through the door.

  “Than to be kissed with a lie,” Dahl finished. It was an old Russian proverb and one of Grigori’s methods of verification. The proverb had been agreed with Hayden not fifteen minutes ago.

  The door opened wide. Dahl saw a sixty-five-year-old, tanned man with brown eyes and cracked lips. Grigori looked nervous and tried to peer between Dahl and Kenzie, who filled the doorway.

  “Are you alone?”

  “Three of us,” Dahl said. “As agreed. Can we come in?”

  Grigori produced a shiny new revolver and aimed it at Dahl’s face. “Of course.”

  The big Swede held up a hand. “No need for that, pal.”

  “It is a precaution I always need,” Grigori said, backing away into the room. “Especially now with everything that is going on.”

  Dahl let it slide. The hotel room looked clean if a little frayed around the edges, with old bed linen, grubby curtains and dirty windows. Dahl guessed Grigori wouldn’t mind. He moved inside as Kenzie walked to his right and Kinimaka inched to his left.

  Grigori stared at Kinimaka with an open mouth. “I have seen some big ones in my time, but you . . . you are quite a specimen.”

  Kinimaka looked a little embarrassed. “Thanks.”

  Once they’d closed and locked the door, and listened hard and studied the street for many minutes, Grigori seemed satisfied and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “I am a harsh, unkind old man and I make no apologies for it. The heart I have belongs to Mother Russia. My wife died a decade ago and my children are somewhere that I do not know. I don’t even know if they are alive.”

  Dahl looked into the frosty eyes and regarded the cragged, stony face. He saw no compassion there, no flexibility. In his youth, Grigori would have been a ruthless enemy, the type of enemy an American agent might have been sent to assassinate.

  “I grew up knowing that the Blood King was real,” Grigori said. “Even though most of the world thought of him as a myth. For me, Dmitry Kovalenko was the nightmare made real. I may be a hard-nosed man, as are most of our leaders, but Dmitry was on another level.”

  “I guess you celebrated his death then?” Dahl asked, recalling the moment it happened years ago in Death Valley.

  “With many bottles of his own Southern Cross vodka.” Grigori gave an enthusiastic nod. “Which I drink to this day.”

  “Were you one of the old guard? The ones that tried to kill Dmitry’s son and prevent him from rebuilding his father’s empire?” Kinimaka asked.

  Grigori nodded. “Yes, I was with them. We wanted to take the Kovalenko empire apart. Bestow the parts we could use on deserving, loyal members and destroy those parts that were abominable. We tried to kill Luka on several occasions.”

  “But still he rose,” Dahl said. “And now even you work for him?”

  “It was that or die horribly. It was either capitulate or face the torture chamber. You see, there were too many of us for Luka to kill everyone and, together, we knew so much. Generations of knowledge between us that Luka wanted to understand and absorb. He is cleverer than his father ever was.”

  Dahl didn’t like the terrible insight of that statement. “You’re saying a nuclear bomb plot could be something else entirely?”

  “It could. Or not. But be assured that Luka Kovalenko will be utilizing wheels within wheels, smoke screens and diversions. Only he knows the true endgame here.”

  “Why don’t you give us what information you have?” Dahl said. “All of it.”

  Grigori nodded, holding the revolver at his side. For a moment his haggard face turned to the window, as if seeking one more glorious vista, then he looked Dahl straight in the eyes.

  “As I said, three nukes will be detonated in America in the next twenty . . . three hours. Beyond that, he has sixteen other mini-nuclear bombs. Sixteen, that he plans to use in time. This is the reason I and several others have moved against him now. We were aghast at the plan and have grown weary of so much death and destruction. After the Cold War I found hope in the fact that I wouldn’t live to see the world destroyed in a nuclear holocaust. Now, I am not so sure.”

  Dahl sent a hooded gaze to his companions. Sixteen!

  “In time, the Blood King will hit twelve cities or towns. The three in the US are only the first. He will keep seven nukes in reserve, three of which he will plant to use as leverage in case he is ever caught. That is his power, his assurance that he will be able to work and live beyond the control of any authority, literally beyond the law.”

  Dahl’s chest constricted at the very thought of all that death and disaster. His head spun. Kinimaka, he imagined, was also reeling, but it was Kenzie that held on and asked the right question.

  “If the US bombs are first then you must have locations for them?”

  Grigori smiled at her, a toothy grin that, Dahl imagined, wasn’t often in evidence. “What are you, my darling? Israeli?”

  “Good guess.”

  “Not a guess. I know my enemies and what they look and sound like. But I am not a stupid man. I know everyone is fighting for what they think is b
est, and that soldiers are but a casualty of one man’s whim and another’s folly. I have always felt sorrow in that. For the impossible tasks we send you on.”

  Kenzie nodded out of respect for the man’s understanding. Most times, those in charge in their ivory towers didn’t spare a thought for those they sent into danger. “Thank you. And the locations?”

  Grigori stared at her as if trying to remember every contour of her face. He then turned to Dahl and Kinimaka and gave them the same look.

  “You must act fast,” he said. “I asked the Americans for the team that killed Dmitry Kovalenko. I asked to speak to them face to face. And here you are. You did us a great service when you killed Dmitry and I hope you can do it again now by ridding the world of his unstable son. You and your President Coburn, whom I have grown to admire. I thank you, for that original service and here, now, I offer something in return. The three nuclear bomb sites are Washington DC, Chicago and Philadelphia. I have the locations of where they will be undergoing their final preparations and then the targets they will be sent to.”

  Grigori spoke for another five minutes into complete silence. Dahl listened hard, remembering every word and nuance, but his nerves were numb, his brain dumbstruck. With so many mini-nukes active at once how could they hope to stop them all?

  And what else did the Blood King have up his sleeve?

  Grigori sat upright, facing them all. “That is my last good deed, done,” he said. “Even the Blood King can’t hurt me now.”

  As Dahl watched, shocked, the old Russian raised the revolver, stuck it in his own mouth and pulled the trigger. The gun blasted, loud in the enclosed space, then blood and brains hit the wall at his back, splattering the bed and its wooden headboard. Grigori’s body slumped down onto the flowery sheets.

  Dahl didn’t waste a second. He spun and dug his phone out of his pocket even as he ran for the door and then the stairs with Kenzie and Kinimaka pounding at his back.