Devil's Island Page 10

She scrambled through, spine raked by the edge of a sharp rock, exposed flesh cut and bleeding as she wriggled hard. Within a few seconds, Luther hit the gap and bellowed as he got stuck.

  There wasn’t time!

  The chasing pack would be on him any second. She reached out, grabbed his right wrist and pulled. Dino grabbed the left. Luther fought his way forward, ripping his T-shirt and trousers. With a final heave he was through.

  The rock wall collapsed at his back, more boulders tumbling down. Luther grunted in pain as he rose, staring down at himself.

  “Looks like I fought a pair of friggin’ lions.”

  Mai patted his shoulder. “Stop crying about it, baby. I’ve seen men look worse after an hour with Alicia.”

  Luther gingerly touched a cut, a gesture that looked quite odd coming from the large warrior.

  Dino stared. “I’d offer you my jacket,” he said. “But no way is it gonna fit.”

  They heard activity on the other side of the rock pile.

  “Best start moving,” Luther said.

  Mai ignored the aches and pains from bruises, cuts and impact wounds. She thought about the future and started forward. She thought about fresh air, about freedom, about seeing their friends once more.

  The sight of Luther standing there had jolted her, mostly because her first thought had been: Whoa, if he looks that good in a ripped T-shirt, I wonder how he looks with no clothes on?

  If they survived all this, she vowed to find out.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Devil was rarely shocked these days but, right now, he barely believed his eyes. His jaw worked but no sound came out. Mostly in darkness he clenched his fists, tensed his body, and bared his teeth.

  The timer on the mini-nuke read: 12:00. Twelve hours.

  By the Devil’s reckoning it should read twenty-three.

  He thinks he can do this to me? To me! Kovalenko thinks he can destroy me? My island? You don’t kill the Devil so easily, you little Russian fuck!

  Desperate for retribution, but intelligent enough to focus and set his priorities straight, the Devil took stock of his situation. Vengeance would come, it would visit the Blood King like a killer tsunami. For now, though, he considered the evacuation stages of his plan. This new development changed very little apart from escalating timings.

  Anger chewed through his gut. I helped the little upstart. I gave him shelter. The entire world is hunting him down.

  Well now, it was the world and the Devil. There would be a reckoning for this betrayal. The Devil considered his small army of paid mercenaries and the island itself. He considered the clans, the prisoners inside the compound. Plans came to him like wasps around ice cream.

  But which works best for me?

  The answer came, and it was good. It filled the Devil with warmth and light, made both sides of his harsh mouth draw up. It was the closest thing to a warm tingle he ever remembered having.

  Turning, leaving the bomb to its dark and nefarious countdown, he retraced his steps and left the building, emerging into the mid-morning light. For a moment he let his eyes adjust, still thinking, still refining his plan. The first things he saw as he left the cover of the inner buildings were Kovalenko’s compounds. Here, prisoners were kept. True, the man had paid handsomely to store them here but now everything had changed. The Devil wondered if he should simply order them all shot.

  He had become used to the slaves, to their subservience and fear. But he didn’t depend on them. He didn’t need them. And the other prisoners? He didn’t know who most of them were. Wives Kovalenko needed to help coerce husbands. In what the Devil thought was a perverse twist, some of these captives dated back to the old Blood King. They’d been here that long; the authorities had either given up or not been pushed hard enough by relatives to search for them. If you don’t shout up you’re just another face in a very large crowd.

  His gaze switched to the ocean, counting the vessels at anchor. He had more than enough, but more people meant more hardship, more headaches and more mouths to feed.

  The original idea might be best.

  They’ve been captives for so long. Wait until we’re ready and then tell them they’re free. Let them out of their cages. That should give them at least an hour to enjoy the island before it explodes.

  Perfect.

  The Devil loved it, but there were other problems. Without a lieutenant to relay his orders, the Devil would have to do everything himself. In truth, this menial task wasn’t all bad. He preferred total control. Nothing left to chance or the whims of others. In any case there was something he could use to spread the word.

  This island had a tannoy system. Something most islands in the Pacific employed to warn of hurricanes, tsunamis, typhoons and the like. He reminded himself that this was his island. The clans out there and the mercenaries in the castle continued to exist at his whim. The Blood King’s betrayal threw a new viewpoint into the mix. The Devil made a U-turn in his thinking, purely because it was the opposite of what Kovalenko wanted.

  He wasn’t about to let the clansmen die in nuclear fire.

  Smiling, he entered the block and mortar hut that housed the tannoy system. Wiping dust from the controls and throwing the rickety chair to the side, he raised the mic to his lips and watched out of the ocean-facing window.

  “Stop what you are doing,” he said. “And listen.”

  Almost everyone he could see halted or turned their faces toward the castle. Mercs paused with boxes in their hands. Others stopped their conversation. Even the slaves looked up in wonder. Of course, most people didn’t know there was a tannoy system that covered almost the entire island.

  He repeated the sentences, making sure he had everyone’s attention. Then, choosing his words carefully, he laid out his plan.

  “Luka Kovalenko—the so-called new Blood King—has just sailed away. It seems he left something behind. A nuclear bomb . . .” The Devil paused to let that sink in. “A nuclear bomb that can’t be disarmed. This bomb will detonate in twelve hours, ten less than he told us. I say now—get your things, get everyone together and get away from this island. Quickly. Find the mainland and then—everyone—find a way to kill Luka Kovalenko. Your time on my island is finished.”

  Nodding to himself, the Devil put the speaker down, but then decided to repeat himself. Recalling the state of mind of some of the islanders, it was probably for the best. He checked the compound and the docks to see how his news had been received.

  It could have been worse, he guessed. Boxes of supplies had been dropped. Some men were already running for the ships, idiots that didn’t listen to all the information. Armed mercenaries were jostling each other along the docks. Some were fighting. The slaves were on their knees, having fought so hard to survive all these years only to find their struggles came down to this fateful day.

  Hopefully the islanders would be preparing. The Marauders and the Creepers, the Hunters and even the horrifying Scavengers would make ready to set sail. Every last one of them intent on hunting down Kovalenko.

  It made for a fine vision.

  The Devil had lived here so long he’d forgotten what it was like to coexist with civilians. If Kovalenko hadn’t double-crossed him he’d have let the island explode purely because the clans had taken most of it, confining him to his castle.

  But I won’t be confined. Not anymore.

  The best plans are fluid, subject to constant refinement. The island evacuation had always had many facets, several nuances, and every one of these now came into play.

  Of course, his yacht was already prepped. Everything he needed was on board. All that it required to set sail was the Devil himself. He wondered briefly about Valance, leading his mercs through the catacombs in pursuit of the warriors. The only issue there was the civilians he’d brought along—they might be missed. Still, the Devil had their home details and could check. He wondered then about the genetic monsters that lived on top of the mountains.

  The banes of my existence. Good
riddance.

  Twelve hours. What can I do in that time?

  There was no rush. The castle’s systems were still up and running. Let the mercs fight if they wanted to, let them worsen their own chances of leaving here alive. The brightest would figure it out, which was all that he wanted. Maybe some of the slaves too would find a way to escape.

  Let them. It didn’t matter anymore.

  What did matter was vengeance. The kind only a man like the Devil could deal. A very special kind.

  That would come later. For now, he returned to his communications room and updated himself on how the DC scenario was playing out. First, he spent several serious minutes deciding whether to cancel the entire op—it was at Kovalenko’s behest after all. Deciding he should, he picked up the phone to call his men off.

  Then he paused.

  Why? he thought. You’re enjoying it. You’ve put days of work into it. The whole thing’s paid for. Wouldn’t you like to see how it all plays out, despite Kovalenko?

  The answer was yes.

  So when they picked up the call his words were: “Tell me where we are.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Drake ran hard in the tracks of the Scavengers. Alicia and Dahl hurried along to the left, with Kenzie and Dallas to the right. It wasn’t difficult to follow their enemies’ footsteps; the problem was scanning the terrain for concealed killers.

  After five minutes though, they were all forced to stop.

  A man they assumed was the Devil made a stunning tannoy announcement. His voice filled the air, radiating from dozens of concealed speakers. Drake guessed it was like an old air-raid warning system, something installed when the place had first been inhabited.

  The team exchanged glances.

  “Do we believe this?” Dallas asked.

  “Set your watches,” Drake said. “Twelve hours. And we believe it unless we see otherwise.”

  “It could help,” Kenzie pointed out. “By getting the clans out of our way.”

  Drake scanned the earth for signs of passage. “Maybe. This Devil guy seems to think everyone will follow his orders. I can’t see that happening.”

  “But they have to leave the island.”

  Drake leapt over a fallen tree and started up an earthy slope. “No, they don’t,” he said. “And even if they do, twelve hours is a long time. Most of the islanders have subsisted for years. It’s all they know. Their entire way of life. Nuclear bomb or not, it’ll be a tough decision.”

  Kenzie looked unconvinced, but Drake knew she wasn’t seeing through the eyes of a local. She couldn’t. They came to a rise and paused for a moment to catch their breath and get their bearings.

  “Scavengers’ camp is that way.” Dahl pointed to the west. “A solid half-hour walk.”

  “Can’t see them,” Dallas added.

  Drake looked over the rolling green hills all the way to the black rock mountains they’d climbed hours earlier. Nothing moved out there, but he imagined there were several dozen people preparing to enact their leader’s escape plan. What that was likely to be, Drake didn’t want to know.

  Once more, his team had been torn apart. Mai and the others abducted and forced to walk the Devil’s catacombs. Hayden and the others taken by a band of wild animals, intent on slaughter. The very idea of it hurt his brain and his heart.

  “We need intel,” he said. “Use the drone.”

  For once, Dahl agreed. They wasted no time unpacking it and switching it on. As they worked, Alicia checked again for a phone signal but whatever device the Devil was using to jam the signals was still fully operative. Soon, Dahl was holding the drone’s controller close and focusing on its buttons.

  The drone lifted into the air, a low buzzing sound marking its passage.

  “You used one of these before?” Dallas asked.

  “Not really,” Dahl admitted. “You?”

  “I have a Mavic at home. Use it all the time.”

  Dahl handed the controls over. “Be my guest, but don’t crash it.”

  Drake crouched down to study a monitor. The drone would send a video feed of everything it saw as it flew over the island. “Start with the Scavengers,” he said. “And then a quick tour of the whole island.”

  “No problem.”

  They crowded around the monitor. A flat field then a rolling hill came into view as the drone rose into the sky. Then the view from the top of their hill as it started forward, followed by the landscape beneath it as it started to fly. Empty, green and brown sloping fields spread out below.

  “To the right,” Dahl said. “Follow the straight path toward their camp.”

  Dallas altered the course. Two minutes later the monitor showed figures below, running across the open fields. Drake counted ten Scavengers. He saw Hayden, Kinimaka and Molokai being forced to walk in their midst. Even as they watched, Hayden stumbled and was dragged on her knees until she found a way to stand. Molokai smashed two enemies aside, ready to fight, but was confronted by four more, all brandishing handguns. One man appeared to fire a bullet, but Molokai didn’t fold. Maybe it had been a warning shot.

  Dallas flew the drone past the group before they spotted it, moving on to their camp. The few remaining Scavengers were emptying out their lean-tos and makeshift holes, cutting down any prisoners that were tied to stakes and making sure they were dead. One of the men looked up as the drone flew over, took out his gun and fired. The bullet missed but the warning remained. These men remembered full well what a drone could do.

  Drake saw a few others rounding up supplies. Clearly, they were getting ready to move. Dallas sent the drone flying further toward the western horizon, coming around the mountain and across the wilderness where the Hunters held sway. Finally, he made a pass over the castle and then by the mountain, swinging around and heading back to base.

  Drake took it all in. The Marauders were gathered together, sitting on rocks and talking. Every single man looked up as the drone crossed over, but nobody moved. Drake saw what looked like cave dwellings behind them, their entrances covered by doors hewn from tree trunks, their meeting place surrounded by effigies, piles of stone, and stores of food and water. One of the men appeared to be talking into a long-range radio.

  Beyond them, he saw the ocean spread out from horizon to horizon and then the wilderness on the island’s southeastern corner. This was where the Hunters lived. It wasn’t long before he glimpsed them. Most were bare chested and heavily bearded. They carried bows and arrows in addition to guns and knives. They too were gathered together, standing before a big man that appeared to be their leader. Many were gesticulating wildly. The land around them was indeed barren, divested of most of its color and vibrancy. It appeared almost blighted, as if the Devil had carried out an experiment upon it. Drake wondered what they ate but then saw a coarse staircase cut into the cliffs leading down to the sea. Two men were trudging up it even now, carrying sacks full of fish.

  Onward swept the drone, minutes passing in flight as it flew over rugged knolls and jagged peaks, across dales where yellow grass grew, and by a single sparkling stream. Soon it reached the castle, making Drake and the others sit forward. Whatever they learned here could prove vital.

  “Man,” Alicia grunted. “That’s a bloody army.”

  Drake didn’t like the look of it either. Dozens of men thronged the dock area and a compound that sat outside the castle walls on the beach. Dallas slowed the drone to its most leisurely speed. The mercs appeared to be arguing, maybe even fighting. Several ships and yachts sat in the harbor. Drake saw two superyachts and wondered if one might belong to Kovalenko.

  No, the tannoy announcement said he’d departed.

  Someone else’s then. He saw bamboo-walled jail cells and what appeared to be captives. The castle main buildings were strong and sturdy, the central keep higher than the others. The walls were manned by a dozen men with weapons, all staring out at their surroundings.

  “They’re not guarding the mountain,” Kenzie said.

 
“Looks too high to abseil down,” Dahl said, “with the equipment we have.”

  Irregular black rock soared high above the castle, its face navigable but dangerous. Drake agreed with Dahl. If they had the time and the right equipment the descent was doable. As they were . . . it was out of the question. But first he needed to concentrate on the mountain. As the drone flew over the top he watched but saw nothing unusual.

  Shrubbery. Boulders. A wide plateau. A rock feature that could well lead down to the catacombs. Toward the south it sloped into the sea, its slopes giving way to thick stands of trees, impenetrable ground cover and more jagged rock. There wasn’t even a beach. The mountain joined the sea, its lowest slopes forever lashed by the elements.

  “Isn’t that where the genetic experiments live?” Kenzie studied the summit.

  “What . . . you think they’re gonna be lined up and waving?” Alicia looked at her.

  “I wish Mai was there,” Drake said. “Waving.”

  The drone completed its tour of the island, flying back to them. Drake thought it had been an informative flight. Dallas packed it away as the others prepared to chase down the Scavengers.

  “We know exactly where they are,” Dahl said. “Everyone ready?”

  They started forward, moving faster now that they knew the landscape and were 95 percent sure nobody was lying in wait for them. It was a straight run to the Scavenger camp.

  Drake jogged with Dallas and Kenzie just ahead. Of course, they knew nothing about the newcomer but he’d proven useful in saving the President and had stood by them all the way to Devil’s Island. They’d dig down to the nitty gritty later.

  “Is this what it’s always like?” Dallas was asking. “With SPEAR?”

  “Not exactly,” Kenzie said. “But there’s always death, danger and action.”

  “Is that why you quit?”

  “No. I wanted to return to the wrong side of the law.”

  Drake could tell Dallas didn’t quite believe her. “But you came back to help them.”

  “I returned to help me,” Kenzie snapped. “Stop asking dumb questions.”