Matt Drake Book 9 - The Plagues of Pandora Page 3

  “General Stone,” she said. “I’ve seen the bastard twice now and do not believe he suspects me. But I’m always careful, confident, and professional. You may remember at one time we believed that Stone might be skeptical of me. But no. Our first meeting was tentative, cautious—” She thought back. Bill Stone had requested they meet in a room situated on the first floor of an expensive hotel, arriving alone and in an almost laughable disguise. At that moment she had known the general was oblivious of her true intentions. Quiet, courteous, almost shy, Stone had requested the Nightshade routine. She had treated him gently, carefully, and with infinite vigilance, scared for her life in the obscure room but determined to see it through.

  For an old guy, Stone didn’t look bad naked. Yes, the gut was a little saggy, the pecs undefined, yes he was one frightfully hairy specimen, but she had entertained much worse day after day in her line of work. And he didn’t want her to touch him. Not with her hands in any case. First the whip and then the restraints. This was a man of the Army who wanted an opposite experience of everyday life, a role reversal. With pegs, cuffs and rope she treated him well, until he begged for release. Even then she refused, bringing out the vulgarity in him, the haughtiness. From the shy man to the arrogant boor in thirty minutes, and beyond. Stone loved it, in the end begging for more.

  But no. Their first session was over. Inevitably, such treatment led to a request for a second. This time Stone was less cautious, meeting her in a hotel less than a block from his office, and actually taking calls as their session progressed. The arrogance of the man shone through, the sheer superiority and self-knowledge that he was a being at the top of the evolutionary pile—the stalking predator.

  Lauren tied him hard, trying to make him hurt, but Stone only embraced the pain, grunting for more. Of course there was a limit as to how far she could go, and she didn’t want to destroy the inroads she’d so carefully made, so the diamond-studded choker wasn’t too tight, the Saran wrap full of tiny holes in the vicinity of his mouth, and the nut-crunchers set to ‘medium’.

  The second session ended with Stone taking his third call of the evening, worry suddenly mixing with the ecstasy on his face, and the first real development in her operation. In true egotist style he spoke whilst ignoring her presence.

  Now, glossing over the details of the evening—which she knew by the look on Smyth’s face was a major disappointment—she brought the group up to date on her discoveries.

  “Last night he recommended me to his ‘partner’, a man called Nicholas Bell, I believe, since Gates referred to him by both names in separate conversations. Now, normally I would decline but because Stone referred to this man as his ‘partner’ on more than one occasion, I feel it might be beneficial to see the man.”

  “Partner could mean so many things,” Hayden said. “Could you get the gist of his meaning?”

  “Well, he’s not bi-sexual and didn’t sound over friendly. That leaves business associate, which works for us.”

  “When does this Bell want to see you?”

  “Wednesday night.”

  “I hate to say it,” Drake spoke up, “but this sounds awful dangerous, Lauren.”

  “I’ve entertained two men before.”

  There was a short lull to enable Smyth to reel his tongue back in and for Drake to wait for the inevitable Alicia comment before remembering she wasn’t in the room. Funny how you didn’t really miss someone and their habits until they were gone from your life.

  He zoned back in. “Not what I meant, love. We’re talking at least one, possibly two, corrupt men that might be targets of the Pythians. How dangerous can you take it?”

  “I’m a born and bred New Yorker.” Lauren shrugged. “I always take it to the limit.”

  “We could follow the two of you,” Kinimaka suggested. “Stay close.”

  “It’s hardly necessary.” Lauren raised her hands. “I’m doing this as much for Jonathan as you guys. If Stone’s dirty I’m going to out the bastard in public. For all his goddamn sins. And this Bell? Stone spoke to him three times just last night, whilst we were in full-on role-play. One time, I even had to hold the phone close to Stone’s ear because the handcuffs were too tight.”

  Smyth’s chin finally hit the floor. “Oh my God. Will you be my girlfriend?”

  Drake grunted. “Please say yes. It’ll distract him from other hobbies that involve blaming auto-correct.”

  “Despite it all,” Lauren went on. “Stone still plays the army man with me. He has no shame. No scruples. If chance had taken him in a different direction a man like that could easily have become a psychopath. He has no conscience beyond that which he pretends to portray.”

  “All right.” Hayden took in the team’s reactions with a glance. “It seems Stone and Bell may have something to hide. I say we follow Lauren’s lead and remain on alert. Allow her to do her job. We’d do the same for anyone else in this team.”

  Drake nodded quickly. Hayden had hit the proverbial nail right on the head—it didn’t matter that Lauren came by her intel a little differently to the rest of them—Jonathan had made her a part of SPEAR for a reason and, so far, she was holding up her end.

  As the affirmations rolled in, Kinimaka’s phone rang. He took a quick look at the screen and frowned.

  “Damn, it’s Agent Collins from Los Angeles,” he said aloud. Claire Collins was a first-rate FBI agent that had recently helped crack a worldwide terror plot involving the Serbian mafia as well as saving Kinimaka’s sister from the hands of the Blood King’s men. “What the hell could she want now?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Claire Collins spoke in a tough, no-nonsense manner, brooking no interruptions and no speculation. Kinimaka put her on speakerphone and let the room listen to what she had to say.

  “Mano, first a heads-up. Your sister is on her way to DC, with a belly full of fire and brimstone. She no longer needs protective custody now you and your gang of lightweights finally took down Kovalenko. Best team in the world? Not in my book.”

  Hayden, their leader, took that one. “Not that we ever asked for the accolade, but do you know a better one?”

  “My team just took down a Serb madman threatening half a dozen of the world’s leading capitals with unending terrorism. In one day. The white-knuckle ride of a lifetime. Can you top that?”

  “You’re talking about the Disavowed.” Kinimaka nodded. “I heard they were good.”

  “We’re good.” Collins corrected him. “And faced with Threat Level Red, we’re tremendous.”

  “Are they there?” Kinimaka asked. “I wanted to thank them personally for saving Kono’s life.”

  “One of them is,” a deep voice spoke up. “Aaron Trent. And it’s fine. Enjoyed the opportunity to rid the world of some trash.”

  Trent spoke in a clipped manner, serious and to the point, as if time was always precious. Drake had heard the story of how his team had been set up to be disavowed by the president, and of how they had lost friends, wives and fellow brothers in arms in their struggle to right such a great wrong, and of how they had prevailed. Still, he couldn’t fully respect a man’s abilities until he’d seen him in action.

  “It seems there’s a new threat,” he said aloud. “You guys ever heard of the Pythians?”

  “Newest set of evildoers by all accounts,” Collins broke in quickly. “And who is that? Mano? Don’t tell me I’m on friggin’ speakerphone with your whole damn team.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dahl said. “Alicia Myles is missing.”

  “And this is Drake,” the Yorkshireman spoke up. “Matt Drake.”

  Collins didn’t miss a beat. “Okay then. Well, we’re the FBI, Drake. We know all about the house on the hill killings. The global recruitment of mercenaries. The massive movements of funds. We’re also privy to what the NSA are monitoring—that there has been a huge surge in the amount of mercenary and terrorist chatter in the past week over all known channels and others we aren’t supposed to monitor. We know—”


  “Something’s about to happen,” Hayden finished. “Yeah, the rumors are everywhere. Trouble is—we have nothing concrete.”

  “The chatter will narrow down. Localize. Then we’ll know.”

  Kinimaka had been trying to process the imminent arrival of his sister, Kono, and what it might mean for his health. Never easy to get along with, his sister now blamed him for their mother’s murder and her own new misfortunes. The fact that she left Hawaii years ago for the lure of a seedy world, and in doing so broke their mother’s heart, didn’t seem to matter anymore. Everything was now Mano’s fault.

  He snapped back to the present. Kono would have to wait. “Well, Trent, thanks again. And the same to Silk and Radford. I know what you guys lost to Blanka Davic. We’ve been chasing that bandit down for years.”

  Drake remembered taking Davic’s father down during the quest for the bones of Odin. It struck him then how small the world and the circles that they all ran in actually were; either that or they had all been a part of somebody’s master plan from the very beginning.

  Come together at last.

  “Trent, this is Drake. You probably know this bloody Pythian thing is escalating. Whatever you can learn, it would be appreciated.”

  “We’re on it.”

  Collins ended the call by reminding Kinimaka of why she’d called. “Watch out for that one when she lands, my friend. I know she’s your sister, but she’s trouble.”

  Kinimaka nodded to himself. Try telling me something I don’t friggin’ know.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Drake was with Mai when Grace returned from her time with the private investigator. By not saying anything the Japanese woman had requested his presence. For that alone he was grateful. For two weeks now this private investigator had been searching into Grace’s past, trying to stitch together the tattered patchwork quilt that was her memory. Two weeks. Surely he must have dug up something, Drake thought. But seventeen years was an awfully long timespan to have to trawl through, and Grace herself said she could remember nothing beyond her time with the Tsugarai and her master, Gozu. Drake knew they were bad times. Best forgotten. Mai Kitano had saved Grace’s life the moment she untangled those bonds, in more ways than one. Then Mai had made herself personally responsible for Grace’s welfare and future, a development Grace seemed not entirely happy about. So when Hayden offered to help by introducing Grace to an off-the-books investigator, they had all leaped at the chance. Perhaps Grace could get some real closure; maybe she could start to live again. Even find her parents. A fresh start and all that. In particular, maybe he could do something the DC doctors couldn’t—help find and revive her past memories. Grace needed to be made whole again.

  In any case, he could search for her physical past.

  Drake knew that Grace regretted her refusal of Mai’s offer of companionship the moment he saw her. The normally upbeat outer veneer crumbled and a tear fell from the corner of her eye. Drake feared the worst.

  Mai stepped forward, taking her in her arms.

  “You are seventeen,” she said. “You have been through hell. Standing up for yourself is one of the ways you will begin to step back into the real world.”

  Drake had met Aiden Hardy very briefly before they allowed Grace to visit alone. He remembered the man as in his early thirties, rugged, with a day’s growth covering his big chin, and a smile that made his eyes twinkle, which was a quality someone like Grace would hopefully take to.

  Grace pulled away from Mai, staring down at the floor and letting her words rush out in a flood. “He said that Hayden called him in to find answers. Nothing official, but something done quicker and dirtier than usual. That’s kinda my specialty, he said.” Grace sniffed. “He called me in because he found something.”

  Mai stroked her hair. Drake had never seen her so soft, so nervous. He knew that Mai was being bombarded mentally on two fronts—from feelings for Grace and the family of the man she had killed.

  “Hardy stopped smiling after a minute,” the young girl said, “and told me that I was probably a runaway.” Tears caught in her throat. “I have no family history up to the age of twelve that he has yet found, which is probably when I ran away. But after that, there’s more than enough. At twelve I was a streetwalker, bought and sold. These men, these animals that control the slave trade, they know what they’re doing. They keep you pliable through a cocktail of alcohol and drugs, and probably brutality, that’s what Hardy told me. I was one of the lost, ready to be used up and thrown away. I was failed, adrift. Treated as garbage. Of course, the dark streets of most major cities are awash with stories like mine. I was somebody’s daughter, I guess, but that somebody is unknown.”

  Drake saw Grace’s show of confidence slipping. “I don’t even know if my mother loved me.” She sniffed.

  Drake swallowed hard. Mai held the girl in strong arms. “Your mother loved you,” she said. “I know it.”

  Now Grace’s voice grew harsher. “You haven’t figured out the worst part have you?”

  Drake frowned. “You might still be able to find them.”

  Grace wiped her eyes. “It’s not that. Finding them is a dream that might save me, but not knowing what happened to me from age twelve until now is one thing. Remembering it is going to be . . .” She began to wail, burying her head.

  Drake felt a slice of horror stab his heart. What could be worse that having horrific old memories return? The memories she had so long craved for would serve only to ruin her again.

  Drake fought to speak. “As the memories return perhaps you can get counselling. Or—”

  Grace shook. “All the memories that will return to me are . . . are . . . horrible ones. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it. All I can do is . . . quit.”

  Mai spoke for the first time. “So I’m suggesting that you start living your life. Now. For the present and the future because the past will one day return and you will need great new memories to help combat those long regressed nightmares.”

  Grace shook her head slowly, clearly unable to believe her quandary.

  I’m an empty shell,” she said. “A blank sheet. Love is dead, long live vengeance. Where do I belong?”

  Drake responded to the thin voice, the devastated tone. “To the here and now,” he said. “Make yourself a life full of shiny new memories.”

  “Here? Now? At seventeen? But once I was a child! I am somebody’s daughter! I am. And my mother loved me!”

  Drake nodded. “So rise again. Find them. And be stronger than those chains protecting your heart and soul. Be a fighter. I mean, you’re in the right company, love.”

  Mai met the girl’s complex dilemma head on. “So here you are, at memory-age three weeks, and having to deal with a decision-making event that would faze most adults. The question is—would a person want to remember such horrifying events? If a man could forget what he had seen in war,” she glanced up at Drake, “or if a woman could forget the night of her rape. If a police officer could forget just a few of the shocking and terrifying scenes they are forced to witness month by month, year by year, would they choose to do so?”

  Grace stared in silence, maybe filing the question away for later consideration. The answer, Drake knew, was moot. Grace had no control over the resurrection of her memories. But she did have strength. And purpose.

  She did have a future.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lauren Fox started the most dangerous night of her life by choosing the right kind of high heels, ankle bracelet and stockings to wear. The length of her skirt, the color of her nails, the severity of her makeup. Nightshade could be created in minutes, but it took hours to form her masterpiece. Friends would not recognize her, let alone colleagues like Smyth and Hayden Jaye. By the time she was finished she felt a little sorry for the boys and men out walking and sitting with their girlfriends that Wednesday night.

  They could not help but look.

  Lauren grabbed her overlarge handbag, called a cab, and told it to take her to
the Dupont Plaza Hotel via Constitution. She enjoyed the ride along the wide stately road, the poignant and evocative views helping her relax. Tonight the traffic was light, the areas around the monuments were almost empty and the sidewalks were barren. She directed the cab driver up 18th and across Connecticut, not because she thought he was new to the game but because she craved a little self-rule before entering a room where two powerful men awaited. Six months ago the scenario would not have bothered her. Now, knowing what she knew about Stone and Gates and the SPEAR team and what could be at stake, she already knew several shots of fortification would soon be required.

  The cab dropped her outside the hotel. Lauren climbed out, drawing the long heavy coat about her outlandishly clad body to avoid attracting prying eyes, a maneuver she was long familiar with. Even then, passers-by gave her more than a second glance, some of the creepier ones trying to make extended eye contact.

  Lauren pushed through the front doors and headed purposefully for the elevators, ignoring the front desk. Within a few minutes she was heading up to the eleventh floor, ignoring the stares of the bellhop, unable to shake the feeling that everything was about to go wrong. Damn, she should be confident—this was her job, her only profession. The mechanics weren’t exactly complicated. Both Stone and Bell would be putty in her hands. But for that to happen she had to feel more than confidence, she needed to exude it, discharge it like a weapon.

  Usually, by now, Nightshade had taken over. Lauren found herself knocking on the general’s door with doubt lingering at the forefront of her mind.

  Quicker than she expected, it opened. Stone stood there, glaring, his eyes as hard and black as obsidian, evaluating everything.

  “Well, well,” he said. “Do we have a problem?”