Devil's Island Read online

  Her own feelings were a mess. From losing Ben and her parents to the old Blood King just a few years ago, to finding Komodo and falling for him. The gentle giant’s death in Hong Kong at the hands of the Yakuza had destroyed her spirit and her faith in the human race for a long time. She’d used Drake to get her a place in a regime where she could forget everything, where she could lose herself. Where pain and bloodshed and desperate longing all melded into one.

  In the end, it turned out to be the best decision of her life. Though not without its own pitfalls. Wracked with guilt and nursing a hatred for Drake and the SPEAR team, she had allowed the new regime to change her, hone her into a revenge-fuelled machine. She’d grown close to Dino and Wu. Had she deliberately used them? Karin didn’t like to think about that ever since they were tagged as deserters and, now, Wu was dead.

  Where next?

  Survive.

  It was all she could do. Survive everything before her. She had enrolled in the new Blood King’s army—hating every moment of it—just to get close to Kovalenko and learn his plans for the future. In the end, he’d second-guessed her, bringing the schedule forward without telling her. To her mind, that was what got Wu, Smyth and Lauren killed. Her failure.

  Karin forged on now, following Luther. The big man was a welcome presence, exuding experience and security.

  Mai slowed as a large chamber appeared ahead. It was well lit and opened out to both sides, almost circular with a high ceiling. A wide stream ran across the middle. Luther pointed ahead, and Mai nodded. They all saw the exit, a ragged arch on the opposite side, its entrance black with shadow. Karin still couldn’t hear any signs of pursuit but assumed their hunters were coming.

  In single-file they jumped the stream, landing safely on the other side. Dino dropped his knife but collected it without incident. As he bent down, he winced.

  Mai walked over to his side. “Dig in,” she said. “Learn to like it. There’s no stopping and no hanging around. If they catch us, we’re dead.”

  “You can rest when you’re dead,” Luther growled.

  Mai moved out, heading straight for the dark exit arch. Beyond, it was pitch-black. No more wall torches. The Japanese woman waited for Luther to pass her the large flashlight and then started walking. Karin flicked on a smaller one, shining it at the floor to see her way ahead. The sudden darkness was not a welcome addition.

  Another chamber followed, this one partly lit. The floor was littered with rubbish—old cans and wrappers, even a box of cards. It was clear some mercs used this place as a getaway, but it was also clear the Devil and the Blood King were aware of its existence.

  More tunnels stretched ahead, alternating between declines and inclines, but Karin judged the general way was up. When a fiery glow lit up the tunnel walls ahead, Mai was forced to slow.

  “Don’t like the look of that,” Luther whispered.

  “No choice,” Mai responded.

  “I know. I just don’t like the look of it.”

  They rounded a corner to see a drop off to the right, just a narrow wedge of empty space. That in itself put Karin on her guard—were there more holes ahead, and could they be in the middle of the path? But this was different—the empty space was alight. Roiling red and orange light flashed up from below.

  When Karin inched closer she looked down about forty feet. Lava flowed very slowly down there, a thick mass of fire that rolled and inched its way along. The heat as she leaned out was intense, catching in her throat.

  Karin coughed and pulled away. Quickly, they left the lava tube behind and moved on, seeking fresher air. Several more minutes passed without any sounds of pursuit. As Mai turned a sharp, dark corner she came to an abrupt stop, holding up a hand. Luther halted but Karin walked into his back, and Dino into hers.

  “Stop,” Mai hissed.

  “Trap?” Luther asked, not mentioning the collisions.

  “Claymore,” she said. “Very rudimentary. I guess they thought it’s in the darkest part of the passage, around a corner.”

  “Or the traps aren’t meant to kill us,” Luther said. “Just slow us down.”

  “Yeah,” Dino agreed. “They’re saving us for the great white trophy hunters.”

  “Which is their mistake.” Luther reached down to disarm the mine, but Mai grabbed his hand.

  “No. Leave it for them.”

  He smiled back. “I was going to disarm it and move it,” he said, “nearer to the lava cavern.”

  Karin nodded, seeing the cunning in that thought. Their enemies might think the device had been removed and taken for later use, or disarmed and hidden, but moved closer . . . ?

  Not quite as likely.

  Mai waited a few seconds for Luther to make the explosive safe and head back the way they came. Then she hurried on, knowing he would catch up. Karin stayed close and heard Dino panting along behind. Their world was composed of an archway of rock, darkness in every direction, with just a few pools of light to guide their way. So far, there had been no junctions providing other tunnels to follow.

  Soon, Luther re-joined them, and it was with a whispered warning. “Heard them back there. They’re coming fast.”

  “Not taking care?” Mai asked, interested.

  “It didn’t sound like it.”

  The Japanese woman nodded, storing away the information. It felt odd, but here, now, Karin deferred every decision to Mai. She was a legend, a hero. She’d seen and done everything imaginable, encountered all scenarios.

  Karin might be military trained, but she wasn’t nearly in the same league as Mai. And more importantly, Karin trusted her with her life.

  And Dino’s.

  Moving faster, they forged on.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Devil sat before his console array, familiarizing himself with events transpiring in Washington DC, and in the life of the Dahls, before contacting his men. Several nuggets of information had been uncovered since their last conversation. There was a parade being organized for the day of the operation. It was close enough to the girls’ school to be useful and, more importantly, Johanna—the mother—had been checking it out on the Internet. It appeared she wanted to go.

  In addition to that, the parade bordered on a darker part of town, where civil unrest was easy to fuel.

  The Devil ran the various factors through his mind. He’d done something like this before but that was in Cairo, a wholly different and a far easier prospect. Still, the fundamentals were the same. Find a parade, fuel hatred, start a riot—people die.

  Or they get trampled or . . . whatever. It didn’t matter to the Devil. He nodded with satisfaction and then studied the monitors dedicated to watching the main house. Nothing had changed.

  The Devil contacted his two men on the ground for their reports. Afterward he began to speak: “You have to escalate a riot cautiously before the parade. Don’t rush it. But make it critical. Do you know how to do that?”

  Yes, they did. It usually involved murder.

  “Start immediately. I want everything moving right away. Don’t miss this deadline. It’s everything we’ve waited for.”

  A few minutes later he signed off and turned his attention to events happening around the island. Luka Kovalenko was leaving. Not a bad thing. There was a tension between them, something not alleviated by the Devil’s own willingness to hide the Blood King for several days. He thought Kovalenko might fear him. Feared what he could do. Not a bad position to be in, truth be told, but not the best either.

  He also knew what Luka could do. The men were better enemies than friends, but the Devil hoped they could keep a respectful distance for now.

  In the past he’d taken out worse than the old Blood King. He’d even turned down a job to neutralize the man himself, considering it too dangerous, too messy. The Devil had to think about his own reputation, and general obscurity, as much as his clients’. Still, he had to admit the challenge it presented had excited him.

  Now, he watched Kovalenko’s fast speedboat
transport him from the island to the large yacht that waited offshore. Good riddance to the man and his convoluted plans. It would be a while before the Devil heard from him again—his next operation was months away from fruition.

  The jetty and the dock areas were busy. Two dozen mercs were loading supplies and packing crates full of merchandise to sell around Europe. Contraband, the Devil thought and laughed. His men made conversation and moved slowly. The Devil wished he had a remote machine gun he could use to put some fire into them. Time was money, and the latter was in short supply of late.

  Still, everything was about to get better.

  His base of operations was changing. The escape plan was foolproof. One of the reasons he’d allowed Kovalenko to use his island to prepare the mini nukes was knowing he could rid himself of the massive problem that the island had become in just one magnificent blow. He would destroy it and every terrible creature that crawled upon its surface.

  Kovalenko just left, which leaves me twenty-four hours.

  Preparations were well underway. His deliberations were interrupted by a slave, knocking at the door and bowing for attention.

  “What is it?”

  “I have been asked to find out which of the slaves and captives you wish to take, sir.”

  The Devil hesitated. It was a good question. The prisoners were so far beneath his thinking he hadn’t even considered them. “Women and children will fetch the best prices,” he said. “Nothing old though. Some of the younger men too. The rest—” he paused, then grinned “—set them free right before we leave. That will build their hopes up before the nuke goes off.”

  “Yes, sir.” The middle-aged slave backed away, probably knowing that it would be forced to stay behind.

  The Devil laughed again. There was something invigorating about having absolute power. One of his scouts had reported that he’d found an abandoned town somewhere in the US, a remote ghost town. He’d thought about calling it Devil’s Junction and moving there. Maybe that time would come.

  The Devil watched Kovalenko’s big yacht turn and make ready to sail. It was then, whilst watching and debating the new Blood King’s merits and failings, that a fresh thought occurred to him.

  That fucker would double cross me in a heartbeat.

  No, that wasn’t quite right. Luka would double cross him only if he thought he’d die. And the niggle was that Luka had sent the signal to arm the nuke before departing. The Devil frowned, not quite trusting his own thoughts. He was the Devil. Nobody in their right mind would cross him.

  But Luka Kovalenko was a man apart.

  Cursing softly, surprised at himself for such depth of paranoia, he left the office and headed downstairs. His keep, the central building of the castle, consisted of a high, winding staircase and two rooms. At the top, his surveillance room. His castle within a castle. The keep was surrounded by four other buildings which provided bedrooms, meeting rooms and eating places. The walls surrounded all that; thick crenelated bastions that kept the islanders at bay.

  He walked into the morning light, the air too cool for his tastes. He had become accustomed to the afternoon heat. He walked past the compound to the furthest building. Inside was a secret bunker. Well, maybe not so secret. By necessity, several of his men knew its location. And so did Kovalenko. The Blood King and three of his men had carried the small nuke down there.

  The Devil tried hard to shrug off a mixed feeling of suspicion and apprehension as he descended a set of black-iron steps into a dusty, empty cellar and walked over to a hidden keypad.

  But the feeling wouldn’t go away.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Three hours had passed since they made landfall.

  Drake crouched low as Molokai, ahead, raised a fist. They were creeping along a deep ditch. A brown sludgy stream ran down the center. The grassy verges were steep, sometimes muddy, but made great screens. Molokai scrambled back.

  “I think we should stop here for refreshment,” he said. “The land is well traveled ahead, and we might not get chance for a while.”

  His meaning was clear. Having left the cliffs behind, the team had entered the valley area that belonged to the Scavengers—the worst clan on the island. So far, they hadn’t found any signs of life—but that could soon change.

  Drake leaned back on the grass verge, his legs propped up on the other side. Alicia joined him, rooting through his pack to grab water and food. Drake waited, reflecting on the cliff battle. They had all come through without too many bruises, but then the cover had been good. His team had survived, but every time they confronted an enemy he worried. As a soldier, he knew that was wrong. He didn’t have the time nor the luxury to worry. And, if you let it eat away at you, it could become a far worse enemy than any twenty-stone merc with an Uzi.

  He ate now and sipped water. They consulted the map. They were crossing at the north end of the valley primarily because it was a more direct route to the high mountain where Mai should be. We hope. Everything on this island was an unknown quantity. But they were here and maybe, with luck, they’d find the Devil and Kovalenko here too.

  Molokai pinpointed their position on the map. Dahl took a quick recce. The team made sure their weapons were fully loaded. They harbored no illusions as to how hard it would be to cross Scavenger territory.

  Drake waited impatiently for the others to make ready.

  “Don’t worry,” Alicia said. “We’ll get there in time. Have faith.”

  He had great faith in the team. “It’s all the other bastards that worry me. I mean, how the hell did we get thrown onto an island inhabited by wild killer-mercs?”

  “Cheer up.” Dahl grinned. “At least it’s not dinosaurs.”

  Drake gave him a hard stare. Molokai rose at the head of the pack, which everyone took as a sign to leave.

  “Slow ahead,” he said through the comms. “No sound now.”

  They used the ditch to progress further before creeping up to the top and surveying the area. The sun had risen over the horizon and was bathing the landscape with light, which was both good and bad for the SPEAR team. Because of the unique shape of the valley, its folding contours, they were able to crawl to the top of a rolling hill and look down toward the center.

  The Scavengers weren’t exactly hiding.

  Their camp lay at the base of a dip near the center of the lush green hills. Sentry posts were visible on nearby slopes, but they didn’t appear to spread far and wide. Harrison had mentioned that the other clans gave the Scavengers a wide berth, which probably accounted for the more localized security. Using field glasses, the team scanned the camp and looked for ways they might bypass it.

  But it was the camp itself that held their attention for far longer than it should have.

  The Scavengers lived in makeshift lean-tos or in badly dug holes in the ground. They walked around or slept in various states of dress. They were all unwashed and, from what Drake saw, bore untreated wounds and cuts over their bodies.

  Molokai spotted a better vantage point to the left and signaled. Taking extreme caution, the team slid their way into position.

  “Holy shit,” Hayden whispered.

  Drake could hardly believe his eyes. Wild dogs slunk through the camp, sometimes petted by the dirty-faced men. Fires burned outside several lean-tos, and there was a large blaze at the center of the camp. Smoke billowed into the air, marking their position. Drake saw that, beyond the camp, lay the wide blue snake of a rushing river, and assumed fresh water was plentiful for these people. Switching back to the camp he forced himself to take in the worst of what was down there.

  Wooden crosses had been dug into the ground. Men were strapped to them. Their heads hung low and they flinched as if in the throes of a nightmare. Drake could easily believe it. Their bare chests and legs had been flayed but they bled only sparingly, as if the wounds had been seared by fire.

  Other men were in chains, thrown together at the edge of the camp. The iron manacles weighed them down, placed over wrists, an
kles and necks, forcing them together into a twisted heap that could barely move. Scavengers walked past and laughed at their predicament, throwing stones, spitting or taking out a well-sharpened blade and stabbing at the desperate pile. As Drake watched he heard a man shout a command. One of the dogs ran at the bunch of chained men and leapt on them, jaws gnashing. When it finished, several more were bleeding.

  Alicia lowered her field glasses. “Looks like hell down there.”

  “They’re men who’ve lost touch with civilization,” Dahl said. “And revel in savagery.”

  “Look to the top right,” Kenzie murmured.

  Drake twisted his body and refocused. The sight sent cold water through his body. Several sharpened stakes were set at the crest of a hill. Each stake was topped with a severed head in varying states of decomposition.

  “Warnings,” Dahl said.

  “Let’s heed them,” Hayden said. “What’s the best way through?”

  Molokai looked over. “Around,” he said. “The best way is around.”

  “Can we afford the time?”

  Molokai and Dahl both indicated the rushing waters.

  “If we can get to the river further north,” the Swede said. “We could go faster.”

  “You think they have boats? Rafts maybe?”

  Dahl started crawling to the left. “Why wouldn’t they?”

  Because they’re fucking batshit crazy, Drake wanted to say but held his tongue.

  The next thirty minutes passed in a tense, edgy silence. The team hugged the slopes, keeping eight feet of incline between them and any sight of the camp below. Kenzie was wary of several thick trees they passed, worried about Scavenger lookouts. The team took a few minutes to scan all of them but saw no sign of any watchers. Drake tried to compartmentalize everything he’d seen below and concentrate on the way forward, but it was almost impossible. Of course, those prisoners would be members of similar clans, prone to the same tendencies, but they were still human.