Brothers in Arms

CHAPTER TWO

Homeland Security HQ is located in the Nebraska Avenue complex in Washington DC. Though not thought of as a primary port of call for intelligence alerts, it is nevertheless heavily concerned with terrorist threats, both domestic and abroad. On January 14, 2013, it received a message that, whilst surprising and urgent, had no one screaming or reaching for the panic button.

Not like they would be in a little over a week.

The message originated out of Asia, somewhere off the coast of Korea. Speculation was that it came from one of the deserted islands out there. The body of the message, though short, was ultimately stunning.

“Our warship returned to the curious island I previously spoke of today. This time, I was allowed to disembark and go ashore. Saw everything unexpected. A vast, well equipped lab. Bodies of European descent. And worse — experimentation. Many weapons — American made, state of the art. Some futuristic. And one other thing — the briefest mention of a possible target. US Senator James Turner.”

It came from a Japanese agent named Dai Hibiki, a man who had been deep undercover with the Koreans for many years. This man was buried so deep that it had been rumored several times that he’d been turned. Or murdered. His messages were few and far between, so any contact from him was given the highest priority.

It was routed through a Japanese intelligence agency to Homeland and then immediately to a small, covert agency because of a recent agreement between the Japanese and American governments.

The small, covert agency was brand new, and had a big new name. Special Response and Recon. Some of its members had taken to calling it SPEAR for short.

The new agency was in its infancy, still seeking agreements with some governments — the Swedes were playing major league hardball, and even the British were proving surprisingly prickly. Something to do with an unresolved matter concerning an SAS base that didn’t exist on European soil. Other agencies, like the Japanese, who were quick to sign an agreement, were more than likely playing for an angle. Offices had been rented, cleaned and furnished on tree-lined Nebraska Avenue, Washington DC, with park views on one side and a University campus on the other to help promote a relaxed ambience. The space was large, and roomy, but would take a long time to feel comfortable. Computers were up and running, a new mainframe buzzed with activity, and the telephone system was online. Other than that, operational systems and physical hardware was still being installed. Several much anticipated “toys” had not yet appeared. Offices were cluttered with discarded boxes and reams of flayed wire. An interrogation room was being built along with a secure parking garage and a state-of-the-art warning and ventilation system.

But the transition was always going to be hard. The sheer diversity of the team members was a recipe for disorder. In Mai Kitano and Alicia Myles, there was both brilliance and instability. In Hayden Jaye and Mano Kinimaka, there was discipline and restraint, which, of course, led to limitation. In Ben and Karin Blake, there was both genius and a kind of broken insecurity. In Torsten Dahl, there was the superman you could always count on. Komodo was a soldier and a strong friend.

And then there was Matt Drake. Destroyed by the death of his wife, rebuilt by the love of Kennedy Moore and then ripped apart again when the Blood King arranged her murder, he was a man struggling to cling on to the blasted pieces of his life. Constant action and mayhem had helped him cope, but the last two sluggish weeks had him asking some major questions.

By day, the team was organizing their new HQ and starting to monitor handpicked communications, by night they tried adjusting to a brand new situation, a fresh life in an unfamiliar city. They were still living out of hotel rooms, the powers-that-be never quick to assign housing.

Now, Mai cut across the main communications room of their new HQ, nodding to Drake and tucking her hair behind both ears. “Bored?”

“Aye.” Drake had stopped trying to lighten up his broad Yorkshire accent around her. They were becoming closer by the day. He wasn’t trying to hide anything anymore. He pointed to the banks of TV screens. “A hundred channels and nowt to bloody watch.”

Alicia chuckled. “You that desperate to dive straight back in, Drakey? The battle in the Czech Republic not big enough for you?”

“It had its moments.” Drake acknowledged. “But inactivity kills nearly as fast as a bullet. You know that.”

“I’d hardly call this ‘inactivity.’” Mai gestured around her. Engineers were installing the special insulation and ventilation system. There was currently a lot of head scratching going on. Some of the specs didn’t measure up.

“He means action.” Alicia narrowed her eyes. “I’ll take one of ‘em out if you like.”

“When you say it like that”—Drake sighed—“I don’t know if you mean you want to shoot him or shag him.”

Alicia nodded in agreement. “Either’s possible.”

Drake watched as Hayden drifted over to listen to the conversation, the ever-watchful Mano Kinimaka at her side. The last fortnight had seen both of them pussyfooting around some serious issues. Neither one, it seemed, was willing to make the first move. For Mano, it was because the whole thing was so important to him. For Hayden, it was something else all together. Something that combined the melancholy around her breakup with Ben, the pressures of her job — she had been appointed team leader of SPEAR — and the demands she levied against herself because of her father’s great name. It didn’t matter that she had probably already surpassed the greatest deed he ever did. He made her believe she would never live up to his legend — no matter what she achieved.

Drake stepped out of the room and wandered into the small canteen. Komodo, in addition to being a remarkable warrior and Karin’s sensitive boyfriend, had also proven to be a kick-ass cook and coffee connoisseur. He’d already saved them from starvation more times than Drake could remember with his quick culinary genius.

Komodo squeezed the garlic press as Drake entered. The Englishman took a whiff. “Smells lovely.”

Komodo blinked. “It’s just spag bol, man.”

“To you maybe.” Alicia had walked in behind him. “But after weeks of field rations that taste like Odin’s arse, I’ll tell you, Trevor, your sweet fare tastes divine.”

Komodo shook his head at her. “My girlfriend has a lot to answer for, telling you — of all people — about that.”

Alicia emptied the coffee pot. “We’re all friends here, mate. No hidden agendas. I’m sure you’ll find a way to make her pay, eh?”

Drake concentrated on the bubbling contents of the pan. The fact that Alicia raised the question of hidden agendas only brought attention to her own. If indeed she had one… But Drake had known her a long time. He could not pinpoint a time when she hadn’t been secretly working for herself.

He squeezed past her, leaving Komodo to fend for himself. Across the narrow corridor, the conference room stood empty, deemed the least important area to make ready. Farther down the hallway, he knew workmen and technicians were working on secure offices, an interrogation room, and a basement bunker for the arms cache. Maybe even more clandestine things he wasn’t party too. Who knew what top-secret, hush-hush ideas Jonathan Gates really had for this place?

Not even Hayden Jaye, Drake was sure.

He paused for a moment, alone in the empty conference room. His life was in tatters, his past naught but ashes. But dreams could arise from ashes as easily as they could be born in glory. His future was a blank slate, purposely so. Mai Kitano remained an enigma, but a desirable one.

He ran his knuckles across the rough walls, the texture like sandpaper, harsh to the touch. The room’s single window looked out on to a busy street. Cars flashed past and pulled into the strip mall opposite, odd to someone who’d lived in the UK his entire life. The White House stood resolutely to the south east, an awe-inspiring sight he’d never even seen, Langley and the CIA to the west.

His future was a blank slate.

But the past had to be dealt with. Many layers of profound regrets and deep-rooted guilt had to be raked through, evaluated, and faced. The saner part of his mind asked, what can you do now? What good will dwelling do? But the darker side wanted more. It craved action.

And so did his body to help dissuade and deflect the dark side. It offered a promise that said the harder he threw himself into the present, the farther his guilty nightmares would recede. Someone once said time heals all wounds. What a load of crap. Time would only cover it with scar tissue. The heart and mind would actually deepen the loss.

A hubbub erupted across the hall. Hayden’s voice and then Gates’s and then Torsten Dahl’s. The big Swede didn’t sound happy. Someone — it sounded like Karin — was trying to shush him. Good luck with that one.

Drake sighed. The so-called experts had probably installed the wrong ventilation system. A little depressed, he drifted back into the operations room and was surprised to see Mai, usually the picture of reserve, arguing animatedly with their boss — Jonathan Gates.

His radar perked up.

On one of the big screens a message was repeating:

“Our warship returned to the curious island I previously spoke of today. This time I was allowed to disembark and go ashore. Saw everything unexpected. A vast, well equipped lab. Bodies of European descent. And worse — experimentation. Many weapons — American made, state of the art. Some futuristic. And one other thing — the briefest mention of a possible target. US Senator, James Turner.”

A blue flag attached to the message symbol on the screen indicated that it had come direct from Homeland. When Karin used her keyboard to open the internal message, Drake saw it had been forwarded from the Japanese Defense Intelligence Headquarters in Shinjuku, Tokyo.

Mai touched Gates on the shoulder. “I know this man. I know Dai Hibiki very well. Years of his life have been devoted to this mission. You can’t—”

“You got it, Mai. My point exactly. Years of his life. Even the Japanese aren’t entirely sure Hibiki hasn’t been turned.”

“I just told you, Gates. I know him.”

A silence descended, frosted around the edges. Dahl was shaking his head at the both of them. “It really is a no-brainer,” he said. “It’s information about a threat to a US official. It has to be investigated.”

“Agreed,” Hayden, perhaps seeing the need to exert some authority and remind everyone of who was in charge, tapped the side of her coffee mug sharply against a screen. “The question is — should we take it or pass it on?”

“There’s not only the senator to consider,” Mai said patiently. “It is also the island that should be investigated. What is going on there?”

Drake read it through again. The words European, experimentation, and weapons stood out like warning signs. “Special Response and Recon. Sounds right up our street.” And anything that added distraction to his days was worth pursuing.

“But don’t trust Hibiki,” Gates insisted. “Not until you get him alone.”

Mai stayed tight-lipped.

Hayden allowed a half-smile to form on her lips. “New team. New mission. New rules. We respond. We don’t initiate. We’re recon. Not assault. And we’re official now. So keep it above the law.”

“And if you can’t,” Alicia piped up, “make sure no one ever finds the bastards.”

“There are people who want this team to fail,” Gates told them seriously. “Rivals on the Hill. I could name two without thinking. I’m just not sure yet how far they’re willing to go.”

Drake understood but it was combat, not politics, that concerned him. “You take care of them. We”—he indicated the big screen—“will take care of this.”

Hayden stepped in quickly. “Mai. Drake. You get the flight. The rest of us will start looking into Senator Turner.”

Alicia blinked in surprise. “What about—?”

Mano turned to her. “I think you’re classed with the rest of us.’”

Alicia turned on him. “Really, Mano? Really? You’re taking the piss after all I learned about you in that bar?”

The Hawaiian grunted and held his hands up. Truth be told, he couldn’t remember telling her anything the night they, along with Belmonte, spent drinking and spinning yarns as the Austrian night gave way to the red dawn of what might be their deaths. For one of them it had been, but Belmonte had gone down fighting.

Kinimaka stayed cautious. “Well we won’t exactly be baking cakes here in DC.”

Alicia shot a glance at Komodo. “Don’t count on it.”

Drake checked his watch and walked over to Mai. “It’s a good plan. We’ll take a small team. No incursion, just surveillance. Maybe Mai will be able to contact Hibiki. He knows her. He would make allowances for her.” He headed for the door, shouting over his shoulder. “Send me the details in flight. About time we got some more bloody action!”