The Blood King Conspiracy

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

After the metaphoric dust had settled, Drake and his friends sought out Justin Harrison and told him what they were planning.

“We’re going down to Miami,” Drake said. “This whole thing’s Caribbean-related. We can work from there and see where the research takes us.”

Harrison looked preoccupied. “Yes, yes. Do whatever you must. Just, please-” he met Drake’s eyes. “Do it fast.”

Dry land beckoned and forty minutes later they were ensconced in a big station-wagon courtesy of the U.S. government, taking a last look through darkened windows at the U.S.S. Port Royal and its shattered hull. The authorities still didn’t know how Boudreau and his army had pulled it off, but meticulous planning, advance knowledge, and major inside help were being blamed.

“Jesus,” Hayden said as she ended yet another call. “It wouldn’t surprise me if there were public executions when this thing comes out!”

“We all love a conspiracy,” Kennedy said. The New Yorker was sitting beside Drake in the front, squirming around as she tried to tug the waist of her jeans a bit higher.

“They ain’t gonna fall off,” Drake frowned at her. “At least, not until we find a hotel.”

“Damn things are cut so low I keep showing my damn ass off.”

“Well, if we find ourselves chasing the enemy on bicycles your ass crack will make a nice bike park, love.”

Kennedy swatted him and finally managed to tug the material where she wanted it.

“Now that’s done,” Drake sniffed, “maybe we can get back to that what we do best, eh?”

“Saving the world?” Ben read his mind.

“You got it.”

The station-wagon cut through the encroaching night with Drake following the SatNav directions to Wilmington International airport. The early November cold snap, so apparent back in the U.K., hadn’t made it to this part of the States yet — if it ever did — so Drake drove with the Air Con cranked high. They made one stop to load up on service-station food, Mountain Dew and hot coffee before hitting the road in earnest.

“So,” Drake said after a while, “Mano. What did Boudreau want with you, my friend?”

Kinimaka shifted uncomfortably and Drake actually had to make a correction to the car’s course. “Beats me,” he rumbled. “Far as I know I’m a pretty normal guy.”

Hayden had squashed herself in beside him, with Ben to her right. “Trusting, supportive, effective. Is that normal for a guy, Kennedy?”

The only answer was a chortle.

“People you’ve hurt. Arrested. Places you’ve been. Men you’ve crossed. Any stand out at all?”

“Usually, I’m the second, or third in a team. None of the bad guys even know I’m there,” he paused. “Unless I hit ‘em, I guess. Never had a threatening letter. Lived all my life in Hawaii, north shore Oahu.”

“His name in Hawaiian,” Hayden said with glint in her eye. “Means ‘passionate lover’.”

Now Kennedy did turn around. “You’re kidding?”

Kinimaka shuffled again, looking embarrassed. “Or ‘shark’.”

“Or what? I mean, can’t they decide?”

Kinimaka shrugged. “Never knew.”

“I think we’re getting off track,” Drake said more gruffly than he wanted to. “You say you’re a nobody, a back-up man from hang-loose Hawaii. What the hell would Boudreau want with you?”

“Or more than likely his boss,” Kennedy put in. “Boudreau’s just a mercenary.”

“True.”

“So,” Ben interrupted, “this convo’s getting us nowhere. Are we gonna find this bad-boy controller down in Miami or what?”

“That’s the idea,” Drake grumbled. “Who rattled your cage, anyway?”

“No one. It’ll be fun.”

“Nothing about this is fun,” Hayden snapped. “People have died.”

Ben stared at the floor. “Yeah. Umm, sorry. I didn’t mean anything.”

The uncomfortable silence stretched until Drake broke it. “Either way, we need this controller. We know the bad guys are after it, and that they’re after Mano. Let’s keep it frosty out there.”

In the darkness next to him he felt Kennedy smile, then giggle. Ben whispered ‘frosty?’ with exaggerated surprise. Even Hayden let out a little chuckle.

Drake gave them a grumpy look. “Just stay alert.”