The Blood King Conspiracy

CHAPTER TWO

Ben Blake sat staring at the dark computer screen for a few moments, then started screaming. Within seconds Drake and Kennedy were at the door.

“What the hell are you pissing about at, Blakey?” Drake was carrying a tea towel, a somewhat strange look for the ex-soldier. “Nappy rash playing you up again?”

Kennedy was smiling. “Maybe the Backstreet Boys are getting back together? Again?”

“H… Hayden. She, … ” Ben’s felt a heavy pounding in his head, as if a demon was trying to smash its way through his skull, “… something just ha… happened.”

Drake realised his best friend was terrified. “Hey! Hey, mate, calm down. Just sit back for a sec. It’ll be alright. Breathe.”

Ben took a moment to gather his nerves. “I was just talking to her. Hayden. I think… I think they got ambushed, or invaded, or whatever. There was fighting.” Ben’s voice fell. “Gunshots.”

“No way.” Drake twisted his head to take in the computer screen. It offered nothing but an empty wall that sported a colour so drab and life-sucking it could have been used to decorate a tax office.

“I can’t hear anything,” Drake said. “Did you hear anything?”

“It was muffled, but I heard screaming and fighting and a few words at the end.”

“Where was she?”

“Miami. At a safe-house. That’s all I know. All I’m allowed to know.”

Kennedy laid a hand on his shoulder. “Any ideas what she was working on?” Straight to what she thought was the heart of the matter, Drake thought.

Ben shook his head. “No idea.”

They all stared at the empty screen.

Then Ben said, “The last thing I heard her say, well, scream, was we’ve found the secret to the Bermuda Triangle.”

Kennedy took a deep breath.

Drake didn’t move for a moment, and then closed his eyes. Here we go again.

Drake and Kennedy made eye contact and doubled-ribbed Ben for his increased pleasure. “Barry Manilow, eh? Didn’t know you were a fan, Blakey?”

“Worst song of all time?” Kennedy bobbed her head with mock-seriousness. “I think so.”

Drake snapped his fingers. “Maybe you could cover it on the new album?”

Ben’s worried, blank face showed that he wouldn’t be placated lightly.

Drake and Kennedy immediately began to make calls. Since the ‘Odin thing’ they both had access to some high level people, including the U.S Secretary of Defence’s aide, a weedy, geeky guy who always ran around with a briefcase that practically dwarfed him.

As the phones rang and buzzed and lost signal they met each other’s eyes. Kennedy had been living with Drake for six weeks now, ever since the demise of Abel Frey. She had taken an extended vacation from the NYPD with a view to never going back. The couple were warily enjoying their time together, careful not to push the wrong buttons or scratch at any raw wounds.

For now, none of them needed to work. There had been some quiet remuneration after they helped save the world. Ben was even looking at moving out and renting his own place, especially since his band, the Wall of Sleep, had picked up a recording contract on the back of his Odinic success; a development that held much juicy mileage for Matt and Kennedy.

Drake got hold of Wells immediately. “Hey.”

“You again.”

“Missed me?”

“Only in the field.”

Drake paused. “I guess we never did get that Mai time, eh mate?”

“I’m used to being let down, Drake… by you.”

“Christ! Don’t be a pansy, Wells. Something big has come up.”

“It might. If I got me some Mai time.”

“Listen. It looks like a crack CIA team were…” Drake hesitated to repeat anything final. “hit today. In Miami. It happened a few minutes ago and I need details, Wells. Real fast.”

The SAS Commander seemed to take an interest. “Really? OK, mate, I’ll make a call.”

Drake was about to hit another number when Ben shouted again. He raced back into his lodger’s room, Kennedy a step behind.

“Someone just burst in,” the young man was pointing at a black screen. “I heard voices, shouting. I heard real shock, Matt, as if someone got the shit scared out of them. Someone swore, and then I think the laptop was slammed shut.”

“Can you Skype it?” Kennedy asked. “You know. Make it ring again.”

Ben clicked a few buttons. Nothing happened. “The connection must have gone down.”

Kennedy shook her head. “All we friggin’ need. Wait… Hi, is that Justin?”

The Secretary of Defence’s aide was called Justin Harrison.

Kennedy affirmed it was and hit him with the news. To the guy’s credit if he worked as fast as he walked they’d have answers in about five minutes.

Drake sidled quietly out of the room and tried one last number. The phone was answered on the first ring.

“Long time, my friend. Long, long time.” The voice that whispered in his ear was a memory of former, delicious days, sorely missed and revered.

“Well, I thought I had retired.” Unconsciously he tried to clean his Yorkshire twang up to suit her cultured tones.

“It will never end, Matt Drake. You should know that. It never ends for people like you and me.”

“I know you’re in Florida.”

“Hmm. How do you know that?”

“I still have friends in the loop.” He tried to not to sound too defensive.

“I’m sure. Is Mr Wells now a stalker as well as a pervert?”

Drake winced. “To be honest, he’s always been a bit of both.”

“Of course. Well, what do you need?”

“It sounds stupid now. But have you…” he shook his head in embarrassment. “… heard anything about the bloody Bermuda Triangle!”

Her laugh was like the barely remembered sound of summer rain to his ears. God, he missed that sound. “I know the operation you are talking about. I know some things but not enough. Let me give you a call back.”

“Brilliant.” He listened as she closed the connection. He closed his eyes, remembering. After a few seconds he heard a sound from behind and whirled to look.

Kennedy stood in the doorway, staring. “Who was that?”

“Old contact.” Drake collected himself and strode past her towards Ben’s room. “What do we have?”

Ben’s eyes were watery. He shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.”

It was Kennedy’s mobile that rang first, a tune by The Pretty Reckless that shattered an uncomfortable stillness. She answered and punched the speaker button.

“It’s Justin Harrison.”

“I know,” Kennedy drawled, still showing her cops’ abruptness. “What have you got?”

“Bad news I’m afraid, Miss Moore. The CIA are still gathering information, but it seems one of their high-security Miami safe-houses was literally taken out. Quite a mess down there. Reports of some very bad deaths. Terrible stuff, Miss Moore.”

Kennedy’s eyes filled with tears. Drake felt his own throat choke up. “Hayden? Hayden Jaye? Is she-?”

“Well, like I said, they are still gathering but it seems three agents are missing. Possibly taken captive or… well, who knows? Names are Jaye, Kinimaka, and Godwin.”

Drake felt his hands clench into fists at the careless use of Harrison’s rhetoric. Names are.

“She’s missing? Hayden is missing?”

Ben was on his feet, trying and failing to keep his emotions in check.

Drake looked at Kennedy as she cut off the connection. “Fancy a trip to the homeland, love?”