The Gates of Hell

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Drake opened fire even as he heard the initial explosion. It would take a second or two to reach him. The kitchen door shattered under multiple impacts. Drake ran straight at it, firing all the time. He didn’t slow, just hit it shoulder first and tumbled out into the air.

The explosion zoomed after him like a striking snake. A tongue of fire blasted out of the door and the windows, exploding up into the sky. Drake was rolling. The fire’s breath touched him for an instant and then receded.

Without breaking stride, he was up and running again. Bruised and battered, but terribly determined, he dashed for the big barn. The first thing he saw were dead bodies. Four of them. The techs Hayden had left behind to gain entry. He stopped by them, checked each one for signs of life.

No pulse and no bullet wounds. Were the damn walls electrified?

In another moment it didn’t matter. The front of the barn exploded, shards of timber and tongues of fire shooting out in a spectacular detonation. Drake hit the deck. He heard an engine roar and looked up just in time to see a yellow blur blast through the shattered doors and fly powerfully down the makeshift driveway.

Drake jumped up. It was probably heading for a hidden chopper, plane, or some other bloody booby trap. He couldn’t wait for backup. He ran into the half-demolished barn and looked around. He shook his head in disbelief. The deep shine of polished supercar glimmered in every direction.

Choosing the nearest, Drake wasted valuable seconds looking for a key and then saw a set of them hanging outside an interior office. The Aston Martin Vanquish started with a key and power button combination, which though unfamiliar to Drake, spiked his adrenalin when the crazy roar of the engine kicked in.

The Aston Martin shot out of the barn with a squeal of tires. Drake aimed it in the direction of what he hoped was Claude’s speeding car. If this was another round of misdirection, Drake was fucked. As might be the whole of Hawaii. They desperately needed to capture the Blood King’s second-in-command.

Out of the corner of his eye, Drake spied Alicia skidding to a stop. He didn’t wait. In his rearview, he saw her run purposefully into the barn. Jesus, this could get messy.

The yellow blur ahead began to look like a high-end supercar, something reminiscent of the old Porsche Le Mans winning coupes. Near to the ground, it hugged the curves of the road, bouncing like it ran on springs. Unfit for the rough terrain, but then the makeshift road became fully paved a few miles up.

Drake gunned the Vanquish, setting his weapon carefully on the seat behind him and listening to the Bluetooth squawks hopping around his brain. The operation at the ranch was still in full swing. Hostages were being recovered. Some were dead. Several pockets of Claude’s men were still holed up in strategic positions, pinning the authorities down. And there were still half-a-dozen tigers prowling around causing mayhem.

The gap between the Aston Martin and the Porsche closed to nothing. The English car was far superior on the bumpy road. Drake nudged up right behind it, contemplating pulling alongside when, in his rearview mirror, he saw another supercar closing in.

Alicia, at the wheel of an old Dodge Viper. Trust her to go for something with muscle.

The three cars blasted across the rough terrain, hugging the bends and slewing back out onto the long straights. Gravel and dirt plumed around and behind them. Drake saw the paved road coming up and made a decision. They wanted Claude alive, but first they had to catch him. He was very careful to keep listening to the earpiece chatter just in case someone broadcast they had caught Claude, but the longer this chase went on, the more confident Drake became that the man in front was the Blood King’s second.

Drake picked up the gun and blew out the Aston’s windshield. After a moment of dangerous skidding, he regained control and fired a second burst at the fleeing Porsche. Bullets strafed its rear end.

The car barely slowed. It flew onto the new road. Drake opened fire as the Le Mans racer accelerated, bullet casings littering the leather seat beside him. It was time to aim for the tires.

But right then one of the choppers blasted past them all, two figures hanging out of the open doors. The chopper swung round ahead of the Porsche and hovered sideways. Warning shots dug chunks out of the road in front of it. Drake shook his head in disbelief when a hand came out of the driver’s window and started shooting up at the helicopter.

Instantly, simultaneously, he took his foot off the accelerator and his hands off the wheel, took aim, and loosed a shot of ambition, skill, and recklessness. Alicia’s Viper slammed into his own car. Drake regained control, but saw the gun fly out through the windshield.

But his crazy shot worked. He shot the fleeing driver through the elbow and now the car was slowing. Stopping. Drake brought the Aston to a crunching halt, jumped out and ran swiftly to the Porsche’s passenger door, pausing to pick up his gun and keeping his sights leveled at the figure’s head the whole time.

“Throw your weapon out! Do it!”

“Can’t,” came the reply. “You shot my arm to fuck, you dumb grunt.”

The chopper hovered ahead, rotors blasting as its thunderous engine made the very ground shake.

Alicia advanced and shot out the Porsche’s side mirror. As a team they swung around from left and right, both covering the man behind the wheel.

Despite the man’s grimace of agony, Drake recognized him from the photo. It was Claude.

Time to pay.

Ben Blake jumped in shock when his mobile started to ring. Mimicking Drake, he had also switched to Evanescence. Amy Lee’s chilling vocals on the track “Lost in Paradise” firmly matched everyone’s mood of the moment.

The screen read International. The call wouldn’t be from a member of his family. But, in light of the National Archives operation, it could be from any number of government offices.

“Yes?”

“Ben Blake?”

Fear scratched his spine with sharp fingers. “Who’s this?”

“Tell me.” The voice was cultured, English and fully assured. “Right now. Do I speak to Ben Blake?”

Karin came over to him, reading the dread in his face. “Yes.”

“Good. Well done. Was that so hard? My name is Daniel Belmonte.”

Ben almost dropped the phone. “What? How the hell did you—”

A stream of refined guffaws stopped him. “Relax. Just relax, my friend. I’m surprised, to say the least, that Alicia Myles and your lady friend haven’t mentioned my… prowess.”

Ben gaped, unable to speak. Karin was mouthing the words, the thief? From London? That’s him?

Ben’s face said it all.

“Cat got your tongue, Mr. Blake? Maybe you should put your lovely sister on. How is Karin?”

The mention of his sister’s name galvanized him a little. “Where did you get my number?”

“Don’t patronize me. Do you really think it would take two hours to complete the simple operation you asked of me? Or have I spent the last forty minutes learning a little about my… benefactors? Hmm? Take your time with that one, Blakey.”

“I know nothing about you,” Ben said defensively. “You were suggested by—” He paused. “By—”

“Your girlfriend? I’m sure I was. She knows me rather well.”

“And Alicia?” Karin shouted, trying to unbalance the man. They were both so surprised and so green it hadn’t even occurred to them to alert the CIA yet.

There was a moment’s silence. “That girl actually scares me, truth be told.”

Ben’s brain stared to function. “Mr. Belmonte, the item you were asked to copy is very valuable. So valuable—”

“I understand that. It was written by Captain Cook and one of his men. Cook made more discoveries in his three voyages than any man in history.”

“I don’t mean historical value,” Ben snapped. “I mean it might save lives. Now. Today.”

“Really?” Belmonte sounded genuinely interested. “Please tell.”

“I can’t.” Ben started to feel a little desperate. “Please. Help us.”

“It’s already on your email,” Belmonte said. “But I wouldn’t be the man I am if I didn’t show you my worth, now would I? Enjoy.”

Belmonte ended the call. Ben threw the mobile on the table and clicked away on the computer for a few seconds.

The missing pages from Cooks logs came right up in full, glorious color.

“The levels of hell,” Ben read aloud. “Cook only got to the fifth level and then turned back. My God, do you hear that, Karin? Even Captain Cook didn’t get past the fifth level. It’s… it’s…”

“A massive trap system.” Karin was speed reading over his shoulder, photographic memory working overtime. “The biggest and most insane trap system ever imagined.”

“And if it’s that big, that dangerous and elaborate…” Ben turned to her. “Imagine the enormity and significance of the wonder that it leads to.”

“Beyond belief,” Karin said and read on.

Drake dragged Claude out of the shot-up car and deposited him roughly in the road. His screams of pain rent the air, piercing even the roar of the chopper.

“Fools! You will never stop this. He always wins. Fuck, my goddamn arm hurts, you bastard!”

Drake placed his machine gun at arm’s length and knelt on Claude’s chest. “Just a few questions, mate. Then the medics will pump you full of some really good shit. Where is Kovalenko? Is he here?”

Claude gave him a stony face, almost petulant.

“Okay, we’ll try an easier one. Ed Boudreau. Where is he?”

“He took the wiki-wiki shuttle back to Waikiki.”

Drake nodded. “And where are the other two ranches?”

“Gone.” Claude’s face broke out into a smirk. “All gone.”

“That’s enough.” Alicia had been listening over Drake’s shoulder. She came around, gun leveled at Claude’s face, and gently placed a boot on Claude’s shattered elbow. An instant shriek split the air.

“We can take this as far as you want,” Drake whispered. “Nobody here is on your side, mate. We know about the terrorist attacks. Either talk or scream. It makes no difference to me.”

“Stop!” Claude’s words were almost unintelligible. “Puh… please.”

“That’s better.” Alicia eased up the pressure a little.

“I have… been with the Blood King for many, many years.” Claude spat. “But now he leaves me behind. He leaves me behind to die. To rot in the land of the pig. To cover his ass. Maybe not.” Claude struggled to sit up. “Damn.”

Every wary, Drake pulled out a handgun and lined Claude’s skull up in the sights. “Steady.”

“He will regret this.” Claude was practically fuming. “I don’t care anymore about his terrible retribution.” The sarcasm dripped in his tone. “I don’t care. There’s no more life for me now.”

“We get it.” Alicia sighed. “You hate you’re fucking boyfriend. Just answer the sexy soldier’s questions.”

Drake’s earpiece squawked. A tinny voice said, “Found the first portal device. Seems Kovalenko left it behind.”

Drake blinked and sent a fleeting look at Alicia. Why would the Blood King leave the portal device behind at a time like this?

Easy answer. He didn’t need it.

“Kovalenko’s headed beneath Diamond Head, right? To the Gates of Pele or Hell or whatever. That’s his end game, yes?”

Claude screwed his face up. “That legend he found became an obsession. A man rich beyond dreams. A man who can have whatever he wants. What does he do?”

“Obsess about something he can never have?” Alicia suggested.

“A man so clever, so resourceful, reduced to a neurotic idiot in a day. He knows there’s something under that friggin’ volcano. He always muttered that he would best Cook. That Cook had actually turned back in fear. But not Dmitry Kovalenko, not the Blood King; he would go farther.”

Even Drake felt a rush of apprehension. “Cook turned back? What the hell is down there?”

Claude shrugged, then groaned in pain. “Nobody knows. But my guess is that Kovalenko will be the first to find out. He’s on his way there now.”

Drake’s heart leapt on that information. On his way there now. There was time.

By now Mai and half-a-dozen of soldiers had drifted over to them. Everyone listened with avid attention.

Drake remembered the business at hand. “We want the ranch locations. And we want Ed Boudreau.”

Claude reeled off the information. Two more ranches, one on Kauai, the other on the Big Island. Boudreau was en route to Kauai.

“And the terrorist attacks?” Mai asked quietly. “Is that just another ruse?”

And now Claude’s face actually fell with such despair and misery that Drake’s stomach plummeted through the floor.

“No.” Claude moaned. “They’re real. They’ll hit any moment now.”