The Ghost Ships of Arizona

CHAPTER ONE

Matt Drake woke and instantly wondered why he was alone. His first thought: Mai? was an early morning constant of late, and then he remembered…

Oh aye, she’s in Japan, I think…

And the world slipped back into place. He was alone once more and even if Mai Kitano returned today, forgiven and free, a figure of pure absolution, he doubted that he could ever go back. Their time was over — of that he was sure — but he would still welcome her as an ally. They had worked that way before, many times. If Drake had changed since the death of his closest friends it was only because he could be more resolute, more caring, and less vocal about it. Promises were nothing when compared to real action.

Drake sat up in bed, eyeing the espresso machine as if it were a lifeline. The blackout curtains were useful but he could still see light bleeding around the edges, which meant the morning was marching on. He scooted over the bed and inserted a fresh pod into the machine, placed a cup under the dispenser and waited for the coffee to pour. Hot and black it was ready in seconds. He sipped at it, still reviewing his new place in the world and the events that had led him here.

If there was ever an Englishman who deserved to be called a man of action it was Matt Drake. At the same time he would hear none of it, beyond the less-than-gentle ribbing offered up by his teammates. Drake had been forced at an early age to take charge of his life and continued to adhere to that pattern — no matter which megalomaniac tried to disrupt it. At the head of it all was the loyalty he felt towards his friends.

And the agony shared by all when one of their number died.

Komodo’s funeral had been surreal, an odd kind of nightmare. The one good thing about it was that it had passed without incident. Karin, inconsolable, distressed beyond measure, quantified it in a single, succinct sentence.

“If my life is the sum of those I most love then it is now over.”

The team had tried to console her, but Karin had lost her parents, her brother, and her boyfriend in a matter of months. Drake knew from experience that time didn’t heal the wounds caused by losing a loved one beyond an almost insignificant point. Which Karin would emerge from the ashes of the old one?

He would be there to catch and care for her no matter the depth of the fall.

As he drained the coffee and immediately made another — one was never enough from a pod machine — his thoughts turned inevitably to Alicia. The free-spirited Englishwoman had stayed true to character and charged on after the battle in Hong Kong, joining her other team in an attempt to find some long-hidden Crusader gold. This was no form of disrespect intended — or even unintended — toward Komodo or Karin or the SPEAR team, it was pure Alicia Myles and her headlong quest toward self-destruction. Drake sensed the moment approaching every day and worried for whomever was near her at the time.

And, conversely, hoped it would be him.

Hoped? he thought. No, no. Worried… that was more like it. Feared. Dreaded. Was terrified of…

He laughed it off, knowing inwardly that he would help Alicia in any way he could if it came down to it. Even if he had to kill her, or himself, just to save her.

Drake made an internal call on the room’s telephone system. Almost immediately a gruff but well-manicured voice answered.

“Dahl residence.”

Drake laughed, despite everything. “We’re in a bloody hotel, you knob.”

“A well-travelled, educated man’s hotel room is his castle. The same way a Yorkshireman’s castle is the local pub.”

“Amen to that. Who needs trumpets and banquets when you can have a jukebox, a quiz and a packet of pork scratchings?”

Dahl hesitated. “Pork what? Dare I ask?”

“Probably best to let that one pass.”

A moment’s silence passed before Dahl spoke again. “Have you heard from Mai?”

Drake sighed. It was natural for the other team members to imagine he was at an all-time low and he saw no reason to enlighten them either way. “Not a thing, mate. She’s still showing Grace around Japan. Worried about the Yakuza. Spending time with Chika and Hibiki, I guess.”

“Fancy a game of table tennis?”

Drake froze and then shook his head. Did he hear that correctly? If Dahl had asked him to join him at a Frozen sing-along with the kids he’d have been less surprised. “Come again?”

“I noticed a table in the basement last night and two old bats. I’m sure we’ll be able to rustle up a ping pong ball from somewhere.”

“Okaaaay.” Still wondering if “table tennis” was a code word for something a little more dangerous and clandestine he met Dahl at the entrance to the elevator three minutes later. The Swede stood large and imposing, even clad as he was in T-shirt and cargo shorts. A smile hovered at the edge of his lips.

“So what is this really?” Drake asked. “New mission?”

“No.” The Swede looked upset. “It’s a game of fucking table tennis. If it was a new mission I’d say so.”

“You know you’re gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Oh right, I forgot. Every Yorkshireman played table tennis at the local community center when he was a kid, yeah? Winner stayed on and they had to drag him away three hours later.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, we played ping pong in Sweden too. When I was young we had a world champion.”

“I do remember that anyone who played table tennis at a high enough level would never call it ping pong.” Drake smiled.

Dahl couldn’t stop his eyes widening in surprise. Drake had gotten to him and, even now, there was a friendly rivalry between the two men. When Dahl showed him to the table Drake picked up the closest bat.

“Loser has to wear an ‘I love Kanye West’ T-shirt for a whole day?”

“Bollocks, I could never sink that low.”

“How about an ‘I love Alicia Myles’ T-shirt?”

Dahl cocked his head. “Did she finally get some made?”

“Yep, for her new team, but in her rush she flew off without them.”

“I can live with that.”

The two men faced off. Drake held up a small yellowish ball. Throwing it high into the air he readied his feet and prepared to serve… just as Dahl’s cellphone rang.

“Wait!”

Then Drake’s own phone let out a chirp. The Who’s Pinball Wizard sang out. He let the ball fall to the floor as he plucked the device from the right-side pocket of his Levis.

“Matt Drake.”

Hayden’s voice, stressed, filled the room as both men hit speakerphone. “Hi guys. We need you to come in. We have a crisis down here.”

Drake placed his bat on the table. “Must be Wednesday.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. What’s going on?”

“Our friend Ramses has popped up big time. The myth, it seems, is actually a reality.”

“I’ve heard that before.” Dahl groaned.

“Ramses is nothing like the Blood King. Born as royalty and brainwashed whilst young. Indoctrinated into terrorism at the same time as being beyond privileged. What little we do know of him beggars belief.”

“And now?”

“Well it looks like we have an early heads-up as to the staging of a giant arms bazaar, billed as the last and biggest of its kind. We’re talking the kind where terrorist royalty roll up in their armor-plated Bentley Continentals, step out, order a brace of nuclear missiles, then skip off and inspect a flock of stolen fighter planes. It’s happening, guys.”

“When?” Drake and Dahl were already in the elevator.

“Within a month. We don’t know.”

Drake almost dropped the phone. “A month? Wow, I can’t remember having the luxury of time since…” He paused for thought. “Since… well, ever.”

“Ya got that right. And I said within a month. Could be next week, so hurry. We’ll see you in ten.”

Drake thought about the security they had to pass through in order to gain access to their new offices inside the Pentagon.

“Better make that thirty, love.”