The Lost Kingdom

CHAPTER FORTY

Drake paced across the hotel lobby, submitting to a pat down and showing his invite, happy to have Mai on his arm but feeling strange and detached from the whole thing. Surreal didn’t do it justice. This wasn’t his world, this high-society, posh-knob kind of stuff, and he wasn’t the least bit unhappy about that. The elevator arrived, its polished gold, gleaming surface sliding open. He urged Mai inside, followed by most of the others. A tall, dark-skinned man dressed in hotel livery punched a button.

Alicia stage-whispered, “D’you think we should tip him? I never can remember the etiquette at a time like this.”

Drake gave her a glare. “Google it.”

“Oh, I seem to have left my Android in my other knickers.”

Drake stared at her gilded purse. “So what do you have in there?”

“Are you kidding? Three hundred dollars and it’ll barely fit a lipstick inside.”

“I don’t think it matters now,” Hayden pointed out as the elevator arrived. The operator kept a straight face as they all filed out.

Drake stopped immediately, trying to collect his senses and focus. The room was large, circular and resplendent. First, he looked up because most people never did. A spherical light gantry hung over the room, spotlights rolling and flashing. A three-tier chandelier was suspended through its center and twinkled like fire and gold. At the center of the room stood a raised stage, also circular, a lighted palisade running around its circumference, interrupted in four places to allow entry. Tables stood everywhere, full of fresh flowers and plates of food whilst waiters were arranged around the outside of the room, serving champagne and canapés on silver trays. Drake turned to his group.

“Anyone spot our mark?”

Hibiki shook his head. “We’re a little early. Shall we mingle?”

Drake grunted in protestation, but allowed himself to be dragged further into the room. Mai sashayed alongside, appearing to be enjoying this distraction and perfectly at home. Conversely, behind Drake came several uncomfortable-looking male individuals, all tugging at their collars. Only Dahl looked relaxed, commenting softly on the layout, entry and exit points and offering other salient observations. Drake turned his attention to the guests. Women were painstakingly coiffured, impeccably dressed and all able to offer that haughty yet appealing guise that defined their status in life. Men were more daring, some bearing stubble and pink, open shirts beneath dinner jackets and others so bronzed they might be mistaken for valuable statues. Most walked at a steady gait across the highly polished floor or stood around in groups, smiling carefully and remaining observant. Drake noticed a large easel set at the center of the stage and guessed it held details about the charity that was the purpose of tonight’s event.

A waiter appeared to his left, offering Mai a glass of champagne and then him. He waved it away. Behind, he heard Smyth choke at the very thought of bubbly.

“Got any Bud, bud?”

The waiter affected a slight smile. “I wish.” He drifted away.

Drake surveyed the entire room again. “Hibiki,” he said. “It’s almost eight.”

Mai tugged at his jacket. “He said center-stage. Let’s go there.”

Almost unconsciously, the team ranged out, knowing not to bunch together and cover the angles. Alicia took hold of Dahl’s arm, the lights dazzling around her dress and hair. Mai was the opposite, a stunning shadow in the light. Hayden wore the white dress as if it were a second skin, attracting straying eyes as much as any glitterati. Drake climbed a short set of polished wooden steps to the stage; noting the intricate design set into its surface. As he arrived a sudden rush of ice water flooded his veins.

Trooping up the other side, all in a line, were Dudley and his three remaining comrades. The SPEAR team stopped and spread out, surprise to them only a fleeting thing. Dudley came to a halt and grinned, his men also fanning out.

“Gotcha,” the Irishman said.

“Ya reckon?” Drake said thickly. “Then you’re as dumb as you fucking look.”

Dudley’s eyes flicked to the right, the grin never leaving his face. Drake didn’t take the bait but when Mai gasped he glanced over.

Hibiki couldn’t hold in a nasty profanity, then said, “What do we do now?”

Drake saw twelve Yakuza warriors coming up onto the stage. Their leader, Hikaru, fixed Mai with a seething stare as the rest flexed their muscles, taut beneath sheer shirts. For a moment there was utter silence as dinner jackets were discarded.

The party melted away, the chatter and the clink of glasses and the scraping of cutlery all receded into the background. Time stretched on a taut wire, as delicate as a shop full of fine china.

All they needed was a bull to start the destruction.

Alicia Myles pointed to the easel. “So? You guys gonna donate or what?”

Drake moved before she finished speaking, targeting the harshest thorn in their side — Dudley. Mai skipped away behind, heading for the Yakuza. Hibiki and Smyth went with her. All Drake knew was that Dahl and Alicia were at his back and then he was in the middle of a pitched battle. Shrill screams rose amidst yells of warning and outrage. Dudley slipped through his grasp, leaping to the side. Drake kicked him full in the chest, sending him crashing backwards through the ornate palisade, timbers shattering to all sides. A man came in from the left, facial characteristics revealing him to be Dudley’s brother, but Dahl slid in to intercept. Malachi swung a haymaker which Dahl caught, twisted, and then used to lift the offender off his feet. A second later Malachi was airborne, slamming down into a table full of flowers, half-empty champagne glasses and side plates. Malachi groaned as the whole mess tipped over him.

Drake raced after Dudley as Alicia clashed with the Irishman’s other two comrades, Komodo also in attendance. Dudley came up swinging, his blows hard and true, almost bone-bruising. Drake covered well, constantly moving, leading Dudley away from his backup.

“Do you think they even have a box?” Alicia asked at one point as she skidded by.

“Maybe. He described it pretty well.”

Dahl caught up with Malachi, the Irishman grabbing a passing waiter and hurling him toward the Swede. Dahl caught the waiter in one hand, steadied him and brushed him down with the other.

“Exit’s over there.”

Then Malachi attacked, and Dahl shrugged out of his suit jacket, using it as a weapon to lash his opponents head. Malachi became more angry than hurt as the thick material thudded around his cheeks and skull, eventually dipping his head and charging like a maddened bull. Dahl threw the jacket over his head and then brought a knee up. The crunch of broken bone was loud even with the sound deadening afforded by the jacket.

Across at the other end of the stage an even larger battle was underway. Mai engaged Hikaru but then found her way blocked by three more Yakuza.

“Sakurai! Eto! Kiharu! Get her!”

Mai threw herself into battle. The gunshot wound pulsed sharply but she ignored it. Reality was, if she didn’t survive this battle the wound wouldn’t matter. A jab to the throat sent Eto reeling, another to the midriff stunned Kiharu. Only Sakurai plowed through her bombardment, taking the pain and using it to fuel an angry fusillade of his own. Mai utilized the split in her dress to use her legs without restriction; Hayden had no such luxury. Form fitting, her dress only hampered her movements. First, she kicked off the heels, glad she’d worn stockings not tights. Then she flung her empty purse at one man’s face and jabbed another. Kinimaka barged them aside to her right, flinging two straight over the top of the palisade where they became entangled with tables and chairs. Smyth growled angrily as if expecting his attitude would make them bow down, and when they didn’t he grew even madder. Hibiki held back a little, helping to cover Yorgi, but soon the extra Yakuza numbers forced both of them to join the battle.

Punches flew, blows to the head and chest and groin slammed home hard, bones shattered. The stage was a wild melee, a brawl, the center of a ruckus that quickly began to expand around the room. Waiters protested and then, seeing the gravity of it all, rushed to the exits. Security guards tried to get involved and were thrown to the ground. Drake smashed Dudley on the bridge of the nose and received a stunning cheekbone blow in return. Dahl pulled his jacket away from Malachi’s face, saw the pouring blood there and then reeled as the dripping face launched in his direction. Alicia split the hem of her dress whilst kicking McLain in the throat just as Komodo went down under a hail of blows from Byram. Alicia used the time she’d made to drag the soldier free, slamming Byram in the haunches so that he flew head first out of the stage area like a human cannonball.

“Fly, ya evil little leprechaun, fly.”

She held the hem of her skirt up. “Look at this. A thousand quid just ruined. Beau woulda loved it.”

“Thanks for the save,” Komodo said, panting a little.

“Any time, my friend.”

“And the dress? I doubt it would have stayed on long,” Komodo commented.

“Oh yeah? Well, that’s not the point is it?”

Komodo turned as Byram came in hard again, the seasoned 27-Club member not looking in the least daunted by his recent unexpected flight. This time, though, the soldier was ready, hitting hard from the beginning and making every blow hurt in imitation of the Irishman.

Drake broke away from Dudley and quickly evaluated the scene. Hayden was already relaying their unfolding situation through the comms but it was always better to get eyeballs on it.

“If we knew he didn’t have a Z-box we could let the authorities deal with him and slip away.” Hayden was saying. “But…”

Drake knew they couldn’t risk losing a box. He saw Mai picking the Yakuza warriors apart. Those boys were no slouches, he knew, but were hand-picked and deadly, yet Mai’s skill and fury overwhelmed all. The palisades were shattered, standing like broken toothpicks; the tables and chairs were wrecked; those guests who still remained crouched or crawled through the debris. He ducked as Dudley threw a heavy champagne bottle at him.

“Do you even have the box, ya bloody madman?”

“Mebbe,” came the drawl. “Mebbe not. What do yer think?”

Drake thought that he did. “Where is it?”

“Petition me. I’ll get back to yer.”

Drake lunged. Dudley slipped away, firing out a jab at the last minute. Drake felt its power across his lower jaw.

“Walked into that one didn’t yer, soldier boy?”

Drake tried hard not to get into a slanging match. It would only destroy his focus. Dudley threw a glass at him, then a coat, grinning all the while. The entire room still glittered with golden light as if too superior to notice the plebeians ruining its ambiance. Drake sidestepped within range, dodged a jab and a cross punch, then struck hard, staggering his opponent. Dudley folded. Drake stepped up to finish the job but was hit from behind by a solid object. He turned, feeling a trickle of blood starting to flow. Malachi stood grinning crazily at him.

“The other side of the mirror.”

Dahl grabbed the Irishman, glancing apologetically toward Drake. “Slipped away for a moment.”

Drake couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t let it happen again.”

As he closed in on Dudley and the rest of the Irish gang started to falter, the other free-for-all swept closer. A Yakuza collapsed in front of Dudley, receiving a heavy swat for his trouble. Kinimaka stumbled over a broken chair, neck suddenly exposed. Drake swooped down to help, blocking a Yakuza strike and helping the Hawaiian up in just a few seconds.

“Mahalo.”

Drake found the Yakuza tussle spreading among them. Dudley drifted away. A gravel-faced Asian aimed multiple hits at his face and chest, grunting with the effort. Drake blocked them all, then kicked out, but his expensive black shoe was deflected. Standing back, he straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. A man dived in from the right but Drake, unruffled, looped an arm around his neck and twisted. The man fell. Drake unfastened his tie, used its knot to whip another Yakuza hard in the face, striking his eyeball. He glanced down, nonchalantly straightening his cuffs.

Alicia’s raucous shout broke his concentration. “Get on with it, Drakey. This ain’t Pinewood fucking Studios!”

Dudley and his cohorts suddenly made a break for it, all moving as a unit as if it had been pre-planned. An open door beckoned, the red sign above it reading STAIRCASE.

Hayden’s voice broke through the comms. “Back left. Target’s escaping. We can’t let them get away!”

Drake recognized the fear and desperation in her voice, knowing how imperative and vital recovering a Z-box was to the world at large. Nothing could be more important. He smashed a Yakuza body aside, seeing Kinimaka do the same, and gave chase. He counted at least five Yakuza were down. Alicia and Dahl fell in alongside and then, as he looked back, it seemed the entire room was streaming after him. First came Hibiki and Yorgi and then Mai and the others, all running headlong for the staircase and chasing the madman, Dudley.

Life and death and the future of everything they held dear hung in the balance.