The Swords of Babylon

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

Drake, Mai and the Spetsnaz soldiers emerged warily, eyes fixed on the unmoving carcass blocking the way to the door. Everyone waited expectantly, but when no further defenders appeared, the commander looked to Drake.

“Do you think she guarded the house alone?”

Drake took a moment to reload and re-jig himself. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Mai crept toward the door. “Time to enter the monster’s lair.”

“Well, when you put it that way.” Drake covered her back, eyes flitting everywhere. But it wasn’t just enemy soldiers he was looking for, it was more of Zoya’s booby traps. When they approached the mammoth body, Mai stopped, staring down in awe.

“She was three times my size.”

“But she fell as hard as any extremist.” Drake sniffed. “Just like Zanko will if I ever see him again.”

They stepped over the body with the Spetsnaz soldiers coming up behind. Mai started up the steps and Drake almost put out a hand to stop her. A sudden vision had assailed him, of another person he loved being killed. He struggled to shrug the malaise off. It was something he’d labored under for too long, and he’d thought he had moved on. Maybe it was Mai’s own current period of disquiet that was affecting him.

Because if Mai Kitano felt insecure, then something was majorly wrong, and the shit truly was about to hit the proverbial fan.

Staying his hand, he followed closely across Zoya’s wooden porch and through the bullet-pocked door frame. Beyond that, they passed through a sparsely furnished living area complete with kitchen and king size bed. The dark, relatively small, space smelled of sweat and alcohol and, oddly, biscuits. Drake saw that the oven was lit, its motor whirring away, but knew better than to approach just yet.

One more open door stood before them and it was to this that Mai stepped next. But she stopped at the Zoya-sized gap and began to shake her head.

“You have to see this, Matt.”

Drake stepped to her shoulder. The sight that greeted his eyes made him draw a sharp breath. There, piled high and almost reaching the roof, was a heap of treasure — everything from piles of banknotes to coins and trinkets; from machine guns and landmines, claymores and at least one RPG with scattered grenades; from works of art still in their original frames to swords, spears and wickedly gleaming mantraps.

Mai looked at Drake. “The monster’s hoard.”

“Oh aye. Damn right. What a crazy loon.”

Mai pointed at the floor. It was the only room in the house that was carpeted. “Not a good sign.”

The Spetsnaz commander ordered one of his men to investigate, but Drake was already on his knees, carefully prizing up a side of carpet. Sure enough a nest of wires ran underneath and he could see the pale gray side of what looked like a laptop bag.

“Pressure pads.”

“Not a problem.” The Spetsnaz commander pointed at the roof, and within ten minutes, his men had set up a lift-and-pulley system. Drake eyed the shifting treasure pile warily.

“At least we know what the bloody sword looks like. Call Patterson in from the van. He might be able to help. I’ll go first.”

Mai made a face at the Russian-made pulley system. “You sure will. Have fun with that. Oh, and Matt? The clock is ticking…”