The Tomb of the Gods

CHAPTER ONE

Beyond the tiny airplane window, a bruised sky reflected the state of his soul.

He cast his gaze around the cabin. Pretty stewardesses in red skirts and white blouses dished out microwaved food and offered passengers drinks. The aromatic smells of cooked meats and vegetables drifted through the air. Couples and their kids chatted animatedly, but not as much as they had a week or two ago. This was the plane’s return journey. The one taking them all back home.

To London.

Drake moved his head slightly back toward the window. His face betrayed nothing, but his mind flicked over recent events faster than it could assimilate the data. After a few minutes, he closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of frustration. He needed to slow down. He needed to take stock. A twelve-hour plane ride should give him time to do that.

Two days had passed since the Blood King’s defeat beneath Diamond Head. Since then, Drake and his friends had been flown to the CIA’s office in Los Angeles for a full debriefing and then promptly been ushered into a meeting with Jonathan Gates, the US Secretary of Defense. There, Gates told them the shadowy operative Russell Cayman, the man who had taken over Torsten Dahl’s archaeological exploration of the first tomb of the gods in Iceland, had invited all of them — including Gates himself — to an explanatory discussion in a neutral building in L.A. At this meeting, he told Gates, he would reveal his reason for usurping Dahl and furnish them with some details of the group he worked for.

The Swede, Dahl, was already en route, flying in from Iceland.

At first suspicious, they’d all been won over when Cayman agreed that the Secretary of Defense and his entourage of bodyguards could accompany them, no questions asked.

Hayden was optimistic. “Maybe Cayman isn’t such a bad guy after all,” she had said. They were all working on the location of the third tomb of the gods, but the map was beyond ancient, slightly eroded, and in need of translation. She thought that a full-disclosure chat with Cayman would further their joint goals faster than a hundred academics.

Drake was torn between wanting to meet Cayman, the man they were sure was tied to Wells somewhere down the line and thus tied to Alyson’s murder, and the need to travel quickly to Wells’s flat in London to search for something only he might find.

A clue as to what the hell Wells had been involved in. And why.

Wells, at heart, had been an SAS officer and a patriot. Drake had always known that. Beyond everything, Wells put his country first.

For him to know about Alyson’s death and not tell me…

What would make a man like Wells do that?

Cayman might know. But the flat in London—that’s where the real evidence should lie. So Drake, along with Mai and Alicia, settled on a journey to London that they hoped led to the clues to a real answer. Drake asked Ben to accompany him, and the young man had deliberated hard, but elected to stay close to his girlfriend. Ben had been fighting for her for some months now and wasn’t about to let her drift away. Karin stayed with her brother, her elation at beating the Blood King and the seven-layered trap system before uncovering a second tomb of the gods, had been badly tempered when her new friend Komodo had been immediately sent back to his Delta base, destination unknown.

Drake drifted back to the present and checked his watch. In three hours, they would land at Heathrow. Wells’s flat was on the outskirts of Mayfair, just off Park Lane and Piccadilly. An easy tube journey from Heathrow. Once they landed, Drake, Mai and Alicia were prepared to hit the ground running. Mai’s infractions with her bosses at the agency had been forgiven — the Japanese had seen the importance of finding the third Tomb of the Gods and the hinted-at doomsday weapon it may contain. She’d been given full reign to deal with the situation however she saw fit. Agents were at her disposal. Alicia remained part of Drake’s unofficial team, a team that had been evolving since they had first met Jonathan Gates back in Washington DC, Drake had realized.

A stewardess leaned over him. He refused the snack. His eyes lingered on the shots: the whisky, the vodka, the quick cure. Very slowly, he shook his head. When the stewardess pressed the sale, mistaking raw need for playfulness, he closed his eyes and waited until she went away.

Behind his eyes, those eternally sad eyes, he saw them both how he liked to remember them. Beautiful and brimming with life and love and happiness. Alyson had always been like that. With Kennedy, the contentment had just started to shine through when…

…when…

I miss you both so much.

He had moved on. To a degree, anyway. To drink their memories away was to sully them. To forget the happy times they shared was to waste them. And an ex-SAS soldier was stronger than that. Deep inside him was a core of pure steel.

He hardened himself now. There was a promise of tough work ahead. Not only for him, but for Hayden back in L.A. She would be meeting Cayman soon, and then the shit might really hit the fan. He considered giving Ben a call on the Sat-phone, trading a joke or two about his band who had hit the limelight at last (without him), and maybe firing off a few old Dinorock quotes. But then, Alicia caught his eye from across the aisle.

“Fucksake, Drake,” she whispered. “Stop shutting us out. We’re here to bloody help you.”

“The least you could do,” Drake said. “Considering…”

“Considering what? The only thing I consider is the size of—”

“Considering… that you two lied to me for seven years.”

“I hadn’t seen you for seven years. I went rogue, remember? And I only heard about it a couple of years ago, Drake. Just like Mai. I guess we both thought it had gone way past the time to tell you.”

“So you made the choice for me.”

“We didn’t know anything! Well, nothing beyond the fact that Alyson didn’t die in an accident and that Wells had knowledge of it.”

Drake frowned. “But how could you know I’d moved on?”

“Don’t be so naïve. I knew where you were and what you were doing. So did Mai, I’m sure. The world’s a smaller place with Facebook and Twitter around. And before those two, there was still the web, and boyfriends who knew how to use it.”

Drake sat back. Deep down, he knew that what she said made sense. Time moved by quickly, and to send a man back to the worst place in his life after five years of healing could have been more of a curse than a blessing.

The seat belt sign clicked on. The plane began to descend.

Drake met Alicia’s crazy blue-eyed gaze. “The investigation will be even harder,” he said, “now that we know Wells wasn’t controlled by the British government, but by some greater secret organization. Now that we know he wasn’t the man he pretended to be.”

Alicia buckled up. “Oh, I’m pretty sure he was a perv, Drake. But I guess his being dead doesn’t help us much.”

Drake stared, a little amused despite himself. “I guess not.”

Once through passport control and past the luggage carousels, Drake headed immediately for the depths of the underground. Tired old escalators groaned as they descended, taking them past dozens of picture frames, all inlaid with advertisements of the latest shows and movies and expo’s. Walking With Dinosaurs. The Hobbit. Eurogamer. Once at the bottom, a spider web of signs seemed perfectly designed to confuse newcomers. Drake, Mai and Alicia spent a few minutes deciding which line to take and then which direction to go. Hordes of Londoners and tourists of every color and race flowed past them without checking. A busker strummed a jaunty tune at a nearby junction.

“Piccadilly line,” Alicia finally said. “Takes us all the way to Green Park. Isn’t Wells’s place just off that?”

“On the other side of Piccadilly,” Drake said. He slipped his mobile back into his pocket and worked out the time difference back in L.A. Only about seven a.m. in the land of sunshine and celluloid. Hayden and her CIA colleagues were due to meet Dahl off the plane at nine a.m. and then proceed to meet with Cayman at ten. Drake’s suspicions of the shady DIA operative deepened with every mile he traveled. He didn’t just fear for Ben; he feared even for the highly capable people like Hayden and Kinimaka. And Dahl. What was his Swedish friend about to walk into?

Who was Russell Cayman? And just how far up the food chain did his bosses make their, no doubt, sumptuous and immoral nests?

So far up, Drake thought. They were beings of mist and shadow, fleeting like ghosts. The power behind the power.

They found the right station and waited behind the yellow lines for their tube. Mai drifted to his right, Alicia to his left, unconsciously putting a barrier between them. Alicia stepped forward as the tube whistled past.

“Shag it, it’s packed out. If I get groped on this thing, some bastard’s getting off minus a set of balls.” She paused. “Unless he looks like Boreanaz. Then…we’ll talk.”

“Or Belmonte?” Mai said, her soft, sweet voice belying the venom intended. “I’m surprised you didn’t stay in L.A., Myles. You knew your old lover was arriving with Dahl, didn’t you?”

“Been there,” Alicia said. “Banged that. I’ve had better.”

“Oh, hundreds I’m sure.”

“Bloody hell.” Drake exploded. “If I’d known it’d be this hard with you two, I’d have bloody well come alone.”

The train rattled through the darkness, the bright windows illuminating pipes that twisted and snaked their way along the tunnel walls. As he studied his fellow travelers, Drake was amused to see how many of them stole glances at each other when they assumed they weren’t being watched. And the traditional open paper was long gone now, replaced by Android phones and Amazon Kindles.

Green Park arrived quickly. They exited the tube station and found themselves on a busy London street near the sprawling Ritz hotel. Drake zoned out for a few minutes when a black Bugatti Veyron took the right turn at the lights to head down the side of the famous landmark.

“Earth to Drake,” Alicia murmured. “It has four wheels, a bonnet, and a windscreen. It’s just a car.”

Drake glared. “Don’t push it, Alicia. I still haven’t forgiven you for shooting up that Shelby Cobra.”

“You mean the one with the bad guy in the boot?”

“You could have easily shot him and missed the car, Alicia. I’m not that stupid.”

Mai spoke up as they crossed the road. “Or maybe she’s not as good as you think she is, Matt.”

“Fuck off, tiny sprite.” Alicia strode ahead, aiming for the street where Drake indicated Wells’s flat was situated. After a few minutes’ walk, they paused outside a nondescript three-story building built of grey stone, cast-iron gutters and thick, darkened windows.

“Guess I’m not so bad after all.” Alicia raised an eyebrow at Mai. “This is the place. I only came here once, maybe seven or eight years ago. But this is definitely Wells’s home.”

Drake checked the address he’d been given. “Yep.”

They started up the steps.

“We’d best be quick,” Mai said quietly. “A pack of bruisers has been following us since we entered this street. They’re hanging back for now. Probably just guards hired to watch Wells’s place. They’ll take their time checking us out or they’ll be on us in minutes, depending on orders. My guess is the former. We could be anybody, after all. Keep going.” She hissed as Alicia faltered.

Matt Drake knew better than to look back. He’d been looking back and staying purposely stagnant for seven years.

It was time to move forward and fully embrace the power and the violence and the tremendous skill he had been born to utilize.

He could be a force of nature. A savior of worlds. Deep down, he’d always known it. The time was coming when he’d have to prove it.

CHAPTER TWO

Hayden Jaye tuned out the conversation around her for a few moments. Ever since Dmitry Kovalenko ordered the attack on the CIA safe house, killing most of her team and taking her hostage, events had unfolded with such crazy rapidity that she’d barely had a moment to take stock. Even the weeks convalescing after the first knife wound had passed in a blur as she tried to piece together all that had happened and what the Blood King’s next move might be.

But now, healing slowly from the second knife wound — a wound that hurt less and healed faster with the intimate knowledge that Ed Boudreau was dead — she had consciously been taking as many spare moments as she could to sort out her feelings for Ben Blake.

He was too young for her. He was too immature for her. At a professional and career level, they were poles apart. If it were a business decision, it would be easy.

Hayden wondered if the spirit of old James Jaye was still riding her back, forcing her nose to the ground so she couldn’t see straight. But it didn’t feel that way. Her heart was telling her the relationship was wrong, not her mind. But what was the problem? Could she let something that had, at first, felt so right dissipate without a fight?

And here she was, about to meet not only the famous Torsten Dahl but also Daniel Belmonte — one of her old flames — whilst Ben and his sister waited back at the HQ, ready to process any information Dahl might bring with him. The big Swede had been toiling persistently inside the Icelandic tomb for weeks upon weeks and had actually stepped up operations when Cayman appeared and took charge. But Dahl had kept many secrets to himself, and Hayden believed, had even managed to place a trusted man on the inside.

As for Belmonte, it seemed Gates had been so impressed with his clandestine burglary at Kew Gardens that he had instantly decided Belmonte’s special skillset might prove of further value before this increasingly desperate operation ended.

Belmonte, ostracized for years, had jumped at the chance to return to the government fold, albeit under the directions of a different country. He had even offered the additional help of his protégé, a woman known only as Emma.

As the passengers began filtering through, Hayden again put her life on hold. At this rate, the friggin’ pause button would be worn out before she got the analysis down.

Maybe she analyzed her problems too closely.

In any case, she walked forward with a genuine smile when the Swede, Dahl, strode toward them.

“Torsten.” She stretched out a hand, then felt herself grabbed and given a friendly hug.

“Hayden!” Dahl cried warmly. “It is so good to see you again. The wrong circumstances, I’m sure, but good nevertheless.”

Hayden let herself be held just for a moment, basking in the security offered by the big, kind Swedish Special Forces officer. The sanctuary she sought was the sanctuary her father had once given her. That ultimate feeling of safety and the deep knowledge that if she ever started to hurt, she could always find a refuge.

And now, she knew why she couldn’t stay with Ben Blake. No matter how hard he tried, he could never offer her that.

Hayden pulled away, smiling. “To hell with the bullshit circumstance. It’s great to see you.” She waved Kinimaka aside. “Over here is Jonathan Gates, the US Secretary of Defense.”

Whilst the pair shook hands, Hayden assessed their surroundings. She had men positioned at every egress point and scattered around the room. Despite Cayman’s assurances and his insistence that even the Secretary of Defense and his plethora of secret service agents was welcome to accompany them to this meeting, her shit-radar remained on full alert.

“We should get going soon,” she said. “The meeting’s in forty-five minutes. We don’t wanna give this shitheel any excuse.”

“Agreed.” Dahl nodded. “I have met said shitheel, and must say I can’t disagree with your statement.”

Dahl’s rhetoric was already jarring her. She suddenly understood why Drake teased him endlessly. It wasn’t through spite; it was simply a way of coping. And, Dahl, in his way, understood that.

“And meet Mano Kinimaka, my partner.” Hayden stepped aside as the big Hawaiian now came forward, offering a gruff hello.

And then her heart leapt as a familiar face threaded through the crowd. Daniel Belmonte, the master thief, her ex-lover, the Englishman every woman wanted to hate, but always ended up wanting more than they bargained for.

Alongside him walked a thin blond girl, hair curled into tight ringlets. Big blue eyes rounded off the archetypal likeness of the pretty blonde, but Hayden knew that if this woman accompanied Belmonte to a live job, being pretty would be the least of her attributes.

“Daniel,” she said with forced neutrality. “Thanks for coming.”

“How could I resist?” His eyes sparkled, then went blank. “But no, seriously. I couldn’t resist. I was ordered to come here.”

“Huh?” Hayden frowned. “But who—”

“Gates. Jonathan Gates.” The Secretary of Defense came alongside her. “Pleased you accepted my invitation.”

“Well when I say ordered,” Belmonte turned his voice down to a whisper. “You know I’ve always used the term loosely, don’t you?”

Hayden took a deep breath. This was going to be a long day.

Gates turned and led them outside to a waiting limo. The hot L.A. air struck them as soon as they were out of the building and a dusty wind swept along the road. Hayden took a second to introduce herself to Belmonte’s friend, not wanting to exclude anyone, and learned her name was Emma, and that she was Belmonte’s charge and responsibility, not to mention his apprentice.

In what? Hayden wondered. Was Belmonte blasé enough to want a thief’s life for such a young girl?

When the limo moved away from the curb, Dahl began talking.

“Excuse my manners. I know introductions haven’t yet been completed, but I have information that I must impart.” He nodded at the secretary. “It has been a long flight. I was hoping Drake would be here, but I guess he felt he should be in London, yes?”

Hayden nodded. “Right. He’s following up the Wells lead.”

“Hmm. Well, good luck to him. But now…as regards the eight pieces of Odin. Do you remember them?”

“Eight?” Belmonte immediately interrupted. “I think you mean nine, don’t you?”

“No. I mean eight. The ninth piece, the Shield, was lost in Eyjafjallajokull.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

Dahl blinked. “I once said that to Drake. It wasn’t funny then, either. Now please shut the fuck up and let me talk.” Dahl moved in his seat, the leather creaking loudly. “The remaining eight pieces of Odin were transported to the Swedish Museum of National Antiquities in Stockholm to be assessed and carefully guarded before a decision could be made as to their final destination. All standard procedure.”

“I’m aware of all that.” Gates flicked his gaze between the Swede and the road ahead. The road that led to Russell Cayman. Hayden wondered what percentage of Gates’ brilliant mind was focused on the job. He’d barely begun to grieve for his murdered wife.

“Good.” Dahl looked around the limo. “Then is anyone aware that all eight pieces were removed by the American government a few days ago and transported to a military base in Stuttgart, Germany?”

Gates snapped his head around. Hayden felt her mouth go dry. “What?”

“How on earth could the American government authorize the removal of Norse artifacts from Scandinavian soil?” Belmonte wondered.

“Because someone…” Dahl’s voice dropped even though he was among friends in the limo. “A very powerful someone in the Swedish government allowed them to. The same someone — I’m guessing — who gave them control of my exploration.”

Gates shook his head. “I’ve heard nothing of this. If the order came from Cayman, then I don’t think it came directly from the US government.”

The big Swede stared. “You’ve lost me there, sir. Isn’t Cayman DIA? A man from the special weapons division? Does he not work for a US agency?”

Gates pursed his lips. “We’re about to find out, Dahl. My philosophy for getting by on the Hill has always been a simple one—don’t trust the bastards.”

Dahl was momentarily silent. “The good news is that I managed to place one of my trusted men onto the exploration team before I left Iceland. He is nothing more than an ancient language specialist, but…” Dahl paused, purposely waiting so he could gauge who was the brightest in the car.

The limo slipped off the 405 onto the I10 and headed toward Santa Monica. Gates and Hayden were the first to speak up. “The whorls? They’re the key?” Hayden said. “So the key to everything is deciphering the language that was written by the ancients? By the gods?”

“Isn’t it always?” Dahl said with a smile.

Gates frowned. “So you’re staking everything on a guess — that the gods recorded their intentions — from the map that shows the location of tomb three to the method of starting and stopping the doomsday device? Forgive me, Dahl, but that’s one big-ass wager.”

Hayden felt a pang in her heart when she immediately hit on what Kennedy Moore would have said. “Pussies don’t last long in Vegas, baby.”

Even Kinimaka cringed. Hayden quickly addressed her boss. “What I mean is — the wager’s informed enough to warrant the pay-off, sir.” She turned to Dahl with an earnest appeal in her eyes. “Isn’t it?”

“Exactly.” Dahl managed to remain deadpan. “Well said.”

“Your man.” Gates was clearly thinking hard. “He could translate all this stuff and give us the heads up before Cayman’s guys?”

“He is capable of that, sir.”

“Excellent.” Gates nodded. “Then we may have an ace in the hole.”

“We may have more than one.” Dahl smiled. “I bring more than one gift. I am Swedish, after all. This”—he pulled out a cell phone and clicked a few buttons—“is a photograph of the map I found in the tomb of the gods.” He glanced at Hayden. “Is Ben still helping you?”

“Sure.”

“Give me his mobile number, Hayden. He deserves a chance to decipher this too.”

Ben Blake smiled to himself as his sister, Karin, fended of the advances of the second geek of the day. Before she had left for her meeting, Hayden made sure that the pair were not only safe, but also in a position to help out at a moment’s notice. Thus, she had ensconced them in a little room crammed with other uber-geeks in one of the Los Angeles CIA buildings. At first, Ben had rebelled, citing that he had stayed behind to help Hayden, not to be hidden inside the citadel of geekdom. Drake would never have left him marooned amidst so much angst and acne. But Karin had talked him into it, exerting her hard-hitting sisterly love, and now she was bearing the brunt of ninety percent of the churning hormones in the room.

Payback.

“Have they never seen a girl before?” Karin leaned over and whispered in his ear.

“Not one they could physically talk to.” Ben grinned widely. “It’ll be interesting when I have to step out and use the men’s room.”

“Do not leave me alone in here.” Karin hissed. “Unless you wanna see a roomful of virgins singing soprano.”

“Oooh, sis.” Ben laughed. “What would Dad say?”

Karin pointed at his cell phone. “Ask him. That’s him ringing now.”

Ben chatted a little with his father before a message pinged up on the computer screen in front of them. Karin reached out to click the mouse, and Ben swatted at her hand.

“Mine,” he whispered. “Could be from Hayden.”

“Like I wanna see what you two mail each other.”

Ben quickly ended the call. “Well, I’ll say this, sis. There’s no way it’s as dirty as the stuff Komodo and you have been texting each other. Or is it called sexting now?”

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Sexting.”

Ben clicked on the message and was pleased to see it came from Torsten Dahl, and that it consisted of several attachments, each a picture of the map the Swede had discovered in the first tomb of the gods.

Karin mumbled about her contact with Komodo being curtailed for a while because of a friggin’ mission, whilst Ben looked at the map from the various angles.

“We need to figure out where the third tomb is,” Ben said seriously. “And fast.”

Another geek made his move on Karin.

“Piss off!”

Ben’s sister stood up, shook her hair out, and addressed the room. “Get this. I’m not one of you. I don’t think like you. I do have a large brain, but it does not focus around penis. I don’t heart nerds. I heart soldiers. I’m not a secretary. I’m a friggin’ black belt. So unless you’re severely into S&M, I suggest you stay the fuck out of my way.”

Karin sat back down and sighed. “Okay, Ben. Now we can focus. Let’s find that third bloody tomb.”

The limo stopped outside a high, nondescript building far enough away from Santa Monica beach that they couldn’t even smell the sea, let alone see it. Gates’s three-man secret service patrol exited first, closely followed by Hayden, Kinimaka and Torsten Dahl. Hayden saw Belmonte place a restraining hand on Emma’s knee as she made to follow and watched as the British thief waited for Gates to receive the all clear.

Hayden walked up to Gates as he came around the back of the limo. The street was quiet. Only a few cars cruised its length, and the sidewalks were relatively deserted. They were far from the shopping district and most of the office workers were already chained to their eight-to-fives.

“Any more contact from Cayman?” Hayden asked quietly.

“Nothing. But Cayman’s a man of principal. We all agreed the time and place. He’ll be there.”

Hayden looked up. A forest of tall buildings filled her gaze. She glanced at the secret service agents and received a faint nod in return.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s go.”

As they walked, Hayden thought back over what Cayman had said to her. He’d called out of the blue the day after they brought the Blood King up from the depths of the Diamond Head volcano. At first, she’d been highly suspicious, listening without comment as he explained that he would reveal what he knew about the ancient language of the gods and the map Dahl had discovered in the Icelandic tomb. He’d said he wanted to tell her who he worked for and what he knew about the doomsday device. He was a good speaker. Even then, he was starting to make sense. He told her that he’d invited Torsten Dahl to the meeting, as a peace-making gesture. And then he told her that he’d also invited her boss, the Secretary of Defense, along with the secret service.

Hayden was impressed and convinced.

Maybe Cayman was working deep undercover for the DIA, or even the CIA, and wanted them on board. Their actions so far certainly deserved some kind of recognition.

Dahl walked alongside her. “I sent the pictures to Ben. We need his intellect, my dear, so please tell me you haven’t shagged all his brains out yet?”

Hayden coughed. “C’mon, Dahl. Let’s focus, shall we? Gates might suddenly love this guy Cayman, but we both know that his judgment may be impaired.”

“I did wonder. Why not take a leave of absence?”

“He wants to see this through. For his wife as much as himself, I guess. And he’s very good at what he does.”

“And you, Hayden. What do you think of Cayman?”

They entered the lobby. A man wearing a smart suit sat behind the desk opposite, looking surprised at the sudden influx of people into his building.

Hayden let the secret service take the lead. “Cayman? Well, he talks a good game. But then—” She smiled. “Don’t we all?”

“The man’s lower than dirt,” Dahl said. “I’ve met him.”

Kinimaka made a point of getting her attention. “We’re going up, boss,” he said, indicating the elevators ahead. “You ready?”

Hayden nodded and gave Dahl a look. The big Swede nodded his readiness. Belmonte and Emma were busy surveying the room and its CCTV cameras, as well as the windows, doors, air vents, and any other means of ingress.

“Let’s use the elevators,” Hayden said to him with a grimace. “So much easier.”

“You would think so, Miss Jaye,” Emma said in a reflective tone, “but they’re chiefly just another way of controlling and surveying the masses.”

Hayden now remembered the most annoying thing about Belmonte. He was a massive conspiracy theorist. Clearly, he’d passed along much of what he believed in.

“Let’s try them anyway.”

The large group moved toward the nearest elevator. The secret service insisted on checking it out and then made noises indicating that only the Secretary and themselves should travel on the first one. Hayden acquiesced to keep the peace and filed into a second elevator. Kinimaka jabbed the button for the top floor.

They traveled up in silence. Weapons were checked. Belmonte pointed out the location of a cleverly hidden camera. Emma stood on tiptoe to plaster chewing gum over it.

“Always let them know they can’t beat you,” she said with a cheeky little smile.

Belmonte smiled happily as if to say that’s my girl. Hayden kept her gaze firmly on the flashing floor numbers, trying hard not to think about the weeks she had spent with the British super-thief.

But, truth be told, they were good weeks. Hard to forget.

The elevator slowed. The doors slid open. Hayden stepped out and saw Gates with his secret service guard just ahead of them. She peered around the room. Kinimaka padded to her side, voicing a few choice expletives of surprise.

The entire top floor of the building spread out before them, unfurnished and empty apart from two men clad in combat gear and full-face helmets walking toward them, guns held loosely at their sides.

Gates was just turning toward her, his face puzzled, when fire and fury erupted around him.

CHAPTER THREE

Drake broke into Wells’s apartment and then stood back whilst Mai moved in to disable the alarm. They were prepared for the men following them to make a move, but nothing had happened. In less than a minute, they had free reign. Drake remained motionless for a while, studying the layout of the place. A short hallway led to a living room beyond which sat a kitchen and a bedroom. The living room was furnished in a Spartan manner. Nothing existed that didn’t have purpose. There was no sign of a woman’s touch. All the colors were dark, making the corners hard to distinguish — a mirror to the apartment owner’s soul.

Alicia remained outside the door, using a well-positioned set of hallway windows to her advantage, and set about cataloguing their potential enemies in the street below.

Drake waved Mai into the bedroom, whilst he took the living room. The irony of the Japanese agent finally making it into Wells’s bedroom after the man was dead was not lost on either of them and they shared a somber look. Mai would be going through more than a few inner torments, Drake thought, since it was she who pulled the trigger.

He would have put money on it being Alicia. But then, that girl had never failed to surprise him.

A large oak table dominated the back of the living room. The only item standing on its polished surface was a framed photograph. The picture showed Wells and a few of his army pals, arms over each other’s shoulders, most likely at the end of some secret operation or other. An operation for the British government? Drake wondered. Or for this secret group he and Cayman worked for?

Drake moved on. The front of the living room held a two-seater leather sofa and a forty-inch TV. A drinks cabinet was well stocked. Drake resisted the urge to investigate. He rummaged through another cabinet, but found it to be nothing more than a tasteful frontage for a DVD/CD rack. One by one he checked every case for hidden contents. As he worked, he listened to Mai poking around the bedroom.

He heard her walking toward him. “Find anything?”

“A set of unusual DVD’s. Some erotic art books from Japan. A signed picture of Kylie Minogue. Nothing unusual.”

Drake raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

“For Wells, I meant. Now, have you checked that?”

He guessed to where she was pointing. “Boot it up, Mai. We should check but my feeling is Wells always remained old-school. If there’s something here, it won’t be on his PC.”

Mai pressed a button and the big machine started clicking and whirring. “This place,” she said, “has already been picked over. By a pro. Can you tell?”

Drake took a second look around. “Not really. No.”

“Little things,” Mai said in her quiet, unassuming voice. “Mainly, the faint scent of a woman’s perfume in the bedroom.”

“You said it was a pro.”

“She was,” Mai said with half a smile. “But even a pro adheres to the ritual of cleanliness, Matt. Besides, it’s so faint most wouldn’t have caught the scent.”

Drake gave up on the DVD/CD cabinet and walked over to her. Carefully, he gave her thick lustrous hair a sniff.

“Be careful,” Mai told him. “I keep a small poison-tipped needle back there.”

“Yet another reason not to date a spy.” But she smelled good. Vaguely of aniseed and vanilla. As he leaned forward he noticed a framed picture hanging on the wall, a photograph of a coyote standing in the foreground of a stark wilderness, snow and the barren sticks of dead, frozen trees all around. He was about to head over for a look when Mai pointed past him. “Wells has a PlayStation too. Do you think—”

Drake snapped back to the present. “No need to check, Miss Shiranu. He definitely owned that game.”

“Wells was a lonely man. Just look around. He had no one who cared for him. No one special in his life.”

“Men who keep secrets are always lonely,” Drake said. “And men who also betray their friends die alone.”

Mai bent over as the screen flicked into life. “So we’re looking for anything that might lead us to who he worked for and how he knew Cayman.”

“And for what he knew about Alyson’s death, if anything. What I need to know is who gave the order and who executed it.”

As he said the words, Drake felt the blood run hot through his veins. Someone had ordered the murder of his wife and his unborn baby. If one thing was certain in this entire world, it was the fact that all those involved would die for their sins.

Mai clicked a few icons. “Look at this,” she said, surprise tingeing her voice. “Wells had a Twitter ID, a Facebook profile, and was a member of Goodreads. I think this proves that you were wrong, Matt. He wasn’t old school at all.”

Drake clicked onto ‘history.’ The last entry, dated the night before Wells had flown out to Miami, was a single line. One link to one site.

Hotmail. Password change.

Alicia popped her head around the door at that moment and told them, in characteristic style, to hurry the fuck up. The arseholes outside wouldn’t stand around playing with their dicks forever.

“I have a crazy idea.” Drake pushed past Mai and started skimming the mouse across a plush pad. “We were always taught to leave messages where they couldn’t be found.” He clicked onto Hotmail. “Except by the person who shared the account.”

Mai glanced sideways at him as he hovered over the password box. “You know what it is?”

“If Wells had something to hide and wanted us to find it…” Drake bit his lip. “Then this is how he would do it. If not, well, we’ve lost nothing.”

He typed a password slowly. Mai’s eyes opened wide. “Maitime? Really?”

“What else could it be?”

The screen flicked onto the Hotmail website. Drake clicked the ‘Drafts’ folder and paused as three messages popped up, each one highlighted in bold to show they hadn’t been viewed.

“They should be close copies of emails Wells sent to…” He paused. “A man called Andrew Black.” Drake scrolled down the body of each email. “Nothing more than a simple message,” he said with a tinge of disappointment. “Sending latest version by snail mail, my friend. Needless to say, I know, but for all our sakes — keep it safe. Will be in touch when back.”

“Hmm.” Mai pointed to snatch of email where Andrew Black had responded. “Getting some Mai time, my old friend?”

“Hopes are high, as ever.” Wells had responded.

Drake clicked through Wells’s online directory. An address was listed for an Andrew Black at nearby Sevenoaks in Kent. “We should follow this through. If Wells was shipping something to an old friend before leaving the country, it would be of huge importance to him.”

Mai nodded and was about to respond when Alicia stuck her head through the front door. “Time to stop fannying around, people. The thugs just got reinforced.”

“We’re coming.” Drake shut the PC down. “How many are there?”

“Enough so that we may have to fight our way out of London.” Alicia grinned. “Just the way I like it.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Hayden instinctively ducked as the row of windows to her right exploded. Shattered glass burst across the room in a deadly wave. The two black-clad combatants walking toward them ducked and started to open fire. If the onslaught was designed to numb their senses and slow their reactions, it served its purpose. The whole team was crawling and scrambling across the polished floor, glass showering them and bullets impacting the walls behind them. One of Gates’s secret service men had managed to stay between his boss and the destruction. His body danced for the last time as it was riddled with bullets and he fell backward on top of Gates.

Hayden rolled onto her good hip, grimacing as pain shot through her wounded side, and slipped her gun out. Before she could aim, she heard the loud report of gunfire and glanced across to see Dahl already shooting. Belmonte was on his knees behind Dahl.

Hayden saw one of the combatants spin around as a bullet took him in the shoulder. She fired at the other, creeping forward as she did so. Her bullet struck his helmet, flipping him backward. Dahl fired again, but another of Gates’s secret service agents cried out.

Blood sprayed from his neck, showering Hayden.

The CIA agent loosed more bullets. Both combatants were now down. Belmonte was screaming.

Was he hit? Hayden wondered. Gates was barely moving, but then his last surviving bodyguard was pinning him tightly to the ground.

“Evac!” the guard shouted. “It’s a fuckin’ ambush!”

Even now, Hayden could hardly believe her eyes. Had Russell Cayman, a DIA agent, just tried to take out a US senator? Where was the psycho getting his orders? Or was this some other kind of terrorist plot? Either way, they were screwed.

A high, keening sound preceded the impact of something big against the side of the building. Hayden suddenly realized this was far from over and hit the deck.

“Cover!”

A huge explosion shook the building to its very core. Behind them, the elevator shaft groaned and shuddered. Hayden saw the elevator buckle out of shape. In another second, it shook and seemed to hang at a precarious angle.

“No way out,” she whispered.

“Yes!” Belmonte suddenly shouted. “Yes there is. There’s a freight elevator on the other side of the building.” He pointed across the expanse of the devastated room. “Across there.”

He stood up, Emma cradled in his arms.

Tears shone in the thief’s eyes.

Hayden gasped. “Is she? Is she…”

“Dead,” Belmonte said quietly. “Yes, she is.”

Gates threw his bodyguard off. Dahl gauged the ground they’d have to cover to make the freight elevator. “Run the gauntlet,” he said. “It’s the only way. And quickly.”

“Do it!” In close formation they ran, Hayden, Kinimaka and Dahl on the outside, guns drawn and aimed at the shattered windows. Gates, Belmonte with Emma in his arms, and the last secret service agent on the inside. As they passed by the windows, a great flash preceded the launch of another rocket. This one impacted where they had been a few moments before, destroying the elevator shaft.

They all managed to keep their feet, scrambling and struggling on. A barrage of gunfire blasted through the holes in the side of the building and they found themselves actually running a gauntlet of hot lead. Hayden felt something flash by her temple like a heated breath of air and another rip apart the hem of her jacket. Dahl grunted as something nicked an arm, but still managed a crazy laugh.

“Move!” he shouted.

“Who the hell are these people?” Hayden yelled.

Bullets zinged around them, a forest of whistling death. A third rocket exploded against the side of the building and something inside its structure suddenly lurched. Hayden crabbed sideways for a second. The last secret service agent caught a round in the thigh and collapsed in their wake. Dahl reacted instantly, grabbed him, and hauled him through the destruction.

Hayden ran beyond the edge of the last window. The rest of the team sprinted behind her, reaching safety without any more casualties. Gates reached out to press the elevator’s call button, but paused in uncertainty.

“Call it,” Dahl said. “But we’re going down the stairs.”

“And quick,” Hayden said. “Even Cayman’s plan B has a back-up plan, it seems. If Cayman’s behind this.”

“Too convenient not to be,” Gates muttered. “Boy, does he have a god complex. I’ll see his ass burn in jail for this.”

“Those bloody alarms are pissing me off,” Belmonte said. Hayden guessed he wasn’t used to hearing them.

“No. It means people will be evacuating,” Dahl told him. “A good thing.”

“I don’t get it. Cayman’s American government,” Hayden said. “Like us. CIA. DIA. Doesn’t matter what agency you belong too, we all serve the same boss.”

Gates eyed her. “I’m guessing not.”

More gunfire erupted behind them, the walls getting shot to crumbling confetti.

“You think those crazy rumors about an elite group directing the world governments are true?”

“I’m betting my career on it. And my life too, it seems.” Gates looked back at the dead agents. “There has been too much death around me lately.”

“Maybe you should take a break.” Hayden followed Dahl as he pushed through the exit door and began to head down the concrete staircase. At that moment, from the room behind her, came a deep roaring blast, the kind of noise that doesn’t just frighten a person, it evokes a feeling of such intense terror it might stop a heart between beats.

“Bomb!” Dahl cried. “Oh God, run!”

They ran for their lives. The deep, ominous sound of girders shattering and load-bearing walls collapsing stung their ears. A terrible rumble preceded the ceiling collapsing behind them, and just for a second, for one mortal heart-stopping instant, Hayden saw the entire room begin to tilt and shift.

The skyline was moving. The entire top floor of the building was shearing off!

They pounded down the stairs. Gates tripped and began to roll, but Dahl twisted in mid-flight, scooped the US Senator up and flung him over a shoulder without losing more than a stride.

A supersonic mass of glass, concrete, brick and plaster exploded in all directions, shattering the windows of surrounding skyscrapers and blasting debris across the entire block. A deadly heap of shale slid away from what was left of the top floor and plummeted to the ground, trailing dust and shards and chunks of wreckage. The heap shattered against the parking lot below, sending out a plume of crushed rubble. Tiny fragments of waste fluttered away in the wind.

Hayden heard it all. They all heard it. The roar of the explosion and its aftermath was like a charging dinosaur on their heels. Smoke billowed around them and it was all they could do to see the way ahead. Shards of the wreckage, compressed by the collapse of the roof and then sent ballistic by the explosion, speared past faster than bullets.

Belmonte almost dropped Emma’s dangling body, but caught it and went headlong for half a flight of stairs before arresting his fall. They raced down the stairs without pause, without feeling even a hint of fatigue until they reached the lobby.

Dahl took a moment. “Everyone alright?”

The agent he had saved groaned.

Belmonte glared at him. “Fuck off, you toffee-nosed twat.”

Dahl let it go. He surveyed the parking lot and roads outside the lobby, then turned to Hayden. “His men will be out there.”

“I know. But there’s no other way.”

Dahl spared a dispassionate glance for Belmonte. “If they give chase, you’ll need to leave her behind. Or die with her.”

The Swede stepped through what was left of the front doors. A thin cloud of dust swirled around them as they moved carefully into the parking lot. Hayden glared, practically stripping the paint off cars and the facades off buildings, such was the intensity of her appraisal. Kinimaka, as ever, walked beside her and Torsten Dahl positioned himself out front — the target man, as always. Civilians stood outside, coughing and staring, dumbstruck. Ambulances wailed and flashing cop cars were arriving on scene.

Dahl suddenly pointed. “There!” He made a beeline for the nearest car, a family-sized Chevy.

Hayden saw hordes of men piling out of three black sedans parked at the curb. Fear slammed down her throat like a clenched fist. These guys were here to finish them off. Cayman had absolutely no intentions of letting them leave this place alive.

Kinimaka smashed his way into the big Chevy. “We gotta run!” he shouted. “Come on!”

In another minute, Kinimaka was revving the engine, making it roar and then slewing the car across the grass median and out into the road. Hayden checked her gun and gave her backup to Dahl. She watched as he checked the mag, face hard as Icelandic rock.

“They’ll come after us.”

Kinimaka floored the accelerator, speeding into a light traffic and making sure his own gun was ready as the three big cars with their murderous passengers began to give chase.

Straight toward downtown L.A., Beverly Hills, and, ultimately, Hollywood.

CHAPTER FIVE

Drake stepped out of the apartment first and walked down the short set of steps that led to the street as darkness began to send its inky tendrils across the southern skies. The sound of traffic and the hubbub coming from the underground station could clearly be heard a few hundred feet away.

Walking down the pavements on either side of the exclusive street were youths brandishing an assortment of weapons, among them baseball bats and tire irons. Several more youths advanced down the middle of the road.

Mai stopped at his left shoulder, Alicia at his right. The Englishwoman gave a happy laugh. “Some sparring practice. It’s been a while.” She spared a glance for Drake and Mai. “Don’t hurt ‘em too bad, ladies.”

More cars suddenly slewed around the corner and came to a screeching halt halfway up the road. Doors were flung open and more youths leapt out, weapons in hand, their harsh grunts of challenge little more than caveman bravado.

Mai smiled at Drake. “And now they give us an easy way out.”

“Amateurs tend to do that.” Drake watched her glide away and then faced the half dozen rough-looking kids stalking toward him. “You need to stop,” he said to them forcefully. “Whatever they’re paying you ain’t worth a beating.”

Two of them actually stopped, but more out of bewilderment than prudence. Drake high-kicked the first and stole his bat, used it to catch the swing of the second and slid into the man when his heavy swing made him overreach. Drake heaved him over a shoulder, straight into a third assailant and, by then, the remaining three were wide-eyed. One found some daring and came in swinging. Drake used him as an example. He caught the tire iron, gripped it hard, and sent it slamming back into the youth’s face. Blood from a broken nose sprayed everywhere. He fell down, crying.

To his left and right, Mai and Alicia were dealing out similar lessons. Drake moved next to one of the still-running cars. He heard the youth inside calling for more reinforcements and thought the next bunch might not be so inadequate. He picked up a bat and jumped into the passenger seat.

“Who ya ringing?” He jammed the end of the bat against the youth’s cheek, mashing him up against the window.

“Percy.” The youth gasped. “Don’ hurt me, man. I ain’t done nothin’ to you.”

“That call”—Drake nodded at the discarded mobile—“did more hurt to us than all these kids put together. Get out of the damn car. Now.”

The youth was gone in a second to be replaced quickly by Mai. “Shall we go?” she asked, flexing her fist.

Drake stared at her. “Aye up. One of ’em clock you one?”

She made a face. “Splinter”

Alicia leapt across the hood and then climbed onto Mai’s lap. “Stop chatting up the help, Drake. Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

Drake reversed quickly, swinging the car backward around the corner and out into the flow of traffic. There was just enough space for him to make sure they weren’t going to rear-end anyone. He jammed the accelerator down hard just as two silver-colored BMWs cut across the car behind them, provoking a flurry of screeched tires and blared horns.

Drake saw the men in the rearview. “They’re behind us.”

Alicia seemed happy enough perched on Mai’s knee. “Haven’t done this since I was a kid.”

“They’re behind us, Alicia. And they won’t just have sledge-hammer shafts and baseball bats this time.”

Mai shifted uncomfortably. “You, a kid?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”

“Did you two hear what I just—?”

“I heard you banging on, Drake.” Alicia turned a stare on him. “Probably best to leave it there, eh?”

“Still a kid.” He grumbled. “Always a kid.”

“If it helps me cope…then yes. Always.”

He drove. Piccadilly hummed this time of night, crawling along with cars, buses and cabs, the pavements thronged with crowds of people. But still, Drake managed to weave his way forward at some pace, fast enough so that their pursuers couldn’t stop and chase them on foot, but still keeping under a reckless pace. The lights were kind to them. Even a big red open-top, double-decker bus, thronged with tourists, moved aside so they could pass. Drake began to wonder if there was a siren on top of the car.

But their relentless pursuers kept pace. They passed the bottom end of Bond Street and Fortnum and Mason, the Royal Academy and Le Meridien.

“You know where we’re headed?” Alicia twisted around to look behind them and then back to the front. “Picca-fuckin-dilly Circus. Well done, Drakey. You led us to the biggest bottleneck in the country.”

Drake knew she was right. But plan B was already streaming through his subconscious. “Sometimes, Myles.” He sighed. “You make a silly metaphor sound plausible— you know, the dumb blonde?”

Alicia squirmed. “Bollocks.”

Mai grunted. “Please stop grinding your bony arse into my thighs.”

That gave Alicia a moment’s pause. “Never heard that before.” She confessed. “It’s normally the opposite. And bony? I’d go more with sexy, full and round.”

Drake stole sidelong glances, but when the bottleneck of Piccadilly Circus loomed ahead, he quickly threw the car to the left and pulled up to the curb. “Quick. Foot traffic here is in the thousands. We’ll lose them among the herd.”

They leapt out, hurrying along the pavement and quickly joining the throng. The London air hit them with a sharp bite. Hundreds of heads and bodies bobbed all around them. Drake made for the corner of the circus and cut along the frontage of The Sting. Bright lights and clothes-store music assaulted his eyes and ears for a second, washing out of the open doors and surrounding him. Then he was past, joining another crowd waiting to cross the road to the small island that separated Regent Street from Glasshouse Street.

“Nip up Glasshouse,” Alicia motioned briefly. “We’ll be able to cut through Soho and use the Leicester Square tube. I’ll Google car rental outlets.”

Drake nodded appreciatively. “Sounds good.”

They crossed the road amidst the mass of tourists, locals and day-trippers as the bright lights of the Piccadilly Circus big screens flashed above them. There was a single moment of loosening up, when Drake’s mind flitted away from their pursuers and refocused on what they might discover about Wells when they tracked his friend, Andrew Black, down to Sevenoaks, and then, from deep in the heart of Piccadilly Circus the unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang out.

Many people paused, their faces frozen in fright. Even now, unable to believe their eyes, they didn’t react, just listened, awaiting that second shot that would confirm what they dreaded and possibly end their lives.

But Drake, Alicia and Mai reacted in an instant. Drake said, “There’s a hundred kids around here.”

Alicia’s face no longer bore a playful expression. Instead, it bore the look of a stone-cold killer. Mai’s voice, always light, was barely audible: “I know all about blood and death but this won’t stand.”

As if by telepathy, they knew what they had to do. Drake picked his way swiftly through the uneasy throng, his training helping to make him aware of the area where the shooter stood. Mai and Alicia drifted rapidly toward his associates, mingling with and emerging from the crowd like deadly wraiths. In rapid movement, they struck and withdrew, leaving crumpled men in their wakes but never attracting immediate attention.

Drake faded behind a group of brightly dressed women, all wearing tight zebra-print leggings and yellow jackets, all part of some girls’ night out or work party. He slipped around the group as it passed the man with the gun held by his side. Although he tried to conceal it, he couldn’t hide from Drake.

The gunshot had been designed to bring them out, and it worked. But far better than their pursuers would ever know.

Drake brought an arm around the man’s throat and shouted a big “Hey!” as if in greeting, while simultaneously breaking the wrist that held the gun, then bringing his free hand up in a pincer grip around his throat.

The man gargled, struggling furiously.

Leaning right in, Drake whispered, “Twenty of you bastards never stood a chance.” He held the man fast until he began to slump, then used his immense strength to drag him carefully over to the steps that surrounded the fountain.

Sirens began to sound in the distance. It made no difference to the Londoners and the tourists as, convinced now that the gunshot had been a backfire, they carried on about their business.

Drake left his man slouched, made a quick decision to throw his firearm into a nearby trashcan, and met Alicia and Mai outside the local Cinnabon shop.

Alicia was licking the frosting off a bun. “Took your time, Drakester.”

“Piss off.”

The sirens were approaching. Mai turned toward Leicester Square. “This friend of Wells,” she said, “has no idea what trouble he’s into, does he?”

“We hope so.” Drake cautioned her. “For all we know, he’s as bent as Wells was.”

“One thing’s for sure,” Alicia said around a mouthful of cinnamon frosting. “In about an hour, he’ll be telling us all he knows.”

CHAPTER SIX

Kinimaka jammed his foot to the floor as the three black sedans loomed large in the rearview. The cars were jam-packed with bad guys, sitting three abreast in front and jostling for position in the back. Kinimaka glimpsed at least two of them pressing ear mics and listening intently, nodding with faces as emotionless as granite. One of them took out a gun and slid down a window.

“Uh-oh,” he murmured “I think they just got the kill order.”

“Not a chance,” Gates told him from the back seat. “We’re heading toward central Hollywood.”

Kinimaka wrenched the Chevy around a tight curve. Screeching tires came from behind as all three sedans fought hard to close the gap. Dahl twisted around in the back seat. “Well, we’re in the right place for a car chase.”

There was a ping and a quick explosion of noise. Dahl shook his head, unruffled. “So now they’re shooting. Bloody Americans.”

But Belmonte was far from calm. “Shooting! Get a move on, big guy. My God, you take one step out of London and you’re in the Wild West!”

Kinimaka said nothing, just rolled his eyes toward Hayden in the passenger seat. As they took another bend, weaving around two SUV’s, Hayden’s window went opaque, turning into a spider-web of tiny cracks.

Gates shrank in the back seat. Kinimaka increased the speed again, but he was getting close to becoming dangerous and there were hundreds of civilians around, both mobile and pedestrian.

Hayden pointed to a sign. “Drop onto the I10, then head for the hills.” She sighed at her own choice of words. “If they want a fight, we can give it to them there.”

A black sedan roared up behind them, barely an inch off their rear bumper.

Kinimaka evaded the vehicle with a quick shift to the left. “If we can get there,” he said and spun the car at the last moment, taking the off-ramp to the I10 Freeway. The car shot up, slewing dangerously before he got it under control, and barreled into the flow of traffic. The sudden maneuver put some space between them and their pursuers, and Kinimaka used the advantage to move into the emptiest lane and floored the Chevy.

But the sedans were powerful, and they were reckless. They began to close the gap almost immediately. Another shot boomed out, this one glancing off the side.

Hayden jammed down a speed-dial button on her cell phone. “Ben? Tell me you got something on the location of that third tomb?”

The reply made her forehead tighten. “Well, work faster. We’re screwed out here. Time just became our enemy.” Then she shook her head in exasperation. “I can’t talk now, Ben. This is real fucking life!” She ended the call with an abrupt shake of the wrist.

Kinimaka jammed the brakes hard as a BMW drifted arrogantly into their path. The driver’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he saw all the guns waving in his direction and shunted swiftly away. The Hawaiian drove cleverly, always using other cars to block the sedans and employing varying speeds to keep them guessing and off-balance.

“Get off here!” Hayden shouted. Kinimaka saw a sign that read “Hollywood Freeway” and again took a late turn, hitting the ramps at speed and swerving onto the hard shoulder to evade a white Chrysler being carefully driven by a couple of tourists.

The sedans came hustling down the ramp. One of them clipped the Chrysler and sent it slamming into the concrete wall. A crunch of metal rent the air, loud even over the screaming engine. The sedan went into a spin. Hayden took the chance to smash her window, lean out and fire a whole clip into it, striking chassis, windows, wheels and engine. In another moment, it struck the curb and flipped, tons of metal in mid-air, and landed with a deathly sounding thud. Debris scattered all across the road.

The other two sedans left it behind, still in hot pursuit.

“Those other people—” Dahl said.

“It’s a Chrysler,” Hayden told him. “They’ll be fine.”

The 101 Freeway took them north past West Hollywood and toward the famous hills. Hayden used the time to call in the pursuit to her local CIA office and Gates finally found the nerve to sit up and make a few calls.

After ten minutes, they both sat back, uneasy expressions on their faces. “If I didn’t know better, sir,” Hayden said with a glance back at her boss. “I’d say our asses were being hung out in the wind.”

“You underestimate,” Gates almost whispered, having turned whiter than Wite Out. “I’d say it’s more like a hurricane.”

“We on our own, boss?” Kinimaka asked, concentrating hard on the rolling lanes in front of them.

“Not in so many words,” Hayden replied. “I can’t believe they would truly abandon us.”

“Do you not know government?” Dahl snorted. “It’s what they do.”

“Not to a US Secretary of Defense,” Hayden shot back. She wished now that Gates was firing on all cylinders, running at his best, rather than floundering underneath weeks of hell and hardship and unspeakable loss. If he were on top form, they might be able to dig their way out of this.

What would her father do? What would Drake do?

“Fight,” she said aloud. They would seek out the group behind all this and they would make them pay dearly. Drake had found the Blood King for God’s sake, the myth made real, and pursued him through the gates of hell. Drake had shown her the way — now it was up to her to heed the lesson.

The off-ramp for Mulholland shot by on the right — her first route into the hills. “Take the next off-ramp,” she told Kinimaka, annoyed.

The office had responded to her call with a subdued concern. They hadn’t asked any questions. Hadn’t given her any instructions. They hadn’t passed her up the line.

Were Ben and Karin safe?

Kinimaka hit the off-ramp hard, sending Hayden’s head bouncing against the window frame. Her gun fell to the floor and it took her a moment to pick it up and check the whereabouts of their pursuers. By the time she looked around, Kinimaka was weaving desperately between rows of crawling cars and gawking tourist vehicles through a wide entrance and suddenly they were inside an enclosed approach, heading uncontrollably toward a row of ticket boots and flimsy barriers.

“Dude,” Hayden said in a confused voice, “why the hell are you heading into Universal Studios?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I didn’t mean to!” Kinimaka cried. “It was the only way to get through traffic without stopping!”

“Well you’re gonna have to stop soon,” Hayden said sarcastically. “Personally, I prefer the Jurassic Park level. Kinda reminds me of work.”

Belmonte shifted uncomfortably in the back. Emma’s body was slouched in the well between his knees and the back seat. “Can we get out?”

“This might work,” Hayden said, thinking hard. “We could lose them in the City Walk.” She turned to Dahl “What do you think?”

The City Walk is an urbane entertainment complex, a lively mix of restaurants, bars and shops, normally crowded.

Dahl bounced around in his seat as they negotiated a series of ramps and almost scraped a high concrete wall. A multi-story car-lot opened out before them.

“I don’t like any of it,” the Swede said dubiously. “Get close. The authorities will be on our arses any minute.”

“Yeah, but which authorities, bud?” Kinimaka muttered.

At that moment, there was a shotgun blast. Hayden’s wing mirror disappeared in an explosion of lead and plastic. Then the rear window shattered, sending shards of glass bursting through the car. Kinimaka ducked and twisted the wheel, slamming them into a parked SUV. The Chevy shuddered as it came to an abrupt stop.

Dahl was the first to move, unbuckling his seat belt, opening the back door and shouting at them to get a bloody move on. The two chasing sedans squealed to a halt about twenty feet away. Hayden and Kinimaka rolled out of their doors, guns up.

Hayden ducked behind her door for cover, shouting at Gates. “Stay low!”

The sound of gunfire erupted across the parking lot.

Cayman’s men were rushing forward, ten of them, staying low and firing constantly. Behind them, newly arrived vehicles were slamming brakes on or turning around and racing off. The sound of multiple fender-benders split the air.

Bullets impacted Hayden’s door, pinging into the metal. She fired blindly around the frame. Kinimaka was having better luck, using the Chevy’s roof to lean on and picking his targets. Three of Cayman’s men had already collapsed, groaning. But the rest came on. There were too many to stop them all.

Dahl raced off around the back of the SUV they had hit. He went so fast that no one except Hayden saw him, and within seconds, he had re-emerged from the vehicle’s far side, running hard, heading straight for the advancing men, but from their side, a flanking maneuver. He fired four bullets, four head-shots. The sudden onslaught made Cayman’s remaining three men duck for cover. One of them rolled and fired at Dahl, but the shot hit the overhead concrete ceiling and glanced off into the hood of a parked car.

Dahl looked around, shaking his head. This was a family place, a kid’s sanctuary. He would never have let them enter the City Walk; he would have surrendered or died first. Some operatives and even some governments accepted collateral damage. But he would never allow it.

Beyond the parking lot, he saw a long escalator packed with families. Past that he saw the flickering lights of the City Walk itself. Too close. This fight not only had to be contained here, it had to end here.

At that moment, there came the roar of an engine and one of the black sedans inched forward. The drivers! He had forgotten about the bloody drivers. No matter. Before the vehicle picked up any amount of speed, he sprinted toward it and leapt onto the hood, landing on his side facing the driver with his gun pointed at the man’s face.

Sporting the big smile he usually reserved for killing megalomaniac fashion designers.

The driver’s expression fell. Dahl pulled the trigger. The windshield exploded and blood sprayed the inside of the car as the vehicle veered sideways. Dahl let himself slide off, rolling when he hit the concrete.

Just in time to hear the second sedan roar.

Behind him, he heard Hayden and Kinimaka firing at Cayman’s remaining three stooges. One of them screamed. All good. He fired at the sedan’s tires, bursting one, but then the gun ran out of bullets. Still, Dahl was not perturbed. As the vehicle slewed out of control toward him, the Swede leapt feet-first onto the hood and then, with the grace of a dancer rather than the bulk of a six foot six inch Special Forces soldier, sprang lightly onto the roof itself.

A second before the vehicle crashed, Dahl jumped clear, rolling until the momentum dispersed. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw the driver smash against the windshield, not full-force but with enough of an impact to render him insensible.

Dahl came up, slightly disoriented, and saw Hayden struggling in hand-to-hand with one of their assailants. Hayden was still below par, having been stabbed again by Boudreau recently. Dahl bounded forward and waded in, giving Cayman’s soldier no chance. A knee to the back, a huge, stiff arm across the throat, and a judo flip ensured the man’s head impacted hard with the concrete floor and put an end to any evil aspirations he had ever had.

Hayden panted, holding her side. “Thanks.”

“No problem. But, just to be clear, I’d advise against being stabbed more than once a week.”

Hayden was already used to the leg-pullers. Drake and Dahl were from the same army mold, different educations or not.

Kinimaka looked over the top of the car. “Aloha. We seem to be out of bad guys.”

“Get in.” Dahl eased Hayden into the passenger seat before running around to the driver’s side. “You okay, mate?”

“I’m good.” Kinimaka took the wheel once more. “Where to?”

Dahl checked on Gates. “You okay, sir?” Then Belmonte. “Our thief friend seems alright. Your friend still dead, mate?”

The lack of response told Dahl what he needed to know, that Belmonte, the renowned British thief, did indeed have a heart. He turned to Kinimaka as he climbed into the back. “Start her up, my friend. In the words of most Hollywood couples—let’s split.”

The car engine rolled over with a purr. Kinimaka pointed the hood back the way they had come and drove down the exit road. Sirens were blaring over the high concrete barriers, dangerously close.

“We ought to have frisked them.” Hayden looked back at the bodies strewn across the concrete.

“No time,” Dahl said. “We’re barely gonna get out of here without a good Tasing as it is. Kinimaka,” he said with a smile, “try to look… touristy.”

Hayden quickly dialed Ben as they drove. “How we doing?”

The words, spoken quietly across distant airwaves, felt like warm syrup to her brain. “We have a location for tomb number three.”

Hayden abruptly forgot all her aches and pains. “What?”

She could tell Ben was smiling as he repeated his words. “We have a location for tomb number three.”

Hayden thought quickly. “Listen, Ben. We’re on the run. I don’t know who we can trust. Get out of the building and meet us at LAX. Do it now. Plan B. You get me?”

It had been Drake’s idea, of course. Ben was, by now, comfortable with the concept of a plan B — a “drop everything and get the hell out of there” scenario. This was it. Dahl was signaling her.

“Terminal?”

Hayden nodded and asked. “Which country, Ben?”

“Germany. You won’t believe this, but we’re looking for an extinct volcano beneath one of the world’s oldest castles. Awesome, eh?”

“Ok. We’ll find you. Be…” She faltered. “Be safe.”

“I will.”

Hayden heard him mutter something to Karin as he cut the line. She watched Kinimaka thread the needle between two slower cars and approach the exit. So far, so good. No one stepped out to stop them. Of course, there had been a mass desertion of cars in the last few minutes. Their misfortune was now also their security. Flashing blue lights were just entering the park as they left. Big, black unmarked vans were pulling up to the ticket booths.

Dahl shook his head in sorrow. “This’ll ruin some poor kid’s day,” he said with meaning.

Belmonte looked askance at him, still holding Emma. “You thick-skulled Viking.” He sputtered. “How can you?”

“I’m sorry,” Dahl said, much to everyone’s surprise. “But she’s dead, my friend, and your love for her will not bring her back. You can only get even now.”

“Love?” Belmonte said quickly. “She was my protégé. My friend’s daughter. That is all.”

“I think not, but have it as you will. In any case, I believe in the magic of places like this. The cynics call them dens for big business, places for fat cats to get even richer, but I pride myself in one thing — being able to see as a child sees. Disneyland can bring a tear to my eye. Universal and Sea World can fill me with wonder. I see no shame in that. And the person who can’t feel at least some wonder in their hearts as they stroll around the Magic Kingdom I pity because they have no magic left in their lives.”

Belmonte stared at him.

“My children,” Dahl said, “will experience all the wonder of childhood. Because you’re an adult for a very long time.”

Belmonte nodded at him and then laid Emma’s body down gently along the rear footwell. “I get what you’re saying and you’re right. I’m sorry too. I misjudged you. You’re right about getting even. Did Cayman kill Emma?”

“He sure ordered it,” Gates spoke up again now that the action was over. Hayden could see the darkness in his eyes and the black circles surrounding them. The secretary was on a collision course with twin-paths of exhaustion and depression. It was just a matter of time.

“But someone ordered him to order it,” Gates finished. “And they’re the people we need to find. They’re the people who are looking for the third tomb and the doomsday weapon inside.”

Dahl nodded in agreement. “I’ll try my man in Iceland,” he said, pulling out a phone. “See what luck he’s had in deciphering the ancient language.”

Hayden looked at her own phone. “If we’re on our way to Germany, heading for the third tomb,” she said, “I guess it’s time to call in Matt Drake.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Drake jabbed the button on the central dash to answer his ringing mobile through the cars Bluetooth connectivity device. “Hayden?”

“Ben and Karin cracked the location of tomb three, Drake. It’s in Germany.”

He sensed Alicia and Mai suddenly rise from their respective positions of repose. Hayden recounted the incidents in LA as quickly as she could. Alicia whistled. “Sounds like we’re missing out on all the action here.”

Drake didn’t look at her. “We’ve had some action of our own.”

Alicia snorted. “We joined playtime at nursery.”

Drake told Hayden about their day so far. “Which leaves us about twenty miles out in the middle of nowhere. Nearing Sevenoaks, and the home of Wells’s friend.”

“According to our online gurus, we’ll be landing in Germany about three a.m., German time. Can you make it by then?”

Drake made a few quick calculations. “If we get lucky with the flight times, we won’t be far behind you. So long as Wells’s old friend is cooperative.”

Mai said, “Excuse me. You say you’re ‘on the run’ now. Are you not CIA? Are you running from your own agency?”

“No. It’s a whole new ballgame now. We’re choosing to run because we don’t know who to trust at government level. Because every second counts if we’re to beat Cayman to that tomb, and because we have the resources to seize it.”

“You think?” Alicia sounded surprised. “Cayman seems to be bollock-deep in resources by what I’m hearing.”

“The Secretary has some major pull, as you know,” Hayden said. “The only problem is when you start to exert that kind of pull — most everyone hears about it.”

“So…”

“So we’re calling on people from smaller units that owe us. Units from Europe. Some of Dahl’s buddies. Komodo’s men. Whoever and whatever’s available are hauling ass to meet us there.”

“I know some people,” Mai said quietly. Drake eased the rental car, a snazzy new Nissan Juke, off the country road and onto an even quieter B-road. He pointed at a property ahead, lit by a patch of soft garden lighting. “We’re here.”

Hayden pushed one last time. “The race is on, guys. We need to get to that tomb and find this doomsday weapon before Cayman does.”

“Understood,” Drake said. “I’ll find some men. Wells wasn’t my only friend in the SAS.”

He killed the engine and the phone call. They quietly exited the car. Drake took a moment to look around. Moonlight threw a stark glow across the scene. A large two-story house stood in front of them, curtains drawn against the night, a soft glow emanating from a downstairs room. Sporadic shrubs dotted the garden as if planted on a whim. Drake noticed that the garage door was only halfway down, the telltale sign of a man unused to late night visitors and not worried about local thieves.

They formed a wary huddle outside the front door. “Eyes peeled,” Drake said and knocked.

In a matter of moments, the porch light clicked on. Then a voice came from behind the door, a shadow outlined through the patterned glass. “Yes?”

“Andrew Black?” Alicia spoke up because a woman’s voice coming from outside your door on pitch-black night was always going to be less threatening than a man’s.

“Who is it?”

“We’re friends of Wells.”

“Who? I don’t know any Wells. Now please—”

Mai shook her hair out, unbuttoned her coat and stepped into the light. “Just check, Mr Black. Just check whatever hidden camera you have. I’m Mai Kitano. Wells may have mentioned me.”

Silent moments passed, measured only by the unruly blasts of a menacing wind and the ragged gusts of storm clouds across the silver-patched skies. At length, the shadow returned. “There should be a password,” an inscrutable voice whispered. “I hope to God you know it.”

“It’s either Maitime or sprite,” Mai said with impatience. “Now open the damn door.”

A fumbling preceded the appearance of an old man’s head in the frame. Andrew Black was bald and probably rounding sixty, but when he stepped into sight, Drake saw he was still fit, shrewd and capable.

“The legend herself.” Black stared at Mai with genuine delight. “Never thought I’d get the pleasure.”

“You won’t,” Mai said. “But try Myles here. If you live in the UK, you’re probably related to someone who has.”

“Oooh.” Alicia laughed, not taking any offence. “The sprite cracked a funny. What next? Stories of her undercover years in Thailand?”

Andrew Black led the way into a warmly lit living room. Pristine leather sofas and easy chairs stood all around, as if trying to occupy the space. Old family photographs crammed the walls. Wells’s old friend had all the trappings of a man who’d raised, loved and set free a family, and now lived only for the everlasting memories that remained imprinted on his heart.

“Wells did talk about you.” Black motioned them toward the chairs. “Sometimes he talked about little else, truth be told. But he was very clear with his instructions. If you ever came by, ever, I was to give you everything. Every bit of his research.”

“Research?” Drake frowned. “What on earth would Wells be researching?”

“The Shadow Elite, of course.” Andrew Black looked at Drake as if he were a shop-floor dummy. “Wells was making careful investigations into the small group of people who run our world, Mr. Drake. And he was making some remarkable progress.”

“Shadow Elite?” Mai’s voice was the essence of politeness, but forced Black to get to the point.

“I know very little.” The old man’s eyes flicked nervously toward the pictures that hung on his walls, perhaps fearing repercussions.

“No one will ever know you told us,” Mai assured him quietly.

“I know only a few things I overheard and what Wells would spout off about in moments of anger or insobriety. It’s all on here.” Black reached under the big, puffed-out arms of his chair and removed a strip of tape. A small, black device fell into his hand, which he held out to Mai.

“A Dictaphone?”

“He recorded everything on there. Never wrote a thing down. My old friend had his failings, Miss Kitano, but he never forgot a thing and he was a gifted commander.”

“Before we listen to that,” Drake spoke up, “please tell us what you know, Mr. Black.”

“This Shadow Elite — it’s what they call themselves — are made up of individuals from a group of old families. A very old group that date back to when rough and rugged men were first making their fortunes. Their wealth is ancient. It goes beyond heritage, beyond royalty. It’s the original wealth of our world. And thus, it can never be tainted.”

“Go on.” Mai prompted him gently.

“That’s most of what I know. Wells opened up one night about the origin of the families. Their leader is called the Norseman. He’s God, so to speak. The supreme ruler.”

Drake shook his head. “With the third tomb, the eight pieces being relocated, and now this, I’m beginning to think we’re nowhere near done with the bones of Odin yet.”

Mai reached out and pressed the Dictaphone’s play button. Drake frowned to hear his old commander’s voice fill the empty room. It took him a few moments of readjustment.

“Above all I am a patriot. A servant of Britain. When Cayman first came to me, he convinced me that the Shadow Elite were, in fact, the ruling body of this world. Simply put — they gave every government its orders, including my own. So have I truly not become a greater patriot by serving them?” There was a lengthy pause. “A question for a more insightful mind than mine. But it later became clear to me that the Shadow Elite did not have the people’s interests at heart. What government does, I hear you ask? I would like to think — my own. I believe that every British man who becomes a politician starts out wanting to help his fellow man, no matter where he ends up.” Another pause.

Alicia said, “How long has he been digging?”

Black shrugged. “Seven? Eight years? Wells became a changed man.” He shook his head regretfully. “Terribly changed.”

That was around the same time Alyson died. Drake did not miss Mai’s meaningful look.

“I decided, after the conclusion of the Doubledown operation, to delve a bit deeper into the motivations of my employers, and perhaps learn their intentions. Were they just men playing chess with civilian lives? Or did they have hidden, honorable aspirations?”

Mai paused the recording and again glanced at Drake. “Have you ever heard of Doubledown?”

Drake felt the icy trickle of unhappy memory crawl the length of his spine. “It was an operation I headed. My last. At first, we made excellent progress. The whole thing fit together perfectly and it seemed we were going to finish in record time. Then…” He shrugged. “It got shut down. No explanations. We were ready to move on this big guy.”

Drake thought back. “He owned some kind of mansion in Vienna. Then, Wells came in and told us we were done. Pack your bags. First flight home. Even—take some time off. Then, about a week later—” He sighed. “Alyson died.”

“Doubledown seems to have been some kind of catalyst,” Mai said. “For Wells and for you, though you didn’t know it at the time.”

She restarted the Dictaphone. Drake tried to block out the sound of the wind as it swept and scoured the dark garden paths and the scraping of trees at the windows. Wells’s ghostly tones filled the room.

“The Norseman is the key figure of the Shadow Elite, though obviously all six of them are principal figures. Still, I have no names, but I do have a possible location, and other more personal revelations that will not put me in a good light. But I cannot tell it all here. Even this is too public. There are files. Many files.”

The voice stopped. Drake and the others in the room all looked at each other.

“You old bastard,” Mai said vehemently. “Not like this.”

But then the voice spoke again. “There’s a stash of old and new stuff at the secret SAS facility in Luxembourg. It’s in my archived file. I know because I put it there. I ask you not to judge me, Mai, no matter what you find. I remain, above all, a patriot, and I carried out what I judged to be the course of action that best served my government and my country.”

Drake let out a deep breath. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Which bloody bit?” Alicia exploded, unable to keep her cool any longer. “Wells’s admission of guilt? The fact that all his papers are inside a friggin’ SAS base! Or his hint that there’s worse to come? Fuck!”

“Exactly,” Drake said. “My friends in the regiment would do anything for me, but I can’t ask them to steal for me.”

“Of course,” Mai said without hesitation.

“So we’re going to have to do the stealing,” Drake went on. “If we want to know what Wells found.”

“He might have found the Shadow Elite,” Mai said, and Black nodded in agreement. “Six men who rule the world. And they’re connected to Wells, to Cayman, and to the tomb and the doomsday weapon. We can’t ignore them, Drake.”

“So you intend to infiltrate an SAS base, steal some documents, and then escape without being noticed?” Alicia hissed. “Are you serious? Those guys invented stealth.” She grunted. “I mean—us guys.”

Drake smiled. “But even the best of the best ain’t seen anything like us,” he said with conviction in his voice. “What was it Wells used to say? Heroes never quit. They stay strong until the end.”

The drive to Heathrow didn’t take long. Drake tried Hayden again, but didn’t expect to reach her. She was in the air, en route to Germany where the last and deadliest tomb of the gods had been located by both the good and the bad guys. Tomb three held all the vilest gods. The worst of their kind.

The race to reach it first was well and truly on.

“No luck,” Drake said and cut the call. He looked at Mai swiping away at her 3D smartphone. “A three a.m. flight, you say? That will get us in two hours after Hayden. Hopefully, she’ll wait.”

“She’ll wait.” Alicia echoed. “That girl has faith. And, naturally, she needs us.” A bounce of energy sent her blond curls flying.

Drake typed in another number. He wasn’t surprised when the man from Hereford answered on the first ring.

“Drake?”

“Hello, Sam. Thanks again for guarding the Blakes for me, mate. A debt like that—” He faltered.

“Never needs repaying between friends.” Sam finished for him. “You saved my life a hundred times. Now, what’s up?”

“How’re you fixed for a German op?”

There was a brief pause. “Not too well, mate. Of our people, I can get three for about two days. Four including me.”

“Then go now,” Drake told him. “Meet me in Singen, Germany, as soon as you can.”

Drake saw the bright lights of Heathrow swinging around to the left and ended the call. He raised an eyebrow at Mai. “I got four. How about you?”

“Two.” She half-smiled and then threw a glare toward the back seat. “How about you, Alicia? How many friends can you count on?”

Alicia let out a loud snore, as if asleep.

Mai snorted. “Thought so.”

CHAPTER NINE

Russell Cayman knew hardship. His junkie parents had abandoned him in a ditch when he was four. They were caught and tried, but that didn’t save Cayman from being shuttled from one cruel, uncaring foster family to the next. Having never known love, he would never know how to give it or recognize it.

Children of the “system” were always on the radar of the more clandestine sections of governmental agencies, and in particular, the ones who ended up demonstrating a brilliant skill-set in one area or another. The CIA moved in when he was fourteen, and with no real guardian and no family, Cayman was happy to accept their friendship. It was many years later that he understood it was to be a friendship with fangs, and with no way out.

Now, Cayman threw his keys onto the tiny table by the door and headed into his apartment. The place would have made a Spartan happy. There were no furnishings, no home comforts, just a chair to sit in, a bed to sleep on, a table to eat off, and a TV to keep up to date with the world news. But it gave him some peace. Here he was happiest.

Cayman possessed no social skills beyond what the agency had taught him. So now, stressed to the point where he wanted, needed, to kill, he walked into the kitchen and quickly began choosing pots and pans. He rummaged through the fridge and picked out a chicken breast, some Italian chorizo sausage, peppers, celery and green beans. Furiously, he began mixing up some meat stock whilst he fried an onion and added fresh garlic.

Slowly, the tension seeped away.

The mix of concentration, aromatic smells and simple exercise worked to drain the pressure from his body. Cooking was his only release, and then only when he was home because nowhere else felt the same.

As he chopped the peppers, the knife slipped, cutting a tiny chunk of flesh from his finger. He left it nestled amidst the peppers as he swept them into the big pan and let the blood drain into the mix. Time ceased to exist. Jambalaya was his masterpiece, the pinnacle of his long-practiced culinary skills.

After a while, Cayman laid out a knife and fork on the empty table, the noise echoing around the empty apartment as if to mock him. He sat down, carefully thinking about nothing, still dressed in the standard suit and tie, and ate with robotic, measured strokes.

Hayden and Gates had escaped his trap in L.A. Where would they turn up next? Their cohorts, Ben and Karin Blake, had fled the CIA building a mere twenty minutes before Cayman’s men arrived.

He stopped eating. The anxiety made him want to fling the meal to the floor. Made him want to stab the fork through the meat of his hand and suck at the blood and the torn flesh for solace, using the hand like a grotesque dummy. He’d done it before.

But the heady aroma invaded his senses again. He returned to the meal. He finished the bowl, stood up and walked over to the window. The neighborhood outside was busy, full of parents and children hurrying about their daily routines. Cayman had chosen to live amidst a bustling civilian population, though he didn’t know why. Was it the need to feel he was a part of something? Something real, as opposed to the shadowy cutthroat world he thrived in?

He watched the young mothers, familiar figures by now. The children. He was a monster in their midst, the Halloween ghoul come to life. But the government indulged his whim and let him live amongst them.

No, not the government. The people behind the government. They didn’t have a conscience. They didn’t care where he lived, so long as they got what they wanted. The American government, the top brass, had actually balked at the idea of allowing him the use of this location…but they’d been overruled.

The Shadow Elite. They were the towering silhouette behind the monster. The blackness at the heart of the gloom. A body of six men, Cayman knew, who played the world’s governments like puppets. Their interest, already piqued at the discovery of the spectacular tombs and preserved bones of so many legendary gods, had skyrocketed into the stratosphere when they learned of the doomsday device. The response had been immediate. First, it must not fall into the hands of anyone else, for that person might then be able to wield some influence over them, and second, they should be the ones to control it since they always had been, and always would be, the world’s governing body. It was an irony to them, Cayman knew, that they should possess the power of old gods, since they were the new gods. And the Norseman, their leader, was an unstoppable force. On a whim, he could start a war. On the toss of a coin, he could wipe out a village — anywhere in the world. Cayman had witnessed his power first-hand. The memories still gave him night terrors.

Cayman turned back to the emptiness of his home, as his cellphone began to chirp a standard ringtone.

“Cayman here.”

“This is Mackenzie, sir. I’m in charge of coordinating all the data we collect from tombs one and two that might relate to tomb three.”

“I know exactly who you are. What do you want?”

“It’s tomb three, sir. We have a location.”

Cayman was careful not to let his excitement show. This was it! The Shadow Elite would be, literally, ecstatic.

“Gather everyone.” He spoke the words slowly and succinctly. “Send them all to the location at once. Now — where is it?”

CHAPTER TEN

Drake’s flight landed at Zurich airport a little before six a.m. Swiss time. He’d already received coordinates in-flight from Hayden so, as soon as they passed through security control without a hiccup, they found a taxi rank and gave the driver a local address. Within twenty minutes, they turned off Zurichstrasse onto Wisentalstrasse and dropped off outside a gray, nondescript building with the initials IMI painted onto a very old, very shabby sign, which hung precariously over the front door.

Drake, Alicia and Mai eyed the area suspiciously as the taxi pulled away.

“An awful lot of flat ground,” Alicia said warily. “You sure about this, Drakey?”

“I didn’t choose it,” he said testily.

The door opened and Torsten Dahl stood there. The big Swede had a lopsided grin on his face.

“Aye up, it’s the mad Swede,” Drake said with warmth in his voice. “I remember that same stupid grin being on yer face when you stood on the edge of Odin’s tomb, staring down at his bones.”

“As did you, my friend.” Dahl came forward. “When I finally let you have a look.”

The pair shook hands. “The bloody A-team,” Dahl said. “Back together.”

“Well, by all accounts,” Drake said seriously, “we’re gonna be needed.”

“Jesus!” Alicia said, brushing them aside. “Make sure his thong doesn’t cut your lip, Drake, when you pull it down with your teeth.”

Drake stared after her. “Bitch always had a way with words.”

Mai followed Alicia. “Let’s see who else came to the party, shall we?”

Drake let Dahl get his back and followed Mai through the ramshackle door. Once inside, the building abruptly changed, everything looking more modernized. A fortified, brick-lined passageway led to another door — this one a big, riveted hard steel affair — with a nearby keypad. Hayden was waiting for them, and after giving them all a brief, tense greeting, she entered a sixteen-digit pin to unlock the door.

She ushered them through. Drake tried to shake off his ideas and plans for the forthcoming trip to the SAS facility in Luxembourg and concentrate on the job at hand. Wells’s material might hold the key to Alyson’s killer, but it might also blow the lid off the Shadow Elite — an organization even now immorally involved in trying to acquire the doomsday weapon that might exist inside the third and final tomb of the gods.

He saw Ben immediately. The young man stood uncomfortably in one corner of the big room, next to his sister, a pint of coke in hand and looking like the geek hanging out at the school disco. The bar behind him glistened with liter bottles full of the sweet nectar of forgetfulness. Drake’s eyes lingered a moment too long.

Dahl clapped him on the back. Hard. “Check that out, mate.”

Alicia had sashayed into the middle of the room, like a capable and confident model surveying an invited audience that, for some reason, never understood it was really the prey, until she came face to face with Daniel Belmonte, the British master thief, her ex-lover.

Drake could hear them speaking. Belmonte, to his credit, had recovered quickest. “Always good to…bump into you, Myles.”

Drake saw Hayden watching them too. And Ben watching Hayden. Such an odd rectangle of ex and current lovers.

Alicia didn’t miss a beat though. “The only thing you’ll be stealing tonight, Belmonte, is glances.” And she walked right by him, continuing toward the bar without looking back.

Mai had watched the exchange too. “She’s good. Though I’d never tell her.”

“Your secret is safe with me, Miss Kitano,” Dahl told her, a big smile lighting his face.

Drake took a moment to study the room. Clearly, this was some kind of local police safe house. Someone, Gates or Hayden or even Dahl, had probably called in a favor, an occurrence that would probably be happening a lot during the next few days. As he thought about it, Drake decided it had been Dahl. The Swede was the least likely of them all to pop up on an enemy’s radar and no doubt had a vast amount of friends and colleagues in mainland Europe. The room was furnished with a couple of big sofas, a solid oak table long enough to seat a horde of Vikings, and at least three makeshift beds in the corners. The bar, of course, was the main feature, especially for those having to deal with a terrible new knowledge.

Dahl took out his wallet and took a moment to study a picture of his two sons and his wife. Still holding it, he turned to Drake. “This is why we fight,” he said. “This is why we try to make things better. So our children can grow up in a safer world.”

Drake opened his mouth to reply. A sudden, unexpected lump of emotion lodged at the back of his throat. Dahl stared at him. The Swede didn’t know Alyson had been pregnant. Even now, Drake was still dealing with the fact that he would never have children, and that the child he had made had been so viciously torn from him.

“I will kill them all,” he whispered. “No one will get away with what they did.”

Dahl looked momentarily confused, then returned the picture to his wallet. Maybe he thought that Drake, in his way, was just agreeing with him. “I have a man on the inside,” he said with a grin. “In Iceland. He’s translating the ancient language as we speak. I should be hearing from him any time.”

“About what?”

“About everything. Bloody hell, why are Yorkshire men so dumb? The whole story is there, mate. About why the gods lay down to die. About the time-travel devices you found near the Bermuda Triangle and in Hawaii. About the doomsday machine. About how they created fate. They hopped through time, Matt, literally hopped, like we would visit different stores in a mall. Do you remember that poem, the one related to Odin?”

Drake collected himself. “Vaguely.”

“The ending went ‘Forever shall thou fear this, hear me sons of men, for to defile the Tomb of Gods is to start the Day of Reckoning.’”

“Yes?”

“We believe that it has begun. The day of reckoning is fast approaching.”

“The Day of Reckoning? Something to do with Armageddon. Or the Viking’s Ragnarok?”

“Exactly. Ragnarok. Either heroes will rise to save the day or villains will end it.”

Drake stared at his Swedish friend. That sentence struck a chord in him. Either heroes will rise to save the day or villains will end it. “So we’ll stay strong until the end,” he said. “And we’ll win the day. For our children, and our friends.”

“No matter what.” Dahl gripped his hand and the two men shared a moment that would lock them together for the rest of their lives.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Drake watched Hayden walk through the crowd as Alicia had done. But this time the crowd parted with respect and expectation.

He saw her command attention with a look, a sigh. He saw Ben staring at her and suddenly felt a wave of sadness for his young friend. There was no future there. Ben, though exceptional in his own right, was not the man for Hayden Jaye. And widening his field of vision, he noticed Komodo — the Delta team leader who had helped him win the day against the Blood King in Hawaii. Drake made a point of catching the man’s eye and nodding in respect, though Komodo seemed more intent on chatting with Karin than noticing Drake.

There were men scattered around who Drake didn’t know. Probably colleagues of Mai and loyal soldiers attached to Jonathan Gates, a US Secretary of Defense who could realistically trust no one except the few people in this very room.

“We’re in desperate times,” Hayden said. “You all know that the third tomb of the gods houses the nastiest of their kind. So we have no idea what to expect. And even worse — it may also contain some kind of doomsday device. We don’t know with any certainty, so we can’t rule anything out. What we do know is that Russell Cayman — under the command of some all-powerful group — will stop at nothing to reach the tomb. The race to reach it first has already begun. If you’re willing to risk your life to become a hero, then stay in this room. Otherwise — just walk away.”

Not a man or woman listening moved a muscle.

Hayden smiled. Everyone was scared, but they stayed anyway. She nodded toward her boss. “The US Secretary of Defense would like to say something.”

Jonathan Gates didn’t move, but his voice carried around the room. “I can only reinforce what Agent Jaye has already told you. The tomb is vital. The remaining eight Pieces of Odin, now in Stuttgart, are vital. Russell Cayman is vital, and if at all possible needs to be captured alive. We don’t know”—he paused—“if the eyes of authority consider us the bad guys here. But we’re monitoring the news services and nothing has come up so maybe someone, somewhere, has our backs. There’s a group — calls itself the Shadow Elite — who think they own the world. Let’s shake it up and show ’em who it really belongs to. The people.”

A cheer went up. Drake could hardly imagine the variety of characters a man like Gates could enlist to find the Shadow Elite. Something would shake loose soon. When Gates stopped speaking and the room started to mobilize for their short journey to the tomb, Drake drifted over to Ben and Karin.

“You two nailed down the tomb’s location, I hear. Not bad for a head banger and a dropout.”

Ben’s face fell. “Don’t remind me, mate. Just don’t remind me.” He sounded suicidal.

Drake blinked rapidly at Karin. “His nappy rash flared up again?”

Karin smirked. “Worse than ever. But on top of that, he’s just heard that, in his absence, the band released their CD when they came out of police protection and have been invited to guest at a festival near Leeds.”

“Isn’t that good news, mate?”

“Not when I’m here,” Ben whined, “saving the world.”

“Worse thing is—” Karin couldn’t contain herself any longer. “The festival’s being headlined by Ben’s two favorite groups. Pretty Reckless and Evanescence.”

Drake whistled. “Bummer. Don’t worry. Maybe the world will have ended by then.”

Ben glared at him. “I thought you, at least, would understand.”

“Life’s tough, Ben.” Drake cast a sideways glance at Hayden. “And if you don’t realize that pretty soon, you’re gonna find out in a way that’ll cut you off at the knees.” Drake turned away, an old memory of Kennedy playing through his head. “Stick to working the internet, Blakey.”

Karin put a hand on his shoulder as he made to walk away. “There’s something else bothering him too. Well, both of us. This Shadow Elite — we found literally bugger all about them on the net. Not a trace nor a trail. Not even a sniff of digital footprints.”

Drake nodded. “I understand.” Ben and Karin working together could crack into the NSA without breaking a sweat. He walked them over to where Hayden, Mai and Alicia were talking. “Now, if you’re up for it, there’s the last tomb of the gods to raid.”

Hayden heard his last comment as they approached. She looked up, eyes hard. “You’d better be up for it. You think you’ve gone through hell so far? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”