The Treasures of Saint Germain

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

“If I die today I hope that I do it well. If I survive this day I hope that I see my loved ones once more. If my friends and colleagues stand over my lifeless body at the end of all this I hope that they stand strong. And remember me, my family. Remember my vital heart, my sense of excitement, my glittering eyes. I am now only a memory but still, in you, I live on. I can live forever.”

Kinimaka chanted the words softly as they ran toward the great battlefield.

Drake blinked what could only be river water from his eyes. “Seems a bit long for a proverb, mate.”

“I wrote it when my mother died,” he said. “And think it through whenever our friends have died. Today seems like a good day for great songs.”

Before anyone could respond, all hell broke loose. Not one event was limited to a single lifespan though. Through Drake’s eyes the amalgamation of violence and intense action was a non-stop, severely lethal rollercoaster ride. Webb ran for his waiting choppers, which were lined up four in a row. His own ranks of mercenaries thundered past, firing into Amari’s troops. The Arab dived for cover. SWAT choppers swooped down from above, men hanging out of doors and sending volleys of lead into the pitch battle. Oil cans, vehicles and crates were scattered everywhere, enabling soldiers and mercenaries to scramble for cover.

Drake saw Beau urging Webb toward the first helicopter in line, its rotors already sending out a huge wash. That was fine. When Webb had boarded and it started to lift, Drake shot the pilot.

The black beast crashed back down, landing hard on both skids. Beau dived inside and manhandled Webb out. Drake saw Hayden loose another shot in their direction. A guard went down. The SWAT chopper plunged in again, raking a trail through the mercenaries, but now another contingent were lining up an RPG, forcing the chopper to veer away. Smyth managed to clip the missile launcher before it fired.

Other choppers were also ready to fly, three more at the far side of the airfield and two nearby. The sleek gray jet was taxiing slowly to line up its nose with the runway. Webb could break in any direction, but Drake still couldn’t see how he could escape.

Then three more RPGs appeared and the skies were laced with white smoke and death.

Amari’s mercs fought hand to hand with Webb’s; punched, kicked and knifed in the back. Shots were fired around containers, bullets crisscrossing the compound. Drake, Alicia and Dahl drove into the back of Amari’s mercs. Drake bruised a neck and then ribs, spun his enemies around and knocked one unconscious. The other wouldn’t give in, produced a knife and looked shocked when it ended up stuck in his own abdomen.

Dahl threw his man against a crate, smashing it to bits and then had to duck fast behind another. Alicia used the bits of sharpened wood he’d just made to fend off her own attacker. Her H&K then whipped left and right, lining up mercs and taking them down. Two she dispatched just as they drew a bead on her and then ducked behind an oil drum, tempting fate no further. Kinimaka was watching Amari as the cult leader scuttled toward the jet plane. Hayden had eyes only for Webb.

“Second bird,” she said. “He’s on board.”

Drake couldn’t see the man or Beau, but let loose a salvo that damaged the rotors. Webb emerged shouting a moment later, and pointed at their hiding places. Immediately, two RPGs were trained upon them. Warning shouts came and the team were running by the time the drums and crates erupted in walls of smoke and flame.

Lauren hit the ground, toppled by the shockwave. Yorgi staggered head-first until coming up against Kinimaka’s bulk, which stopped him. A SWAT helicopter ventured closer now, its men firing on the RPG launchers. Drake waved for it to retreat but it was already too late. The first missile hit its underside and brought it down, mercifully intact, its occupants shaken but alive. The chopper bounced and juddered, scraping against the concrete.

Smyth rose and shot the man holding the rocket launcher, then shook his head. “Always another stupid enough to take it up.”

“Then shoot ’em all,” Kenzie said.

A swell of struggling mercenaries surged into their group. Drake found himself pushing away two fighting men whilst trying to watch Webb and Beau. Dahl and Alicia stayed beside him. Hayden pushed forward, tracking Amari and his acolytes, tailed by Kinimaka, Smyth and Yorgi. A knot of mercs came between the two parties.

Drake shot a merc up close then felled another. One of Webb’s and one of Amari’s. The third chopper was lifting off, but Drake had already seen it was a ruse. Webb and Beau sprinted amid a crowd, straight for the plane.

The jet itself was closing the gap too, angling for the apex of the runway. Fore and aft doors were wide open, currently filled by two big bulks toting RPGs. SWAT helicopters shied away.

The noise was tremendous. Rotor roar combined with gunfire and the screams of men, punctuated with occasional crashing thunder from the jet and the low grunts of men locked in deadly combat. Drake saw a gap and ran for it, angling for Webb, only thirty meters separating them now. Webb carried his precious satchel. Dahl was there, and Alicia too, running interference to left and right.

Beau, part of the shield around Webb, saw them coming and shouted at his guards. As one, eight men broke off and stood against the three. Drake didn’t slow, just hit them head on, firing and taking a round in the chest that sent him sideways. Always fast to recover from injury, taking a bullet to the vest was nevertheless a stunning blow, leaving him on his knees and gasping. Two mercs stood over him, faces grim.

“Do not hesitate!” Beau screamed at them.

They squeezed their triggers but at that moment Kenzie was upon them. The Israeli was a vision of death in artistry, her katana falling and slicing this way and that, and her body rotating twice. When the mercs lay dead she held out a hand.

“Cheers,” Drake said.

“Cold-blooded killers deserve a violent end,” she said. “And I am happy to oblige.”

Mai stood nearby, throwing off another guard. “Are you hurt?”

“Well, my nipples do smart a bit.”

“He’s fine,” Alicia said. “We eat bullets for breakfast.”

Before anyone could respond, Dahl threw two mercs toward them. “Stop gibbering and finish these two boys off, would you? I have my hands full.” The Swede punched two more, breaking bones, a nose and a kneecap. One huge forearm knocked a man’s jaw out of line in a spray of incisors. When they all looked up, Webb was climbing the hastily lowered steps of the plane.

Beau was waiting on the tarmac, staring at the SPEAR team as the plane swallowed his boss and then started to taxi away again.

Hayden was closing in on Amari.

The final RPG-toting man had been taken out and now two more SWAT choppers were swooping toward the bunch of struggling mercs. Angry voices shouted down through loudspeakers, warning the fighters to stand down, instructing them to lower their weapons.

Drake couldn’t shake off Kinimaka’s words: If I die today I hope…