Men, women and officials rushed all around them. Strident, purposeless cries cut the air, nothing more than blunt knives. Sirens squalled like errant gusts of wind. And the aimless and the shocked stood all around, dumbfounded, staring at nothing.
Drake ignored it, and tried to contact Hayden again. When he got no answer he decided to try Karin. The phone rang twice before it was picked up.
“Matt? Thank God, are you okay?”
Drake let out a long breath. There was no way to steal himself for this next conversation. And as badly as he wanted to know what was happening at their end, he knew he had to tell her everything he knew first.
“Karin—”
“The whole fucking world’s gone crazy, Matt. Romero’s dead. Hayden’s dying. We’re in hiding. And I can’t get hold of Ben, or Mum and Dad. Why can’t I get hold of them?”
Drake felt the center of his very being wobble. Romero? And… and Hayden? He wanted to speak, but found his tongue just wouldn’t work. All of a sudden the craziness around him didn’t matter anymore.
“Fuck me,” he said at last, and suddenly found himself sitting down right there in the midst of the mayhem on the city street.
Lost.
“Matt? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so blunt. I’m so glad you’re okay. How are the others?”
Drake ignored the half-hysterical flurry of questions. “It’s bad news, Karin,” he said with heavy emotion. “Ben and your Mum and Dad… they’re gone. They were killed.” The last word came out so thick with grief Drake started to cough.
Karin screamed at him. She cried and denied him until her voice drifted away and another came on the phone.
“Drake. This is Smyth. Komodo, Karin and Kinimaka are incommunicado right now. You need to get over here, bud. We could do with you and that crazy Swede about now.”
Drake nodded to himself. “What happened?”
“Fuckers hit the HQ hard, man. Didn’t give us a chance. Must’ve been watching it for weeks. We’re lucky any of us got outta there alive.”
“And Hayden? Romero?”
Smyth drew a breath. “They got hit,” he said irritably. “It happens.”
Drake relayed the news to Dahl as the Swede squatted next to him. “Where are you, Smyth?”
“Gray’s Military Hospital. I haven’t the slightest idea where it is. It’s pretty well guarded and they’re working on Hayden right now. Got a bad feeling though, Drake, like… safe ain’t safe anymore. Something don’t feel right, you know?”
Drake did. If the Blood King’s men could find the SPEAR team’s HQ, he felt they sure as hell could track them to a hospital, military or not.
“We’re on our way.” He was about to end the conversation when the phone bleeped to warn him of another incoming call. Drake checked the caller ID and was shocked to see the bat phone symbol flashing, the one he had assigned to Jonathan Gates’ most secure emergency line. It had never rung before.
His mouth dropped open yet again. “Smyth. Wait. Just wait.”
Quickly, he flipped over to the new line, answering, “Yes? This is Matt Drake.”
An official-sounding voice spoke in hard impassive tones. “We’re calling all active agents from every agency together right now to attend a crisis meeting at the Hotel Lewison Park, Conference Room 1B.”
Drake noted Dahl answering the same call. “What’s this about?”
“Go there now. The VP will address you.”
“Now? I—”
The connection broke. Drake stared at the phone. VP? he thought. As in Vice President? His phone had a tracker, so they would know he was close by the Lewison. For a second, he just stared at Dahl.
“Can Kovalenko really do all this?”
“I don’t know.” Dahl pointed out the Lewison, not a hundred yards away. “But that’s one call we can’t ignore.”
Drake explained the situation to Smyth and told him they would be in touch as soon as they were able. “What happened to the President?” Smyth asked.
“I don’t know,” Drake said. “But I think we’re about to find out.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Mano Kinimaka sat down heavily in the plastic seat, aware but not caring that its legs were splayed dangerously close to collapse. Before him, Hayden struggled to turn her head on the pillow, her pasty white face scrunched up in pain. The hospital had done a good job of patching her up, but the bullet had taken a heavy toll on her strength.
Kinimaka wiped his eyes.
Slowly, Hayden’s lips moved. Kinimaka caught a whisper. “What is it, Mano?”
The big Hawaiian stared at the far wall. “My mom,” he said in a voice that sounded like he had a mouthful of knives. “Kovalenko got to her.”
Even in her critical state, Hayden struggled to sit up. Her gasp of pain alerted Kinimaka and dragged him back from the brink of shock. “Stop.” He moved over to sit on the bed and leaned over, feeling the entire apparatus shift and hugged her hard. “Stop, Hayden.”
“Is she…?” The feathery whisper was like a dream voice in his ear.
“Okay?” He spoke into the bed cover, his voice muffled. “No. They murdered her. That bastard murdered my mom.”
Hayden kissed him softly. Kinimaka felt tears flood his eyes and shook his head. “It ain’t worth it. All this shit we put ourselves through? It just ain’t worth it anymore.”
“I know. And with Jonathan gone, what will we do?”
Kinimaka turned his head so he could look into his girlfriend’s eyes. The sparks that had twinkled there, glittering by-products of an energetic vivacious heart, were now dulled almost to obscurity. The pallor of her skin spoke of her nearness to death. But she wouldn’t give in. Still, she fought.
Kinimaka steeled himself, using her strength to rally his own resilience and courage. “You are my mentor,” he said. “And my idol. You always will be, Hayden Jaye.”
Her attempt at a smile broke his heart again. When the phone rang he slammed it to his ear without once breaking their eye contact.
“Yes?”
“Mano. This is Agent Collins, your CIA liaison for LA. It’s about your sister, Kono. You just rang to check on her?”
Kinimaka could barely bring himself to speak. “Yes.”
“She’s fine and under close guard. Without going into too much detail, Mano, we got there just in time.”
“Thank… you,” he managed, “Agent Collins.”
“Don’t thank me,” she said. “It was your call that prompted the op. Thank yourself.” The agent hung up; tough, strict and to the point.
Hayden brushed his hair with a shaking hand. “She’s okay?”
“Yeah. She’s fine.”
“Thank God.”
Kinimaka looked up, then around the room; for the first time noticing the lack of security, the open undraped windows, the well-lit office blocks that surrounded the hospital, the tree-lined entry road.
“God ain’t here for us today,” he said, standing up. “We’re going to have to look after ourselves.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Blood King poured himself a precise shot of vodka, expecting very little from the relatively famous French brand and receiving exactly that. He tipped the shot back in one go, the way his Russian fathers and forefathers had always done. He yelled out a toast, as was his ritual.
“To freedom,” he said, speaking to Gabriel and the other mercenaries about the room. “Let us hope it tastes better than this fuckin’ vodka, dah?”
The men saluted. The Blood King chased the shot with a salty pickle, obtained from the in-room mini bar. “Gods,” he said, spitting the bits out. “I have tasted better prison food.” He stared at the quiet occupant in the room. “How about you? What exactly is your poison, Mr. President?”