“There’s not only the senator to consider,” Mai said patiently. “It is also the island that should be investigated. What is going on there?”
Drake read it through again. The words European, experimentation, and weapons stood out like warning signs. “Special Response and Recon. Sounds right up our street.” And anything that added distraction to his days was worth pursuing.
“But don’t trust Hibiki,” Gates insisted. “Not until you get him alone.”
Mai stayed tight-lipped.
Hayden allowed a half-smile to form on her lips. “New team. New mission. New rules. We respond. We don’t initiate. We’re recon. Not assault. And we’re official now. So keep it above the law.”
“And if you can’t,” Alicia piped up, “make sure no one ever finds the bastards.”
“There are people who want this team to fail,” Gates told them seriously. “Rivals on the Hill. I could name two without thinking. I’m just not sure yet how far they’re willing to go.”
Drake understood but it was combat, not politics, that concerned him. “You take care of them. We”—he indicated the big screen—“will take care of this.”
Hayden stepped in quickly. “Mai. Drake. You get the flight. The rest of us will start looking into Senator Turner.”
Alicia blinked in surprise. “What about—?”
Mano turned to her. “I think you’re classed with the rest of us.’”
Alicia turned on him. “Really, Mano? Really? You’re taking the piss after all I learned about you in that bar?”
The Hawaiian grunted and held his hands up. Truth be told, he couldn’t remember telling her anything the night they, along with Belmonte, spent drinking and spinning yarns as the Austrian night gave way to the red dawn of what might be their deaths. For one of them it had been, but Belmonte had gone down fighting.
Kinimaka stayed cautious. “Well we won’t exactly be baking cakes here in DC.”
Alicia shot a glance at Komodo. “Don’t count on it.”
Drake checked his watch and walked over to Mai. “It’s a good plan. We’ll take a small team. No incursion, just surveillance. Maybe Mai will be able to contact Hibiki. He knows her. He would make allowances for her.” He headed for the door, shouting over his shoulder. “Send me the details in flight. About time we got some more bloody action!”
CHAPTER THREE
The Lockheed C-130 undertook many varied missions for the United States Air Force, but tonight, it transported Matt Drake, Mai Kitano and a small, four-strong team of Marine Force Recon soldiers over the North Pacific Ocean toward their destination — a small, nameless island off the coast of Korea.
The atmosphere in the four-engine military transport possessed an air of subdued excitement. Drake and Mai spent some time in the communications area, but learned nothing new during the flight. The team back home had begun investigations, but with necessary discretion — a directive from Gates.
And not Drake’s way. Nor was it anyone else’s way, but they were legal now and their benefactor, Gates, was being observed from all angles.
Back in the main seating area, the four marines sat around, idly chatting. These men were at ease, but still nothing escaped them. When Drake and Mai returned their leader, a man called Romero, sat up.
“All well?”
“Could be better.” Drake grumbled.
“Problems back home?”
Drake blinked and stared. At first, he’d assumed the soldier meant back home in York, and was about to tell the grunt to mind his own friggin’ business, but then realized the reference was to the HQ. Christ, he thought, gotta stop mixing business with pleasure.
And then Mai touched his arm, her presence and her contact immediately shattering even that small resolution.
“Yeah,” he said. “Senators get death threats every day. It’s gonna take a miracle to convince him to lay low even for a couple of days.”
“Maybe it’s just that. A threat.” Romero shoved his square-jawed face forward, testing the room.
Mai strode toward him. “You think a Japanese agent who managed to dig himself in so deep with the Koreans would surface for no good reason, Romero?”
“I guess not.” The American backed down. “But we’ll be sure to find out. We’re all on the same team here, miss.”
“Call me Mai.” The wiry-framed operative passed so close she touched the Marine as she continued to the bar. “Drink?”
The marine frowned. Drake looked momentarily hopeful, then forced himself to pretend he was joking. He wouldn’t drink again. Those nights spent in Hawaii in a drunken stupor, hunting down the Blood King’s men, still sat with him as a low point of his life. No way he wanted to go back to that.
He watched Mai pour herself a straight whisky and knock it back. The marines regarded her warily. No doubt they knew something of her past and prowess, but they could never guess even half her story. Drake knew it all. They had been lovers once, inseparable, all their secrets laid bare.
It would only take some chance lighting of the touchpaper to kindle the spark and make it all happen again. But was it too soon? Recent events were still raw. New revelations were cruel and new enough to cause constrictions in his chest.
A shout rang out through the cabin. “Thirty minutes to target.”
Drake collected himself. The plan was to fly over southern Japan and get as close to the unidentified island as they could without arousing any Korean suspicions. Then, the team would deploy amphibious craft and the airplane would head back to Japan. The return journey was, as ever, somewhat ambiguous.
Wouldn’t have it any other way, Romero had said, grinning, when he heard.
Drake had smiled. Romero had passed the first test.
The other three members of Romero’s crew, Smyth, Wardell and Matthews now stood up and began final checks. Drake strapped weapons and gear around his body, hefting the parachute and making sure the Gore-tex jump suit was secure. After a few minutes, everyone turned and checked their partners. Drake knelt on a seat and pressed his face to a window, trying to peer through the midnight murk that blanked out most of the East China Sea.
Heavy, dark swells undulated below him like the monstrous body of some mythic sea serpent.
Romero was at their back. “Don’t worry.” He grinned “We’ve done this before.”
At that moment there was a flash and an ear-splitting roar the like of which even Drake had never heard. The aircraft lurched. Time stood still for a second and then, as they turned, the entire far wall of the plane seemed to disintegrate.
A fireball rolled through the sky outside, keeping pace. Chunks and shards of metal fizzed and zipped through it all. Romero cried, “Someone…someone shot us down!”
Mai grabbed him and pulled him down. “Not yet.”
Drake knew that, with plane crashes, Hollywood took a lot of artistic license. In real life a bullet-hole or a small hole wouldn’t suck you out to your doom, but a hole as big as this? They were going down. Fast. He took hold of a seat, wrapping his arm entirely around the armrest and clasping it tightly with his other. The pilot was shouting, screaming as he struggled to slow the descent. Even his most valiant effort raised the nose only a little. The C-130 hurtled inexorably toward the sea.
“We need to get out of this fucker,” Drake said. “Prime altitude. Give the chutes time to work.”
Mai nodded. They glanced around at the others. It was then they realized both Wardell and Matthews had been caught in the initial explosion. Both men lay prone and torn apart on the cabin floor, and were now being pulled toward the big jagged hole.