Just got time…
Drake leapt over the car hood, sliding off the other side and landing right in front of Vladimir. The Russian looked pained and surprised. “Off to the doc were you?” Drake took hold of the man’s jacket and threw him against the car. Vladimir hit the hard metal wing with a metallic clunk and screamed. The hammer wavered as blood poured from the wound.
Romero revved the car’s engine.
“Hold yer friggin’ horses.”
Vladimir groaned. Drake punched him in the nose. “I don’t give a shit about this place.” The Englishman hissed. “Seriously. I have no interest in you or God-Zanko or your creepy bloody boss. But give me the address in Frankfurt. Give it to me now. And I’ll let you live.”
Vladimir looked momentarily confused. “The traffickers? Your business is with them?”
“Just them.” Drake sounded convincing even to himself. “Be quick. I still have time to take your Russki head off with that hammer, Vlad.”
“That is small time for us. We don’t need that anymore.”
“Then give me the address.”
Vladimir quickly reeled off an address that sounded German. Drake lingered another moment as Romero started to reverse the car.
“If you’re lying to me…”
“Why would I lie?” Vladimir shrugged, making the hammer bob up and down. “As you say — you have no interest in us.”
Drake ran for it. Men wearing leather jackets and lethal-looking frowns were pouring out of the timber aisles. Drake dived headlong into the car as Romero forced it into a yawing one-eighty-degree turn. The second Drake’s head hit the dashboard Romero slammed the accelerator through the floorboard. Tires squealed and the smell of burned rubber stung the air. Sparks flew from the bodywork as bullets bounced off the chassis. One of the wing mirrors exploded. Drake fell back into the passenger seat.
“Nice work.”
“You too.”
The car shot out of the timber yard, slewing dangerously as it joined the main road. “Close one.” Romero ventured.
Drake shrugged. “Could’ve been worse. We could’ve both been smothered by that monster’s armpits.”
Romero made a gagging noise.
Drake reached for a cellphone. “You know something? The CIA surely knew that timber yard was a major HQ. And they said nothing.”
“Welcome to the CIA. If they feel overlooked or ordered around, they ain’t gonna help you, dude. Crisis or not.”
“Hayden was CIA.”
“Nah. Not fully. Hayden Jaye was the CIA liaison to the Secretary of Defense. Different beast.”
“We’ll need to deal with that later.” Drake tapped out a number. “But for now — I wonder how Alicia’s doing with that gang of bikers.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Shaun Kingston had heard and seen enough. “Your ‘sleepers’ failed.” He spoke softly, without the slightest hint of a threat, but still his words were menacing. “Your island has been attacked. It could be compromised. Even now, they don’t know if the enemy have vacated, are dead or are in hiding. This whole operation could be falling apart, General.”
Kwang Yong shrugged. “Or your propaganda is just that, Mr. Kingston. I have heard nothing so dreadful. The victory will still be ours. The Republic does not fail.”
“It’ll fail if you don’t get my weapons,” Kingston shot back before he could stop himself. Goddamn. Where was his usual reserve? Blown to hell, he thought. Along with all his dreams of unlimited wealth. But maybe not yet. And he couldn’t exactly suggest to the general that his own men were probably keeping schtum because of the time honored ‘shoot the messenger’ syndrome.
“You would do well not to threaten me, Mr. Kingston. We Koreans do not respond well to threat.”
Kingston nodded, accepting the rebuke. “Window’s short,” he said. “But we still have a play here.” For once, he was glad he’d included his bodyguards in this conversation and in particular his primary muscle — a man called Germaine. Tall, thin, built like a knife and just as sharp and deadly, he was a born killer. Easy to underestimate and almost impossible to hurt, he prided himself on always being that one lethal step ahead of his enemy.
Now Germaine stood at his side, two other bodyguards by the high set of windows at his back. They faced the seated Kwang Yong and his own assembly of personal guardians. To Kingston it felt like a stand-off.
“A play?” The Korean chewed on the phrase as if it had been delivered hard-boiled. “What do you mean?”
“A balls-out finale. Anything goes. We have a good team in place — all ex-military who are willing to kill. We have to accept that since our spotters saw the hooker and that damn truck driver being taken into this new HQ, the team within are well on their way to figuring this whole thing out. Don’t you think?”
“We do have more sleepers.” Kwang Wong grinned. “It is just the matter of a phone call.”
“I know you enjoy destroying these people’s lives with a mere sentence, General, but please…” Kingston faltered. “Things have moved on.”
“We could bring an army of sleepers. An army of brothers.”
Kingston considered that for a moment. He hadn’t realized there were so many. An army might be useful one day. “Not now,” he said. “But be ready.”
“Sir.” Germaine spoke at his side. The whip-thin man wasn’t one to request attention unless action needed to be taken, so Kingston instantly acknowledged him. “Yes?”
“Two of them just left the HQ. The woman, Jaye, and her CIA partner. The Hawaiian.”
It was the first enemy movement since the truck driver had arrived hours ago.
“Shit.”
“Actually that’s perfect, sir. Divide and conquer.”
Kingston had never been able to think like a killer. He envied Germaine sometimes. “Alright. Time to put our affairs in order. General, this is my game now.” He turned to Germaine once more. “Give the go ahead. Take every last one of the bastards out and destroy everything.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Hayden felt a sense of excitement as she and Kinimaka left Washington alone. It wasn’t just the investigation or the new sense of purpose, or even the recent breakthrough — it was being with Kinimaka.
Alone.
Odd, in a way. They’d worked together for years, mostly alone. But now it felt different. Now it was different.
“Wonder if there’s a Hard Rock in Atlantic City.”
Hayden had forgotten about his fetish for collecting shot glasses. “You mean you don’t know?”
“Actually I do. It’s on the boardwalk.”
“Not on our route, Mano.”
Hayden felt a twinge as she shifted in her seat. The knife wounds were still far from fully healed. Her discomfort made Kinimaka press a hand to his own ribs.
“Still sore?”
“My mother sent me a traditional remedy. Lau Lapauu, she said. Some kind of healing herb, compounded with traditional remedies.”
Hayden laughed, knowing what was coming. “Still sore, then.”
“For sure.”
“At least she cares.” Hayden thought back to her childhood days when her father had always been absent. The job always came first for him. Maybe that was why he’d been so good.
The skies darkened into early evening. They continued the small talk for a few more miles and then Kinimaka finally manned up.
“You and Ben are finished then?”