Drake smiled at Raychim. “Better put those keys away, pal. You’re not driving. Now where’s the airport?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Hayden pulled some strings and their plane was in the air within an hour. A special charter, it did a fair bit of clunking down the runway, making even Drake grip the armrests with more disquiet than usual at take-off.
It would be a short flight. They toyed with the idea of alerting the local authorities, of even sending in the marines, but decided a small incursion would work better, especially since they were betting that no one else had followed the clues this far. Nevertheless, Hayden alerted her boss, Jonathan Gates, who was aware of the security breaches during the last few days.
His words, to her, left them in no doubt as to the seriousness of what was happening behind closed White House doors. “There is no trust, Hayden. No one to trust. Contact me and me alone.”
“There is no trust,” Kennedy repeated. “What’s going on over there?”
“Nothing to make us lose our focus,” Drake said. “The Blood King already holds one of the devices. Chances are, if he gets the second there’ll be a few changes in world government.”
Ben stared at him as if he’d only just realised the severity of the situation. “Are you kidding?”
Hayden turned on him, trying but failing not to vent her frustrations on her younger boyfriend. “This ain’t Call of Duty, Ben. It ain’t even a Michael Bay movie. Not yet. It’s the kind of thing where people die. People you love and respect and never get back.” Her words choked. Drake imagined what she had gone through during the last few days, not to mention the loss of her father to ‘the job’.
Drake dropped his eyes as the couple followed their similar routine — regret, makeup, then a few guarded smiles. The Michael Bay dig was probably aimed at Drake. Since the ‘Odin thing’ Drake had been the focus of attention for many well-known names and corporations, all trying to buy his friendship, his trust, his endorsement, and his name. One big call had been from Bay’s management company, with a query as to movie rights.
His mind wandered. He just couldn’t get past the feeling of being watched that they had experienced in Jamaica. Even driving to the airport had made the hairs on the nape of his neck crawl and prickle. And now — was it possible to feel as if you were being followed in an aeroplane? He laughed aloud.
The others, tired, tetchy and mentally exhausted, all turned to him. “What are you laughing at, crusty?” Ben asked.
“Just concentrate on the research, Blakey. Key West’s an hour away, and we need to be fully prepped.” He glanced at each member of the team. “We have to prepare for every eventuality. This is the way I see it…”
Whilst Drake talked, Kennedy drifted. It was only now that she was starting to question her motives throughout the last six weeks. Now — when stark reality and another power-crazed dictator had invaded her life through Matt Drake — she wondered if this really was the right place for her. No question, she wanted to be with Drake. But her life had pretty much been put on hold for him.
This is your life, a voice told her. The start. At some point you had to let the torrent of life take you and lie back in its arms, and drift.
Her nature rebelled against that thought. Or was it her confident, New York upbringing? Lindsey Buckingham allegedly wrote the famous words Go Your Own Way when he split up with Stevie Nicks. But it was the next line of the song that always freaked her out. All her life she had felt a singular loneliness, in school, in the Academy, in the station room, every night of every day.
She didn’t feel that with Drake. The guy was larger-than-life and more than enough to keep her engaged twenty-four hours a day.
It actually scared her to think she might have found all that she was looking for. Here, with these people — Drake, Ben, Hayden in particular and even Mano Kinimaka whose heart of gold was already winning her over — was where she wanted to stay.
She was sure of it. Almost.
Drake had paused to stare at her, bringing her back to the present. “You ready?”
“Sorry?”
“Plane’s about to land. We’re here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Key West was an outstanding anomaly. Full of seaside bustle and commercialism, it still managed to capture that feeling of American originality, wealth and old pirate secrets all wrapped up in a palm tree-enclosed, laid back paradise. Huge pelicans followed fishermen around as if on a leash and dived for the fish they might have caught with good-natured squawks. The balmy weather brought the tourists flocking and the main thoroughfare, Duval Street, was overrun with day-trippers and holiday-makers, and bustling with a carnival-like atmosphere.
The five most unlikely treasure-hunters of them all picked their way through the happy chaos, heading for the ocean. Already they could see the clear blue sea glistening at the bottom of Duval Street.
“One thing’s for sure,” Drake muttered. “Anyone following us down here sure won’t have to work too hard.”
Kinimama was examining every side street, every bar.
Kennedy said, “You’re trying too hard, big dude. Tone it down a bit. The bad guys’re gonna find it hard to miss you anyway.”
“Bad guys?” Kinimaka grunted. “I’m looking for the Hard Rock.”
Drake headed left, bypassing the path them led to the ocean overlook where the big ships were normally moored. He paused, pretending to take a breather against some railings, whilst Ben studied the map. Drake surveyed their flanks.
Nothing. Not a glimmer out of place nor a flicker to worry about. Should there be? It didn’t matter. He felt responsible for them all now. He would cover their backs and worry twice as much as he probably needed to.
He wondered briefly why Wells hadn’t called yet. Why Mai hadn’t been in touch. But then Ben pointed to the left and they began to thread through the tourists again. Music drifted from a nearby bar. Laughter rode the summer air like a blessing. These people didn’t need to know about a myth called the Blood King.
Five minutes later and they were standing outside the Museum of Art and History. Drake turned to Ben. “Tourists?”
Hayden clicked at them impatiently. “CIA,” she said impatiently, then relented and added “Bitches,” for effect.
Kennedy pushed ahead of them all. “Feel like I’ve got a damn target on my back,” she grumbled and disappeared inside. Drake, for all his vigilance, felt the same and waved everyone on ahead before taking a last look around, and then following.
She hadn’t seen Drake in a while. He hadn’t changed. Neither had that bitch, Kennedy Moore. And they still had the kid, Ben Blake, nipping at their heels. The CIA agent she’d encountered — and playfully kissed several times back when they first captured her in Sweden — looked like she needed a major banging to bring those stress levels down a bit, and was being almost as vigilant as Drake.
And the big guy? Now he looked interesting.
She’d followed them carefully, cleverly, all the way from Jamaica. Lionel Raychim had long been a player on Boudreau’s list, and when Boudreau learned of Alicia’s long history with Drake, it only seemed right to send her after the ex-SAS man.
Alicia Myles turned to her own big buy, the techno-wonder known as Tim Hudson. “Huddo,” she whispered her own private nickname for him. “Keep behind me, big boy. Drakey ain’t gonna like us turning up uninvited like this. The boys… ” she rolled her eyes to the left, “… need to be taken in by the act, too.”