Boudreau was succinct, one could give him that. He was dangerous too, but only up to a certain level. The game being played was known in its entirety only to the Blood King, and went far beyond Blackbeard and his two devices. It went deep into Diamond Head itself, and to the very Gates of Hell.
But that was for the future. The Blood King had prepared well. Claude, his ranch supervisor, was attending to the future side of things.
He addressed Claude whilst the other two babbled: “Are our guests uncomfortable?”
“As requested, sir.”
“It may be some time, yet, but I will make my way there. Have everything in order. Do not fail me. I believe there are still three on your… list?”
“Yes, sir. Preparations are under way.”
The Blood King ended the call. It was time to turn his attention back to Boudreau. “Ed,” he growled. “Ed,” like the sound of a lion crunching bones.
“Sir?” The trepidation in that one word was enough to put the Blood King in a better mood.
“Truth is, Mr Boudreau, I also thought Alicia Myles was an asset. So we are both fools. But we will learn from that?”
“Yes.” The flood of relief was obvious.
“Now. Did my techs give you the coordinates of the computer hacker?”
“Yes. I suspect they have an amateur working for them.”
“In fact, this person is good. World class, I am told, even to get as far as he has. But my people are better.”
“Of course.”
“Get to those coordinates, Mr Boudreau, with overwhelming force. And get me the controller. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
The Blood King severed the connection. The naked prisoner trussed up at his feet stared up at him with wet, desperate eyes.
“Did you lure them with the blood trail?” the Blood King asked his men.
“Several sharks are now following us, sir.”
“Excellent.” The Blood King bent down and drew a knife across the prisoner’s wrists and thighs. He took a moment to watch the life-blood begin to pump and then kicked the trussed-up man overboard, taking care to hold the rope that attached him to the ship. “Stop the boat and inflate his life-jacket. The ocean sport is looking good today.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It was late in the afternoon when Hayden called Drake’s mobile. The ex-soldier glanced at Kennedy before he answered.
“This must be important.”
Kennedy nodded and looked away. Truth be told, her mind was elsewhere. Her boss, Captain Lipkind, had called about thirty minutes back. The questions he asked were questions she had been avoiding for a while now.
How are you really feeling? Have the nightmares subsided? When are you coming back?
And Drake’s reply when she finally mentioned her misgivings? Then we need to get some things out in the open. There are some things you don’t know… that you really need to know.
What the-?
That was when Hayden called. Drake was agreeing to drop everything and head right over. Of course he was.
“Be right behind you.” She waved him on ahead, taking a moment for herself and a moment for all those who had died at the hands of Thomas Kaleb. She would never forget them. Not for one day. She still had a purpose to fulfil, somewhere.
She just didn’t know here yet.
Drake didn’t want to push Kennedy too hard, so he high-tailed it over to the other hotel. The room was full, with only Kinimaka standing watch. Drake pushed to the front.
“What’s the score, guys?”
Hayden was almost grinning. “Listen.”
Hudson was leaning back and cracking his fingers one by one. “That last one was a hard bastard to crack. Feels like I took the skin off my fingers. Anyhow, in this age of digital information and electronic eavesdropping nothing is secret. Nothing. The trick is to know where to look. I started by writing a simple program that collects information. A gatherer, if you will. I sent it trickling through the-”
“Ok, dude,” Hayden rounded on him. “Just tell us what you’ve got.”
“It starts a long time ago. A figure called the Blood King first rose in Russia in the late ‘80s. There’s nothing but snippets, and most of those appear to have been erased.”
“Erased?” Hayden repeated. “How? And by whom?”
“I have no idea. But to get rid of that much information must have taken someone a very long time. Or a lot of people a long time. Or-”
“So he has a team of techs erasing his very existence,” Hayden nodded. “Makes sense.”
“But no one can erase everything. Traces will always remain. Tiny titbits will always be missed. It’s just common sense, you know?”
“I get it techno-boy. Get on with it.”
“Well, blah, blah, a figure called the Blood King definitely existed in Russia around the late 80s, early 90s. It took me eight hours to confirm just that. But when you get a starting point, that’s when you can start digging in earnest. By piecing together various obscure articles I think the man got mega-rich and decided to vanish.”
“Mega-rich?” Drake said. “Through crime?”
Hudson smiled at the computer screen and gave it a loving pat. “Ever hear of Southern Cross Vodka?”
Drake blinked and Ben said, “Well, yeah, it’s everywhere.”
“The Blood King owns Southern Cross.” Hudson looked pleased.
“So you’re saying our man’s a Russian vodka millionaire.”
“Not quite.”
Hayden almost reached for her gun. “Then what?”
“He also owns Stryanka. And Russian Best. And Vlodsko. Get the idea?”
“Explain it to me.”
“The Blood King is actually a vodka king. Officially, a man called Dmitry Kovalenko owns Southern Cross Vodka, but this man, Kovalenko, appears to be the undisputed number one on every single ownership agreement I come across.”
“So our Russian millionaire is-”
“Actually a Russian multi-billionaire. A literal king of his country. I got one passage of juicy information. Just one, mind, in two days of searching. Dmitry Kovalenko lives at sea.”
“Like-” Ben struggled to speak. “Like a pirate?”
“Just like a pirate. Like Blackbeard, I suppose. His ship is his castle and yet there is no record of it ever being built. He owns and runs a huge empire from his ship, a floating office and home, always moving.”
Drake whistled. “And puts figureheads in place to run his companies which he controls like puppets.”
“Did you get anything else?” Hayden asked. “Not complaining, but-”
“Just a crumb. The word Stormbringer. More recent, a few years ago actually. It came up through an American back-channel, was even reported to the CIA, but nothing ever came of it.”
“So why is it even linked to Kovalenko?”
“His Southern Cross vodka company copyrighted it as the title of their signature bottle. And I mean signature. It sold for 1.4 million per bottle.”
There was a dumbstruck silence. Drake contemplated the arrogance and ignorance of the people out there willing to pay such a sum for a bottle of vodka. “Interesting, if appalling, fact,” he said. “But so what?”
“In the blurb they wrote that the owner of their company held the name ‘dear to his heart’. That phrase, coming from Russians, well maybe it’s nothing. Just thought you should know.”
“Couldn’t that be the name of the artefact?” Ben said. “A very similar name was mentioned by Calico Jack’s scribe.”