The Blood King’s reference to the Gates of Hell remained an enigma though, especially when applied to Hawaii. It seemed that most Hawaiians don’t even believe in the traditional version of hell.
Diamond Head itself was part of a complex series of cones and vents known as the Honolulu Volcanic Series, a chain of events that formed most of the infamous Oahu landmarks. Diamond Head itself, probably the most famous landmark, erupted only once about 150,000 years ago, but with such a one-time explosive force that it managed to retain its incredibly symmetrical cone.
Ben smirked a little at the next comment. It is thought Diamond Head will never erupt again. Hmm…
“Did you clock the bit about Diamond Head being a series of cones and vents?” Karin’s accent was broad Yorkshire to the point of obscurity. She’d already had a lot of fun with the CIA Miami locals with it, and had no doubt upset more than a few.
Not that Karin cared. “You deaf, mate?”
“Don’t call me mate,” he whined. “It’s what men call other men. Girls shouldn’t say it. Especially my sister.”
“OK, broth. Truce, for now. But you know what vents means? In your world, at least?”
Ben felt as though he was at school again. “Lava tubes?”
“Got it. Hey, you’re not dumb as a doorknob, like Dad used to say.”
“Dad never said—”
“Chill, bitch. To put it simply, lava tubes mean tunnels. All over Oahu.”
Ben shook his head at her. “I know that. Are you saying the Blood King’s hiding down one of them?”
“Who knows? But we’re here to do research, right?” She tapped the keys of Ben’s own CIA computer. “Get to it.”
Ben took a breath and turned away from her. Like the rest of his family, he missed them whilst they were apart, but after an hour of catching up, the old niggles came rushing back. Still, she had come a long way to help.
He opened a search for ‘Captain Cook legends’ and sat back to see what came up, his thoughts very much with Matt Drake and his best friend’s state of mind.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Blood King surveyed his territory through a plate glass, floor-length window built for a single purpose — to frame the panoramic view it offered over a lush, rolling valley, a paradise where no human feet ever trod, except for his own.
His mind, usually firm and focused, flitted today over numerous topics. The loss of his ship — his home for decades — though expected, aggravated him. Perhaps it was the sudden nature of the ship’s demise. He’d had no time to say good-bye. But then good-byes had never before been important or sentimental to him.
He was a hard, emotionless man, raised during some of Russia’s most arduous times and in many of the country’s toughest areas. Despite this, he’d flourished with relative ease, built an empire made up of blood and death and vodka, and made billions.
He knew very well why the loss of the Stormbringer maddened him. He considered himself untouchable, a king among men. To be affronted and frustrated in such a way by the paltry U.S. government was no more than a fly in his eye. But it still stung.
The ex-soldier, Drake, had proven to be a particular thorn in his side. Kovalenko felt as if the Englishman had personally set about trying to derail his well-laid plans, plans that had been set in motion over a number of years, and took the man’s involvement as a personal affront.
Hence, the Blood Vendetta. His own personal touch had been to dispatch Drake’s girlfriend first; the rest of the maggots he would leave to his global mercenary links. He was already anticipating the first phone call. Another would die soon.
Beyond the edge of the valley, nestling over the far green rise, stood one of his three ranches. He could just make out the camouflaged rooftops, visible to him only because he knew exactly where to look. The ranch on this island was the largest. The other two were on different islands, smaller and well defensible, established purely to divide an enemy attack three ways, if it ever came.
The value of placing hostages in separate locations was that an enemy would have to split his forces in order to rescue every one of them alive.
The Blood King had a dozen different ways to escape this island unnoticed but, if all went according to plan, he wouldn’t be going anywhere. He would find what Cook found, beyond the Gates of Hell, and the revelations would surely turn a king into a god.
The gates alone were enough to do that, he mused.
But any thoughts of the gates inevitably led to memories that burned deep — the loss of both displacement devices, an effrontery that would be avenged. His network had quickly learned the whereabouts of one device — the one in CIA custody. He already knew the location of the other one.
It was time to get both of them back.
He drank in the view for a final minute. Dense foliage stirred to the beat of a tropical breeze. The deep peace of tranquility held his attention for a moment, but didn’t move him. What he’d never had, he’d never miss.
Right on cue there was a discreet tap on his office door. The Blood King turned and said, “Come.” His voice reverberated like the sound of a tank running over a gravel pit.
The door opened. Two guards entered, dragging with them a terrified-looking, but well-treated girl of Japanese origin. “Chika Kitano,” the Blood King grated. “I trust you have been looked after?”
The girl stared hard at the ground, not daring to raise her eyes. The Blood King approved. “Are you awaiting my permission?” He didn’t acquiesce. “I’m told your sister is a most dangerous adversary, Chika,” he went on. “And now she is just another resource for me, like Mother Earth. Tell me… does she love you, Chika, your sister, Mai?”
The girl didn’t even breathe. One of the guards sent the Blood King a questioning glance, but he ignored the man. “No talk necessary. I understand that more than you will ever know. It is just business for me, trading you. And I know very well the value of keeping carefully silent during a business deal.”
He brandished a sat-phone. “Your sister — Mai — she contacted me. Very cleverly, and in the way of unspoken threat. She is dangerous, your sister.” He said it for the second time, almost relishing the prospect of a face-to-face.
But it just couldn’t happen. Not now when he was so close to his lifelong goal.
“She offered a trade for your life. You see, she has a treasure of mine. A very special device, which she will swop for you. That is good. It shows your value in a world that rewards ruthless men like me.”
The Japanese girl timidly raised her eyes. The Blood King twitched his mouth into the approximation of a smile. “Now we see what she is willing to give up for you.”
He tapped out a number. The phone rang once and was answered by a cool female voice.
“Yes?”
“Mai Kitano. You know who this is. You know there is no chance of tracing this call, yes?”
“I do not intend to try.”
“Very good.” He sighed. “Ah, if only we had more time, you and I. But never mind. Your lovely sister, Chika, is here.” The Blood King motioned the guards to bring her forward. “Say hello to your sister, Chika.”
Mai’s voice echoed down the handset. “Chika? How are you?” Reserved. Betraying none of the fear and fury the Blood King knew must be boiling under the surface.
It took a moment, but Chika finally said, “Konnichiwa, shimai.”