“Get rid of that down-and-out. He could be Politsiya.”
“We’ve checked him out, sir. He’s just a bum.”
The Blood King felt a slow rage start to burn. “Get rid of him. Question me again and I will bury your family alive.”
The man simply worked for him. But the man knew what Dmitry Kovalenko was capable of. Without another word he took aim and dropped the bum with a head shot. The Blood King smiled when he saw a dark stain begin to spread across the roughly concreted lot.
“Five minutes to mark.”
The Blood King spared a glance for the woman. She had been his guest for some months now. The wife of the Secretary of Defense was no little prize. Jonathan Gates was about to pay a dear price for her safety.
“Sir, Gates has passed the deadline.”
In any other situation, the Blood King would use the knife now. Without pause. But the second device was important to his plans, though not imperative. He picked up the sat-phone that lay next to the computer and dialed a number.
Listened to it ring and ring. “It would seem your husband does not care for your safety, Mrs. Gates.” The Blood King twitched his lips in the approximation of a smile. “Or perhaps he has already replaced you, hmm? These American politicians…”
A click, and a scared voice finally answered. “Yes?”
“I hope you are close and that you have the device, my friend. Otherwise…”
The voice of the Secretary of Defense was strained to the point of breaking. “The United States does not bow down to tyrants,” he said, the words clearly costing him the greater part of his heart and soul. “Your demands will not be met.”
The Blood King thought about the Gates of Hell and what lay beyond. “Then listen to your wife die in agony, Gates. I do not need the second device for where I’m going.”
Making sure the channel stayed open, the Blood King raised the knife and set about fulfilling his every murderous fantasy.
CHAPTER TEN
Hayden Jaye stepped away from the computer when her cell phone began to ring. Ben and Karin were busy resurrecting the sea voyages of Captain Cook, and in particular those concerned with the Hawaiian Islands. Cook, although widely known as a famous explorer, was a man if many talents, it seemed. He was also a renowned navigator and an expert cartographer. A man who mapped everything, he recorded the lands from New Zealand to Hawaii and, as was more widely known, made first landfall on Hawaii — a place he named the Sandwich Islands. A statue still stands in the town of Waimea, on Kauai, as a testament to the place he made first contact in 1778.
Hayden backed away when she saw the caller was her boss, Jonathan Gates.
“Yes, sir?”
Only ragged breathing came from the other end. She walked over to the window. “Can you hear me? Sir?”
They hadn’t spoken since he gave her the verbal reprimand. Hayden felt a bit unnerved.
Gates’s voice finally came through. “They killed her. Those bastards killed her.”
Hayden stared out the window without seeing anything. “They did what?”
Behind her both Ben and Karin, alerted by her tone, turned around.
“They took my wife, Hayden. Months ago. And last night they killed her. Because I wouldn’t do their bidding.”
“No. It couldn’t—”
“Yes.” Gates’s voice cracked as his whisky-fuelled charge of adrenalin clearly began to dissipate. “It’s not your concern, Jaye, my wife. I–I have always been a patriot, so the president knew within hours of her abduction. I remain…” He stammered. “A patriot.”
Hayden hardly knew what to say. “Why tell me now?”
“To explain my next actions.”
“No!” Hayden shouted, banging the window in sudden terror. “You can’t do it! Please!”
“Relax. I have no intentions of killing myself. I will help avenge Sarah first. Ironic isn’t it?”
“What?”
“That now I know how Matt Drake feels.”
Hayden closed her eyes, but the tears rolled down her face anyway. Kennedy’s memory was already fading from the world, a heart once so full of fire now diminished to eternal night.
“Why tell me now?” Hayden finally repeated.
“To explain this.” Gates paused, then said, “Ed Boudreau has a baby sister. I’m sending you the details. Do—”
Hayden was so shocked she interrupted the secretary before he could continue. “Are you sure?”
“Do whatever you have to do to take this fucker down.”
The line went dead. Hayden heard the email report chime out on her phone. Without checking she turned smartly and walked out of the room, ignoring the worried stares of Ben Blake and his sister. She walked over to Kinimaka’s little closet and found him working on a chicken and chorizo sub.
“Where’s Alicia?”
“Got her pass revoked yesterday.” The big Hawaiian’s words were distorted.
Hayden bent in close. “Don’t be a fucking idiot. We both know she doesn’t need a pass. Now where is Alicia?”
Kinimaka’s eyes widened into dinner plates. “Umm, one minute. I’ll trace her. No, she’s too sharp for that. I’ll—”
“Just ring her.” Hayden’s stomach sank even as she said the words and blackness blighted her soul. “Tell her to get hold of Drake. He’s got what he asked for. We’re going to hurt an innocent person to get information.”
“Boudreau’s sister?” Kinimaka seemed sharper than usual. “He’s actually got one? And Gates signed off on it?”
“You would too”—Hayden wiped her eyes dry—“if someone just tortured and killed your wife.”
Kinimaka absorbed that in silence. “And that makes it okay for the CIA to do the same to an American citizen?”
“It does for now,” Hayden said. “We’re at war.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Matt Drake had started on the expensive stuff. A bottle of Johnnie Walker Black was beckoning and looking none too shabby.
Would the better stuff stifle the memory of her face faster? This time, in his dream, would he actually save her like he’d always promised to?
The search continued.
The whisky burned. He emptied the glass immediately. He refilled. He struggled to center himself. He was a man who helped others, who gained their trust, who stood up to be counted and never let anyone down.
But he had failed Kennedy Moore. And, before that, he had failed Alyson. And he had failed their unborn child, a baby dead before it even had chance to start living.
The Johnnie Walker, like every other bottle he had tried before, was making the desperation run deeper. He had known it would. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted it to carve a slice of agony out of his soul.
The pain was his penance.
He stared at the window. It stared back, blank, unseeing and unfeeling— dirtied to the point of blackness, just like him. The updates from Mai and Alicia were becoming less frequent. The calls from his friends in the SAS were still very much on time.
The Blood King had made an attempt on Ben’s parents a few days ago. They were safe. They never knew the danger and Ben would never know how close they came to being victims in the Blood King’s vendetta.
And neither would the CIA agents who were guarding the Blakes. The SAS did not need recognition or pats on the back. They simply did the job and moved on to the next.
A haunting tune started to play. The song was as moving as it was beautiful—‘My Immortal’ by Evanescence — and it reminded him of everything he had ever lost.
It was his ringtone. He scrabbled around the bed sheets a little blearily, but eventually got a hold on the phone.