Karin had pinpointed the signal, using a US satellite, to an apartment on the top floor at the very end of the block. Only one room faced the sea. Drake approached it now, becoming more attentive with every step. The assumption had to be that the room was hostile.
“Ready?”
Three affirmations came back. Drake paused momentarily to the side of the door.
“Ain’t gonna smash itself in, Drakey,” Alicia whispered.
“You’re right,” Drake said. He’d been thinking about trying to gain entry more quietly but realized that just wasn’t his way. “Fuck it.”
With a boot aimed at the lock he leapt forward. The door crashed in, bursting off its hinges. Drake entered first, gun high, flanked by Dahl and Alicia. A bare room greeted them, its only occupants a flimsy looking table and seven surprised men ranged along the far wall.
“The feck do you want?”
Drake slowed in surprise, recognizing Dudley immediately and then grasping the significance of their confrontation. This was the entire 27-Club then, caught red-handed. It was about time their luck turned for the better.
“Down on your knees,” he said. “Hands behind your head. Do it, now.”
Dudley set eyes on Alicia. “I don’t feckin’ believe it. That’s the bitch, boys. Right there. The bitch that bested me.”
“You don’t believe it?” Alicia repeated softly. “I never imagined I’d get to meet the seven fucking dwarves. Grumpy, Sleepy, Dopey, Twathead…”
“Down!” Drake snarled at them.
“Shut yer feckin’ face, soldier boy. Me and me brother, Malachi, here, we been talking ‘bout this moment ever since we got the club back together. Hey, pretty. How ya doin’?”
Dahl waved his rifle. “I’m good, thanks. Now get down.”
“Seven against four. Yer sure yer don’t wanna back outta that door?”
Alicia snorted. “You may be a bloody goofball, Dudley, but even you can’t believe you’re gonna get out of this in one piece.”
Dudley made a wistful face and then looked once across the line, catching the gaze of all his men. “Been a pleasure, boys.”
All hell broke loose. The Irishmen attacked with only their bare hands, five of them springing fast whilst Dudley and Malachi held back. Drake opened fire, felling the quickest. Dahl did the same. Alicia toppled another. Then the Irishmen were among them, pushing at their weapons and forcing them back. Hibiki sidestepped the melee, felling a third attacker with a shot to the ribs. Those who had fallen were only wounded and though tight-faced in their agony, continued to fight hard, using their legs as weapons. Drake found himself on his knees, having to punch a bleeding man in the face and then render him unconscious as he refused to go down. Dahl was pulled backward by a seated man, spun and smashed a hard elbow into his ear but that man seemed barely to feel it, the only sign of his pain the sudden tightening of his lips. The Swede was forced to bend down and smash his head into the floor. Alicia kicked and punched at another, sent reeling by a hard blow to the thigh even as her opponent bled out.
“Tough fucker,” she said, forced to accelerate his passing.
Only two of the initial five now remained, and they were both scrappers, punching and kicking and forcing their opponents into disarray. Drake’s gun was on the floor, along with Alicia’s. Dahl tried to wade through arms and legs. Only Hibiki was free and his gun was trained toward the only window.
Dudley screamed at the top of his voice. “Yer killin’ me brothers. There’s no feckin’ place on earth you’ll be safe from me now!”
Then he was gone, closely followed by his brother and two others, choosing to save his vengeance for another day it seemed. Hibiki’s shot smashed only the frame. Drake untangled himself from one of the downed Irishmen, then fell headlong as the guy clung on, visibly refusing to die. Landing hard and twisting he found himself staring down the barrel of his own gun.
The Irishman sniggered. “Tell Satan Darragh Brannan says hi.”
This time Hibiki’s shot found its target, killing Brannan before he could pull Drake’s trigger. The Yorkshireman took a second to evaluate the scene.
“Are they all dead? That was like wading through glue. With limbs.”
Dahl staggered to the window. “Dudley, Malachi and two others escaped. Why do you think they were still here? Waiting for someone?”
“Aye, probably,” Drake said. “We knew Dudley was over in Asia but here? Detonating the bomb? What else has the bastard been up to?”
“Scheming for the Pythians,” Hibiki said. “My contact with the Chinese said that they’d ransomed something called a Z-box, probably in exchange for destroying Mu and regaining the Peking Man fossil. Didn’t you say Dudley was the Pythians’ Lord of War, or something? I bet he’s been awaiting delivery of the Z-boxes.”
“They’re sure using him for their dirty work,” Alicia said, having triple-checked that the downed Irishmen were out of action.
“What’s a Z-box?” Drake asked. “First I’ve heard of them.”
“We don’t know,” Hibiki said. “But whatever they are, they’re worth starting a war, destroying a lost kingdom and losing an ancient fossil for, at least to the Pythians.”
“Not good,” Dahl mouthed the understatement of the year, at least in Drake’s opinion. “And then we have Dudley and his men sacrificing themselves so stupidly.”
“Guy’s gonna be pissed.” Drake joined him at the window. “As if we didn’t have enough crazies to worry about. C’mon guys, it’s time to regroup and rethink.”
“And get the hell out of Taiwan,” Dahl eyed the skies, “back to Hong Kong.”
“We should liaise with Hayden on the way,” Drake said. “This thing’s spiraling out of control and if we don’t get a grip on it…”
He didn’t need to finish; the crashing waves of rolling thunder accompanying a flight of jets overhead spoke for him.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Placing a round-the-clock watch on Lauren Fox, Dahl’s family and their own homes was one of the hardest things Hayden had ever had to do. A simple physical matter of placing a call — it was far more than that psychologically. It was an admission that one of the most effective teams on the planet weren’t entirely safe in their own homes, that the old Blood Vendetta had been relatively ineffective compared to a megalomaniac and his nasty little hobby. It was — almost — admitting failure.
Soon though, the events of the day put Tyler Webb’s personal intrigues on the backburner. Key events were occurring in the world at large. China had released a tentative but enthusiastic communiqué about the discovery of a lost civilization and that they were close to verifying the find. Their defenses had been ramped up, jets patrolling the land and sea borders. In response, as ever, Taiwan had scrambled their own jets and the US had made rumblings about the preparedness of its nearby carrier fleet. Chain shaking, she thought. Dick measuring. Her country did it well but the Taiwan issue was always going to be a loaded one. Since 2008 relations had considerably improved but the Chinese, disinclined to make any proposals that might appeal to democratic Taiwan, had been left with only two options. Give up on the twenty-three-million-strong country or take it by force.
According to Beijing, the cost of losing credibility ruled out the former option, especially in light of the ever-growing power imbalance in the Taiwan Strait, and key members of the PLA believed that Taiwan had no fight in them. Hayden knew China had never actually ruled out the possibility of force, even when relations improved between the two countries. The problem was, given China’s declared defense budget at more than a 12:1 ratio over Taiwan’s, the outcome was never in real doubt. That left America, Taiwan’s principal security partner, with much more than a headache. Of course an attack or even an invasion would not be a simple matter — Taiwan employed F-16s, attack choppers and destroyers in their armory, not to mention the anti-ship, supersonic cruise missile system, Hsiung Feng III — and American warships would only escalate the problem.