They drifted along toward the next hotel. This one appeared even more opulent, with an entrance designed much like the Marble Arch and gold filigrees around the lower windows and entrance doors. A doorman with a top hat stood in the shadows, head down, checking his cellphone. The wide, sinuous parking approach held two more supercars that grabbed Drake’s attention — a new Jaguar F-type Coupe and a Mercedes SLS AMG.
Drake stopped again, tongue practically hanging out.
Dahl stared along with him. “Must admit I do like the Jag.”
“What is this?” Hayden asked. “Motor Show week?”
“No,” Drake answered. “But it is London in the spring and summer. Foreign rich kids and mega-wealthy playboys, ambassador’s sons, Saudi dignitaries and the like, all tend to migrate here for several months, bringing their specially prepared, one-off vehicles with them. It’s becoming a kind of annual event.”
Hayden was eyeing up both hotels. “Time is ultimately against us. What do you say we split up and check both at the same time? Mercs like these, they have to have some kind of security protocol in place, unless they’re completely incompetent. A double breach should shake something loose.”
Dahl nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
Drake stood with Dahl, Mai and Smyth whilst the others retraced their steps. As one the SPEAR team pushed through both hotels’ doors, ready for anything. Drake assessed the lobby with its gleaming floors and white walls, its marble-topped desk behind which a pretty receptionist sat smiling, the empty area of plush seating and the entrance to the bar. Nothing appeared to be out of place.
Still evaluating, he crossed the open space, sensing his companions at his back. If the receptionist noticed their sense of anticipation she gave no sign. Drake stopped before her, smiling.
“Callan Dudley.” The name of a particularly skilled and vicious mercenary they knew had made several recent calls from this area. “Or Charlie Egan.”
His voice was loud, carrying beyond the lobby. For a moment the receptionist looked blank, then asked if they were meeting someone.
Drake nodded, keeping his voice at a steady boom. “Callan Dudley.”
Dahl leaned into his shoulder, whispering, “I’ve seen better acting at a school play.”
Drake managed to swallow his retort, squeezing his lips together.
“I can’t confirm the name of anyone staying here.” The receptionist smiled. “But you could check the bar to see if your friend is there.” She lowered her voice. “Been quite a few asking for Mr. Dudley tonight.”
Drake saw how it must look. The receptionist had already fielded the same question a dozen times judging by how many phone calls Dudley had made. He turned toward Dahl and then saw a figure standing in the doorway that led to the bar.
“Yer lookin’ for me?” Dudley’s accent was pure, broad Irish. First impressions were daunting. Though whippet thin and tall, Dudley’s bare arms were thick with corded muscles and covered in tattoos. The man’s reputation was much worse. More than a shoot-first-ask-later kind of merc he was a trouble-causer, a hell-raiser, and nowhere more so than in his home country with his older brother and five other gang members, none of whom were even in the UK.
Dahl started to close the gap. “Are you Dudley?”
“So what if I are?” Drake struggled to understand the brogue. Jesus, now he knew how Dahl felt.
Smyth backed the Swede up with Mai drifting around the side. Their approach was too ordered, too aggressive. Dudley saw through it in seconds. His eyes darkened and he shot back into the bar. Drake and his three teammates converged on the opening as Dudley and his men surged through.
“Have ‘em!” Dudley sneered.
A fracas broke out, a pure brawl. Instantly on top of each other, mercs and soldiers piled in. Drake ducked a haymaker and felt knuckles crash into the top of his head. Although seeing stars straight away he ignored the lightheaded sensation and tackled his opponent around the waist. The two fell to the ground in a powerful tangle.
Dahl shoulder-barged his first merc back the way he had come, the man seemingly shot out of a rubber band and crashing into the door frame, cracking it from side to side.
Dahl shrugged. “Don’t make ‘em like they used to.”
Mai skipped between her adversaries, dealing blows where she could but maintaining a small gap. Her strikes were debilitating, sending mercs to their knees or making them clutch at tender areas only then to be hit by a whirlwind called Smyth. Growling, he proved he could brawl with the best of them, taking the punches and returning them with more than an equal measure.
Drake rolled clear, using a side wall to pivot and jump to his feet. Another man came straight at him. Drake employed the Dahl technique, dropping his shoulder and striking at the throat. The man crumpled. Drake leaped off his falling back, using it as a platform to attack the next.
Dudley reared up before him. “Gonna tear yer feckin’ arms off, mate.”
Drake knew of this man, knew the reputation. On any given day he’d happily take his time teaching the maniac the error of his ways but not now. Not today. Too much was at stake. The man beyond Dudley was pulling out a gun. Drake smashed Dudley aside and reached for the weapon.
A shot went off. The receptionist, reaching for a phone, screamed and scrambled away. The bullet passed through the marble-topped counter before shattering a PC screen, sending computer fragments everywhere. Drake slammed down on the man’s gun arm, releasing the weapon, then elbowed him in the face. Mai jabbed at his neck from behind, sending him to the floor faster than a sack of rocks.
Drake looked around. Dahl, predictably, had picked his opponent up and was holding him by the scruff of his neck. The man’s legs were kicking ineffectively. Drake shook his head as Dahl launched the man against a wall.
“Show off.”
The mercs were beyond the SPEAR team now, closer to the door of the hotel. Mai advanced, picking her way through the mayhem of groaning bodies and flexing legs.
“What a mess.”
Drake shrugged. “Not too bad, love. I’ve seen worse Black Friday events at Tesco.”
Smyth struggled in a far corner. With a snarl he hefted his opponent over a shoulder and hurled him among his teammates. Luckily for the man he landed well and rolled to his feet, none the worse for wear.
Smyth glared.
Dudley and most of his crew reached for weapons.
Drake sprang at them. More blows were exchanged. The mercs crashed into the hotel’s front doors, nowhere to go. Even immersed in the intense concentration of battle Drake felt a momentary rush of elation.
A good win. They would be able to…
Sudden gunfire shattered his senses. The glass doors of the hotel and the windows above blew in, shards dropping and exploding across the lobby. The mercs yelled and dropped as Drake and his colleagues did the same. Sharp fragments showered among them. Harsh yells blasted in from outside.
“Get the fuck out, Dudley! Fuckin’ Five-O’s here!”
Drake heard the sound of approaching sirens. As he looked up the mercs were backing out of the destroyed front entrance toward their comrades outside. Drake’s immediate fear was for Hayden and the others who’d accompanied her into the adjacent hotel. Rolling to the right he tried to see beyond the running men.
“C’mon!” Dahl was first up to join the chase, feet crunching across the glass. Drake rose in his wake, wincing as a bullet whizzed within a whisker of the Mad Swede. The mercs pounded down the hotel steps and out into the road, most glancing left and right with frustrated eyes. But Dudley was not finished yet.
“The feckin’ plan still stands!” he yelled. “Just earlier. Move it!”
Instantly the men, reined in and motivated by their leader, poured toward the slope that led to the joint underground car park. Drake was momentarily distracted as Hayden ran up.