It made sense. Drake stopped the F-type behind the Aston and waited for Mai to hand him his loaded weapons. Dahl roared up alongside, almost too close to get the door open. The Swede and Smyth jumped out first, grinning as they sauntered up to Hayden. Drake shook his head. “Kids.”
Mai was already out. Drake squeezed through the tiny gap and made his way to the front of the Aston. Kinimaka was groaning and squeezing out the kinks in his outsized body. Hayden checked her satnav.
“A recent Daily Telegraph article puts the plague pit about four hundred meters in that direction.” She pointed toward a dark corner, indistinct beneath the soft light of the street lamps. “Let’s move.”
With no sign of the mercs’ vehicles, the SPEAR team set out at high-speed, keeping close to the high railings and stone walls that bordered the surrounding buildings. Now, darkness was their ally. From far away the sound of sirens shrieked at the mist-shrouded night. Though time was not on their side the team hunkered down at the first corner.
Hayden peered around. “All right. I can see several vehicles parked at the roadside, nothing unusual there, but they’re adjacent to a high wall where floodlights have been erected. It appears to be a builder’s site — a great way to hide what you’re really looking for. No activity though.”
“Is it in the right place?” Drake wondered. “Last thing we wanna do is take down a bunch of men working overtime and swilling builder’s tea.”
“Gimme a minute.”
Hayden checked her satnav again, marking the exact location from the Daily Telegraph’s map and linking it to her digital map. She nodded. “That’s it, I think.”
Dahl sighed.
“Well, dammit, the coordinates are vague. The map is vague. What the hell can I do?”
“So we wait?” Drake said, rubbing his eyes. “Let’s start a recce of the area.”
Hayden was still checking her information. “Wow, remember what they said about the bacteria in plague pits vanishing almost immediately? Well, they published a list naming every disease where, if once-contaminated human remains are dug up, they might put people at risk of exposure to pathogenic microorganisms still carried by the cadaver. Plague is among them, as well as anthrax, smallpox, viral hemorrhagic fever and yellow fever. Even today,” she put a finger in the air to make her point, “it is said that all planning applications for new-build properties on Shepherds Bush Common are continually rejected for fear of tampering with the plague pit that lies beneath.”
Drake felt an involuntary shudder. “Jesus.”
“Even the office blocks at Houndsditch don’t occupy full plots due to the amount of plague pits in the area.”
Hayden looked up. “The right hand says it’s all good, the left remains wary. I’ll stick with the left.”
Drake cast his gaze up the street. Despite the intensity of the glare that escaped over the top of the wall, its beams speckled by the ground glass somebody had glued to the top, he could hear nothing.
Dahl glanced over at him. “You stuck to the spot or are you going to start that recce?”
“Shut yer gob,” Drake answered with true Yorkshire aplomb. “I’m not waiting to cadge a bloody lift here.”
At that moment all decisions were taken out of their hands as three cars approached the scene, at least one of their engines pre-announcing their arrival. The Range Rovers slewed across the road with tailgates still open, occupants pouring out. The Lamborghini powered its way to the front of the pack and tried to drive up the curb. The squeal of grinding alloy wheels grating across concrete made Drake cringe.
“If only for that they need their asses kicking.”
Dudley was driving. As the Irishman slithered out, almost rolling onto the road, Drake and the team broke cover. Running, staying low, they closed the gap between themselves and their assailants with silent deliberation. Dudley and his men stopped outside a wide, arched wooden gate as one of them knocked. Dudley’s voice could be heard with that now familiar twang.
“Get yer feckin’ arses out ‘ere!”
Drake slowed as the big double gate was suddenly flung open, unsure of what to expect. Through the great opening the mercs rushed and now Drake could see beyond them, into the floodlit area, to where they were working.
A hollowed out crater sat within the small, fenced off square, directly between a hotel and a row of offices. It wouldn’t have surprised Drake if past hotel occupants hadn’t stared out of their small windows, down at this segregated strip of land, wondering just why it was sealed off. Maybe they fancied it was a private garden, an underground junction box, a forgotten patch of greenery.
Never knowing…
The sides of the plague pit were jagged and vertical, uneven where men had jabbed shovels and scraped at the dirt. Those men were now arrayed around the rim, staring down. As Drake watched, more men toiled up a sharp slope, each one carrying a small white container that looked like an organ transplant box. Five men came up in all, depositing their boxes carefully into a larger one. Dudley strode over and clicked it shut.
“Grab it. Quick nigh!”
“Man, what an accent,” Smyth complained.
“I think I like it,” Mai said.
“Well at least he talks,” Drake said huffily. “Rather than texts.”
Hayden motioned for silence. “One thing. Don’t let those samples get away.”
Dudley urged his men on. “Cops are comin’. Move it.”
Drake exploded into action. Pistol raised, he ran forward shouting a warning. Predictably the mercs either turned to fire or ran in the opposite direction. Those that raised their weapons hit the concrete bleeding; those that ran were hunted.
Dahl and Smyth ranged around the parked vehicles, coming in from the far side. Hayden and Kinimaka fanned out to Drake’s left. Dudley screamed an insult or two, now hefting the large box over one shoulder. “Move out,” he said. “Give de feckers no quarter.”
Drake skipped behind the house wall as the mercs opened fire. Fragments of brick blasted past his nose, speckling the Range Rovers. As he raised his gun a mass of men surged through the gate, barging each other and running as if they’d seen a plague-infested ghost. A shoulder smashed him across the face. Hayden shouted. Dahl, in typical form, rushed the entire group from the right. Mai was in their midst, bending and breaking.
Drake tripped and pushed men so that they tangled with others. Dahl smashed his way among them, a literal bowling ball, bashing the smaller pins to left and right. Some careened into the brick wall, howling; others fell against the cars and the spaces in between, faring no better.
Dudley slipped past the big Swede, as slippery and predictable as an injured tentacle, and rolled across the Aventador’s low hood still clutching the box. Men scuttled after him, shielding his escape. Drake took two down with precise shots, then joined the chase. Dahl was hot on his heels.
Hayden’s voice came through their comms system. “We’re staying here to make sure it’s not a decoy.”
A man whirled in front of Drake, whipping a pistol around. Drake paused for one heartbeat, let the weapon swing by, and then slammed the off-balance man in the chest. Dahl overtook him, catching the next and lifting him by the back of his jacket, sending him sprawling face first into the street. Dudley turned around once more.
“Only pain ‘ere, boys. Soldier boys never learn.”
Dudley threw the big box high into the air, turned on the spot, and faced Dahl. The big Swede, clearly surprised by the unmistakable confrontation, slowed a little. Drake couldn’t help but watch the box somersault through mid-air. Distracted, he folded when a merc tackled him around the waist, staggering backward but staying on his feet with Mai at his side.