Drake moved on.
Trent hissed, “Wait!”
Drake froze. The ex-CIA agent was pointing to a shimmering red laser stretched across the corridor. Drake had been about to break it. “Good call. Move back,” he said. “We’ll have to test it with something. Grab one of their jackets.”
Instead, Dahl picked up a dead merc and flung him down the corridor.
Alarms wailed, nothing more sinister. The team headed out, checking every room. Mercs came at them from all angles, so fast and dangerous that they were forced to regularly change their point men to stay fresh and alert. A grenade tore away two structural walls, another blew out part of the side of the house. Timbers groaned. Smyth and Alicia fought hard to pull information from wounded men but all they got was that the Pythians were here, somewhere.
And their boss, it was readily revealed, was here too. He was waiting for them.
Drake shook his head. Crazy bastard. What on earth could he gain from such provocation? Notoriety? A boost to his ego? Narcissistic glee?
Probably all three, and more.
They proceeded, listening all the while to Hayden’s commentary on events transpiring below. It was only when they reached the far end of the house opposite the high tower that a figure presented itself in a dark, arched doorway.
“Greetings,” it said. “I am Tyler Webb. Leader of the Pythians. And…” he chuckled “Soon — the world.”
Hayden pushed her team hard through the first-floor rooms. This was no time for hangers-on and fortunately she didn’t appear to have any. The mercenary attacks were sporadic and hard to gauge. Some of them were die hard fanatics, sacrificing themselves in a hail of bullets, others gave up and laid down their weapons with comparative ease.
Didn’t sign on for this shit, and anything you need to know were phrases uttered regularly by those they captured. When Hayden quizzed three of them separately about which man led the mercenary arm of the Pythians the harmonious answer was Callan Dudley, always Dudley.
Good news, bad news, she thought. To have the leader of the Pythians’ war division in custody was a fantastic coup, but it also left the door wide open for reprisals and escape attempts. She knew immediately that looking at the situation in such a way was beyond cynical but had felt the consequences too many times before.
Komodo, Russo and Healey took point, engaging the enemy and working as a team. Silk and Radford covered the rear. By the time they reached the narrow basement entrance they were on top of their game, attentive, determined and expecting to win. Russo pursued a final mercenary, kicking the man firmly into the door itself, cracking the timbers.
It was then that they heard a weak voice. “Stop them! Stop them I tell you!”
And Hayden realized they were right on the tail of a fleeing Pythian. Planned or not, fortune or otherwise, they had caught the last man in a rush down to the cellars. It was time to teach these animals a real lesson.
“Take ‘em out,” she hissed through the comms.
Russo lobbed a grenade down the cellar steps, listening to it bounce twice before the explosion sent his large hands up to cover his ears and stony face. Instantly Komodo and Healey took his place, checking out the top of the steps. Shots were fired from below. Komodo swept his weapon from side to side, unleashing a deadly salvo. Hayden moved to his side.
“There!”
Healey’s shout was brimming with enthusiasm. The youngest member of the company leaped down the steps, careful to step across any that were damaged. Hayden caught a glimpse of a tall, thin man with gray hair disappearing into a dark space below. Damn, do they have tunnels too?
They clattered down the steps, Healey firing as he went. Another merc collapsed. And then came a weak cry and the resultant grumble of a seasoned, paid mercenary.
“Oh, my ankle. I think I broke it. Help me!”
“If you can’t run, asshole, I ain’t carrying you. Here.”
Hayden leaped off the edge of the staircase and rolled, coming up on her feet and jumping ahead of Healey. The young man’s thwarted shout made her smile. At ground level she spied a ragged archway, stone walls beyond. And a man lying on the ground. A man wearing a suit and tie, with gray hair and a pistol waving unsteadily in one hand.
“Put it down!” she cried. “Down, or I will shoot you.”
“I can’t,” the man moaned. “I just can’t. After what I’ve done they’ll string me out to dry.”
“Who the hell are you?” Kinimaka blurted.
“Robert Norris. I don’t suppose you could let me crawl out of here? I have about 10K in my pocket.”
“How money solves all problems,” Yorgi commented, peering around everyone else. “How it makes world such better place.”
Robert Norris? Hayden was thinking. The Robert Norris? If this was the same man that sat on the board at SolDyn then that company, one of the richest and most influential in the world, was heading for serious trouble.
“Now wait…” she began.
But the shot rang out. Norris, being a certain kind of man, didn’t immediately take his own life but tried to take another. His shot flew wide. Both Russo and Healey fired back at the same time.
Beyond the slumped form of the SolDyn man there came a rumble and then the collapse of the tunnel. Hayden knew that whoever had escaped that way was more than likely going to get away.
“Back upstairs,” she said. “Let’s see if there’s any more mischief we can get ourselves into. And bring him.”
Drake evaluated the self-proclaimed ruler of the world. Tyler Webb was broad-shouldered and well-muscled. He leaned against the wall with smug confidence. Drake had seen the same kind of confidence exuded by short wiry men when faced with big brawlers they knew they could take down without breaking sweat. This man’s confidence though, he imagined, was more likely due to a god complex and a carefully laid plan.
What that might be…
“Don’t come any closer, Matt. Or you, Mai. And Alicia… have you put on weight? Oh, Torsten, why so glum?”
The only reaction came from Alicia, who retorted enough for them all, uttering a string of curses and threats that would make anyone blanch. Not so Tyler Webb. He just grinned even wider.
“The game is certainly on now, huh? Are you ready for what’s next?”
“This is you done, Webb,” Collins barked. “Get down on your goddamn knees.”
“Ah, and you would like that wouldn’t you, Claire Collins of the Fucked-up Bureau of Ingrates? No pleasure without pain, eh Claire?”
Collins stopped as though she’d hit a brick wall. Drake didn’t know her past but saw that Webb had purposely dredged up some tragic memory. It then occurred to him that the leader of the Pythians had collected dirt on each and every one of them. But no matter… it wouldn’t save him.
“Michael Crouch,” Webb went on. “Failed leader. Aaron Trent. How’s the wife? You and your so-called Razor’s Edge took out my second greatest asset — the Moose. How could you be so cruel?”
Drake glanced sideways at Alicia. Second greatest?
“And next, Caitlyn Nash — oh, did your father love your mother, Caitlyn? Did he? And finally — Smyth. Do you even have a first name?”
“C’mere, Tyler. Let me whisper it in your ear.”
“We have two of your so-called world leaders already,” Caitlyn said, voice trembling with emotion. “Le Brun and Norris are dead!”
“Oh dear. Oh no. Well it’s a good thing I have a waiting list then.” Webb laughed. “So here we are. Let me ask you again — are you ready for the next level? Tesla of Niagara Falls? I mean, why the hell do you think we’re even here? Or the apocalypse of Saint Germain?”