She crouched down, whispering in his ear, “I don’t need tools. I can make you scream and die with only my hands in less than a minute. Would you like to try?”
The Russian shook his head vehemently, rolling on to his side and groaning with the pain. Mai took hold of his windpipe between two fingers and gave it a little squeeze. “Alright then. I want the address of the jail. The one connected to Zanko. You have five seconds.”
Kinimaka stayed with Hayden, watching the cabin whilst Mai, Alicia and Dahl completed their work. It only took a moment for Hayden to notice the charts and maps pinned to the nearby wall; the same ones Drake had momentarily scanned.
“Mano,” she said, pointing. “Take a look.”
Kinimaka followed her example. He still couldn’t quite shake Kono’s disturbing phone call from out of his mind — she was vulnerable living in LA — and he did know some people who lived out that way and would be willing to look out for her. But for how long? He couldn’t seriously ask colleagues to watch over her indefinitely. Besides, he was sure Aaron Trent would have better things to do.
His contact with Kono and the occasional calls were always kept a secret from their mother. Kono had walked away from the family home years ago, brash, rebellious and disrespectful, not the way the Kinimaka family had been brought up. The split had almost put his mother into therapy, especially coming so soon after the unexpected death of his father.
Now Mano tolerated his sister because, deep down, he loved her. Any layer above that was still raw, exposed and full of hate.
“Mano?”
“Sorry.” He squinted at the place where Hayden was pointing. It was an ancient map of the city of Babylon, complete with the eight gates, including the Ishtar Gate — the main entrance — with an added notation — Ishtar was the Babylonian Goddess of sex and love — the assumed site of the enormous Ziggurat and the Tower of Babel, the mound of which can still be seen today, and a very interesting highlighted sentence at the bottom.
Babylon literally means, ‘Gateway of the Gods’.
Hayden stared at Kinimaka. “Oh no.”
“I thought we were done with those freaky tombs. They’re so small, you can barely swing a cat inside one.”
Hayden shrugged. “Not while they’re still translating most of the gods’ language. Not whilst the doomsday device still exists. You gotta remember, Mano, they’re discovering new stuff nearly every day.”
“The Ishtar gate seems to be a prominent landmark,” Hayden said. She snapped a few photos on her phone. “Look. Here’s a map of how Babylon looks now.”
Kinimaka studied it. “Big difference.”
“And what’s this? The Dance of the Seven Veils. The Saber Dance. Sounds kinky. Want me to learn it for you?”
Kinimaka tried to pretend he hadn’t heard. He respected his new girlfriend too much to talk that way within earshot of others.
“And the pit of Babylon. Wow, it’s the original foundation of the original city. Quite the landmark.”
Kinimaka let his eyes wander over a few more details. He hadn’t realized Alexander the Great — the man said to be the greatest king and one of the wisest men of all time — had died in Babylon. He mentioned the fact to Hayden.
But his girlfriend wasn’t listening. She was staring, eyes wide, at a third map. “Crap.”
Kinimaka leaned forward. It was a map of Germany, marked by a big red circle and a set of coordinates. “Shit,” he echoed. “That… that’s Singen.”
“The location of the third tomb. What the hell’s going on?” There was a thick red line linking tomb three to the pit of Babylon.
Mai listened hard as her prisoner whispered the location of the prison to her. She had to listen hard because his voice was croaky due to a bruised windpipe. But the address still came, eventually.
She looked over at Dahl. “Got it?”
“Yes. It’s just outside the city.”
“I have the same.” She shifted to Alicia. “You?”
The Englishwoman grunted. “Damn, Vladimir, you really want this hammer back where it belongs? You do? Okay.” She brought the hammer slicing down, claw end first, halting a millimeter from the man’s skull, so close the curved blades parted hair.
Vladimir screamed out the address.
Mai smiled. “They all match. We know where Drake is.”
Dahl jumped to his feet, face like thunder and fury. “Let’s roll.”
CHAPTER NINE
Drake spent a night in his cell, unmolested. Not daring to sleep, he rested his eyes and allowed his mind to drift, whilst keeping his senses attuned for any sound of unwanted company. Most of all, he missed Mai. Keeping company with her lately had made his whole existence more upbeat. A bright future existed with the Japanese girl and the rest of the new team. It was time to embrace his newfound fortune.
There was just the small matter of escaping Razin’s prison and deciding if this ‘Babylon thing’ needed further attention, to deal with first.
A loud klaxon sounded the call to breakfast. Drake’s door slid open with the rest. He wondered if he might get away with staying put, but a guard soon began to rattle the bars with his baton, quickly joined by two more.
A barrage of Russian swear words proved that cursing was a universal language.
Drake followed them out of the cell, along the walkway and down the steps into the mess hall. Half the benches were already occupied, and the other half of the inmates queued up for food. The gym area was empty, but Drake immediately spied several of last night’s opponents eyeing him from a far table.
No doubt downing their porridge, he thought. Fuelling up on energy for a big day of Drake-bashing.
He sat down at an empty table, at the end of a long bench, watchful. Hunger pangs played on his stomach like an orchestra, but he ignored them. No way was he joining that queue to find minced rat and chunky coleslaw waiting for him at the end.
Nothing happened, but the atmosphere grew steadily more charged. He watched the clock, seeing it jump past 0900 hours. No way could he expect an extraction in the next twelve hours. If the team did try, it would be without sufficient planning — maybe Dahl’s style, but not Hayden’s. She would ensure sufficient, superior resources before making her move. At 0930 a side door opened and sunlight flooded through. The inmates began to file toward it.
Exercise yard.
He watched the guards watch him. They were waiting for something. Half smiles ghosted across their faces. Itchy fingers twirled batons. There was a reason he hadn’t been accosted yet, and it wasn’t to let the prisoners’ food settle.
The last man to rise, he drifted slowly toward the open door. The sounds of raised voices and a bouncing ball indicated at least one game was underway. When Drake stepped outside, he quickly shielded his eyes from the sun, not that it was overly bright, but he’d been dwelling in interior gloom for a few days.
A row of long, stepped benches stood off to his left, like the bleachers at an American football game. Men stood and sat along them, the higher their position the higher their standing in the prison. King of the hill mentality. A wrought iron outdoor gym sat in the far corner. A basketball court-cum-football pitch in the center. Many inmates lounged or walked around the exterior fence, staying away from the melee in the middle. Drake looked up and saw two occupied guard towers and a balcony attached to the prison wall, where more guards could patrol or lounge, as they did now. He walked to the right, staying close to the prison fence.
The football game continued, the men ignoring most of the rules. Groups congregated together on the bleachers, gangs designated by their prison tats. Loners circulated around the edges, staying watchful or handing out tiny plastic packets. Money changed hands. Drake was surprised to see Yorgi lounging up ahead and slowed down when he passed the thief.