But it was far from over. Dahl traded blow for blow with the African, both men standing toe to toe and refusing to back down. Kovalenko held a gun and fished a phone out of his pocket.
Just then, Bravo’s team leader barged down the last few steps of the escalator. His face beamed a bright shade of crimson.
“Late to the fuckin’ party,” Alicia murmured as she came up behind Dahl.
“Don’t you guys listen to your goddamn comms?”
“We’ve been kinda busy saving the President’s ass.”
“Well, do you remember Kovalenko’s other two teams? They also dropped into the underground a while back, through other Metro stations. No trains means empty tunnels. And they’re all converging here, now!”
Drake’s eyes widened and he risked a glance behind him, where a wide-open, empty platform led to the train tracks. Sure enough, men were starting to climb onto the platform. Kovalenko planned this?
Seconds to decide. What to do?
“And not only that,” Kovalenko said with a grin, having regained his composure and holding up his phone. “DC’s about to go boom.” He spoke into the phone. “Send in the drone!”
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
Soldiers pounded down the escalator.
Drake knew he only had seconds to weigh the options. The Blood King was right there, backing away slowly and with a confident grin stretched across his craggy face; his remaining two backup teams mere seconds away. President Coburn stood behind Dahl and Alicia, staying quiet for now, but already signaling to the descending soldiers that something was wrong.
Gabriel stood between Drake and the Blood King, bruised and bloody but none more so than Dahl, still with that manic grin stretched across his face. If anything, the wiry African looked even more delighted.
Drake pretended to wrestle with his inner self, but pure common sense dictated the right thing to do. America needed its President back in one piece — and the SPEAR team had helped to accomplish that. The Blood King would wait for another hour, another day.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said as Kovalenko backed away.
“The Blood Vendetta will never end. Not whilst I live. I have already ruined you, Drake. I have ruined my great enemy. I too look forward to the last act, dah?”
A clatter of grenades bounced across the floor, followed by a loud explosion. Debris erupted from the blast point, a small chunk slamming Drake in the vest and doubling him over, the jolt of pain so intense he could barely breathe. He fell to his knees, losing focus, but battled to stay conscious. Shouts sounded from all around. Shattered brick, timber and stone continued to rain down from the ruptured walls and surroundings.
Drake crawled forward, barely able to see two feet in front of him. His outstretched hand touched Alicia, who was kneeling and shaking her head. Beside her, Dahl sat as though in a daze. Drake slapped his face once, twice.
Dahl blinked and sighed. “That’s enough.”
Drake made it three times the charm, to Dahl’s annoyance. Alicia looked to be planning a fourth when Dahl rose carefully and slowly to his feet.
“Bollocks.”
Drake followed his gaze. The arched entrance to the train tracks was completely blocked off. The damage had been almost completely localized.
“One more failsafe for Kovalenko,” Drake said.
The President still stood, shoulders covered in dust and little bits of rubble, and shouted at the first soldier who reached the bottom of the escalator. “Warn them up top. Something’s about to hit. Warn them!” he shouted into the wavering soldier’s face. “Give them a chance!”
“Mr. President, my orders are for the sole—”
Coburn wrenched the man’s comms away. The Bravo team leader had already reported a possible strike, but the President’s voice would add immense potency to the threat. The rest of the soldiers surrounded the President, completely ignoring the Blood King’s mode of retreat, Drake, and his team.
Alicia eyed a man who shouldered by her. “You’re welcome.”
“They’re just doing their job.” Dahl steadied her. “Soldiers do that.”
“Let’s go.” Coburn threw the comms device back at the luckless soldier and started toward the ascending escalator. Drake watched him walk away, then turned again to track Kovalenko’s retreat.
“Bastard’s gone.”
Dahl came up beside him. “Op’s complete,” he said. “Time to go up top and find out what the hell’s happening up there.”
Drake reached for his phone. “And to call our friends.”
If anyone had had any conventional thoughts and plans about tracking and capturing Dmitry Kovalenko through the miles and miles of underground tunnels, junctions, cross-passages, old stations and rabbit warrens which snaked beneath Washington; if anyone had pointed out that the lack of running trains aided his escape; if anyone had realized that the team led by Mordant, his other lieutenant, would eventually meet with him, then those generally uninspired thoughts had been ripped to tatters by the time President Coburn saw the rising sun.
Smyth and many others saw the menace first, the UCAV, the Unmanned Combat Air Vehicle, rise up and swing in low across the heart of the city. If it had been near the White House, Capitol Hill, or other major buildings, it might have been shot down by their defenses, but it swooped in an arc over the Dupont Circle, then settled into an unwavering flight pattern.
Kovalenko would have known where the main forces and main players would be situated by now. Had he ever actually intended to take the President any further than this Metro station? Had he intended to kill him there? Conceal him in the blast? No one would ever know. Maybe Coburn’s death had been planned as the last act in the Blood Vendetta and the drone was a distraction technique.
Smyth had seen this kind of drone before, a US Hunter Killer. It operated under real-time human control, boasted a big payload capacity and hours of flight time. The subject of unmanned drones was a highly sensitive one, and this fiasco sure wasn’t going to help. Even the new ones, called ‘full autonomy’, which could think and learn for themselves, continued to rack up collateral damage in various war zones. If Kovalenko had somehow managed to get his hands on one he must have a mole inside the United States Air Force.
Not exactly the biggest surprise of the day. And, as Smyth knew, anything could be stolen. It just took the right minds and enough ruthless men.
Smyth watched with eyes that had seen it all before. These things used stealth technology and were able to deploy a range of munitions over a number of targets, all with surprising speed. It could defend itself against manned and other unmanned aircraft. It could deploy countermeasures to foil missiles. There was nothing he could do except watch and report.
“Is Hayden prepped?” He spoke directly to Karin.
“Ready to go. You’re on speakerphone.”
“I’d wait a while. This won’t last long, but Washington’s about to come under attack.”
Smyth ended the call as gasps of disbelief bombarded his ears.
Drake sprinted hard up the escalator, taking the metal risers two at a time. When he emerged from the shadow of the underground and reached the top, he found a station in chaos; the entrance leading to the street thick with soldiers, FBI agents, SWAT, almost every acronym Drake could think of, and plenty more that probably didn’t officially exist. The President was surrounded by a force of soldiers, and a small detachment of Secret Service agents were making their way to his side. Though 23rd Street was wide there was barely a space to be had between the Metro entrance and the Circa restaurant and Citibank across the road and along the road to the right that led deeper into the University area.