Kinimaka indicated the pile of hard drives. “These idiots did our job for us. We take the drives. Let’s see what Jonathan compiled first. And maybe…” He paused and tapped at his phone.
Smyth narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“Give me a minute. Hi, this is Agent Kinimaka.” He reeled off a set of security codes, finally being put through to an inner switchboard. “Find Lauren Fox on a secure line for me,” he said.
Smyth looked interested. “The hooker?”
“She’s not a hooker.” Kinimaka said without thinking, then clicked his tongue loudly. “Well she is a hooker. But she’s our hooker. Ergo — she’s not a hooker.”
“Fuck me. I have no idea what you just said. Is that a Hawaiian proverb, man?”
Kinimaka blinked, remembering Hayden asking him the same thing once before during their original encounter with the Blood King. “I don’t do proverbs, Smyth. I’m saying Lauren is part of the team so leave her alone.”
“Oh, right. Well, next time just spit it out, okay?”
Kinimaka tuned him out as Lauren came on the line. “Listen,” he said quickly. “We’re secure, so speak freely. Jonathan once asked you to spy on… somebody. You didn’t do it. Is the window still open?”
He knew the line was secure, but this was a source currently inside the Pentagon he was calling, after all.
Lauren didn’t reply for a while. Kinimaka could hear her breathing. “I think so,” she said at length. “At the time I thought not. But he hasn’t stopped calling, trying to set something up. I’m pretty confident that my cover wasn’t blown.”
“Pretty confident?” Kinimaka said doubtfully.
“That’s what I said.”
“You believe you can set something up?”
“You mean — set him up?”
“That’s what I mean.”
“Hey, I’m a New York girl. I got confidence coming outta my ears, Mano. Come by the Pentagon sometime. We’ll talk.”
“Sounds good.”
Kinimaka punched the end button and surveyed the room. “Let’s get this thing started.”
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Matt Drake faced off with Torsten Dahl. Mai faced up to Alicia. The air in the hotel lobby was electric, the tension a living, breathing animal with teeth and claws.
If they refused to fight, twelve civilians would be blown up and then Coyote and her men would barricade the half-full church and set it on fire. Then they would start going door to door with RPGs.
The army incursion wouldn’t make it in time. Karin hadn’t been heard from. Same story with Crouch.
The tournament was still on.
Drake nodded to Dahl. “Smile for the camera whilst I thump you into next week.”
The Swede didn’t look impressed. “Is that a Yorkshire way of saying you’re scared?”
Drake threw a punch he knew would be deflected, struck out with a series of martial arts moves he knew would be defended. Dahl came back at him, gaining a punch to the arm and a bruise on the thigh. Drake doubled him over, but allowed him to fall back. To their right Mai and Alicia performed a similar dance, making it look good, but taking very little damage.
Within a few minutes the sugary tomes that would haunt Drake for the rest of his life drifted through the lobby.
“Stop pussyfooting around, boys and girls. This is where it gets real. I want to see some blood and guts or the next sound you hear will be Mr. John Featherstone’s scream as his body parts have a disagreement and split. You hear me?”
Drake glared around the vast lobby. “We’re out of options, folks. Her bloody computer guy has eyes and ears everywhere.” He shook his head, remembering the band attached to his wrist. “Even monitoring our heartbeats.”
“That’s right,” Coyote said just to drive her point home. “How exciting. My money’s on the big Swede.”
“I dunno.” Alicia dropped into defensive mode. “I’m still fancying Beauregard.”
Mai smirked. “The tights again?”
“It was in my face.” Alicia grinned.
Mai blitzed her, employing several blows that brought her in close, then used elbows before spinning back out again. Alicia spluttered and held a hand up to her face. “Damn, if that turns into another black eye, you’re history, Sprite.”
“More like it,” Coyote said sweetly. “And the men?”
Drake feinted and ducked, slamming a hard right into Dahl’s midriff. The Swede’s muscles were flexed, absorbing the blow. He stepped away and then came right back with a push-kick, surprising Drake and bruising ribs. The Yorkshireman threw caution to the wind, getting stuck in, and ran at his unlikely opponent, catching him around the waist in a bear hug and driving him backward.
Dahl’s clenched fists crashed down onto his exposed back with a blow that would have felled a charging raptor. Drake’s teeth clenched but he kept on pushing, the momentum driving him on, until he slammed Dahl into the wall that supported the staircase. The whole side of the structure juddered, plaster cracked, and there was the sound of splitting timbers.
Dahl grunted.
Drake stepped away, ducking as a fist whistled past his ear. Dahl somehow managed to grip one of the staircase’s spindles just above his head and used it to gain leverage, kicking out and connecting with Drake’s chest.
“Oof!”
Coyote’s clapping echoed around the lobby.
Mai drove Alicia back against the reception desk, then ducked under a flurry of blows, raised the Englishwoman up, and deposited her hard on the polished surface. Cracks raced away to all sides like a crazy spider web. Alicia swiveled and slipped off, falling to her knees and striking low. Mai found her impetus upset and stepped aside, ready to drive again. Alicia jumped back up onto the desk in order to gain the high ground then yelled in surprise as it collapsed around her.
Fractured sheets of wood fell inward. The front of the desk collapsed. Alicia disappeared amidst the destruction, leaving Mai staring in disbelief.
Drake took a step and launched a high front kick at the Swede’s chest, determined to stay on par. The blow was blocked but the force of it sent Dahl back against the staircase. This time the entire wall cracked. A hole appeared behind the Swede, revealing a dark space where the staircase’s supports lived. Without thought, Drake strove to keep the Swede on the back foot, hitting him again and again around the chest — not the face or other vital areas — and driving him even deeper into the fissure.
Off balance, Dahl pinwheeled backward, striking support after support, smashing the timbers apart. Drake heard the staircase coming down before he saw it, but by then it was too late. The structure began to tumble down around him.
“Shit!”
Drake hit the deck, covering the back of his head with his hands. He heard Dahl grunting about dumb northerners somewhere among the collapsing construction up ahead. A heavy chunk of six connected risers smashed down inches from his feet. The main staircase almost seemed to slide off its moorings, slipping out into the lobby and leaving a spindly carcass behind. In the darkness near the back wall something sparked; a circuit blowing or shorting. Tiny flames flared into life.
Drake coughed and looked up. Dahl stood before him.
“Dickhead.”
The Swede reached down with huge arms. Drake knew exactly what was coming but couldn’t react in time. A second later he felt himself pulled up and lifted into the air; then he was in mid-flight, enjoying the air-time but not looking forward to the landing. He smashed down amidst a great splintering, remembering that there’d been a low wooden table where he now lay.