gunman. It’s still too early to speculate on—”
Smyth stared at the radio as if he could will it into submission. “Is this right? It could only have just happened.”
Karin handed Kinimaka back his cell and shifted to dig her own phone out of her jeans pocket. “This is the Blood King,” she said. “It’s the Blood Vendetta. When we learned of the riot earlier, I wondered about it. But there were no reports of any prisoners escaping. So either he has full communications working on the inside and has been orchestrating this thing for months, or he’s free.”
Kinimaka ’s eyes were huge. “Or both.”
Silence reigned in the car as Kinimaka and Karin both pressed speed dial numbers on their cell phones and listened to the dreadful, ominous drone of unanswered ringtones.
CHAPTER NINE
Matt Drake glared at Torsten Dahl across the beer-stained table.
“Face it, mate, you’re English. Everyone thinks you’re English. You sound English. You act English. Maybe not a Yorkshireman.” Drake shrugged. “But nobody’s perfect.”
Dahl threw back the last of his pint. “So you think I’m almost perfect?”
“Didn ’t say that,” Drake pointed out as he sipped at a Pepsi Max. He glanced around. The quiet pub they’d entered half an hour ago had become decidedly busy in the last five minutes. Couples crowded the bar. Some were shouting. Others sat staring into space. Drake picked up on the air of shock and disbelief.
“What the hell ’s going on over there?”
But Dahl was like a dog with a bone. “Do you think Mai’s perfect?”
Drake flicked his attention back to the Swede. “What?”
“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Mai upped and left and wouldn’t take you with her.”
“Is that why you invited me here? To talk? Shit, I coulda been watching prime time.”
“You know exactly why I invited you,” Dahl said quietly. “You’re pissed off with her. But, mate, I have to say . . . she knows what she’s doing. If she wants to do something alone, neither you, me, or the entire Swedish Special Forces can stand in her way.”
Drake chortled. “ The Swedish Special Forces couldn’t catch an escaped monkey, let alone handle Mai.”
D ahl took the barb with a fixed smile. “Don’t be pissed off at her. It’s obviously something she has to do.”
“Heard that before,” Drake said. “Doesn’t mean it’s right.”
Dahl shrugged. “Well, matey, it doesn ’t mean it’s wrong either.”
Drake stared into his glass for a moment, ignoring the rising noise around them. “Honestly? It’s the danger she’s willingly walking into. These wankers who think they own her . . . they’re worse than the fucking Yakuza. Far worse.”
“We should be with her .” Dahl sat back. “I agree. Look, if she does this her way, she’s free. If she doesn’t, it will never end.”
“You missed the option where she ’s dead.”
Dahl looked away, not wanting to push the issue of Drake and his woman. For the first time, the tumult around them registered on his radar. He sniffed the air. “I smell trouble.”
Drake nodded and slipped off his chair. Together the two men drifted closer to the bar, joining the ever -increasing crowd.
What they saw shocked them to the core. Drake felt his mouth dry up instantly, and found he couldn ’t move a muscle. Dahl’s gasp of disbelief was audible.
The picture on the TV screen was an aerial view of central Washington DC. The Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial shone, and then the view centered in. Flashing lights, black vans, and cop cars jammed the display. An inset showed a portrait of their boss, Jonathan Gates, and the red ticker across the bottom spelled out the words: Secretary of Defense killed in Washington DC.
Drake backed away , fighting off a black cloud which threatened to overwhelm his vision. He turned to Dahl, but found that the words just would not come. Their eyes locked and expressed all that needed to be said.
Dahl
Smyth stared at the radio as if he could will it into submission. “Is this right? It could only have just happened.”
Karin handed Kinimaka back his cell and shifted to dig her own phone out of her jeans pocket. “This is the Blood King,” she said. “It’s the Blood Vendetta. When we learned of the riot earlier, I wondered about it. But there were no reports of any prisoners escaping. So either he has full communications working on the inside and has been orchestrating this thing for months, or he’s free.”
Kinimaka ’s eyes were huge. “Or both.”
Silence reigned in the car as Kinimaka and Karin both pressed speed dial numbers on their cell phones and listened to the dreadful, ominous drone of unanswered ringtones.
CHAPTER NINE
Matt Drake glared at Torsten Dahl across the beer-stained table.
“Face it, mate, you’re English. Everyone thinks you’re English. You sound English. You act English. Maybe not a Yorkshireman.” Drake shrugged. “But nobody’s perfect.”
Dahl threw back the last of his pint. “So you think I’m almost perfect?”
“Didn ’t say that,” Drake pointed out as he sipped at a Pepsi Max. He glanced around. The quiet pub they’d entered half an hour ago had become decidedly busy in the last five minutes. Couples crowded the bar. Some were shouting. Others sat staring into space. Drake picked up on the air of shock and disbelief.
“What the hell ’s going on over there?”
But Dahl was like a dog with a bone. “Do you think Mai’s perfect?”
Drake flicked his attention back to the Swede. “What?”
“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Mai upped and left and wouldn’t take you with her.”
“Is that why you invited me here? To talk? Shit, I coulda been watching prime time.”
“You know exactly why I invited you,” Dahl said quietly. “You’re pissed off with her. But, mate, I have to say . . . she knows what she’s doing. If she wants to do something alone, neither you, me, or the entire Swedish Special Forces can stand in her way.”
Drake chortled. “ The Swedish Special Forces couldn’t catch an escaped monkey, let alone handle Mai.”
D ahl took the barb with a fixed smile. “Don’t be pissed off at her. It’s obviously something she has to do.”
“Heard that before,” Drake said. “Doesn’t mean it’s right.”
Dahl shrugged. “Well, matey, it doesn ’t mean it’s wrong either.”
Drake stared into his glass for a moment, ignoring the rising noise around them. “Honestly? It’s the danger she’s willingly walking into. These wankers who think they own her . . . they’re worse than the fucking Yakuza. Far worse.”
“We should be with her .” Dahl sat back. “I agree. Look, if she does this her way, she’s free. If she doesn’t, it will never end.”
“You missed the option where she ’s dead.”
Dahl looked away, not wanting to push the issue of Drake and his woman. For the first time, the tumult around them registered on his radar. He sniffed the air. “I smell trouble.”
Drake nodded and slipped off his chair. Together the two men drifted closer to the bar, joining the ever -increasing crowd.
What they saw shocked them to the core. Drake felt his mouth dry up instantly, and found he couldn ’t move a muscle. Dahl’s gasp of disbelief was audible.
The picture on the TV screen was an aerial view of central Washington DC. The Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial shone, and then the view centered in. Flashing lights, black vans, and cop cars jammed the display. An inset showed a portrait of their boss, Jonathan Gates, and the red ticker across the bottom spelled out the words: Secretary of Defense killed in Washington DC.
Drake backed away , fighting off a black cloud which threatened to overwhelm his vision. He turned to Dahl, but found that the words just would not come. Their eyes locked and expressed all that needed to be said.
Dahl
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