David Leadbeater - Weapons of the Gods

Alicia leaned against the bar, using the interminable wait for service to get a better feel for the place. Flashing lights shone overhead and were set into the walls. The small exterior dance floors were packed, people only managing to stay on the small squares by hanging onto the floor-to-ceiling dance poles. Two heavy, golden curtains covered a door at the end of the bar, and two more across the far side. Several nondescript doors marked Private were also dotted around.

“Help you?”

Alicia turned to see a friendly faced bartender staring at her. “Champagne,” she said. “All round.”

She hated the stuff but didn’t intend to drink it.

The mission parameters centered on the safe, not Mattheus, so the women drifted over toward the door that led to the criminal’s inner sanctum, glasses in hand. If the informant was correct, there would be men directly behind the door with another three or four sets positioned after that — guards for several rooms used in various nefarious operations, and then a comparatively snug, dingy office at the far end.

Of course, they weren’t here to deal with the safe.

They were here for Mattheus.

Strolling past the first door, they approached the golden curtain with its thick, overlapping folds. Two men stood in front of it, guns holstered but in clear view, watching the people on the dance floors and all those milling around. Their eyes were blank, like a shark’s; their faces could have been chiseled out of solid stone.

Alicia peered between them. “What’s in there?”

“Private room,” one grumbled. “Move on.”

Kenzie widened her eyes. “Oh, and how do we get an invite?”

“You don’t. Now get the fuck out of here.”

“I can be very persuasive…”

The man on the left gave her a hard stare whilst the man on the right moved a hand down to his gun. Mai dragged the women away, laughing.

“Take it easy,” she told them under the musical blast. “Just take it easy.”

Alicia found a corner and turned on Kenzie. “Jesus, girl. I can be very persuasive,” she mimicked. “What the fuck?”

To her credit, Kenzie hung her head. “It just came out. Total blooper.”

Mai checked her watch. “We have to think of something fast. The guys are gonna be knocking at the door in a few minutes.”

Alicia glance at the guards. “Plan B,” she said.

“Which is?” Mai looked blank and resigned to a new plan.

“Well, if my name were Kenzie it’d be to approach them naked.”

The Israeli scowled. “Do not tar me with that brush.”

“Why? Would you rather I used whipped cream?”

“Stop it,” Mai said. “Just get on with it.”

“It’s not hard to figure,” Alicia said, ignoring an obvious comment from Kenzie as she continued. “We wait for the boys to knock. In the commotion we grab Mattheus, or at least the part of him that we need.”

Mai took another glance down at her watch. “Four minutes,” she said.

“Best get ready to fight then.” Alicia couldn’t keep the grin off her face.

Drake drove the slate gray transit van through the dark streets of Thessaloniki, seeking out the quietest routes. They weren’t in danger, but wanted the route of the van to be as inconspicuous as possible. Getting the gear they needed hadn’t been easy. The van was stolen from Mattheus’s own cache of vehicles; the winch borrowed from a store downtown. The bolt gun came from a shop, bought and paid for, and as for the rest? Well, Cambridge certainly had to pull the most resourceful of strings down here and use up all the British government’s favors.

“Approaching Mattheus’s rear,” Luther said.

Drake shook his head. The American really needed to work on his delivery. The side street was pitch black, unpopulated and dotted with piles of rubbish that showed up in the van’s headlights. Even narrower, darker streets branched off to the sides as they crept along. Soon, Drake found the marker they’d placed earlier which denoted the place where Mattheus’s small office should be along the outer wall, according to the informant.

He pulled the van over to the curb and turned to Luther. “You’re up.”

“Keep your eyes peeled.”

Drake nodded, mostly listening as Luther set up their offensive. The big American muttered to himself as he worked, first checking the bolts that held the winch to the floor hadn’t shifted during the journey, and then the winch’s winding mechanism. Both were approved and then Luther jumped out, bald head gleaming from the lights that shone from Drake’s instrument cluster. With a powerful flashlight he measured back from the edge of the building and then marked out an oblong vertical shape on the wall with tape. Working fast, he’d finished by the time Drake checked his watch two minutes later.

“Wait,” Drake said.

“I haven’t set the charges yet, boy.”

Drake cringed at the moniker, but accepted it because he knew Luther wasn’t being disparaging. This was just the warrior’s personality taking over and, supposedly, part of his charm. Drake was on the fence about that one, but waited until Luther had set all of the specially shaped charges.

“Forty seconds,” he said.

“All good here. Just need the detonator.”

“Get around to the other side of the van.”

“Yeah, yeah, Ma, give me a second.”

“You don’t have a second.”

“It can’t go off whilst I’m holding it,” Luther hissed back, then added: “Said the vicar to the choirboy.”

He stomped around the side. Drake squeezed his eyes shut and wondered how he’d ended up here. His watch flashed and he called a “go,” but Luther was already on it, pressing the detonator button. There was a loud, but not booming explosion, and the side of the van was showered with rubble. Drake slithered over to the passenger seat as Luther came around the van, flashlight in hand, to view their handiwork.

“Not bad,” Luther said. “I’ve seen worse.”

Drake thought it was shoddy work, but didn’t comment. The brick wall that formed the back of Mattheus’s nightclub, and his office, now included a vertical four-foot-high hole. Bricks jutted here and there, still clinging on to the main wall, and mortar rained down. A pile of debris lay on the sidewalk. Luther cleared the excess away and then returned to the van. Drake jumped out with a fresh Smith and Wesson handgun at the ready. The van was still running, the lights switched off.

He imagined the chaos inside the nightclub. No matter the sound-deadening qualities of their explosive, the minute quantity of it or the way the charges had been shaped — an explosion was an explosion and easy to recognize.

Staying low, he scanned the street both ways and the buildings above. All lay in darkness. Nothing moved. Perhaps Luther had done a better job than he’d first thought.

“Fastening the chain.” Luther breathed heavily.

Drake stayed on watch but hissed back: “You okay? Need a sit down?”

“Fuck you, man.”

Luther took up the slack in the chain and carried it inside Mattheus’s office. A guard was dead inside and another on his knees, staring at the floor. Luther finished him quickly and propped the only chair left intact behind the inner door, securing it for a short while. It would have to do and they didn’t need long. Quickly, he looped the chain around the short safe and shackled it, then moved back to the truck and started the winch.

A grinding began that made Drake wince. The iron safe scraped across broken brick and mortar, shoving it out into the street as it came. Its edges collided with the wall, loosening even more bricks, but came through as the winch started to strain. Luther jumped out and straightened the safe, seeing it though the gap.