The Blood King Conspiracy (Matt Drake 2) Read Free

Blakey?”
    “Worst song of all time?” Kennedy bobbed her head with mock-seriousness. “I think so.”
    Drake snapped his fingers. “Maybe you could cover it on the new album?”
    Ben’s worried, blank face showed that he wouldn’t be placated lightly.
    Drake and Kennedy immediately began to make calls. Since the ‘Odin thing’ they both had access to some high level people, including the U.S Secretary of Defence’s aide, a weedy, geeky guy who always ran around with a briefcase that practically dwarfed him.
    As the phones rang and buzzed and lost signal they met each other’s eyes. Kennedy had been living with Drake for six weeks now, ever since the demise of Abel Frey. She had taken an extended vacation from the NYPD with a view to never going back. The couple were warily enjoying their time together, careful not to push the wrong buttons or scratch at any raw wounds.
    For now, none of them needed to work. There had been some quiet remuneration after they helped save the world. Ben was even looking at moving out and renting his own place, especially since his band, the Wall of Sleep, had picked up a recording contract on the back of his Odinic success; a development that held much juicy mileage for Matt and Kennedy.
    Drake got hold of Wells immediately. “Hey.”
    “You again.”
    “Missed me?”
    “Only in the field.”
    Drake paused. “I guess we never did get that Mai time, eh mate?”
    “I’m used to being let down, Drake . . . by you.”
    “Christ! Don’t be a pansy, Wells. Something big has come up.”
    “It might. If I got me some Mai time.”
    “Listen. It looks like a crack CIA team were . . .” Drake hesitated to repeat anything final. “hit today. In Miami. It happened a few minutes ago and I need details, Wells. Real fast.”
    The SAS Commander seemed to take an interest. “Really? OK, mate, I’ll make a call.”
    Drake was about to hit another number when Ben shouted again. He raced back into his lodger’s room, Kennedy a step behind.
    “Someone just burst in,” the young man was pointing at a black screen. “I heard voices, shouting. I heard real shock, Matt, as if someone got the shit scared out of them. Someone swore, and then I think the laptop was slammed shut.”
    “Can you Skype it?” Kennedy asked. “You know. Make it ring again.”
    Ben clicked a few buttons. Nothing happened. “The connection must have gone down.”
    Kennedy shook her head. “All we friggin’ need. Wait . . . Hi, is that Justin?”
    The Secretary of Defence’s aide was called Justin Harrison.
    Kennedy affirmed it was and hit him with the news. To the guy’s credit if he worked as fast as he walked they’d have answers in about five minutes.
    Drake sidled quietly out of the room and tried one last number. The phone was answered on the first ring.
    “Long time, my friend. Long, long time.” The voice that whispered in his ear was a memory of former, delicious days, sorely missed and revered.
    “Well, I thought I had retired.” Unconsciously he tried to clean his Yorkshire twang up to suit her cultured tones.
    “It will never end, Matt Drake. You should know that. It never ends for people like you and me.”
    “I know you’re in Florida.”
    “Hmm. How do you know that?”
    “I still have friends in the loop.” He tried to not to sound too defensive.
    “I’m sure. Is Mr Wells now a stalker as well as a pervert?”
    Drake winced. “To be honest, he’s always been a bit of both.”
    “Of course. Well, what do you need?”
    “It sounds stupid now. But have you . . .” he shook his head in embarrassment. “ . . . heard anything about the bloody Bermuda Triangle!”
    Her laugh was like the barely remembered sound of summer rain to his ears. God, he missed that sound. “I know the operation you are talking about. I know some things but not enough. Let me give you a call back.”
    “Brilliant.” He listened as she closed the connection. He closed his eyes, remembering. After a few