The Blood King Conspiracy (Matt Drake 2) by David Leadbeater Page A
Authors: David Leadbeater
Ads: Link
reputation.
His men were well versed. They nodded respectfully at the mere flick of his head and scurried off to initiate the most terrible deed of the day.
On this quiet day, at least.
The Blood King took a few minutes to survey his kingdom. And it was a vast, sumptuous kingdom. Six hundred feet and fifteen thousand gross tons. An early-warning system. Laser shields. Armour plating. Helicopter hangar. Submarine dock. The list went on to the tune of $800 million.
But no matter. There was no record of the Stormbringer ever being commissioned, let alone constructed. No matter, its on-board mini-sub and tenders allowed the ‘crew’ access and egress without danger of being spotted, and its tendency to keep to unused waters kept its visibility low key. Even if it was seen in the occasional harbour, its outside was designed to look like a Super Yacht’s charter, something the mega-rich of Monaco or Dubai might rent for a few months at a time.
Occasionally he lost track of exactly who was on his ship. He employed a small army, literally, and a crew of hundreds. But again, no matter, he employed people he trusted to look after the banality of everyday life.
He pursued other interests.
Like now, for instance.
His men were dragging a half-starved Ukranian up from below decks. The Blood King let his lip curl in distaste. The prisoner wore little apart from tattered boxer shorts and a stinking blanket of filth. After so many days of imprisonment he’d lost the will to scream. All hope of escape or reprieve had well and truly deserted him.
The Blood King liked seeing desperation in a man’s eyes. The thrill came when his captive finally understood he was about to die. After that it was the gloating, and then moments of pleasure when the Blood King watched the man’s blood wash across his shoes.
The Blood King lifted an eyebrow. A lackey brought today’s weapon of choice - a good old-fashioned broadsword. No doubt priceless. No doubt ancient. But still something that would rest at the bottom of the ocean in about ten minutes.
“Here.” He drew an imaginary line with the point of the sword. His men dragged the prisoner forward, carefully placing his knees exactly where the Blood King demanded.
Voice deep and rough, accent unblemished from untold years of being away from his mother country, the Blood King asked the prisoner if he had had a good life; if he missed his family, his children. If he hoped one day to see them again, in heaven.
The blank, broken look turned immediately into recollection and regret. Into hope. A momentary spirit galvanised the prisoner and he started to have thoughts about moving. Then the Blood King severed his dirty head from his dirty shoulders and he thought no more.
Thick blood washed the decks.
“One a day, every day, forever,” the Blood King grunted. “Tomorrow we will spin the Vodka bottle again. Let some of them have their hope.”
He turned to study the far, purple mountains, the dead man and the horrendous deed already forgotten. “It will be but brief.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The flight from Nassau to Kingston, Jamaica, took a couple of hours. Upon landing Drake received a call from Wells. The SAS commander had no new information whatsoever and Drake found himself wondering if the guy was fishing.
“Look, sir,” he found it hard to give up old habits, “either you’ve been told to pump me for information or you’ve heard something and want in. Either way, just ask.”
“You know I keep tabs on the Japanese chatter,” Wells admitted, then went quiet.
Drake sighed. “Yes, she’s coming.” He filed with the others into passport control. “Look, I’m going to have to go now. I guess I’ll be seeing you soon?”
“Just try to keep me away.” And the line went dead, leaving Drake wondering how, with all this amazing technology around, the great secret of the Blood King still remained.
Half an hour later and they were well on their way through
His men were well versed. They nodded respectfully at the mere flick of his head and scurried off to initiate the most terrible deed of the day.
On this quiet day, at least.
The Blood King took a few minutes to survey his kingdom. And it was a vast, sumptuous kingdom. Six hundred feet and fifteen thousand gross tons. An early-warning system. Laser shields. Armour plating. Helicopter hangar. Submarine dock. The list went on to the tune of $800 million.
But no matter. There was no record of the Stormbringer ever being commissioned, let alone constructed. No matter, its on-board mini-sub and tenders allowed the ‘crew’ access and egress without danger of being spotted, and its tendency to keep to unused waters kept its visibility low key. Even if it was seen in the occasional harbour, its outside was designed to look like a Super Yacht’s charter, something the mega-rich of Monaco or Dubai might rent for a few months at a time.
Occasionally he lost track of exactly who was on his ship. He employed a small army, literally, and a crew of hundreds. But again, no matter, he employed people he trusted to look after the banality of everyday life.
He pursued other interests.
Like now, for instance.
His men were dragging a half-starved Ukranian up from below decks. The Blood King let his lip curl in distaste. The prisoner wore little apart from tattered boxer shorts and a stinking blanket of filth. After so many days of imprisonment he’d lost the will to scream. All hope of escape or reprieve had well and truly deserted him.
The Blood King liked seeing desperation in a man’s eyes. The thrill came when his captive finally understood he was about to die. After that it was the gloating, and then moments of pleasure when the Blood King watched the man’s blood wash across his shoes.
The Blood King lifted an eyebrow. A lackey brought today’s weapon of choice - a good old-fashioned broadsword. No doubt priceless. No doubt ancient. But still something that would rest at the bottom of the ocean in about ten minutes.
“Here.” He drew an imaginary line with the point of the sword. His men dragged the prisoner forward, carefully placing his knees exactly where the Blood King demanded.
Voice deep and rough, accent unblemished from untold years of being away from his mother country, the Blood King asked the prisoner if he had had a good life; if he missed his family, his children. If he hoped one day to see them again, in heaven.
The blank, broken look turned immediately into recollection and regret. Into hope. A momentary spirit galvanised the prisoner and he started to have thoughts about moving. Then the Blood King severed his dirty head from his dirty shoulders and he thought no more.
Thick blood washed the decks.
“One a day, every day, forever,” the Blood King grunted. “Tomorrow we will spin the Vodka bottle again. Let some of them have their hope.”
He turned to study the far, purple mountains, the dead man and the horrendous deed already forgotten. “It will be but brief.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The flight from Nassau to Kingston, Jamaica, took a couple of hours. Upon landing Drake received a call from Wells. The SAS commander had no new information whatsoever and Drake found himself wondering if the guy was fishing.
“Look, sir,” he found it hard to give up old habits, “either you’ve been told to pump me for information or you’ve heard something and want in. Either way, just ask.”
“You know I keep tabs on the Japanese chatter,” Wells admitted, then went quiet.
Drake sighed. “Yes, she’s coming.” He filed with the others into passport control. “Look, I’m going to have to go now. I guess I’ll be seeing you soon?”
“Just try to keep me away.” And the line went dead, leaving Drake wondering how, with all this amazing technology around, the great secret of the Blood King still remained.
Half an hour later and they were well on their way through
Similar Books
