Free The Blood King Conspiracy (Matt Drake 2) by David Leadbeater Page A

orchestrating the humiliation of the United States on its own soil.
    The SOG commander, Bradey, was alive and looking flabbergasted. He seemed to have lost control of his reasoning abilities. All he could say repeatedly was that someone had declared war against the U.S. military inside its own damn country.
    Who would have the resources? Drake wondered. Who would possess such audaciousness? There were people out there who could do it, and he betted that almost every one of them was currently trying to contact the CIA to assure them it wasn’t me.
    “All of DC will be involved in this now.” Hayden had said something, Drake fancied, just to shut Bradey and his rambling up. “And the device that was stolen? That's huge.”
    “I’ll say,” Ben agreed with her. “I just got off the phone with dad. He says it’s already hit Sky News. Jeremy Thompson looks gobsmacked.”
    “Poor old Jeremy,” Drake said. “One thing’s for sure though, if the Blood King now has the box, then he’s not going to waste any time before chasing after the controller.”
    “Everyone will,” Kinimaka said.
    Ben’s mobile sang out a Pretty Reckless song. He moved away to answer it. “Karin?”
    Drake ignored Hayden’s long look and muttered something about taking a leak. Kennedy was involved with a fallen marine. The man looked so young, lying there trying to look so tough, and all the while back in Montana or Alabama, or plain old Texas, his family were unaware that their son and brother and friend was sharing his final moments with a stranger.
    Drake disappeared below to check his mobile. He was right. Wells had tried him twice, Mai just the once. He hit ‘return’ and waited.
    “How ya doin’ pal? I’m betting you’re near that ship, am I right? The Drakester I knew never strayed far from a battle.”
    “Not by choice, Wellsy old chap,” Drake laid on the jabber. “What do you have for me?”
    “Ed Boudreau is a mercenary, plain and simple. The gentleman has all the usual accolades. Even more so now, since he just rammed it up the Yanks’ arses. I have a full dossier on the man, but squat-a-doodle-do on the person he works for.”
    “Nothing?” Drake could hardly believe it. “MI5. SAS. Her Majesty’s Secret Service. A dozen secret agencies and you have zilch?”
    By now the cold dread Drake had been experiencing, an emotion quite alien to him, was turning into something icier. “Who in God’s name is this Blood King?”
    “It’s an ongoing op, old pal.” Wells had waved the question and its sentiment away, clearly either not understanding or not wanting to hear the undertone in it. “Now look, . . . me and my Mai time refuse to be kept waiting much longer. How’d you like some company?”
    “You?” Drake coughed. “Why?”
    “Umm, expertise. Moral support. General fatherly brilliance. You know.”
    Drake was going to offer the standard Brit reply up yours , but their situation and what he already knew about the two devices gave him pause. “Do it,” he said after a moment. “Contact me when you get to Miami. I’ll let you know where we are.”
    “Excellent.” The connection went dead.
    Drake stared hard at the mobile, throat suddenly dry. He scrolled down and again clicked ‘return’.
    “I take it you are alive then, soldier boy.” The voice was like a feather’s touch on soft skin.
    “It’ll take much more than a rag-tag army to kill me.”
    “Your . . . friends?”
    He knew she meant well, but also knew the focus of her question revolved around Kennedy. “All good,” he said. “Any news?”
    “The Bermuda Triangle op . . . ” she launched straight into her spiel, “. . . was carried out by the CIA after an unidentified box was uplifted from the ocean depths. You know all the pirate details, I am sure. This op was sanctioned by the Director and classed as a Special Operation. Six of their best agents were teamed together.”
    She didn’t have to say four of whom are now dead.
    “The box