Brothers In Arms (Matt Drake Book 5) by Leadbeater David

Author:Leadbeater, David [Leadbeater, David]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2013-04-28T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

There was no comfort for Matt Drake. Not physically or mentally. His developing feelings for Mai were very much tempered by the self-hate and blame he nurtured for Kennedy’s death. Inner turmoil tore him apart, emotions ripping at his heart and his mind, making his stomach empty and his soul more than hollow.

The recent revelations about his old boss, Wells, weren’t helping. He found no closure in the fact that the man he had trusted and defended so long had turned out to be his enemy, and one of the catalysts behind the murder of Alyson and Emily—the car accident that ended their lives.

Arranged by an operative who went by the codename Coyote. Man or woman, group or corporation, they would pay. The Shadow Elite had paid dearly, but Drake knew even now it would be a mistake to think they were gone. The Shadow Elite had thrived for untold years by being part of a family. You didn’t destroy four families by chopping off their heads. It was the source that caused the festering, the root of the evil. And sometimes the root could be an entire network, or a single entity.

Some part of them still nestled in the shadows, spinning webs, he was sure.

And then he thought of Russell Cayman. The shadowy agent had not been heard of since he walked out of the third tomb of the gods carrying Kali’s bones. Was there a reason he had taken them? The Goddess Kali had been a manifestation of the worst kind of evil, sometimes associated with the Devil himself. It was interesting that Cayman chose her. And was he now being sheltered by what remained of the Shadow Elite? Didn’t really seem their style, but Drake assumed even they would have to restructure after losing their figureheads.

Now he jounced up and down in the covered-over bed of an old truck. Occasionally, either he or Romero lifted a flap of canvas and peered out, but the bleak, hilly brown and green landscape rarely altered. Sometimes they heard the sounds of workers toiling in the fields. Once when they looked out, a fine, drizzly mist had settled over everything. The man they had paid from the wedge of dollars in their packs had taken little persuading. This despite the harsh sentences handed out by the North Korean authorities to anyone helping Westerners, or indeed any of their own people who were caught trying to cross the border to China or repatriated as refugees. Most of these people faced harsh punishment, possibly torture and imprisonment in labor camps.

Still, many North Koreans escaped the impoverished country every day. The border might be well guarded, but desperate men always found a way.

Drake and Romero kept an eye on their driver, but every time they checked, all they received was a world-weary sigh from a face that was deeply creased by years of hardship and eyes that had long since forgotten what joy felt like. These were people born into toil, used and forgotten except by their own families.

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