The Swords of Babylon (Matt Drake 6) Read Online Free PDF Page A

weapon behind the counter.
    It shouldn’t have surprised him, but when the three guards suddenly raced at him he blinked in shock. He was caught between them, a mouse in a very severe trap, and they were on him before he could even think.
    Drake went down, the three men above him. He did his best to block their kicks and punches, but several found a way through to the backs of his legs and spine. When the first baton strike landed , he squirmed in reflexive pain, making a slight gap for himself between one of the guard’s wide-open legs. Quickly, he scrambled through, rising instantly. The guards turned fast, but not nearly fast enough.
    Drake throat-punched the baton wielder, grabbed the weapon as it fell and smashed it across the next man ’s face. Then, with the ease born of a lifetime’s training, he killed the third whilst making sure the first two were incapacitated forever. A baton in each hand, he faced the oncoming prisoners.
    “You might get me,” he breathed. “But you ’ll pay fuckin’ dearly for it.”
    The prisoners came in a group. The first ended up with a broken wrist, staring at it stupidly as it dangled before him, clearly unable to process what had happened so fast. The next lost teeth, but pushed on anyway, spitting them to the ground in a spray of blood. Drake slipped to his left, wielding the batons in both hands, a constant scything flurry of pain. A Russian dropped to his knees, holding the top of his head, blood welling up between his fingers. Drake sent a baton spinning at his jawbone, broke it and moved quickly on.
    He sensed another at his back. The safe-zone was shrinking by the second. He spun and took the man out, but the forced action gave the others time to move in closer. When he spun back again, they were just feet away.
    Drake dropped the batons, resorting to hand-to-hand combat. As the inmates struck at him, he reared up, and saw a strange sight at the other side of the room.
    Another inmate, waving at him, beckoning that he follow. He mouthed the words I can help you. Drake knew it might be a trap, but it could hardly get any worse. He nodded and used the great burst of strength he was saving for a last stand to smash through the surrounding men. The inmate disappeared into what Drake remembered as the second room, the one with several exit doors. Drake leapt into space and ran hard, legs feeling as though they were on fire. Angry grunts filled the air behind him. How dare he spoil their fun?
    Drake swerved around the doorframe and into the room. The inmate stood across from him, peeking out from behind another door.
    “This way,” the man said in English, only slightly accented, and vanished. The second door led to a storage room, left open for the inmates presumably with Razin’s consent, piled high and racked out with spare blankets, overalls, boots and even coats. Drake followed his savior through the small room and out into a white-washed corridor.
    “Quick!”
    Several doors lay ahead. The inmate ran straight for the third on the right, slipping in without breaking stride. Drake hightailed it after him, ready for anything. But when he entered, all he saw was a pair of boots disappearing up into the ceiling.
    A face popped out. “Come on! Crazy Russians aren’t as slow as you think.”
    Drake took the proffered hands and allowed the man to pull him up into a narrow space. Then he crouched in the dark as a ceiling tile was replaced. Close together, they could barely see each other ’s features.
    “Don ’t move.”
    After only a few minutes, Drake heard the sound of pursuit. He saw nothing, but heard men shambling about below, searching the room. After a minute they moved on.
    “I think we’re safe now.”
    “Thank you. Why did you save my arse?”
    “Let us say I seized an opportunity when I saw one. I know your name. Mine is Yorgi.”
    Drake could make out little of the man in the gloom, but knew he was tall, thin and rangy. Most probably a lot stronger than he