Desperate Ground

by L J Morris

  McGill lowered his binoculars and shook his head. He’d seen the guard approach the bungalow but was unable to do anything about it. They’d got away with it this time, next time they might not be so lucky. From now on, he’d make sure he had all his kit with him. If anyone got that close again he’d take them out and get Ali away from there. She was more important to him than any mission MI6 wanted her for.

  * * *

  By sundown, McGill was back at the compound watching the guards through the green tint of his night vision goggles. The two men he’d seen during the day were now sitting outside the barn smoking, and drinking Tequila. They must have decided, with the boss away, it was time to kick back and relax. It would make searching the barn easier, no need to create a diversion or take the guards out, just wait for them to drink themselves unconscious.

  He picked a spot in the fence, away from the cameras, and climbed over. He knew no one was watching, but old habits die hard. He kept low and approached the barn from the rear, out of sight of the guards. As he got closer, he dropped to a crawl and moved until he was within feet of the two men. He could hear them talking, Russian, Polish, it definitely sounded Eastern European, but he wasn’t great with languages. Ali would know. She was fluent in a couple – another one of her strong points.

  He watched for a short while to make sure the Russians weren’t about to go on an impromptu patrol. One of them refreshed his tequila while the other lit up whatever it was they were smoking. It wasn’t tobacco; McGill could tell that much from the smell that drifted towards him. They were too close to the barn for Sinclair to just walk in and start searching, but it didn’t look like they had any intention of patrolling anything. At least it would be easier to move around the rest of the property without being spotted.

  McGill made his way round the back of the barn and over to the main house. The only light was coming from Sinclair’s bedroom but he knew she wasn’t in there.

  Sinclair had moved into position as soon as it was dark. She was crouched behind a trellis attached to the outside of the house. There was no moonlight but the light she’d left on in her room was enough that she could make out the outline of anyone approaching – before they saw her. She was dressed in a black tracksuit, T-shirt and beanie hat. She couldn’t be seen with the naked eye but McGill’s goggles gave him the edge and he could see her in the shadows. He checked in every direction then used a small torch to flash a signal.

  Sinclair saw the light flash three times and realised that McGill had sneaked up without her seeing him, he was good at that, she should have expected it. She moved out of the shadows and quickly joined him next to the bungalow. ‘Jesus, Frank, how do you do that?’

  ‘Didn’t you know? I’m a ninja.’

  Sinclair smiled. ‘Owning a pair of black pyjamas doesn’t make you a ninja.’

  ‘That’s rich coming from someone dressed as Catwoman.’

  She looked down at her outfit. ‘It was all I could find. Anyway, what’s the plan for tonight?’

  McGill motioned towards the barn. ‘The two Ivans have decided to have a little party out front. With the amount of tequila they’ve downed, and shit they’ve smoked, we’ll get plenty of warning if they decide to come looking.’

  Sinclair nodded. ‘What’s the best way in?’

  ‘There’s a window open at the back. It’s small but you’ll get through it. I’ll go round the front and keep an eye on the Ivans.’ He handed her a small radio with an earpiece attached. ‘If they move I’ll let you know.’

  Sinclair took the radio and slipped it in the top pocket of her shirt. ‘Okay, let’s get this done and we can go home.’

  ‘Sounds good to me, Ali.’ McGill put on his goggles and led the way back to the barn. ‘Give me a couple of minutes to get in position. I’ll give you one click on the radio when it’s clear. Be careful.’

  ‘You too, Frank.’

  McGill moved quickly along the side of the barn and lay down next to the front corner. He slid forwards just enough to see where the guards were sitting. They hadn’t moved, one was trying to relight his spliff and the other looked asleep. McGill got out his radio and pressed the push-to-talk button once.

  Sinclair heard the single click in her ear, time to go. The window was only open a couple of inches but that was enough for her to check for any alarm sensors. She looked from every angle but couldn’t see any cables. Windows like this would normally have a contact switch but, as this one was already open, she was pretty sure it didn’t have one. She looked into the room for any telltale flashing lights from infrared sensors but couldn’t see any of those either. Even if there were any fitted, she doubted the guards would have switched them on. She slid her hand through the opening, unhooked the latch and opened the window all the way.

  The room on the other side was some kind of workshop. Various tools hung from the wall, on either side of the window, with a workbench underneath. Two metal racks on the opposite wall held a collection of cardboard boxes alongside containers of detergent and rolls of duct tape. At least she didn’t have to worry about being seen while she was halfway through the window. She grabbed hold of the frame and, after one last look outside, climbed in.

  Sinclair got down on her knees and looked under the workshop door. She could make out a dim light at the other end of the barn but saw no obvious movement. She checked for cables and sensors in the same way she had for the window and, again, found nothing. She gripped the handle and turned it. The door opened with a quiet click.

  The main part of the barn was one big space that looked like a cross between a car mechanic’s garage and a groundsman’s hut. There were gardening tools and a ride-on lawnmower, a golf buggy in pieces, and two cars covered with tarpaulins. Part of the far end had been cleared and resembled a dormitory. There were two rows of collapsible camp beds, a television and a coffee pot. Sitting between the two rows of camp beds was a table with four chairs. The table had various magazines strewn across it, along with a pack of cards and a chessboard. A small fridge humming away in the corner completed the facilities; it reminded her of some of the army accommodation in Afghanistan.

  A portable light had been set up by the main door, and to her right was a steel staircase that led up to a second level that was directly above the workshop. There was light coming through the steel mesh above her, it was dimmer and flickering, it must be where the cameras were monitored. That was the riskiest place to search but, by the look of the rest of the barn, the most likely to hold information. A single click on her radio and the reply from McGill meant the guards were still outside. She climbed the steel stairs and crouched down behind the guardrail.

  There were two rooms on the second level: one that housed a row of monitors for the security system, and a second room set up as an office. Keeping below the level of the guard rail, she crawled into the office and closed the glass door behind her.

  The desk in the office had three drawers full of the usual office junk: broken pens, stapler, Post-it notes. On top of the desk were a phone, notepad with several pages torn out, and a copy of the map that she had found in the main house. She scanned the rest of the office and found a waste basket with four pages from the notepad screwed up in it. She picked them all out and sealed them in a plastic bag, which she placed in her pocket.

  There was even less in the monitoring room: two chairs in front of a bench that held four black and white monitors. No notepads or waste basket to look at and no drawers to search – she’d found everything there was to find, time to leave.

  Back on the ground level, she went as close as she dared to the front of the barn but couldn’t see anything interesting. It was obvious that Bazarov kept any important information either with him or in his head. She wouldn’t find anything more unless she spoke to Jo, but that was dangerous. If Quinn was heavily involved in whatever the Russian was planning, confiding in her would be suicidal.

  Sinclair made her way to the workshop and climbed through the window, putting it back on th
e latch as it had been when she’d got there. She gave two clicks on her radio to signal to McGill that she was clear and within a few minutes he was standing beside her. ‘How did you get on?’

  ‘Not much in there, they’re using it as accommodation for Bazarov’s army. I don’t like the look of it, he’s gearing up for something big. These guys are all mercenaries.’

  McGill nodded. ‘There are too many of them to be just for security. Did you find anything useful?’

  ‘Just these.’ She handed him the four pieces of screwed up paper that she had picked up from the waste basket. ‘They might have something on them. I didn’t get a chance to look.’

  ‘I’ll get copies to Carter, he can check them out and decide what happens next. You need to tell Quinn you’re leaving. You’ve done all you can.’

  ‘If I could talk to Jo about it I’d find out what’s really going on.’

  McGill shook his head. ‘Too risky. If she’s in on it, you’d be blowing your own cover.’

  Sinclair held up her hands. ‘I know, I know. Let’s just see if there’s anything on those scraps of paper first, then I’ll start making excuses to leave.’ She handed McGill the radio and set off back to the house.

  Both guards had slept right through most of Sinclair’s incursion into the barn but one of them now stirred from his drink and drug induced stupor and rubbed his eyes. His buddy was still asleep so he took a quick swig from the tequila bottle and walked to the side of the barn to ease the pressure in his bladder.

  As the guard was refastening his trousers, he saw someone moving from the barn towards the house. There was no one else here, only the woman who was staying in the house. What was she up to? Walking as steadily as his drunken body would allow, he stumbled after her.

  McGill stayed where he was and watched Sinclair heading for the bungalow. He heard a noise off to his right, stood back against the wall and watched as the guard appeared from the corner of the barn and set off in pursuit of Ali.

  The night vision goggles gave McGill a perfect view of what was happening. The guard followed Sinclair’s path to begin with then veered off through the line of bushes and sped up. His course would intercept hers at the pool. McGill wasn’t worried about staying quiet, and sacrificed stealth for speed. Catching up to the guard was more important.

  Sinclair rounded the bungalow and drew level with the pool when the Russian voice shouted at her, ‘Don’t move.’

  She froze; she wasn’t in a position to do anything else, the guard was at the other side of the pool with a handgun levelled at her head. She couldn’t rush him and she didn’t have a weapon of her own. All she could do was put her hands on her head and turn to face him.

  The guard had one eye closed as he tried to focus on her. ‘Turn around and walk backwards over to me.’

  Sinclair did as she was told. As she moved she looked to try and find something to help her out of this, but there was nothing. Her only option was to attack as soon as she was in striking distance.

  The guard stepped towards her. ‘Stop. On your knees.’

  He was three metres from her and well outside her range. Even though the guard was drunk he still knew what he was doing.

  ‘Now, lie down, put your hands behind your back and cross your legs.’

  Sinclair looked over her shoulder; if she didn’t attack now she was as good as dead.

  ‘Do it now.’

  The guard barked the order but Sinclair had seen movement behind the bungalow. A black-clad figure burst out of the shadows; the guard tried to spin round and aim his weapon but McGill had already closed the gap between them. He drove his shoulder hard into the Russian’s ribcage and knocked him to the ground. The guard’s head slammed into the concrete and their momentum took them both into the pool.

  Sinclair looked into the water but could only see a dark outline of the two men against the white tiles, there was no way to tell what was going on. She picked up the handgun the guard had lost when he was hit and dropped to one knee, checking all around her, she had to watch Frank’s back.

  The guard broke the surface and Sinclair took aim but quickly realised that he was no longer a threat. He wasn’t moving, he was floating, face down, with a cloud of blood spreading out from the ragged gash in the back of his head. McGill appeared at the side of the pool, coughing and spitting out some of the water he’d swallowed.

  ‘You okay, Frank?’

  ‘Yeah, he didn’t fight me for long. I think the head wound had finished him already.’ He climbed out of the pool and looked over at the dead guard. ‘We need to get out of here, before this job turns into more of a cluster-fuck than it already is.’

  ‘I’m not leaving Jo on her own to face the shitstorm this’ll cause, she needs our help.’

  McGill grabbed Sinclair’s arm and moved her into the shadow of the bungalow. The last thing they needed was for the other guard to show up and catch them out in the open. ‘If we hide the body, they’ll know something’s wrong and we’re fucked. If we leave it here, they’ll know something’s wrong and we’re fucked. You can’t stay, this changes everything.’

  ‘Look, Frank, being undercover is what I do best, you know that. I can deny all knowledge and play the dumb blonde. “How terrible, a guard got drunk and fell in the pool, poor man.” They’ll buy it.’

  McGill didn’t like it. ‘And if they don’t?’

  ‘Whatever Bazarov is up to he needs Jo. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here. She’s on the verge of a breakdown, killing me would tip her over the edge and mess up his plans.’

  ‘You’re taking a hell of a gamble.’

  ‘I can take care of myself. Besides, Carter needs time to analyse any data without Bazarov knowing we’re on to him.’

  Sinclair was right, as usual, but McGill still wasn’t happy about it. ‘If there’s even a hint that Bazarov knows who you are, get the hell out.’

  She squeezed his shoulder. ‘I will.’

  McGill watched until Sinclair was back in the house, threw the guards weapon into the pool and left.

  * * *

  Back at the camper McGill checked his watch. The quicker he got the intell to Carter, the quicker they could pull out of there. He opened the plastic bag and emptied the four scraps of paper onto the table. He opened them up and flattened them out as much as he could. The first three showed nothing, just scribbles and doodles – the kind of thing people do absentmindedly while on the phone. There was nothing he could make sense of but he copied them anyway; they might mean something to the analyst back in London.

  The fourth scrap was much more interesting. Amongst the random scribbles were three words: Kraken, Apocalypse, and Lone Star. Kraken was the same word written on the map Ali had found, the codename for the missile system. Apocalypse didn’t sound good, could be another codename, the American military did like to use dramatic sounding names for things. The third word, Lone Star, he’d seen written all over the place in Texas – The Lone Star State. It had a six-figure number next to it, which could be anything from a telephone number to a grid reference. He photographed it and sent an anonymous email over his satellite phone to Carter in London. There was a six-hour time difference, Carter could get to work straight away while McGill kept an eye on Sinclair.

  Chapter 9

  Simeon Carter didn’t make it to his bed most nights, preferring to snatch a few hours in front of the hotel’s TV. He was always the same when he had operatives in the field, caring too much to sleep well while they were at the sharp end. He was woken by a beep from the phone beside his chair. He picked it up and swiped his finger across its fingerprint scanner. An icon on the screen blinked, he had a message from Frank. He opened up his laptop and clicked on the attachments. They didn’t look like much, just scraps, but in the past he’d seen thrown away pieces of paper jeopardise some of the Cold War’s biggest operations. Danny needed to see these. He had the background information to decide if the words on the paper were significant or just random scribbles. Carter selected
the email and forwarded it to a third anonymous account, writing one word in the subject line: Broadsword.

  Danny Kinsella put down his coffee cup next to the keyboard on his desk. He looked at the six screens laid out in front of him that he used to access and monitor multiple networks simultaneously. He didn’t have a desktop computer like most people. He had installed a professional grade rack of processors and servers in his flat to allow him to do all his work from there. The equipment was water cooled and the room air-conditioned for optimum temperature. He lived in the penthouse of his block so didn’t have to worry about neighbours beside or above him. He had the floor soundproofed to block out anything being heard from the floor below and had the room screened to block out all radio signals. No one could eavesdrop on anything he was doing.

  He had several software applications to mask and fake his identity – he routinely routed his traffic through servers in other countries and utilised the Tor network for maximum anonymity. Even government agencies couldn’t track him down.

  He accessed the disposable email address he’d created and opened the pictures Simeon had sent him. He processed the first three through software that would look for patterns in the seemingly random lines and swirls, but he didn’t expect to find anything. He opened the fourth and immediately recognised Kraken as the word on the map. They already knew that was the code name for the missile system.

  He’d identified the map as an island that belonged to QRL Global. Leatherback Cay sat in the Caribbean, sixteen miles off the coast of the Yucatán peninsula, where Mexico borders Belize. The Cay had a small harbour and a collection of buildings that QRL used for its research and development. A small workforce was stationed there to keep the facility running, with engineers and scientists either shipped or flown in when needed. Leatherback Cay had been used to test the Kraken but, once the system had been proved and deployed, that equipment was mothballed and the island no longer hosted any weapons.