Something to Die For

by Will Jordan

  ‘Or we can make a deal,’ she said quietly.

  Fischer opened his eyes to find her face just inches from his.

  ‘Would you like that, Otto?’

  Frantically he nodded, not knowing or even caring what he was agreeing to.

  ‘Good. A demonstration is scheduled to take place at Alexanderplatz on November fourth. The biggest protest march the GDR will ever see. You know of this, yes?’

  Again he nodded. He was all too aware of the planned march, organised by East Berlin students and other activists demanding political freedom and civil liberties. For the past few weeks, the East German authorities had been debating how to handle it, whether to let the march go ahead or crack down on the organisers. Tomorrow they were scheduled to make a final decision.

  ‘I imagine you do. As one of the most senior Stasi officials in the city, you’ll be a key voice at tomorrow’s meeting.’

  Fischer’s eyes were wide with fear and disbelief. How did she know all of this?

  ‘You’re going to recommend that the march be given permission to go ahead, Colonel Fischer. You’re going to insist that trying to prevent it would only encourage further unrest, and that it should be allowed to proceed peacefully. You’ll do this, because you know what will happen if you don’t.’

  Despite his terrifying situation, Fischer knew that such a decision could well end his career. The situation in East Berlin was precarious already, and the only thing holding it in check was the fear of government reprisal. A mass protest like this could push the GDR into open revolution. And it would all be because of him.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, Otto,’ she said, as if his thoughts were written plain on his face. ‘You’re thinking you could agree to the deal, then renege on your promise once you’re safe. But know this. You’ll never be safe from me, or the people I work for. No matter where you go, whether you change your name or even your face, I’ll make it my mission to find you. And when I do…’

  She held up the knife once again, bringing it in so close to his eye that he was sure the blade must touch the tender flesh.

  ‘Well, believe me, it won’t be painless next time. Do you understand me?’

  Fischer didn’t care to imagine the torture and mutilation this woman might be capable of inflicting before she finally departed, leaving him paralysed and ruined. Nor did he doubt that she would hunt him to the ends of the earth if he betrayed her.

  Faced with such a horrific threat, the only thing he could do was nod.

  ‘You will do what I say?’

  Again he nodded, knowing it would likely mean the end of his career, and perhaps the GDR as a whole. Knowing all of this, and accepting it.

  The knife was withdrawn, and he saw a flicker of a smile. Only it wasn’t the shy, arousing, feminine smile of before. It was a cold smile of satisfaction.

  ‘That’s good, Otto. With luck, you’ll never see me again.’

  A few moments later, he felt a sharp prick in his neck. Not the bite of a knife blade, but the tiny insertion of a syringe followed by the flood of coldness as a powerful sedative was deposited in his bloodstream.

  When he awoke from his drug-induced sleep the next morning, he was unbound and alone, as if nothing had ever happened. He would never see his sinister visitor again, except in the occasional nightmare.

  * * *

  ‘The Alexanderplatz rally was the biggest mass demonstration in East German history,’ Freya explained. ‘It was the spark that ignited the powder keg of East Berlin. Just like we planned. And… well, you know the rest.’

  Less than two weeks later, the Berlin Wall, the symbol of Soviet occupation of Eastern Europe and the Cold War itself, would fall amidst euphoric celebrations. It would start a chain reaction of demonstrations and revolutions all across the continent, leading to country after country declaring independence. Barely two years later, the remnants of the USSR would dissolve altogether.

  The simmering conflict and rivalry that had divided the world for almost half a century, sparked proxy wars all across the globe, cost millions of lives, bankrupted economies and almost dragged humanity into nuclear Armageddon, effectively ended in Berlin on a chilly November evening in 1989.

  And the Circle had engineered all of it. The implications were so staggering that for a few seconds Drake simply tuned out, forgetting the recording as he fought to process it all.

  But above all his speculation and shock and disbelief, one question rose to the forefront of his mind. Why hadn’t she told him?

  He blinked, his attention returning to the video.

  ‘… like to say that was where it ended, that Marcus and I had achieved our objective and went our separate ways,’ Freya went on. ‘But the truth is, we began working more closely in the months and years that followed. There was so much to do. We’d created a new world, and it was our responsibility to set it on the right path.’

  Again a faint sigh. The sigh of bad news.

  ‘The more I came to know him and understand how he thought, the more I felt like he understood me. At times, it seemed almost like we shared the same mind, like there was nothing we couldn’t do if we worked together. I’d never met a man like that before. And… I suppose what happened next was inevitable.’

  Chapter 21

  The lead SUV screeched to a halt at the entrance to Middleton Place, nearby pedestrians backing away in surprise and alarm as several men in dark military-style clothing and bulky combat vests leapt out and advanced into the narrow street beyond. They were soon joined by a similar team at the opposite end.

  The street was locked down, armed operatives quickly converging on the target building from both ends. A third police unit was moving to blockade the rear exit, in case their targets tried to slip out that way.

  ‘Alpha team in position,’ Hawkins heard the voice of his secondary team leader crackle in his ear as he advanced. ‘Moving in.’

  ‘Copy that. Keep it tight,’ he replied, eyes sweeping left and right to the shuttered shops and narrow town houses that overlooked the street.

  A couple of drunken civilians emerging from the pub stopped to gawk at them, before a barked order from one of the team prompted them to retreat back inside.

  ‘What have you got, aerial?’ Hawkins spoke into his radio.

  A pair of small, remotely piloted drones were hovering somewhere overhead, observing the target building and the surrounding streets. Such unmanned vehicles had come on in leaps and bounds over the past several years, allowing field teams to quickly and easily obtain an overhead view of a target area. This one even had night vision and thermal imaging cameras, allowing it to see through walls.

  ‘The only heat blooms are coming from the ground floor,’ the drone operator reported. ‘The rest of the building looks unoccupied.’

  ‘Copy that. All units, stand by to move in. Any activity at the rear entrance?’

  ‘No movement here. We’ve got it locked down.’

  As his first assault team took up position by the main door and his secondary team hurried to take up position, Hawkins paused to think about the man he’d come here to kill. Ryan Drake was here somewhere, perhaps just a few yards beneath his feet. A rat trapped in the underground maze that was soon to become his coffin.

  With that thought fresh in his mind, Hawkins spoke a single terse command into his radio unit. ‘Go!’

  His lead operative was carrying a device affectionately known as a ‘master key’. Essentially a compact but extremely powerful hydraulic bolt gun similar to those used to kill cattle, it was just as effective at taking out door-locking mechanisms.

  A sudden explosive hiss was followed by the bang and crunch of metal and wood giving way beneath several thousand PSI of pressure. The ruined door was shoved open and the assault team piled in, weapons drawn and safeties off. They had orders to shoot to kill, and would make full use of this leeway.

  The thump of footsteps was accompanied by a cacophonous bang as stun grenades were lobbed into dusty old o
ffices. Stacks of yellowed old paper and broken glass were blown in all directions by the detonations.

  ‘Go! Go!’ one team member shouted, advancing inside the next room, weapon sweeping the shadows.

  ‘Room clear!’ another replied. ‘Move up!’

  On they went, moving quickly and efficiently from room to room, clearing each one in turn before advancing up to the second level, each time finding old offices filled with outdated equipment, and storage rooms that looked like they hadn’t been touched in decades.

  The one thing they didn’t find was the man they’d come here to take down.

  Chapter 22

  Drake and Jessica were suddenly interrupted by a knock at the conference room door, snapping their attention away from the video. Drake paused playback just as Fitzgibbons strode in, his previously cool and composed demeanour gone.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Drake demanded, sensing trouble.

  ‘I apologise for the interruption,’ Fitzgibbons explained. ‘But I’m afraid your secret is out. The building upstairs is under attack.’

  Jessica let out a gasp of dismay, clearly thinking the same thing as Drake. They were trapped down here with no means of escape.

  ‘You said this place was secure,’ Drake snapped.

  Fitzgibbons fixed him with a sharp look. ‘It is secure, I assure you. But the streets and roads around it are not. Our clients are responsible for their own safety outside our walls, and it would seem you were spotted.’

  Drake’s mind was already racing as he considered his options, though there were precious few. If the Security Service had discovered their location, they would certainly have the building under surveillance already. They couldn’t sneak out, and trying to fight their way past armed field teams would be suicidal.

  ‘It was me, wasn’t it?’ Jessica said grimly.

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  She looked at him, her expression conveying the depth of her guilt and regret. ‘Yes I do. They must have seen me when I bumped into that woman. If I’d been thinking clearly, none of this would be happening.’

  Drake squeezed her arm, wishing he could offer more tangible reassurance, then turned his attention back to Fitzgibbons. Something about the man’s demeanour told him their situation wasn’t as hopeless as it seemed.

  ‘There must be another way out of here.’

  ‘As I said earlier, your mother’s account includes a Safe Passage agreement.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Jessica asked.

  ‘Come with me,’ Fitzgibbons said, gesturing for them to follow him. ‘I must ask you to be quick. There isn’t much time.’

  Jessica was already on her feet and making for the door. Drake yanked the memory stick from the laptop and slipped it in his pocket as he brought up the rear.

  The tempo of the underground facility had changed considerably. Personnel were hurrying from room to room, moving quickly to lock the place down and, most likely, destroying any sensitive material before it could be captured.

  Drake paid them little heed, concentrating on Fitzgibbons as he rounded a corner and halted near a section of wood-panelled wall. They watched as he stooped down and pressed a small section of decorative panelling near the floor.

  There was a click as some hidden latch or bolt was disengaged, and suddenly the entire section of wall swung inwards, revealing an old-fashioned brick tunnel beyond, dimly illuminated by soft fluorescent strips running along the floor. Cold, stale air wafted in as Fitzgibbons stepped aside.

  ‘This tunnel runs about a hundred yards,’ he explained. ‘At the end you’ll find a stairwell. Climb it to reach a car garage, where a vehicle will be waiting for you. The keys are in the ignition.’

  ‘What about you?’ Jessica asked.

  ‘I’ll be safe here. This facility is well protected, and my organisation has some… influence over the security services,’ Fitzgibbons said with a wry smile. ‘Now go. Good luck to you both.’

  Drake knew this was no time for debate. Instead he simply nodded, offering the elderly man silent acknowledgement and gratitude, still not sure what to think about him or the bizarre, secretive world he inhabited.

  He felt inside his pocket, clutching the little plastic memory stick. Whatever else Freya had to tell them, it would have to wait until they were clear of this place.

  Taking Jessica by the hand, he stepped into the tunnel as Fitzgibbons swung the door closed behind them, sealing them inside.

  With his obligations fulfilled, Fitzgibbons turned away and began to march back towards the Vault’s communications room, where he intended to put in a priority call to his superiors. The people he worked for possessed a degree of influence over the governments of most countries in which they operated, allowing them to call in favours from time to time.

  Today was such a day.

  ‘Mr Stevens!’ he called out.

  His chief security officer was by his side immediately.

  ‘What’s our situation?’

  ‘Armed special forces teams are upstairs. They’ve breached the upper building, but that’s as far as they’ve gone.’

  ‘Are we in full lockdown?’

  ‘Yes. The elevator is shut down and power switched to internal generators. There’s no way in.’

  ‘Good. Have the communications centre—’

  Fitzgibbons was cut off by a sudden, violent explosion that knocked him off his feet. He landed hard on the carpeted floor, pain blazing from his old joints. Stunned and partially deafened, he opened his eyes but could see almost nothing, the corridor obscured by smoke and swirling dust.

  ‘Mr Stevens,’ he said, holding a handkerchief against his mouth to ward off the choking haze. There was no response from his security operative. ‘Mr Stevens!’

  Looking over, he saw the man lying sprawled on his side nearby, his head caved in by a piece of flying debris.

  Vaguely, Fitzgibbons was aware of panicked shouts, accompanied by the chatter of automatic gunfire, and realised with alarm that the Vault had been breached. How had they found their way down here so quickly?

  He was just struggling to his feet when a trio of figures emerged like ghosts from the smoke, the beams of their green laser sights tracking back and forth before coming to rest on him.

  ‘Freeze! Don’t move!’ one of them shouted, his voice muffled by the gas mask he was wearing.

  Fitzgibbons raised his hands to show he was unarmed, watching as the largest of the three operatives lowered his weapon and stepped forward. Reaching up, he loosened the strap on his mask and pulled it away, revealing a hard, rugged face that might have been considered handsome. The only blemish was a faintly visible scar down one side.

  Jason Hawkins looked down at the old man kneeling before him, feeling a moment of satisfaction at how quickly his team had breached this place. As it turned out, it was the nearby pub that had proven to be their way in; more specifically, the deep cellar beneath it. A few shaped charges placed along the wall had been all it took to blast their way in here.

  ‘You’re the Vault manager?’

  ‘I am,’ the old man answered.

  ‘Good. Answer my questions and maybe I’ll let you live. Where are they?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’

  Hawkins smiled faintly and raised his weapon. ‘I’m not in a patient mood, old man.’

  Fitzgibbons looked up him defiantly. ‘You have no idea what you’ve done today,’ he said, his voice conveying a confidence and authority that was boldly independent of his situation. ‘This is an act of war. Believe me, young man, the people I represent—’

  He was abruptly silenced when Hawkins took aim and put a single 5.56mm round through his forehead. As the dead man fell backwards in a heap, Hawkins shot him a contemptuous look.

  ‘War’s over,’ he said with a malicious smile. The Vaults and the people who operated them were a relic of a different world. As far as he was concerned, it was high time for a change.

  Lowering his weapon,
he turned away to his two teammates.

  ‘He was stalling us,’ he decided. ‘There must be another way out. Find it, and warn our ground and air assets to be on the lookout. In the meantime, I want to know what Drake came here for. Go!’

  * * *

  Drake was ascending a narrow spiral staircase, his Browning automatic clutched tight in one hand, Jessica’s hand in the other, their footfall on the metal steps echoing off the walls as they climbed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ryan,’ Jessica whispered. ‘If I hadn’t fucked up—’

  ‘Save it,’ he interrupted. Self-pity wasn’t going to help them. ‘Right now, getting out of here is our only priority.’

  She didn’t say anything to that. Rounding the final turn of the staircase, they encountered a steel door; heavy-duty and designed to withstand assault. Reaching out, Drake gripped the handle, preparing himself for what lay beyond.

  ‘What if they’re waiting for us?’ Jessica whispered.

  Drake thought about it for barely a second.

  ‘Stay close to me,’ he replied, unlatching the door and swinging it open.

  Rather than massed police officers or shadowy government agents, they found instead a simple, nondescript car garage starkly lit by cheap strip lighting. No windows, no tools or shelves or any of the clutter one would find in a normal building like this.

  A sleek black BMW saloon sat in the centre of the room, its windows tinted to conceal the interior. Opening the driver’s door, Drake found the key fob on the seat.

  ‘Get the doors,’ Drake said, slipping into the vehicle and pressing the ignition button. The engine fired up first time, growly with smooth, refined power.

  Jessica hurried over to the main doors and hit the automatic winch control. As they trundled upward, she leapt in beside Drake.

  ‘Are we going to make it out of this?’

  Drake’s only answer was to step on the gas. In moments, the luxury car sped out of its garage and onto the road outside, accelerating away from the scene.