by Will Jordan
‘My entire team got cut loose once already because of that asshole,’ Kennedy said, the heat in his voice betraying the old anger and resentment. ‘Good people, Dan.’
‘You should consider yourself lucky. Cain wants Drake dead, and he’ll stop at nothing to make it happen. No matter who gets caught in the crossfire.’
‘Why? What’s his beef with Ryan?’
That would take a lot more time than they had. ‘Long story. The short version is that Cain isn’t what you think. He’s been involved in a lot of shit over the years, most of it bad. When Ryan got caught up in it, he painted a target on his own head.’
Kennedy took a step closer. ‘Dan, are you telling me Ryan’s an innocent man?’
As much as he wanted to believe Drake had been unfairly persecuted, he was under no illusions that his former friend had always worked on the right side of the law. He had done many questionable things in his time, that he must still answer for. But he at least deserved a fair hearing.
‘That’s what I need you to find out,’ Franklin instructed him. ‘I need to know what Drake was doing in London, and where he’s going next. And I need to know fast. If I’m right, we may not have much time.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
Franklin glanced back the way they’d come, to the metal sculpture standing in the shade of the big office tower, the stressed-looking analysts and technicians milling around it. Rarely had the Agency been as busy as it was now, with so many global events happening simultaneously.
The wave of revolutions and coups in Africa and the Middle East, the hunt for Bin Laden, the assassination of a high-ranking Mossad agent, the recent attack in London… On the surface it might have been easy to dismiss them as a series of unrelated events, a chance convergence. But not for him.
Where others saw chance, he saw a pattern, an invisible and intangible web binding all of this together. Each one of them, willing or unwilling, was a part of it. And each of them was caught by it. He felt as if the pieces of a jigsaw had been laid out, the pieces moving slowly into place, yet the final image still eluded him.
‘A feeling,’ he said quietly, his expression distant. ‘I can’t explain it, I can’t prove it… but I feel it. This is bigger than Drake, bigger than all of us. It’s been coming for a long time, and when it does, it’s going to change everything.’ He frowned, struck by the phrase that had leapt unbidden into his mind. ‘The end of the old world.’
He blinked, pushing the odd feeling of premonition away, annoyed with himself for voicing such vague notions. But when he looked at the Shepherd team leader standing beside him, he could tell that Kennedy knew it too.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he promised.
Chapter 31
Tijuana, Mexico – April 28th
The cramped, low-rent apartment in which Keira Frost found herself was the kind of place you ended up out of necessity rather than desire. A one-bedroom affair with a combined kitchen/living room, and grimy windows overlooking a litter-strewn residential block where functioning streetlights were a distant memory.
The trickle of slightly-less-hot air that the worn air conditioner managed to put out was no match for the heat of the Mexican evening. Still, it was a roof over her head. And for all the stifling discomfort, the balmy weather sure beat winter on the streets of Chicago.
Tijuana had been her base of operations for the past couple of months. It was easy to get to, even easier for someone like her to blend in to, and with ongoing gang warfare between rival drug cartels, it was the kind of place where the police didn’t get involved.
A pair of high-end laptops were humming away next to each other on her makeshift desk, nestled within a maze of cables, portable hard drives and flickering internet routers. Lines of code streamed across open debug windows as Frost fought a losing battle to pin down her opponent’s location. Much as she hated to admit it, the man she’d pitted herself against was more than a match for her, and had so far resisted every effort to break into his system.
Turning her attention to the laptop on her left, she tapped in a series of commands, trying to adjust her strategy. Much to her annoyance, one of her fingers came down on the wrong key, forcing her to start again.
She clenched and flexed her hand a few times, noting the scar in the centre of her palm. A little reminder of the time her hand had been cruelly impaled by a knife. She’d recovered most of her motor function, but it would never be quite what it was. And that realisation made her all the more determined to pay back the man responsible for it.
That would have to wait for now, though. Today she had a more pressing task.
And that task was tracking down Alex Yates, who had chosen to side with Anya when their group disbanded. As adept as she was at disappearing, Alex was her weakness. He was the one who would lead Frost to Anya.
That was the theory, at least. But no matter what she threw at him, he always seemed to be one step ahead.
She was about to turn her attention to the other laptop when suddenly a dialog window appeared on her screen, displaying a simple, terse message.
YOU’RE WASTING YOUR TIME. STOP TRACKING ME.
Frost practically leapt out of her seat. This was the first time Alex had openly communicated with her. But why now? Either he was willing to talk, or she was close to finding him.
Whatever the reason, she hurriedly tapped out a response.
WE NEED TO TALK. THINGS HAVE CHANGED.
Alex’s reply came through seconds later.
NOT FOR ME. STOP TRACKING ME. I WON’T ASK AGAIN.
Frost’s jaw clenched at such a naked threat, but resolved to press on.
RYAN’S BEEN HIT. THEY ALMOST GOT HIM IN LONDON.
He didn’t answer for nearly thirty seconds.
THAT’S HIS PROBLEM, NOT MINE.
‘God fucking damn it, Alex. Don’t be a dickhead all your life,’ she muttered, hammering the keys harder than necessary for her next message.
THIS IS SERIOUS. TELL ANYA WHAT HAPPENED… PLEASE.
Alex’s response wasn’t the message of reconciliation she’d been hoping for. Instead, the dialogue box vanished and all her active programs abruptly froze.
‘What the…’
A second or so later, a stark blue error screen appeared, advising her that the system had encountered a fatal error and had shut down.
‘Fuck!’ she snapped, slamming the laptop closed.
Alex’s threat had not been an idle one. She had no doubt the machine was a total write-off. She had backups of her most important data, of course, but it would take time to restore everything. Time she didn’t have.
‘Asshole,’ she muttered, heading for the fridge, deciding a few bottles of Sam Adams might take the edge off her anger.
She was just popping the lid on her first one when there came a pounding at the door. Instantly alert, Frost opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out the Beretta 9mm automatic inside. Racking back the slide to chamber a round, she checked safety, then approached the door with the weapon tucked behind her back.
With the beer in one hand, she undid the deadbolt and opened the door enough to get a look at the new arrival. Her face lit up right away.
‘Ryan,’ she said, regaining her composure. ‘Shit, you took long enough.’
Drake flashed a grin, though he looked tired and drawn despite his relief at being reunited with his teammate.
‘Been a busy few days,’ he explained. ‘Mind if we come in?’
Frost frowned. ‘We?’
His companion moved into view; a woman Frost vaguely recognised from their one and only meeting several years earlier. It was Drake’s sister, Jessica. The resemblance between them was obvious, though she looked in worse shape than him, her face marked by cuts and bruises that were only partially covered by heavy make-up.
‘Christ, are you out of your mind?’ she asked, unlatching the security chain to let them in. ‘What are you thinking, bringing her into this?’
She and Drake had agreed to rendezvo
us here as soon as he could get into the country, but there had been no mention of his sister. Frost had assumed he would find some safe house for her to hole up in until this was over.
‘She has a name,’ Jessica retorted, snatching the beer bottle out of Frost’s hand. ‘And she’s not in the mood for any more bullshit.’
As Jessica took a gulp of the beer, Frost shot Drake an angry look. Had Jessica not been under his protection, he suspected Frost would have laid her out for what she’d just done.
‘I can see the family resemblance,’ Frost replied testily.
‘Save it. I didn’t come here to argue.’ Drake glanced around the cramped, untidy apartment, unimpressed by what he saw. ‘We need to talk. There’s a lot to fill you in on.’
Frost took the hint. ‘I know a place. But you’re buying.’
Fifteen minutes later, they were ensconced at a beachfront bar with a round of drinks in hand, their table facing out onto the sandy expanse of Tijuana Beach. Beyond, the rolling waves of the Pacific stretched all the way to the horizon, aglow with evening sunlight. It was a lively place, with a heady mix of tourists looking for a good time, and locals willing to accommodate them, all thrown together with loud music and cheap drinks.
Frost listened while Drake and his sister poured it all out – the attempted abduction of Jessica, followed by her unexpected rescue, the discovery of their mother’s hidden message leading to the Vault in London, and their desperate escape from the authorities. Lastly, Drake explained the contents of his mother’s final message.
Frost’s expression darkened as the full impact of his words sank in.
‘Jesus Christ,’ she said at length. ‘This whole goddamn mess is tied together. Cain, Anya, the Circle… Your mom was working for them the whole time.’
‘Working against them, actually,’ Jessica corrected her. ‘She was planning to bring them down from the inside.’
‘How did that work out for her?’
Jessica clenched her jaw, about to let fly a stinging rebuke, but Drake jumped in before she said something they all regretted. ‘She joined them because she believed in what they represented. Only later did she realise what they’d become. She was trying to make things right.’
Frost didn’t look convinced, but decided not to press the issue. ‘So what about you, Ryan? Why are you here?’
Drake turned his head away for a moment, looking out to sea. Taking in the emptiness, the endless horizon, the chance to start a new life.
‘I’m here to finish what she started.’
‘Bullshit,’ she snorted. ‘You’re out for revenge. I’ve seen that look before.’
Drake didn’t try to dispute her claim, because there was no need. They both knew she was entirely correct.
‘Call it what you want. Cain knows I’m alive now, and he won’t stop until I’m dead. No matter where I go or what I do, eventually he’ll find me. One way or another, this has to end.’
‘Ryan, think about what you’re saying here,’ Frost said, leaning over the table to get eye to eye with him. ‘Your mom tried to take on Cain, and she ended up dead. We tried in Pakistan, and we lost…’ Her voice caught for a moment before she could go on. ‘We lost Cole, almost got killed ourselves. Every single time we’ve gone up against him, he’s won, and we’ve lost. What makes you think this would play out any different?’
‘Because this time we have an advantage.’
Frost’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘A man on the inside,’ Jessica announced.
Seeing her confusion and surprise, Drake added, ‘Freya wasn’t the only one working to bring the Circle down. She had allies.’
Frost listened while they told her everything. There was a man, well placed and well trusted within the Circle, with whom Freya had been working to gather intel and evidence. A man who had begun to see the corruption within the organisation, the danger posed by Cain, and who might just be willing to help them now.
‘You’re sure of this?’ she asked dubiously. ‘What if this is all some kind of play?’
‘She recorded that message in the Vault, alone, in secret. I don’t see how she could have been under duress. And if they’d wanted us dead, they could have made it happen easily enough.’
‘But do you trust her?’ Frost pressed him. ‘I mean, you said it yourself – her whole damn life was a lie.’
‘You didn’t know her,’ Jessica said with barely concealed irritation.
Frost regarded her coolly. ‘Neither did you, apparently.’
The animosity between the two of them was palpable. Drake was quick to interject before it erupted into a full-blown confrontation.
‘Look, I won’t pretend that Freya never made mistakes. She did, and she paid for them with her life. She died trying to make things right. I believe that, and I believe we have a chance to finish what she started.’
‘You willing to bet everything on that?’ she said quietly. ‘All or nothing?’
He nodded. ‘All or nothing.’
They had come down to it at last. The end of the line. The last chance to stop Cain before he became untouchable. No mercy, no hesitation, no quarter given. Only one side was walking away from this alive.
‘I’m doing this with or without you, Keira.’ He glanced at his sister. ‘We’re doing this. But we stand a better chance with your help. I came here to give you a simple choice, one last time. In, or out?’
Frost regarded him for several seconds in tense, anxious silence, watching him as if she could somehow discern their chances of success. But she couldn’t. None of them could know how this was going to play out, whether they would prevail against their greatest enemy.
Whether any of them would live through it.
Drake could offer her no reassurance. As he’d said, it came down to a simple choice.
That was when he saw it. The smile. The lopsided, wolfish smile he’d come to know so well. The smile he’d been looking for.
‘Course I’m fucking in,’ Frost said, raising her bottle and clinking it against his. ‘Let’s go kill this asshole.’
Chapter 32
Washington DC – April 4th, 1992
The top floor apartment was luxuriously appointed and tastefully decorated, its big floor-to-ceiling windows offering excellent views over the Potomac and the suburban sprawl beyond. And with sunset approaching, the room was flooded with its fiery incandescent glow, the sky ablaze with colour.
But the view was lost on Marcus Cain as he paced the living room, waiting impatiently for his contact to arrive. The waiting was always the worst part.
Pouring himself a glass of whisky from a crystal decanter, he moved over to the windows and looked out. This building was formed around a big semi-circular apartment and office complex, though it was perhaps best known for its infamous name.
Watergate.
From here, he could actually see the office building in which the notorious break-in had taken place two decades earlier, starting the escalating chain of cover-ups and investigations that would ultimately doom the presidency of Richard Nixon.
The door opened behind him and a pair of high heels strode into the room. Cain tensed, bracing himself.
‘Well?’ he said without turning around. ‘What’s the decision?’
He heard a faint sigh.
‘They voted,’ Shaw announced bluntly. ‘It’s not good news.’
Cain closed his eyes, swallowing down the bitter frustration that welled up inside him.
‘Do I get to know why?’
‘They feel that further conflict in Afghanistan isn’t in our strategic interests. There are other priorities now.’
Other priorities. In other words, Afghanistan had served its purpose to help bring down the Soviet Union. Now it was to be discarded and forgotten.
Cain had lobbied the Circle to intervene there, where simmering tensions between the victorious Mujahideen groups threatened to boil over into civil war. A war that the hard-line Islamists were likely
to win, plunging a once-moderate country into religious oppression, and leaving a whole generation betrayed and abandoned by America, sowing the seeds of future wars.
‘You know what this is going to mean,’ he said. ‘You know we’ll be back there one day, fighting the war all over again.’
‘Like I said, there are other priorities,’ Shaw repeated coldly. He heard her open the decanter, heard the splash of whisky being poured.
Cain turned to face her, his expression dark and hostile. Shaw was still a beautiful woman, still elegant and alluring, but she was different now. The fire and energy that first drew him to her was missing. The connection between them was broken, severed by growing disillusionment and distrust.
‘And you? What did you say?’
Shaw lifted the glass to her lips. ‘I take my orders just like you, Marcus.’
‘Bullshit,’ he snapped. ‘For once in your life, have the balls to be honest.’
She sighed. ‘You’re too close to this, you’ve made it personal. You’re not seeing the situation clearly anymore.’
‘I’m trying to save lives. I’m trying to stop another war before it happens.’ His anger was threatening to break through the walls of self-control now. ‘What the fuck have you ever done that didn’t benefit yourself?’
‘What have I done?’ she repeated, laughing to herself. A laugh that was cold and hard and mocking. ‘What have I done, Marcus? How about believing in you? That was the biggest mistake I ever made.’
‘You brought me into this,’ he reminded her. ‘After all the promises, all the big speeches about changing the world, you’re just like the others. Weak.’
‘You still don’t get it, do you?’ she snapped back. ‘You still don’t understand.’
She allowed those words to hang in the air, allowed the seconds to stretch out before she delivered her final blow.
‘It was Anya they really wanted, not you.’
‘Bullshit!’
The woman shook her head slowly, her expression one of pity and disgust. ‘You were just a tool, Marcus. That’s all you ever were, all you could ever be – a tool to keep her in line. They won’t listen to you, because they don’t care what you think. They never will.’
