by Will Jordan
Cain didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He felt like a knife had been driven into his guts. Just like Afghanistan, he was simply an asset to be used and discarded when he’d served his purpose.
‘It was all a lie,’ he said, his voice hollow. ‘All of it.’
‘I thought you could become more than that. I saw that potential in you,’ Freya went on. ‘But I was wrong. You’ll never see the big picture, because you can’t see past her.’
Cain hadn’t missed the way she’d spat the word ‘her’.
‘So that’s what this really is,’ he said bitterly, sensing the undertone of jealousy in her harsh words. ‘You told them to vote against me. You wanted to see me take a fall, because your pride and ego couldn’t handle being second best. Yeah, you were right about one thing, Freya. I couldn’t see past Anya, because she was better than you. She was always better.’
Draining the last of her drink, Freya laid the glass down. ‘A new handler will be in touch soon. I don’t imagine we’ll be working together again.’
She was about to leave when Cain called out to her. ‘Answer me one thing. Was it worth it?’
Freya stopped, keeping her back to him.
‘Goodbye, Marcus.’
Washington DC – April 28th, 2011
Marcus Cain shifted slightly in his seat, resisting the urge to reach up and loosen his tie, a gesture which would be interpreted as a sign of discomfort and unease by the panel of senators arrayed before him. Sixteen men, three women. All with their poker faces on.
The Senate Select Committee was here to assess not just his background and accomplishments, but also his personal life, his character and temperament. Their job was to push and prod, look for weaknesses, to determine if he was fit to lead the nation’s premier intelligence service.
And it was a job they took seriously. Cain had had to answer more than a few difficult questions designed specifically to trip him up. There were elements of his life and career that he was not eager to divulge, and having it all placed under the spotlight wasn’t an easy thing to deal with.
Some, however, were more zealous about this duty than others.
‘I’d like to thank you for your cooperation today, Director Cain. Your answers have been very informative,’ said Senator Thomas Barr, a thin-faced, sharp-tongued Republican from Missouri, as he leafed through his paperwork. ‘I can assure you, we’re almost done.’
Cain fought to contain his disdain for the man; his turkey neck that wobbled when he spoke, his unusually large glasses, his thin and nasal voice, his endless questions intended to annoy and provoke.
Cain’s recommendation had come from the president, a Democrat, so naturally the Republican contingent were geared up to resist it. Barr had been leading the charge since day one, focussing on the sudden death of the previous CIA director last year, making thinly veiled insinuations that Cain had benefitted greatly from his passing.
‘Before we deliver our closing remarks, I’d like to ask a question of a more… personal nature.’
Cain reached for the glass of water beside him. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘Your daughter… Lauren, wasn’t it?’
Cain’s grip tightened on the glass. ‘That’s right.’
‘Your daughter Lauren… lost her life during a terrorist attack in Berlin last year. My condolences for your loss, sir.’
‘I appreciate your compassion, Senator,’ Cain managed to say.
‘Quite so. My question, if you’ll forgive my directness, is how has this affected you?’
Cain frowned, feigning confusion rather than the open anger he truly felt. The bastard was going after him for losing a child. He could see the barely disguised glee in Barr’s expression as he awaited an answer.
‘I’m not sure I understand?’
‘You lost your own flesh and blood to a terrorist attack. Your job as CIA director is to prevent such attacks, with a clear head and unbiased judgement. Don’t you worry those two things may not sit well together?’
Cain could see exactly the trap he had laid. To admit personal grief at the loss of his daughter might call his judgement into question, but to deny any impact whatsoever might paint him as a liar attempting to deceive the panel. Or worse, a sociopath who felt no emotion whatsoever.
At this point, one of Barr’s colleagues on the panel cleared his throat. ‘While I’m sure Senator Barr’s question is well intentioned, I think we ought to be mindful of the standards of professional respect this committee is bound to uphold.’
‘I disagree, sir,’ Barr countered. ‘Personal losses, no matter how tragic, can and do impact on a man’s thinking. It’s not unreasonable to question whether the loss of a close family member could affect Director Cain’s professional judgement in a crucial moment. A painful question it may be, but it’s our responsibility to ask all the same.’
He was looking at the committee chairman now. Although not a voting member, it was his duty to make rulings where protocol was called into question.
‘My colleague Senator Barr has raised a valid, if indelicate, question,’ he conceded. ‘I’ll allow it to stand. However, I’d ask that committee members respect the sensitivity of this matter.’
Cain took a sip of water, composing himself before offering his response. Despite the chairman’s tacit defence of him, he knew that dodging the question would not be viewed favourably. They were willing to grant him some latitude, but they expected an answer.
‘Thank you, Mr Chairman. Out of respect to this committee and the responsibility it’s charged with, I’ll answer Senator Barr. The loss of my daughter Lauren was one of the most difficult moments of my life,’ he said, speaking with complete honesty now. ‘When it happened, I felt like I’d lost my hope for the future. I asked myself again and again, why did it happen? What more could I have done? How could I have failed her so badly?
‘And I suppose it would have been easy to lose myself in that. But I believe the thing that helps us move past grief and loss is purpose. And for me, that purpose was my work. Now that I’ve known how it feels to have a loved one torn away from me, it’s made me even more determined to spare other innocent people that pain.
‘It’s not for me to say whether Lauren’s death made me better or worse at my job, whether it cleared or clouded my judgement, but I can tell you one thing for sure – I’ve never been more sure about what I want to do with my life.’
He fixed Barr with a hard, penetrating stare. The man’s look of glee and triumph was fading now. ‘Does that answer your question, sir?’
Barr cleared his throat, reached up and adjusted his tie. ‘It does, Director. Thank you.’
Cain’s first action on emerging from the committee chamber was to power up his cell phone. He had been out of the loop for the past several hours and was eager for news. His first point of contact was the man tasked with hunting down Ryan Drake.
‘Hawkins.’
‘Talk to me,’ Cain commanded as he strode across the building’s massive central atrium. ‘Where are we on Drake?’
‘Latest intel suggests he chartered a private flight to Mexico.’
Mexico. An easy entry point into the US.
‘What about the London Vault? Tell me you found something useful.’
Hawkins had breached the facility on his own initiative – a decision that was likely to have serious repercussions. Cain would handle that in due course, just as he would handle Hawkins himself, but for now he still needed the man.
‘The Vault’s mainframe was wiped before we could stop it. Digital forensics are going over it now, but it was pretty thorough. It’s unlikely we’ll recover anything usable.’
‘Give me some good news, Jason,’ Cain warned him.
‘We recovered a laptop from the facility’s conference room, and we’ve been able to reassemble fragments of the last file accessed on it. They think it was some kind of video. All we’ve got so far are a few still images.’
‘Show me.’
A few seconds later,
an image file appeared on his cell phone. Straight away Cain opened it up, and felt the breath catch in his throat. The face staring back at him was chillingly familiar. A ghost from his past.
‘Freya,’ he said under his breath.
‘The one and only,’ Hawkins confirmed. ‘My guess is she left some kind of message for him.’
An edge of concern crept into Cain’s mind then. Drake had been a thorn in his side for some time, and although he’d failed to eliminate the man, he’d been able to control him to some extent. But now he had been left a message by Freya. This changed everything.
How much did Drake know? How much had she told him? He had no way of knowing. But Freya had known everything about him. He now had no choice but to prepare for the worst-case scenario: Drake could be coming for him.
‘Get to Mexico, Jason,’ he instructed. ‘Drake knows too much now. Find him and stop him before he gets across the border.’
‘I’m on my way there already,’ Hawkins confirmed. He paused before adding, ‘And the… other problem?’
Cain was in fact facing two separate threats. Not only had Drake slipped through their fingers in London and set his sights on Cain, but in Israel, Anya had reappeared and assassinated a senior Mossad agent.
Cain had learned of the death barely an hour after the body had been discovered, just as he’d learned of the murder of four more men in Jerusalem. Bounty hunters, gunned down during a deadly confrontation in a back alley. It hadn’t taken much effort to connect the two events, and surmise that those men had tried and failed to intercept her.
Their deaths meant nothing to him, of course, but the murder of Russo was far more concerning. He was the first link in the chain of events that had taken place eight years earlier. Though Cain was separated from him by several layers, such precautions would do nothing but delay the inevitable.
After vanishing for months, Anya was back, and she was killing her way to the truth. Nothing would stop her.
Two separate adversaries, each following different lines of investigation. But both trails would ultimately lead back to him. The only question was, how best to deal with them?
‘If she got to Russo, then she knows what he knows,’ Cain reasoned. Anya wouldn’t have killed the man until she’d gotten what she needed from him. ‘That being the case, we know where she’ll be heading next.’
‘Qalat,’ Hawkins said, making the same connection.
‘Get your best people on it,’ Cain instructed him. ‘If she makes a move against him, they need to be ready. We get one chance at this.’
‘It’ll be done.’
‘We’re almost at the finish line now,’ the CIA director reminded him. ‘No more screw-ups. Are we clear?’
‘Crystal,’ Hawkins said, an edge in his voice now.
Hanging up, Cain immediately dialled Franklin’s number as he headed for the parking garage, where his official car was waiting. Events were moving faster than he’d anticipated. It was time to put the final stage of his plan into action.
‘Marcus, we’ve had some developments in Pakistan,’ Franklin began. ‘I need to brief you as soon as possible.’
‘I’m on my way in,’ Cain confirmed. ‘Right now, put our assault team on heightened readiness. On my authority.’
‘You sure? Only the president can give the order to go.’
Cain smiled at that. The president did what his advisors told him to do, and Cain owned his advisors. He was almost there now. After so many years of planning, the time had almost come.
‘He will. Trust me.’
Chapter 33
Tijuana, Mexico
With the sun down, the city had come to life as the local bars, restaurants and nightclubs began to fill up. Bright lights illuminated beachfront dance floors that were already busy, music reverberating from a dozen different directions.
Drake and Frost had their minds on other matters as they made their way to a quieter area of the beach, where the sound of waves crashing against the breakwater was a more welcome backdrop.
With their course of action decided, they had put out a call to their few remaining allies, Jonas Dietrich and Olivia Mitchell, instructing them to rendezvous once Drake and the others had crossed the border.
‘How are you holding up, Keira?’ Drake asked honestly. He knew Frost wouldn’t open up until they were alone.
The young woman snorted in amusement. ‘Just peachy. I mean, what’s not to like? We’re being hunted by every major intelligence agency on earth, not to mention a group of secret assholes that make the Illuminati look like the Girl Scouts. Best of all, we’re about to venture into the lion’s den with our dicks hanging out. And all of it depends on a guy who might sell us out the moment we make contact.’
‘So pretty good, then?’
Frost punched him in the arm hard enough that it wasn’t quite playful.
‘What about you?’
‘Almost as good,’ he evaded.
‘Don’t make me hit you again, you asshole. Level with me.’
Drake sighed, turning more serious. ‘They came after Jess,’ he said quietly. ‘I almost lost her again. I would have done, if it hadn’t been for… her.’
‘Anya?’
He shook his head. ‘Doesn’t fit. We know she was in Tel Aviv the day before. What are the odds she could have got to the UK just in time to intercept Jess?’
‘Can’t argue with that, I guess. But if not Anya, then who?’
For that, Drake had no answer. Clearly he was missing something, but he had precious little time to devote to it now. There were too many other things happening.
‘Any luck finding her?’ he asked instead.
It was Frost’s turn to sigh. ‘Yes, and no.’
‘Meaning?’
‘I was getting close to Alex, even made contact with him.’
Drake looked at her incredulously. ‘I told you to track him, not start a conversation.’
‘It’s not that easy, Ryan,’ she admitted. ‘Alex may be an asshole, but he knows his shit. I couldn’t break into his system. This was my last shot.’
‘And?’
Were it not for the darkness, he was sure he would have seen her blush. ‘He shut me down. Nuked my system remotely. It’ll take days to rebuild.’
Drake looked away in disappointment. ‘Great.’
‘You’re missing the point. He wouldn’t have done that, except as a last resort. So either he was pissed at me and lost his temper, or…’
‘Or he had something else going on,’ Drake finished for her.
‘Exactly,’ Frost agreed. ‘If I had to put odds on it, I’d say he and Anya are gearing up for something. Another operation, maybe.’
‘Another killing, you mean?’
Whatever Anya had learned from Russo in Tel Aviv, it had led her to the next step in her plan. Where it would end, Drake had no idea. But he sensed more people were going to die before she was finished. And in a moment of stark premonition, he wondered if Anya might be amongst them.
‘We have to track her down,’ he decided. ‘There’s got to be a way.’
‘Has it occurred to you that she doesn’t want to be found?’ Frost asked.
‘We need her,’ Drake said bluntly. ‘If we’re going to make this work, we need everyone we can get.’
‘Bullshit. We both know that’s not the real reason.’
Drake could feel her looking at him, knew she wouldn’t give up unless she got an answer. He had to give her one, and it had to be the truth.
‘I did her wrong,’ he admitted. ‘I took something that I can’t give back.’
He looked down, allowing himself to feel some measure of the anger and longing he’d kept carefully locked away since that day in Afghanistan.
‘You know, for a while I actually believed we might make it, the two of us,’ he mused sadly. ‘I could almost imagine a life after this. A real life.’
‘Nothing’s real if it starts with a lie.’
To his surprise, he felt
Frost’s hand on his arm. He turned to look at his comrade, his teammate, his friend. One of the few he had left.
It wasn’t much, but Drake appreciated the sentiment.
‘It’s time,’ he announced, fishing out the encrypted satellite phone in his pocket. ‘Will this hold up?’
‘It’s the best encryption system on the market,’ Frost explained. ‘But considering who you’re calling, might want to keep it short and sweet.’
‘It will be,’ Drake assured her as he dialled the contact given to him in his mother’s final message. The man who just might hold the key to bringing down Marcus Cain.
Standing on the beach with the moon rising over the sea and the waves breaking against the shore, Drake waited while the phone rang out.
It took all of five seconds for it to happen.
‘Yes?’
‘My name’s Ryan Drake. I think you’ve been expecting my call.’
Chapter 34
Washington DC – June 10th, 1999
Anya had been to this place many times in her career. Yet even now, the sheer scale of Arlington National Cemetery never ceased to amaze her. Four hundred thousand of America’s war dead had been laid to rest here, their graves marked by neat rows of identical white tombstones that stretched off into a gently rolling landscape of grass and scattered woodland. Order and solemn uniformity in death, as there had once been in life.
But her thoughts were less on her surroundings than on the increasingly turbulent and monumental events overtaking her.
Task Force Black, the small, clandestine special forces unit that she’d reluctantly assumed command of nearly ten years earlier, had slowly but surely blossomed into a sprawling and powerful organisation in its own right. Their ranks had swollen with new recruits, their reach had greatly expanded and their capabilities enhanced.
Anya now found herself at the head of a de facto private army, running simultaneous operations in half a dozen countries, with hundreds of people now answering directly to her. And much of it was paid for by the river of money now flowing out of the Circle. Whatever she requested, it was granted without question.
