Something to Die For

by Will Jordan

  The silenced automatic thudded as Drake leapt in, one wild shot biting into his shoulder as he swept his empty assault rifle around like a club, catching the handgun just as Hawkins was squeezing the trigger. The impact smacked the weapon out of his hands, a second round barely missing Drake as it fell.

  Vaguely he was aware of the sharp stinging pain of torn flesh, but pushed it aside, focussing everything on his enemy. Bringing the butt of the rifle back around, Drake swung for his opponent’s head. But Hawkins had recovered from the shock of his sudden appearance and caught the gun just as it was coming at him, wrestling it aside.

  For a second or so the two men were eye to eye, glaring at each other with unrestrained hatred and vengeance.

  Gritting his teeth, Drake drove a knee into his adversary’s side that elicited a grunt of pain, then leaned back and butted Hawkins full in the face. The impact was like driving his head into a wall, but he heard the faint crunch of cartilage breaking, and felt warm blood spray his face.

  Hawkins gave vent to an animalistic growl as blood gushed from his broken nose. But along with the sudden flare of anguish came a surge of pure rage.

  Exerting every ounce of his considerable strength, Hawkins heaved the weapon up, pulling Drake with it, then shifted all of his momentum forward, slamming the smaller man into the ground. Drake’s breath exploded in a violent gasp as the air was forced from his lungs, and pain blazed across his back as he impacted the rocky ground.

  But there was no time to think about pain or injuries now. Yanking the weapon from his grip, Hawkins hurled the assault rifle aside and came at him as Drake scrambled aside, narrowly avoiding a kick that would have dropped him like a stone. Hawkins was like a man possessed, raining blows on him, forcing him to cover up and block. Drake, already tired and hurting, couldn’t hope to weather this attack.

  A stinging punch to the ribs nearly doubled him over, putting him off balance, setting him up for the boot that swept around and hit him like a freight train. He buckled and went down, falling to his hands and knees.

  ‘You really thought you could stop this?’ Hawkins snarled as he closed in, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. ‘You just gave me the best gift of all, Ryan. Two for the price of one.’

  Hawkins’ face was twisted with fury and vengeance as he moved in to deliver a knee to the face. But his momentary delay had given Drake a precious few seconds to recover. As he came in, Drake suddenly rose up and twisted aside, using his opponent’s momentum against him.

  With a furious, enraged cry, Drake drove a fist into Hawkins’ back that sent shockwaves down the man’s spine. A kick to the back of the leg buckled his knee, allowing Drake to clamp an arm around his neck. Muscles and tendons strained as Drake tightened his grip, crushing and twisting, gritting his teeth as he put everything he had into it.

  He heard the man snorting and gasping, blood bubbling from his broken nose as he gasped for air that wouldn’t come.

  I’ve got you now, you bastard, Drake thought in that moment of wild, frenzied anger. He knew then that he’d crush the very life out of Hawkins, break his neck, collapse his windpipe.

  He didn’t notice Hawkins reach for something at his waist, didn’t have time to react as steel rasped and something glinted menacingly in the firelight. In a heartbeat, something leapt out, striking him in the side.

  And just like that, the world seemed to slow down. He looked down in confusion, watching as Hawkins pulled a bloodied blade from his flank, and felt a strange coldness wash over him.

  ‘No!’ Anya cried out in horror as Drake’s grip slackened and he staggered back, blood flowing from the knife wound at his side.

  Hawkins rose up in front of him, a terrifying figure in the glow of the flames. The knife clutched in his hand dripped with Drake’s blood.

  Don’t think about the pain, Drake told himself as Hawkins readied himself. Pain is nothing.

  Smiling a bloody grimace, Hawkins came at him again, swiping with the knife. Drake dodged and tried to catch his knife arm, but his enemy abruptly changed direction and the blade sailed past his grasp. A renewed flash of pain tore into his side as the knife slashed at his flank again, cutting through skin and muscle.

  As Drake turned to face him, bent over slightly to protect his injured side, Hawkins circled his prey at a thoughtful, almost leisurely pace, fingers flexing and tensing on the knife hilt. He was in control now, able to pick and choose when he struck. Able to make it last.

  Drake stared back at his enemy, weakened by injury but defiant to the end. His hands were still raised, his fists clenched, his battered body readying itself one last time.

  Hawkins’ face darkened once more and he leapt in, coming in low this time, the knife slashing into Drake’s thigh as he rushed past. There was no way he could have stopped it. As Drake sank to his knees, Hawkins turned to face him again, his expression triumphant.

  He had won, and he knew it.

  Nearby, Anya watched Drake’s final moments through blurred vision, pain radiating through to the very core of her being. She had been hurt before, had taken every kind of punishment life could throw at her, but even she had limits of endurance. And she was past them now.

  She had done everything she could, had fought to the last, tested her strength to its end. It hadn’t been enough to carry her through this last battle. She could feel the darkness closing around her, slow and insidious and inviting. A deep and endless dark without pain or fear. She felt herself sinking into it, felt her eyes start to close.

  Then, unbidden, a voice leapt into her head. A voice that seemed to be all around her, driving back the darkness, forcing clarity in her thoughts. A voice that spoke to her, commanding her, as it had so many times before.

  Remember what you told him.

  You would rather die for something, than live for nothing.

  This is the last fight of your life.

  Her dimming eyes snapped open, clear and focussed once again.

  Get up.

  Bloodied hands clawing at the ground, she managed through some supreme effort to pull herself upright, watching as Hawkins circled around behind Drake, the knife dripping with his blood. She had no weapons left. None except the arrows for her bow.

  Reaching behind, she yanked one free and, gritting her teeth, muscles trembling, pushing aside the pain and the exhaustion, Anya fought her way up from the ground. Inch by inch, heartbeat by heartbeat.

  Get up.

  ‘Oh, Ryan. I imagined killing you so many times, I actually thought it would be a disappointment when it finally came,’ Hawkins said, wiping the blood from his face as he looked down on his vanquished enemy. ‘But I was wrong, man. This is better than I ever could have imagined.’

  Poised to strike once again, Hawkins hesitated. He heard the movement coming at him from his right, and spun just as Anya leapt at him, thrusting at the arrow into his stomach. She was close, but Hawkins’ reactions saved him. He turned aside just as the arrow came at him, tearing a gash through the fabric of his Kevlar vest and exposing the armour plating beneath.

  Realising she’d missed, Anya slashed desperately at his throat with the improvised weapon, but this time he caught her arm, twisting it backward with his vastly superior strength. The arrow fell from her grasp as Hawkins, eyes blazing with anger, drove a fist into her injured stomach.

  Anya fell, crumpling to the ground, her vision swimming. Out of the fight for good.

  ‘Goddamn you, you just don’t quit,’ Hawkins snarled, surprised and infuriated by her last, desperate effort. ‘You stubborn bitch.’

  Grabbing Drake’s hair, he yanked the man’s head back, exposing his throat. The bloodied knife gleamed in the darkness as he raised it up.

  ‘I want you to remember this moment,’ the man said, glaring at her. ‘Remember the look in his eyes when I kill him.’

  But Anya’s last effort hadn’t been in vain. While Hawkins’ attention was focussed on the woman who had so vexed him, Drake felt on the ground, closed his fing
ers around the arrow she’d dropped, and snatched it up.

  And as Hawkins leaned in to slash his windpipe, Drake reversed his grip on the weapon and plunged it deep into his thigh. The man threw back his head and let out a howl of agony as Drake twisted it viciously, the sharpened steel point slicing and tearing his flesh.

  Hawkins sank down. And as he fell, Drake leapt on top of him with a burst of desperate, frantic strength, grabbing for his knife hand and turning the weapon against him. The two men, both injured and bleeding, were locked in a final deadly struggle, their eyes fixed on one another, their breathing coming in heaving gasps as they strove for survival.

  Drake was on top, forcing the blade down with every ounce of strength he could muster. Hawkins likewise strained to turn the knife away as the tip crept closer to his neck, his powerful arms clenched in one last Herculean effort. And for a few seconds, the two men were perfectly balanced, the knife trembling motionless between them.

  Images of everyone this man had killed flashed before Drake’s eyes as he forced the knife fractionally closer. Everything Hawkins had taken from him. Everything he’d destroyed.

  Every ounce of hatred and vengeance rose up within him as an unstoppable tide.

  ‘I told you, Jason,’ Drake whispered, the veins in his arm standing out hard against the skin as he strained with all his might. ‘I told you… I’d be the last thing you ever saw.’

  Finally, as the desperate struggle reached an unbearable peak, he saw what he’d been waiting for in his enemy’s eyes. He saw fear.

  With a primal, enraged cry, he forced the knife through skin and windpipe, arteries and tendons. Hawkins’ eyes grew huge as agony flared through him. His mouth gaped open to scream, instead emitting only a choking, gurgling surge of blood.

  Then, at last, his struggles ceased and he lay still.

  Rolling off him, Drake collapsed onto his back on the cool earth, completely and utterly drained, his breath coming in ragged, agonised gasps.

  It was over.

  He could almost feel his body quietly surrendering to it at last.

  ‘Ryan…’

  The weak, plaintive sound roused him from his growing exhaustion.

  Anya.

  Rolling over, he managed to crawl over to her. She was slumped against a tree trunk, a bloodied hand pressed against the wound at her stomach. She looked up at Drake as he neared.

  ‘You came back for me,’ she whispered.

  He nodded, wincing in pain.

  ‘Why?’

  Why had he come back? Why had he risked everything for the woman who had taken so much from him? Why had he fought with every ounce of his strength to protect the person who killed his own mother?

  ‘Because some things are worth dying for.’

  The distant wail of approaching fire trucks warned Drake that they weren’t safe. ‘We have to get out of here.’

  Anya shook her head weakly. ‘I can’t, Ryan.’

  The sad acceptance in her voice hurt almost as much as the injuries he’d taken. She knew what it would mean if he left her behind. She’d always known what tonight would cost her.

  ‘Bullshit you can’t. I won’t give up on you now,’ he said firmly, hooking an arm beneath her. ‘Get up! Come on!’

  With some great exertion of will and whatever strength remained to him, he pulled the injured woman to her feet, ignoring the pain that flared through him, ignoring her groan of agony. Anya, realising he wouldn’t leave her behind no matter what she said or did, reluctantly complied. And together, bleeding and clinging to each other, they limped slowly away into the forest.

  Chapter 75

  NSA Headquarters, Maryland

  Richard Starke strode out of the ops room and headed towards his personal office. He would have to make a lot of phone calls and draw upon many favours in the next hour if he expected to come out of this intact.

  Somehow it had all fallen apart. His plan had collapsed into chaos and disaster.

  But it wasn’t over. He still commanded enormous power and resources. Even if he’d failed today, he knew there would be other opportunities. There would be a good deal of explaining to do, of course, and more than a few people who would need to be silenced, but he could manage this crisis.

  Just as he had managed so many before it.

  ‘Dan,’ he said, taken aback to find the acting CIA director waiting for him in his office. ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘You, actually,’ Franklin said, taking a step towards him. His look of naked hostility was enough to give Starke pause.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Reaching for his cell phone, Franklin selected an audio file and hit play.

  ‘You know, I don’t often let these things get personal,’ he heard his own recorded voice say. ‘Killing Cain and Freya… those were necessary acts. But I have to admit, knowing you’re dead, Anya… well, that will give me a certain satisfaction.’

  Hitting the pause button, Franklin lowered the phone. ‘We’ve got the whole thing, Richard. Your whole confession. It’s over.’

  Starke closed his eyes, a thin, bitter smile forming as he realised the full magnitude of his folly. Anya had known all along that he wouldn’t be at that airfield in Lithuania. She hadn’t gone there to kill him, she had gone to do something far more permanent – destroy him. And in his arrogance, he’d walked right into it.

  ‘And what do you think you’ve really got there, Dan?’ he asked. ‘You think any jury in the country will convict me? Son, we own them.’

  ‘There is no “we” anymore,’ Franklin reminded him. ‘Your little cabal is dust. Nobody’s going to help you now.’

  Starke raised his chin defiantly, though he couldn’t keep the quaver out of his voice when he spoke again. ‘You’re about to make the biggest mistake of your life.’

  ‘We’ll see about that. Come!’

  At his summons, a pair of FBI agents waiting outside strode into the room. ‘Director Starke, you’re under arrest for treason, conspiracy to commit murder and planning acts of terrorism,’ Franklin stated as his hands were wrestled behind his back and cuffed. ‘You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.’

  ‘Give it a few years,’ Starke said, glaring at the younger man.

  ‘You have the right to a lawyer. If you can’t afford one, one will be provided for you.’

  ‘Give it a few years,’ he repeated. ‘And you’ll be just like me.’

  ‘I’m nothing like you.’

  Holding his gaze for a second or two, Franklin nodded to the two agents.

  ‘Get this piece of shit out of my sight.’

  * * *

  Stumbling and limping through the slowly brightening forest as the night waned and the new day approached, Drake forced himself through the pain, forced himself to keep moving. If they could get clear of the airfield, they might reunite with his team and find a way to escape…

  Deep down he knew it was futile, that neither of them would make it far now, but he wouldn’t allow himself to accept it.

  Just keep going, he told himself. Keep going and you’ll get out of this.

  Emerging from the woodland, they passed through a small wild meadow. The scent of damp grass and wildflowers stirred as they trudged slowly onward, making for the far side where a small stand of trees grew.

  ‘Ryan, I can’t… keep going…’ Anya gasped, her steps growing slower, her breathing laboured.

  ‘It’s going to be okay,’ he replied, one hand pressed against the wound at his side, his shirt damp with blood. ‘Everything’s going to be okay now.’

  Only when they passed beneath the trees and saw what lay beyond did Drake finally stop, letting out an exhausted, defeated sigh.

  The river flowing lazily past was at least thirty feet wide. No way across. No way out.

  ‘Oh, no…’

  Beside him, Anya sank to the ground, slumping against a fallen tree trunk. With no way forward, Drake collapsed beside h
er, the last of his strength deserting him.

  ‘No more,’ she gasped, shaking her head. ‘No more, Ryan. Please.’

  They had gone as far as they could, fought to the very last, but this was it. This was the end of the path they’d started on all those years ago. They had done all they could.

  There was no need to fight it any more.

  Her breathing slowing, Anya looked around, taking in the peaceful river flowing by, the wildflowers and trees around them. Overhead, the infinite blue sky was growing brighter, the sun rising above the horizon to the east. The dawn of another day.

  The end of the old world, and the beginning of a new future.

  It was a good place to die.

  ‘Another life,’ Drake whispered, echoing her earlier words to him.

  Anya looked at him then.

  ‘I wish we could have met in another life. Maybe things could have been different.’

  There was so much in her life she wished she could have changed, so many choices and mistakes she wished she could have undone. But out of all of it, meeting Ryan Drake was one thing Anya would never regret.

  ‘Maybe we will,’ she acknowledged. ‘But I’m glad I could be with you… at the end.’

  Reaching out, Drake found her hand and closed his bloodied fingers around it. After everything they’d been through, everything they’d endured together, perhaps it was fitting that it should end here like this. Just the two of them.

  Nothing left to fight for. Nothing left to fear.

  He was disturbed by a noise carried to him on the breeze. Shouts, coming from the woodland behind. The sound of people moving, calling to each other, drawing closer. It wouldn’t have been difficult to track them, following the trail of blood and broken undergrowth they’d left in their wake.

  ‘They’ve found us,’ Anya said. Reaching into her tunic, she pulled out her old M1911 handgun, ejected the magazine and checked the rounds left in the clip.

  ‘How many?’ Drake asked as the shouts grew closer.