by Will Jordan
Her eyes met his. ‘Two.’
He didn’t need her to say it. He knew what she was thinking. She wouldn’t be captured, wouldn’t spend the rest of her life in prison, or endure some show trial and summary execution. She had come too far, been through too much for that.
And so had he.
‘We both knew it would come to this, Ryan,’ she said quietly. ‘This is where we were always meant to be. This is how it was meant to end.’
He looked down at the weapon, marked and scratched by long use, stained with blood. His, or hers, he could no longer tell.
Without saying a word, he reached out and took it from her.
‘It’s all right,’ she promised him, gently encouraging. ‘I’m ready.’
She nodded to herself, taking in the river, the wildflowers around them, the sun rising into a perfect sky. And high above, she caught a glimpse of something moving slowly in the vast sea of blue; starkly white, straight as an arrow. The contrail of some high flying aircraft. The sunlight glinted off its hull, bright as a shooting star.
She thought of the days she’d spent lying in the long grass as a child, staring up at aircraft like this and marvelling at what far-off destinations they might be heading to. Dreaming of what might be out there. Picturing the adventures that lay ahead.
She smiled softly as Drake raised the gun.
‘I’m ready.’
He closed his eyes as he pulled the trigger.
‘Ryan!’ a voice called out. ‘Ryan Drake!’
With a gasp, Drake took pressure off the trigger and turned back towards the meadow, where a trio of armed operatives were moving towards him through the long grass. Two men and a woman. They were armed, but their weapons were lowered, their expressions filled with concern rather than anger.
‘Anybody got eyes on?’ the leader asked. ‘Talk to me!’
The woman suddenly caught sight of Drake and pointed. ‘There! I see him!’
With that, the leader broke into a run, sprinting forward. Skidding to a stop beside him, the man laid aside his weapon and looked at the two injured fugitives, quickly assessing their condition.
‘Shit,’ he said under his breath. ‘I need a medic here!’
‘On it!’ the woman called out.
‘Kennedy?’ Drake said, incredulous at the sight of a fellow Shepherd operative. ‘What are… you doing here?’
Kennedy grinned at him, though his smile was tinged with concern. ‘Franklin sent us for a bit of unofficial R&R. Looks like he made a good call.’
The female Shepherd operative was already tending to Anya. ‘I need you to keep pressure on that wound,’ she instructed, speaking with the cool, calm efficiency of a medical professional. ‘We’re gonna get you out of here.’
The second man was speaking into his radio. ‘Zulu One, we’ve found them. Repeat, we’ve found them, but they’re injured and serious condition. We need immediate evac.’
‘They’re looking for us,’ Drake mumbled, his vision starting to blur. It was such an effort to focus on the man in front of him, but even now he was aware of the agencies still hunting for them both. ‘They’ll find us.’
‘Don’t worry about that, buddy. We’ve got it covered.’
Reaching out blindly, Drake touched Anya’s hand again and felt her clasp it tight.
The last thing he saw before darkness closed around him was her, staring up at the dawn sky. Finally at peace.
Part Six
Something to Live For
We know what we are, but not what we may be.
William Shakespeare
Chapter 76
Arlington National Cemetery – one month later
With the trees and bushes in full summer bloom and the sun shining down from a cloudless sky, it was a pleasant evening to be outdoors, breathing fresh air and feeling the warm breeze on one’s skin. Even more so for Ryan Drake, who had been largely confined to a hospital as he slowly recovered from his injuries.
Emergency surgery at a hastily set-up operating theatre in Lithuania had saved him from fatal internal bleeding, though it had been a close-run thing, as Kennedy had made a point of reminding him while he lay convalescing at a safe house in Vilnius.
Still, he was well on the way to recovery now. He wouldn’t be back in the field for a while, and was tired by the time he’d ascended the gentle grassy hill at the centre of the cemetery. But as with most things, it was simply a matter of time.
Anyway, he would not be discouraged from his visit here today. Some things were more important.
Tracing his way along the rows of neatly arrayed tombstones, he found the section he was looking for and stopped to take in the four pristine white headstones laid out before him, each with the name of one of his fallen comrades carved in them.
John Keegan (1956–2008)
Cole Mason (1970–2010)
Olivia Mitchell (1972–2011)
Samantha McKnight (1976–2011)
Four friends who had each given their lives in the line of duty. His family, who he had trusted and cared for as if they were his own blood.
His gaze lingered the longest of all on Samantha McKnight’s grave. Whatever her conflicted history, whatever decisions she’d been forced to make, she had redeemed herself and more, sacrificing her life for theirs. Nobody could ask more of her, and Drake himself would never forget what she’d done.
He only wished he could have been there for her at the end.
‘Good to see you up and around,’ Franklin said, moving up to stand by his friend’s side. ‘I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d pull through.’
‘What do they say about bad pennies?’ Drake replied.
Franklin smiled faintly at the joke.
‘Do you have any idea the shitstorm that enveloped this place while you were relaxing in a hospital bed? I think I might have traded place with you.’
Drake was well aware of the turmoil that had erupted in the wake of the deadly confrontation in Lithuania. Everyone was up in arms, wanting to lay the blame somewhere else, everyone was out for blood.
But somehow, through some great feat of diplomacy, deception and selective deployment of the truth, Franklin had managed to navigate these perilous political waters and wrestle a decent outcome from it. The recording of Richard Starke’s damning confession had gone a long way towards shifting the blame away from Drake and the others, convincing most people that they were simply victims caught up in the machinations of far more powerful men.
In the end, they’d found their scapegoat.
As for the man himself, Starke had been awaiting trial on multiple charges of treason and conspiracy, with a life sentence looking like the most optimistic possibility. But it wasn’t to be. His guards had found him lying dead in his prison cell two weeks earlier, having ingested a lethal dose of cyanide. To this day, no one knew how the poison had found its way to him, or who had supplied it.
And they never would.
Marcus Cain, meanwhile, had been laid to rest in a simple, formal ceremony that Drake had been more than happy to avoid. Though he had never been officially sworn in as CIA director, his death and the events leading up to it had still attracted a great deal of interest and controversy from the news media, especially online conspiracy theorists who were working doggedly to uncover his secrets.
The CIA, acting in its own best interests and eager to avoid a scandal that would rock them to their core, were likewise doing their best to thwart these efforts. Marcus Cain’s complex life would remain, for most people at least, an enigma.
‘I’ll stick with my end of the deal,’ Drake conceded. ‘Anyway, isn’t that what this place is all about? One big shitstorm after another?’
‘I think I’ve earned a break, don’t you?’
‘You might want to get used to it,’ Drake suggested, hinting at the man’s ongoing, and so-far successful, tenure as acting director. ‘Director Dan Franklin. It’s got a decent ring to it.’
Franklin thought about that fo
r a moment, imagining the possibilities that lay ahead, then let it go. Those were concerns for another day. ‘What about you? You thought about what you’ll do next?’
‘Yes, he’s going to live a very quiet, boring and sensible life,’ Jessica said, moving forward to speak with the two men. ‘Preferably somewhere I can keep an eye on him.’
Drake smiled at that. He was still adjusting to the reality that he was no longer a wanted man, being able to move around again without the constant fear of surveillance and attack. Part of him wondered if he’d ever really get used to it.
Some habits were too hard to break.
‘I second that!’ Frost called out, standing alongside the others a short distance away. ‘And by the way, you still owe me a shit ton of hazard pay, Ryan.’
‘Keep dreaming,’ Drake shot back.
‘Well, if you ever find yourself looking for work, give me a call,’ Franklin advised him. ‘We can work something out.’
He knew Drake well enough to know that ‘quiet’ and ‘sensible’ were two words that didn’t belong in his vocabulary. Sooner or later he would find himself back in this world of theirs. It was part of him now. Maybe the best part.
‘Thanks, but I’ve got something else in mind,’ he remarked cryptically. ‘Something a little more… independent.’
Franklin raised an eyebrow but said nothing further on the matter, guessing Drake wasn’t ready to give him more just yet. That, too, was a conversation for another day.
‘Well, I guess I’d better get back. Never know when the next shitstorm will erupt,’ Franklin said, looking out across the city before giving his friend a nod. ‘I’ll see you around, Ryan.’
He was just turning to leave when Drake called him back. ‘Dan?’
‘Yeah?’
Stepping forward, Drake clasped his hand and shook it. ‘Thank you. For everything.’
Nodding acknowledgement, Franklin let go and walked away down the hill, leaving Drake with his small group of friends.
They smiled with relief, with elation, with longing as he approached. This was the first time they’d been reunited since parting ways at that airfield in Lithuania. And now, with their fallen comrades by their side, they were all together at last.
Drake almost felt like he could sense them, watching over the friends who yet had their lives to live. Grateful for the time they’d had together, and knowing that one day they would see each other again. And that was a comforting thought.
‘You think now we can rest a while?’ Jonas Dietrich asked sardonically. ‘I’m getting too old to run around with you fools.’
Drake smiled at his gruff, abrasive comrade. Their friendship might not have begun under ideal circumstances, but somehow Dietrich had always come through in the end.
‘Don’t want you getting complacent, Jonas,’ he returned with a grin, before turning his attention to the younger man by his side.
Alex Yates, the computer hacker reluctantly recruited into their team. A young man plucked from obscurity, thrust into a world he couldn’t possibly have prepared himself for. But rather than shrinking from it, he had grown, becoming a stronger and braver man than he ever could have imagined.
‘What about you, Alex? Will you go back home to the UK?’
Alex thought on that briefly, remembering the life he’d left behind, then shook his head. ‘It’s not my home anymore,’ he decided. ‘There’s nothing there for me to go back to. Maybe… I don’t know, maybe there’s something better out there.’
‘Shit, don’t tell me you’re getting a taste for this stuff?’ Frost snorted.
Alex grinned, shrugging. ‘We’ll see.’
Last of all, Drake’s attention came to rest on Keira Frost. The fiery, temperamental, impetuous, abrasive and irritating young technical expert he’d been forced to work with for years now. A comrade who had risked everything for him. A friend that he loved with all his heart.
‘There’s something I want you to know, Keira,’ he said, his voice soft and quiet. ‘Something I never told you.’
Frost waited, hushed. Expectant.
Drake leaned closer, his face brightening in a grin. ‘You’re not entitled to hazard pay. Sorry.’
‘You asshole!’ she cried, punching him in the arm.
‘Take it easy!’ he protested in mock pain. ‘I’m still an invalid.’
‘You will be if you pull that shit again.’
But her playful banter faded a little as she looked at him, allowing the memories of everything they’d been through together to rise to the surface at last. There was no stopping it. Throwing her arms around him, she pulled him as tight as he held her, her face buried in his neck, tears streaking his skin.
They didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to.
When at last he let go, he paused to take in the small gathering. His friends. His family. The people who had followed him to the end, and stayed together.
Perhaps they still would work together, he reflected. There was much still to be said and decided once they were finished here. Experiences to recount, memories to share, thanks to give. And perhaps, plans for the future to be made. He certainly had some ideas on that front.
But as he glanced up the hill towards the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and saw a lone figure standing at the entrance to the amphitheatre, Drake knew those things could wait. There was one last person to meet with today.
Taking leave of his friends, he ascended the last stretch of the hill, passing the Marine honour guard standing watch over the tomb, and entering the towering white archway to the empty amphitheatre beyond.
She was waiting for him there, standing alone as she so often had been.
Anya. The woman who had changed his life forever.
She, too, had largely recovered from her injuries over the past month, her body well acquainted with pain and hardship. Physically she was recuperating well, and looked to be healthy and rested. As for what lay behind that strikingly beautiful visage, Drake had yet to find out.
This was the first time they’d spoken since that morning in Lithuania.
‘How’s it feel to be dead?’
According to the Agency’s official report, Anya had been killed during the operation in Lithuania, her body vaporised during the air strike on her former home. Though it had taken some careful manoeuvring and outright deception on Franklin’s part, most of the agencies hunting her had been persuaded that she was finally dead, abandoning their manhunts to focus on more pressing concerns.
‘Surprisingly liberating,’ Anya acknowledged with a wry smile. ‘I should have tried it a long time ago, I think.’
Her demeanour, however, turned more serious when she spoke again. ‘It doesn’t feel real. After all this time, knowing it is finally over…’
Drake knew exactly what she meant, because he had wrestled with the same doubt.
‘It’s hard to imagine a life without it, right? The running, the fighting, the fear. After a while, it becomes a part of you. Now its gone, you feel like you’ve lost something.’
She nodded, surprised by his insight.
They were quiet for a time, each knowing they had things to say but neither quite sure how to bring it up. In the end, it was Anya who made the first move.
‘I was ready to die there, Ryan. I had made peace with it.’
He knew that well enough. Death had held no fear for her.
‘Did you want it?’
She thought about that, considering the question carefully. ‘I had always known that was how it would end. So that was how I lived – for the mission, the fight, the moment. Never the future. Because if there was no future, there was nothing to lose, and nothing to fear. Now… I feel lost.’
‘Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,’ Drake coaxed. ‘Not everything ends the way we think it should.’
It certainly hadn’t for him. Drake too had listened to the recording Anya had made, had listened to Starke’s confession about his mother. She had tried to have Anya killed, leaving
the woman with no choice but to do what she had. Once more, his understanding of Freya Shaw had been changed, along with his perception of the woman who killed her.
Neither one had been perfect. Neither had been without blame. But he accepted this truth without condoning or condemning either of them.
Anya nodded thoughtfully, sensing his double meaning.
‘Do you remember what you told me once?’ Drake asked. ‘That you would rather die for something, than live for nothing?’
Anya swallowed. That had been her mantra for most of her life. To have her death mean something. To end her life on her own terms, with purpose and resolve.
‘I do.’
Taking a step forward, Drake reached out and touched her hand, taking it in his. ‘Maybe it’s time you found something to live for.’
Anya smiled faintly, turning her head away. He couldn’t say for certain, but he thought he saw her eyes glistening.
Perhaps she might at last start to lay aside the armour that had protected her throughout her troubled life. Armour that had now become a burden, weighing her down, holding her back.
‘So what will you do now?’ he asked.
She glanced at him curiously. ‘Do?’
‘Well, you’re officially dead,’ he reminded her. ‘You’ve got a fresh start. You can go wherever you want, do whatever you want… be whoever you want.’ He paused, leaning in closer. ‘The only question is, who do you want to be, Anya?’
The woman glanced downhill, taking in the rows of headstones. The warriors of past generations that had fought and died and been laid to rest here. The place where some of her own comrades were buried. The place she had always imagined ending up.
‘All my life, I have been a soldier,’ she said, her expression pensive. ‘Living in this world, but… never part of it. Seeing it from the outside.’
She sighed and raised her face towards the sky, summoning up everything she’d been, every decision she’d been forced to make, every aspect of the identity she’d created for herself. Bringing it all to mind.
And, at last, laying it aside.
