Deadfall: Agent 21

by Ryan, Chris

  More shouts.

  Then, as one, they dispersed.

  There was a shocked silence inside the atrium. A couple of seconds later it was replaced by a murmur from all the guests who were trying to escape.

  And then, two figures burst into the hotel: a man and woman, both with blond hair, the woman with an evil-looking rifle strapped round her neck.

  ‘GET OUT OF HERE!’ the woman shouted. ‘THERE’S A BOMB! YOU’VE ONLY GOT SECONDS!’

  And when nobody seemed to move, the man added his voice to hers.

  ‘GET OUT OF HERE!’ he bellowed. ‘NOW!’

  Gabs stood at the glass-fronted entrance to the hotel while crowds of people swarmed out. Men and women in their bathing costumes, hotel staff in dapper uniforms. They crowded round the door and squeezed themselves through. Along with Raf, she was grabbing them as they emerged, then urging them to get as far away from the hotel as they could.

  She checked her watch. Thirty seconds till midday.

  Twenty-five seconds.

  Screaming. A woman’s voice. More terrified and panicked than any of the other voices she could hear. ‘Molly! MOLLY!’

  A man: ‘Oh my God, I thought she was with us . . .’

  Gabs looked to her left. A woman in a sarong and a man in his swimming trunks had their faces up against the glass. They were looking into the hotel atrium where a young girl wrapped in a swimming towel was standing stock-still. She looked terrified. Unable to move. Like a rabbit caught in headlights.

  Her parents continued to scream at her but the girl didn’t move. Everyone else was too busy trying to squeeze out of the hotel to notice a single, scared child.

  Twenty seconds.

  Gabs marched up to the parents, still firmly gripping her assault rifle.

  ‘Stand back,’ she said.

  ‘But our daughter! She’s—’

  ‘STAND BACK!’

  Maybe it was the fierceness in her eyes, or maybe it was just the weapon she was clutching. Whatever. The girl’s parents stepped back. Gabs stood five metres from the glass frontage of the hotel and aimed her weapon directly at the lower part of the window. Then she fired a burst of rounds. The screaming from all the escapees became louder, but it was suddenly drowned out by the crashing noise of shattering glass as the whole frontage of the hotel cracked and then collapsed in a rainfall of shards.

  Gabs barely waited for the shards to finish falling. The glass crunched under her feet as she ran through the destroyed window into the atrium.

  Ten seconds.

  ‘Come with me, Molly,’ she whispered urgently. When the terrified girl still didn’t move, she simply lifted her over one shoulder. Then she turned and sped back towards the open window.

  The crowd had left the atrium now. They were all sprinting away from the hotel. All except Molly’s mum and dad, who stood agape, watching what Gabs was doing and ignoring Raf’s shouts at them to get away.

  ‘Run,’ Gabs bellowed as she burst out of the atrium with Molly over her shoulder. ‘RUN!’

  They ran.

  And not a moment too soon.

  Raf, Gabs, Molly and her parents were barely fifteen metres from the hotel when the explosions began. There was clearly more than one bomb – Gabs counted five explosions in quick succession, each of them a deafening crack that seemed to split the air – and the force of the first blast threw all of them several metres forward and knocked them to the ground. They hit the tarmac with a heavy thump. Gabs couldn’t be sure if Molly had screamed, because the remaining blasts were exploding behind her. But she knew that at any moment, the shrapnel would start falling, and that could kill them just as surely as the bomb blast itself. Aware that Raf was already hauling Molly’s mum and dad to their feet, Gabs lifted Molly and started running again.

  Within seconds, she heard debris falling behind her. Something caught her right shoulder, and she shouted out in pain. But she kept running, clutching the young girl firmly, and clearing the blast site in about ten seconds.

  Only then did she stop and look back.

  The Palace Hotel was an inferno. Huge plumes of thick, black, choking smoke billowed up into the sky. Somewhere at its heart, violent orange flames licked up into the air. The front was nothing but debris, and as she looked Gabs heard a great crash as some other part of the building collapsed. All around her, the sound of sobbing came from the escaped guests as they watched the devastation that would have killed them if they’d left the hotel only seconds later.

  She laid Molly out on the ground. The young girl’s face was black with grime, and there was a small cut on her left cheek that oozed deep scarlet blood. But she was alive and whole, and she even managed a small smile as Gabs wiped away a strand of hair clinging to her forehead.

  Gabs stood up. A woman next to her was wearing nothing but a bright pink bikini. Her skin was filthy from the blast. Tear tracks ran down her dirty face and her eyes were red.

  ‘How did you know to evacuate the hotel?’ Gabs demanded urgently.

  The woman was clutching a mobile phone. With a trembling hand she held it up. ‘A . . . a text message,’ she stuttered. ‘Someone warned us.’

  Gabs looked to her right. Raf was there, a deep frown on his craggy, sooty face.

  ‘Zak?’ he said inquiringly.

  Gabs nodded uneasily. Their protégé had done it again. No doubt about it.

  He’d foiled Cruz Martinez’s atrocity. But Cruz was unstable and murderous. It meant Zak was in even greater danger than ever.

  ‘We need to find him,’ she breathed. ‘Now.’

  23

  $2,346,625

  ‘Get down!’

  Malcolm, still standing by his computer terminal, turned to Zak and blinked. He clearly hadn’t noticed that one of the East Side Boys had run twenty metres from the tower and was now raising his rifle to aim at the curved window that surrounded the circular control room.

  Zak threw himself at his companion, tussling him to the ground even as a burst of rounds slammed into the glass. Three panes cracked like ice under a hammer. A fourth shattered completely.

  ‘Whatever you do,’ Zak hissed, ‘don’t stand up.’

  Malcolm was shaking. ‘But . . . but how . . .’

  ‘Did you get the message out?’

  Malcolm nodded.

  Zak closed his eyes. Maybe – just maybe – it had been enough to divert the atrocity.

  His eyes strayed up; the planes in the sky needed to land urgently. ‘You’ve got to get the airport comms back up and running,’ he whispered to Malcolm.

  Malcolm nodded, but gestured towards the computers. ‘I’ll need them then,’ he said, his face tight with fear.

  More gunfire. Bullets burst through the broken window and ricocheted off the far side of the control room and Malcolm gasped. Zak remained perfectly still, sitting with his back up against the bank of computer terminals. His eyes were closed, his forehead screwed up in a frown.

  He felt like he was playing a game of chess. Checkmate was just round the corner, but so many things had to happen first.

  He had to reverse a coup. He had to make sure Smiler was safe. And was it bad that the thing at the very front of his mind was revenge: on Sudiq, the man who had killed his parents?

  He opened his eyes suddenly and turned to Malcolm. ‘I need you to do some things,’ he said. ‘Get those planes down, quickly. Then we’ve got work to do, and we haven’t got much time.’

  Malcolm nodded again, and Zak was relieved that he didn’t argue. The last few days had changed him.

  ‘Cruz is at the president’s residence, right?’

  Another nod.

  ‘Can you get me a video link with him?’

  ‘We can just use our phones.’

  Zak nodded with satisfaction. ‘Just one more thing,’ he said. ‘Please answer me honestly, Malcolm. When you were in Jo’burg, you had plenty of money. You were just hacking into other people’s bank accounts and twiddling the figures, right?’

  Malco
lm’s eyes fell. Once more he nodded his head.

  ‘Can you do it again? Now? From here?’

  ‘It’s a piece of cake,’ Malcolm said quietly.

  ‘OK.’ Zak looked up. They were sitting right below the computer terminal Malcolm had been using. ‘Remember . . . stay down,’ he instructed. Then, as quickly as he could, he jumped to his feet.

  The gunshots started again as soon as Zak became visible through the windows of the control tower. Both of the East Side Boys were firing now, aiming through the broken window, and Zak felt a rush of displaced air as the bullets pinged above him and to his side. But he remained on his feet as he grabbed the screen and the keyboard of the terminal and yanked them off their bench. Seconds later, he was on the floor again, surrounded by a mess of wires that spilled from the computer equipment, nervous sweat pouring off him. He checked the screen: its cursor was flashing, waiting for someone to start inputting data.

  He looked at Malcolm. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Planes first, and then listen carefully. This is what we need to do.’

  Smiler’s hands were shaking. How had he got himself into this position? Why was he here?

  The two East Side Boys he had approached at the pier had clearly been expecting Smiler – or someone like him – to approach with a coffin full of money. And they’d swallowed his story that the boys he’d left behind in the jungle had tried to steal the money for themselves rather than bring it to the boss in Banjul. They’d given him a friendly slap on the back, then lifted the coffin out of the boat and carried it into a waiting truck. Then they’d driven Smiler and the coffin straight into the city centre.

  Which was how he found himself, now, in a great white house with pillars at the front, far bigger and more grand than any other dwelling he’d ever seen, let alone set foot in. He had his back against the wall, trying to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible as he watched the scene that unfolded.

  There were ten other people in the room. One of them was Boss – or Sudiq, as Smiler now knew his real name to be. He was strutting round the room like a proud cockerel. At one point he ruffled Smiler’s hair, like a fond uncle congratulating his favourite nephew.

  Near him was the young man Cruz Martinez, who frightened Smiler far more than Sudiq ever could. His eyes had dark rings around them. They were cold and harsh.

  Two men had their hands tied behind their backs. One wore a suit, the other a military uniform covered with decorations. From their conversation, Smiler had worked out this was the president of The Gambia and his military chief. Or rather, the ex-president of The Gambia, and his ex-military chief. They scowled with anger and humiliation, but were mostly ignored by the other six people in the room: swaggering East Side Boys. Their scarred faces were twisted into looks of supreme arrogance, and they strutted around like Sudiq, brandishing their firearms proudly.

  In the centre of the room sat the coffin full of money.

  ‘Silence!’ Cruz shouted suddenly. Everyone stopped moving. ‘Ten seconds,’ Cruz announced.

  It felt for a moment like everyone was holding their breath. The seconds ticked down. Then, in the distance, they heard five low booms. Explosions.

  A look of triumph crossed Cruz’s face. ‘It’s done!’ he shouted. ‘Scores of tourists have now died on Gambian soil. Soon it will no longer be a holiday resort, but a rogue state that exists to serve our purposes.’ He strode up to Sudiq and clasped his hand – Smiler saw an expression of the utmost greed pass between them. Then Cruz turned to address the president and his military chief and glanced at the coffin. ‘In ten minutes’ time,’ he said, ‘a stealth helicopter will arrive to airlift me’ – he smiled – ‘and my money, of course, out of here. You’ll be coming. Say goodbye to your country, gentlemen. You won’t be seeing it again—’

  His speech was suddenly interrupted by the ringing of a cellphone. It came from Cruz’s pocket, and echoed around the suddenly silent room. Everyone stared at him, and Smiler knew why. The phones weren’t supposed to be working. So why was this one ringing?

  Slowly, Cruz removed his phone, his eyes suddenly very dangerous. He stared at the screen for a moment, while the phone continued to buzz in his hand. Then he slowly pressed one finger to the screen and the ringing stopped.

  A pause. Cruz stared at the screen.

  ‘Malcolm,’ Cruz breathed. ‘What the—?’

  Then he fell silent again.

  A voice emerged from the loudspeaker of the phone. ‘Hello, Cruz.’

  Smiler recognized it immediately.

  It was Zak.

  Still crouching on the floor of the control tower, Zak stared at the screen of his phone. It was, he had to admit, satisfying to see the look of shock and confusion on Cruz’s face.

  ‘You’re dead,’ Cruz hissed.

  Zak raised an eyebrow. ‘Dead? I don’t think so, mate. You haven’t got quite the body count you wanted today, I’m afraid. I’ve managed to warn the tourists you were trying to butcher at the Palace Hotel, by the way. I’m pretty sure they’ll have had enough time to evacuate. And the planes round the airport are down – no casualties there either.’

  Cruz’s eyes grew narrow. ‘You’re lying,’ he whispered.

  Zak shrugged. ‘You can think that if it makes you feel better,’ he said. ‘Or, of course, you can look around you. You know, for deadfall.’ He put on a patronizing voice, like he was talking to a kid. It was childish, he knew, but Zak had his reasons. He wanted to goad Cruz, to anger him.

  To stop him thinking straight.

  And by the look on Cruz’s face, it appeared to be working.

  ‘Anyway, mate,’ Zak continued conversationally, ‘it’s been lovely to catch up, but this isn’t just a social call. There’s something I thought you might like to see.’

  Zak glanced over at Malcolm, who was crouched next to him at his computer terminal, and nodded. Malcolm started typing furiously. ‘It’s gone,’ he whispered after a few seconds.

  Zak heard Cruz’s phone pinging at the other end. ‘I’ve just sent you a document,’ he said. ‘Have a look. I think you might find it interesting.’

  Zak’s screen was filled with the image of Cruz’s fingertip tapping his own phone. He looked anxiously at Malcolm, who in turn was staring anxiously at his computer terminal.

  They waited.

  Smiler wanted to run, but his legs wouldn’t move. In the distance – maybe hovering somewhere close to the open courtyard but not quite loud enough to drown out the tinkling sounds – he heard the beating of a helicopter. But he only paid it scant attention. Like everyone else in the room, his eyes were fixed on Cruz.

  Cruz stared at the screen of his phone for what seemed like an age. Then he turned to Sudiq. If the look in his eyes had been dangerous before, now it was positively deadly.

  ‘Tell me, old friend,’ he whispered in the unfriendliest voice imaginable. ‘Do you have a Swiss bank account in the name of Sudiq Al-Tikriti Gomez?’

  Sudiq’s eyes widened in surprise. But he didn’t deny it. ‘Yes.’

  A moment of stark, uncomfortable silence.

  ‘Then perhaps you’d like to explain to me why it is that the sum of two million, three hundred and forty-six thousand, six hundred and twenty-five US dollars has been paid into that account in the past twenty-four hours.’

  Silence.

  ‘A very precise amount, wouldn’t you say?’ Cruz added dangerously.

  Sudiq blinked at him. ‘Don’t be stupid, Cruz.’ Cruz’s eyes flashed at the word. ‘That money’s there, in the coffin. You know it is.’

  Smiler felt his mouth go dry. All of a sudden, he understood. He knew what Zak had done back at the camp . . .

  ‘Show me,’ said Cruz. Nobody in the room moved.

  ‘What is this?’ Sudiq said. He looked genuinely baffled. ‘Cruz, your helicopter will be here any moment. You need to leave, get back to Mexico . . .’

  ‘SHOW ME!’

  Sudiq flinched.

  Cruz stormed up to one of the East Side
Boys. ‘Open it!’ he hissed. The boys stepped towards the coffin.

  The lid was firmly nailed down. One of the boys pulled out a sturdy, broad-bladed knife and yanked it in just underneath the lid. He started levering it up. There was a cracking, splintering sound as the lid separated from the base. It gave enough of a gap for the East Side Boys to worm their fingers in. There was another great cracking sound as they forcibly ripped the lid from the coffin. It was like jaws opening. The nails protruded like teeth.

  The coffin was open. The East Side Boys stood back as Cruz approached. He stood over it, staring into the box for several seconds. From where he was standing, Smiler couldn’t see the contents. But then Cruz bent over and picked something out of it.

  A rock, about the size of a human head. And then another. No wonder the coffin had been so heavy.

  ‘Would you care to explain this, Sudiq?’ Cruz whispered.

  Sudiq staggered back. ‘I . . . I . . . I can’t explain it. It . . . it must be a trick.’

  Cruz let the rock fall back into the coffin with a clatter. Then he started walking slowly towards Sudiq. ‘What did you think I would do when I found out, Sudiq?’ Cruz asked. His voice was calm, but his eyes were wild and Smiler noticed that his hands were shaking. ‘Laugh it off? Forgive you?’ He said the word ‘forgive’ with an unpleasant curl of his lip.

  ‘Cruz, please, I would never—’

  ‘QUIET!’ Cruz pulled a handgun from inside his jacket.

  ‘Señor Martinez, I served your father well for many years—’

  ‘And now,’ Cruz raged, ‘because I am not him, you think you can pull the wool over my eyes? You think you can steal money from me? You think you can make me a fool? Well, think again!’

  Gunshot. So sudden and violent that Smiler felt his whole body jolt. It easily drowned the noise of the helicopter, which was getting much louder now.

  Smiler’s eyes clamped shut of their own accord, then he slowly opened them.

  He wished he hadn’t.

  Zak flinched at the sound of the gunfire too. It sounded tinny and distorted through the speaker on his phone, but he knew what it meant. He continued to watch the scene with cold eyes.