by Will Jordan
Seeing one he recognised, he looked at Frost again. ‘Can you zoom in any tighter on his hand?’
Increasing the resolution to maximum, Frost focused the screen on the driver’s outstretched hand, the image now rendered grainy and pixillated by her efforts. But sure enough, a single word had been etched into his skin in simple, bold letters.
CEBEP
‘What’s that?’ the young woman asked.
‘It’s the Russian word for “north”,’ Drake explained. ‘Our friend there did time in a Siberian prison.’
She said nothing, though for once she actually looked impressed with his insight.
‘And the devil?’ McKnight prompted, nodding to the image of a demon near his wrist.
‘That’s for someone who holds anger and hatred towards the government.’
‘Figured as much,’ Frost said. ‘Shame he didn’t get his name and address on there too. Would’ve made our job a lot easier.’
Drake folded his arms. The tattoos might have given an insight into the man’s background, but not his identity. Or more importantly, his intentions.
‘What about the vehicle they left in? Did we get any images of that?’
The young specialist shook her head. ‘This place wasn’t exactly Fort Knox. They only log vehicles as they enter.’
‘They must have brought it in at some point to have it standing by.’
‘No shit. But it could have happened weeks or even months ago. You want to cross-reference every vehicle that’s passed through those gates in the past six months, be my guest.’
He didn’t. ‘So who was the lock-up registered with?’
‘Some outfit called Marcell Removals. They took out a short-term lease about a month ago.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s a bullshit company – there’s nothing on them.’
He wasn’t surprised. ‘What about Anya?’
Frost made a face, suggesting the news wasn’t good. ‘There were no cameras in the apartment building she fired from. I was trying to backtrack her movements using traffic cams, but it was slow going. Knowing her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she disappeared like a fart in the wind.’
Neither would he. Anya had made a career out of evading detection, and had survived on the run for the past eighteen months despite Cain’s best efforts to capture her. He doubted she would allow herself to be caught now.
With no progress on the security-camera front, Drake turned his attention to McKnight. ‘Sam, anything from you?’
He held a second cup of coffee out to her, but she shook her head. Unlike Frost, she didn’t live off the stuff.
‘Well, the sniper rifle’s a dead end. No pun intended,’ she added. ‘Serial numbers and ID marks were removed. No hairs, fibres or prints were found on it. It’s a serious piece of hardware, though – a KSVK 12.7 Russian, designed by the Degtyarev plant for taking out armoured vehicles and concealed snipers. It packs more punch than a Barrett Fifty Cal, and it’s lighter. According to the intel I was able to dig up, they were only ever issued in small numbers to special forces teams in Chechnya. The Russians really know how to build guns.’
They’ve had plenty of practice, Drake thought.
‘And the explosives?’
She nodded, consulting the chemical analysis results she had printed out. ‘According to this, it’s a compound called Danubit. Some company in Slovakia manufactures it. Normally it’s used for industrial applications like mining and rock blasting. Packs a hell of a punch, though – I’d guess it took less than a pound of the stuff to vaporise that lock-up.’
‘So who would have access to it?’
‘Virtually anyone,’ she admitted. ‘It’s exported to mining and construction companies all over the world. Anyone with a licence to drill or build could get their hands on it.’
He sighed, disappointed she hadn’t found anything more specific. They needed something to narrow down their search, and this, like the rifle, seemed to be a dead end.
‘There was one other thing,’ she added, turning her attention back to the printout. ‘The chemical analysis turned up some unusual trace elements in the explosive. Nickel, cobalt, cadmium, selenium … lots of heavy metals that aren’t part of the explosive reaction.’
He frowned. ‘Sounds like the stuff you’d find in your average car battery. Wouldn’t it have come from the van when it blew up?’
She shook her head. ‘No, this stuff was everywhere, in equal quantities. The van’s battery was still more or less intact even after the explosion. Whatever it was, it was part of the bomb itself. The blast must have rendered it aerosol.’
Drake raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not sure how it could be used to their advantage. ‘Any theories?’
She shrugged. ‘If I had to make a guess, I’d say the explosives were contaminated somehow, either during manufacture or storage.’
‘So where would you find nickel, lead and all that other crap?’ Frost wondered.
‘A chemical plant,’ Drake suggested.
The young woman made a face. ‘Plenty of those to choose from.’
McKnight shook her head, still mulling it over.
Then, just like that, her eyes lit up as an idea came to her. ‘Blacksmith.’
‘Huh?’
‘If this contamination came from some kind of airborne pollution, all we need to do is find a site that matches it,’ she explained, growing more excited as the idea took shape. ‘The Blacksmith Institute is an environmental agency that monitors industrial pollution all over the world. I used a bunch of their papers to write my thesis back in college. If anyone can tell us where this contamination came from, they can.’
She turned her attention to Frost, and the laptop she was still holding.
‘Keira, if I give you the list of trace elements, can you tie in with their servers and do a search for possible sites that match?’
Frost made a face. ‘Could be a hell of a long list without any search parameters.’
‘Then narrow it down to construction and mining complexes,’ Drake suggested.
‘And focus on Russia and Eastern European countries,’ McKnight added, the ideas seeming to flow easily when she had Drake to bounce them off. ‘Everything we’ve seen so far is of Russian origin. It seems logical that the explosives were as well.’
‘On it,’ the young woman said, already bringing up Google to search for the site.
Chapter 13
Deputy CIA director Marcus Cain looked up from his computer at the knock on his office door. Normally his private secretary would be there to screen anyone seeking an audience with him, but this early in the morning he was alone.
‘Come in,’ he called out, knowing already who was on the other side.
The door opened. Sure enough, Dan Franklin strode into the room, his posture tense and his expression hard, as it often was when Cain called him into his office. He hated the deputy director almost as much as Drake did; the difference, however, was that Cain now owned Dan Franklin. He had made a deal with the devil last year, and if anything happened to his unlikely benefactor, he would be ruined as well.
‘Dan, good to see you again,’ Cain said with false equanimity.
The younger man wasn’t impressed. ‘You asked to see me?’
Cain nodded and gestured to a chair opposite. ‘Take a seat.’
He knew Franklin preferred to stand, just as he knew he hated it when people made allowances for his injury. Saying nothing, Franklin eased himself into a chair, doing his best to hide the pain as he did so. Cain sat easily in his own chair, regarding his subordinate for a few seconds before speaking.
‘Been a busy night, huh?’
Franklin nodded. ‘It has.’
‘Especially for some of your staff,’ Cain added, eyeing him hard. ‘Maybe you could tell me what your friend Drake was doing at the scene of that sniper attack? Because from what I’ve heard he made quite an impression. Ruffled a few feathers, if you catch my drift. I was hoping you could tell me why.’
�
�Ryan’s a loose cannon, always has been,’ Franklin said, allowing a hint of irritation to creep into his voice, as if Drake was just as much a problem for him as he was for Cain. ‘He sees something happening and he feels he has to get involved. Mostly against my better judgement. I’ve already brought him in and reprimanded him for his actions.’
To his credit, Franklin remained surprisingly composed under this scrutiny. There weren’t many men who could sit opposite Marcus Cain and blatantly lie to his face without sweating.
Still, Cain allowed it to pass. ‘So tell me, what is Drake doing now?’
Franklin shrugged. ‘Going home with his tail between his legs, I’d assume. There’s nothing more for him to do.’
‘Of course,’ Cain agreed. Despite his genial tone, his gaze was cold and penetrating as he stared at the younger man across his desk. ‘And there’s nothing else you’d like to share with me, Dan? No other issues that you want to bring to my attention?’
For a moment, a tension hung in the air between them, heavy and brooding. The very air in the office seemed to press down on them.
This was the crucial moment; the tipping point where Cain decided whether Dan Franklin was a man he could control and ultimately mould into something useful, or whether his loyalty to Drake represented a threat that would have to be eliminated. For a heartbeat, he caught himself wondering whether his subordinate understood just how much rested on what he said next.
And just like that, Franklin shook his head, meeting Cain’s gaze without fear. ‘I’ve got Drake under control.’
Cain smiled and nodded, the tension evaporating. ‘Good. I’m glad to hear it. We have to be careful about the people working under us, don’t you think?’ His smile faded a little as he held the other man’s gaze. ‘You never know when they might do something … unwise.’
‘Couldn’t agree more,’ Franklin said, rising from his chair. ‘Now, if it’s all the same to you, I wouldn’t mind heading home for a few hours’ sleep. There’s nothing else, is there, Marcus?’
‘No.’ The smile was back. ‘No. Nothing else.’
Hesitating a moment, Franklin nodded, turned away and walked slowly from the room, making a point of not retreating too quickly. But Cain could tell from his body language that he couldn’t wait to get out of there.
The door closed and Cain leaned back in his chair, his eyes pensive as he stared at the image on his computer screen. It was an artist’s impression of the woman seen entering the apartment building in central DC shortly before the sniper attack.
Blonde hair, blue eyes, mid-thirties to mid-forties, tall and athletically built, attractive features with a slightly foreign look about them. Even if it was based on one civilian’s chance encounter in a dimly lit hallway, the picture bore enough of a resemblance to Anya that Cain was willing to bet his life it was her.
The entire attack bore all the hallmarks of the snatch-and-grab operations she used to run in Afghanistan two decades earlier. Anya; audacious as always, launching an attack of this scale just a few short miles from Langley itself. Perhaps she was trying to send him a message, letting him know that no one was safe from her, no matter how well protected they felt.
He didn’t fully understand the depth of her participation yet, but he had a suspicion he knew what, or rather who, her ultimate goal was. What he did know for certain was that Drake, predictable as always, was already working to track her down.
For now at least, Cain was content to let Drake do his work for him. Keeping the man alive just might prove to be the best decision he’d ever made. Cain was adept at manipulating people into doing what he wanted, but as he had learned from long experience, the best spies were the ones who didn’t even realise they were working for you.
‘I think I’ve got something,’ Frost said, now hunched over her computer, her eyes glued to the screen. ‘I’ve accessed the Blacksmith Institute’s soil- and air-sample database. It’s one of the most boring things I’ve ever looked at, but if the comparison tool finds something it should return a result within minutes.’
Drake could do nothing but wait as Frost went about her task, her eyes flicking constantly back and forth across the screen while her fingers danced over the keyboard, inputting information, navigating from page to page, scrolling through lists of results. The only time she interrupted her work was to reach for her coffee cup and take a gulp.
‘Got it,’ she announced at last, leaning back on the couch with a triumphant smile. ‘It’s a perfect match for soil samples taken around the nickel-smelting plant at Norilsk in Siberia. They even have their own mining operation right next door. Twenty bucks says that’s where your explosives came from.’
‘Can you access the local police department, bring up a list of recently reported crimes in Norilsk?’ McKnight asked.
The technician frowned. ‘I think so. Why, what are you looking for?’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Thefts.’
Frost got the idea. Accessing the Norilsk central police database and running its contents through an online translator program, she began to scan the list of recently reported crimes. Such occurrences were often kept available online in case some helpful citizen happened to browse through and spot something that jogged their memory.
‘Epic win for us,’ she announced. ‘Norilsk Nickel reported a theft of explosives from one of their warehouses about two weeks ago.’
McKnight leaned in closer, her expression serious. ‘How much?’
‘Erm …’ She scanned the badly translated report. ‘About three hundred pounds.’
The older woman took a step back. ‘Jesus,’ she said quietly. ‘That’s enough to level a building.’
For Drake, the revelation presented an altogether more sinister conclusion – there were going to be more attacks. Still, they had a lead. A tenuous lead, perhaps, but a lead all the same. The next course of action was obvious.
‘If the trail leads to Norilsk, that’s where I’m going.’
Why the group responsible for this would have travelled all the way to Siberia for explosives, he had no idea. But like the chess piece and the cryptic message on Demochev, it was somehow part of some larger plan.
‘It’s not going to be easy,’ Frost warned, having called up detailed information on the city. ‘Norilsk is a closed city – kind of a hangover from the Cold War. I guess the mining operation is considered highly sensitive. Even people who live there need a special permit to enter or leave. It could take months to get one, which puts you shit out of luck, Ryan.’
Drake let out a breath, for the time being daunted by her revelation. Franklin wouldn’t support any kind of covert insertion, and there was no way for him to make his way there legitimately. Without the resources and backing of the Agency, he was little better than a tourist.
‘There has to be a way in,’ he persisted, unwilling to concede defeat.
Frost spread her hands. ‘Unless you’re real cosy with someone in the Russian government, I don’t see how.’
That notion stirred an idea in him. It was a risky and decidedly unwise idea, but if it paid off then it just might give them what they needed.
He knew of someone in the Russian government well placed to get him access to restricted areas. Someone with a vested interest in catching the people responsible for the attack. Someone with whom he had already established a tentative element of trust.
‘There’s one person we could try.’
It didn’t take McKnight long to see where he was going. ‘Ryan, tell me you’re not suggesting Miranova.’
‘Fine, I won’t tell you.’
‘She’s FSB, for Christ’s sake,’ she reminded him. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re hardly top of their friends list right now. Not to mention the fact that you’re talking about launching an unauthorised operation into a foreign country, and cosying up to one of our biggest rivals at the same time. How do you think this would look if it got out?’
‘I don’t care how it looks,’ he bit back.
‘I care about answers.’
McKnight folded her arms. ‘Then here’s an answer for you. If you do this, forget about your career; you’re putting your life on the line. These people don’t play games, even if you do.’
Drake remained for a moment in brooding silence. To go any further, to go against Franklin’s wishes and join forces with the FSB, might mean opening a permanent rift between them. It might mean the end of his career entirely.
Yet doing nothing could mean sitting back and watching Anya destroy herself in a war she could never hope to win. She was without doubt one of the most capable and resourceful people he’d ever met, but she was still only one woman. She couldn’t take on the whole of the FSB by herself.
And if he lost Anya, he lost his only chance of taking down Marcus Cain and getting his life back. The man might have been held in check by Franklin’s threats of exposing some of his past misdeeds, but that would only serve to delay the inevitable. Drake, and those around him, was a thorn in his side that Cain would find a way to remove sooner or later.
Drake’s only chance was to get there first, and the only person who could make that happen was Anya. She alone possessed the knowledge to bring down one of the most powerful and dangerous men in the Agency.
‘I can’t afford to lose her, Sam,’ he said at last. ‘I have to find her.’
And that was it. Just like that, the decision was made. The line was crossed.
Whether he would come back from it was another matter.
‘Then I’m coming with you,’ McKnight decided.
Drake shook his head. ‘No, you’re not.’
He was prepared to stick his neck out on this one, but he wasn’t prepared to put the rest of his team at risk – not over something like this. He’d done that too many times already.
For a moment, anger flared in her eyes. ‘I’m an explosives expert, and you’re hunting for missing explosives. You need me.’
‘I don’t need you dead.’
He’d known she would insist on going, and he’d known she would offer a perfectly logical argument to back it up, but that still didn’t mean he wanted Samantha there. He especially didn’t want her there if his connection to Anya was discovered and the FSB decided to throw him in the same hellhole prison he’d once rescued her from.
