by Will Jordan
Then suddenly, he remembered his actions in the warehouse below, his reckless disregard for his own life as he rushed for his enemy. He remembered the feeling of shame and disappointment, knowing that his own death would do nothing to avenge hers.
And just like that, he lowered the gun.
Atayev smiled as if in amusement as Miranova moved forwards, grabbing his arms and yanking them behind his back to restrain him.
‘Remember today,’ Drake advised him. ‘It’s the last time you’ll ever see daylight.’
Atayev said nothing. But he still wore that same knowing, almost gloating smile even as he was led away.
Chapter 64
An hour later, Drake winced as a medic finished applying the field dressing to the wound at his neck. He was perched on the back of an ambulance parked outside the warehouse, with police cars and FSB vehicles all around. The entire area had been cordoned off while forensics teams pored over it.
His broken finger had been splinted, and the incision on his arm where the tracking device had been crudely removed was now stitched and dressed. He’d even been given some pills for the pain. All things considered he was in far better shape than he’d been a few hours before, physically at least.
The constant pressure, lack of sleep, and the various emotional highs and lows of the past couple of days had taken their toll on him. Over and over his mind replayed his final sight of Anya as her body was hurled callously into the canal like so much discarded rubbish. He knew it was a scene he’d be revisiting many times in the days and weeks ahead.
Even now he could scarcely believe it had happened, that her life had ended in such a pointless, empty death at the hands of a man who could barely handle a weapon. A man who had used and discarded her as so many others had done.
‘You keep the wound clean. Change dressing every day,’ the medic advised, finishing up her work. She slapped his hand away as he reached up to touch the wound. ‘And don’t scratch the stitches.’
Drake was poised to retort, then thought better of it. The medic was in her fifties, stoutly built and not about to take any shit from the likes of him. Instead he merely nodded in gratitude as she packed up her case.
No sooner had she left than a familiar voice spoke up.
‘Well, aren’t you a sorry-looking piece of shit?’
Drake looked up as Mason walked over to join him, with Frost and McKnight right behind. They too had had questions to answer from the FSB, starting with what exactly a CIA team were doing mounting an armed raid in Russian territory, barely 2 miles from the Kremlin. However, Miranova had been quick to deflect the attention away from them, pointing out that they had been instrumental in the capture of Russia’s most wanted man.
For a moment Drake just sat there looking at the three teammates, the three friends, who had journeyed halfway around the world for him, who had believed in him, who had risked their lives to help him. The thanks he owed them went far beyond words.
Echoing Mason’s light-hearted remark, he managed to summon up a defiant grin. ‘Better than looking like shit every day.’
The older man shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t know.’
Despite his apparent indifference, Drake could tell he was enjoying the banter that had once flowed so easily between the two of them. And in part of his mind, he found himself missing it too.
‘I would,’ Frost cut in, giving Drake the harsh look of a teacher about to discipline a wayward student. Considering she was normally on the receiving end of such rebukes, Drake couldn’t help wondering whether she relished the prospect. ‘In the past two days I’ve gone from freezing my ass off in Siberia, to getting it shot off in Moscow. Next time you have one of these bright ideas, remind me to punch you in advance.’
Rising up from his makeshift seat, Drake took a step towards the young woman, staring down at her with hard, intense eyes. Then, without warning he reached out and embraced her tight, lifting her small frame right off the ground.
‘Goddamn it, put me down or I really will punch you!’ she warned, though he couldn’t help noticing that a blush had risen to her face once he let go. ‘You’re just lucky you’re already hurt.’
Deciding to let that one pass, Drake turned his attention to Mason. The man had joined the team under less than auspicious circumstances, and had certainly caused him to doubt the wisdom of his decision more than once, but had come through for him when it mattered most.
Just as he’d said when they were sitting in Drake’s cramped office back at Langley, Cole Mason could still do his job in the field. Drake saw him through different eyes now.
‘I was wrong about you, mate,’ he said, unafraid to admit it. ‘I want you to know that. Back at Langley … you were right, and I was wrong. And I’m sorry.’
Mason raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, holy shit. Ryan Drake admitting he’s wrong … Might have to buy myself a lottery ticket tonight.’
‘You do that. But … don’t go job-hunting any time soon,’ Drake advised him. ‘When you’re ready, there’s a place on my team for you.’
For a moment, the older man said and did nothing at all. Drake’s words had caught him so off guard that his usual dry humour had deserted him. He wasn’t even able to muster a response.
It was a conditional offer, but a genuine one. If Mason was to be reinstated to the active duty roster, it would have to be without the painkillers, without props or aids of any kind. He would be expected to stand or fall on his own merits.
‘What, and go through shit like this again?’ Mason managed to flash a playful grin, but nonetheless Drake could see the emotion in his eyes. His offer meant more to the man than he’d ever know. It was a second chance – and those didn’t come along very often.
His smile fading, Mason reached out and clasped Drake’s hand. Drake could have sworn he saw the glint of moisture in his eyes. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world, buddy.’
‘About Anya,’ Frost said, looking quieter and subdued now. Her usual cocky bravado had deserted her. ‘Is it true? Is she really … gone?’
Drake’s face darkened. He hesitated, as if reluctant to admit it even to himself, but finally he nodded in grim acceptance.
To his surprise, he saw a momentary look of sadness pass over the young woman. ‘I’m sorry, Ryan. I know you were …’ She trailed off, a deep blush rising to her face.
‘It was quick,’ Drake said, hoping to spare her further embarrassment. ‘She would have wanted it that way.’
Swallowing, Frost merely nodded.
Last of all Drake turned his attention to McKnight. Of all his companions, she was the one he wanted to speak to most, yet hers was also the conversation he would find hardest. They each had a lot of things they’d left unsaid for too long.
‘Would you mind giving us a minute?’ he asked, glancing at his two teammates.
Mason and Frost exchanged a look, their thoughts obvious.
‘Want to grab a coffee or something?’ Mason suggested with a wry smile, hoping to lighten the mood.
Frost didn’t need much prompting. ‘I’d settle for a beer.’
‘Only if you’re buying.’
‘Screw you, Cole.’
The playful argument continued as the two of them walked off together, looking more at ease than they had since their reunion in DC several days earlier.
As soon as they were out of earshot Drake turned his attention back to the woman before him. For several seconds, he just stood there not knowing what to say, how to begin. He had held it together for the sake of his teammates, not wanting to burden them with his own grief and regrets, but now he felt like a dam straining to burst.
Sensing his need, McKnight made the first move; she walked forwards and put her arms around him in a firm but gentle embrace.
That was it for him. The emotion, the tension, the doubts and fears and betrayals and grief and sadness that were churning just beneath the surface of his mind at last broke through, and he closed his eyes, clinging to her as tears began to flow down h
is cheeks.
‘It’s okay,’ he heard her whisper in his ear, her own voice close to breaking. ‘It’s okay, Ryan. I know.’
Drake could say nothing as he held her. He could do nothing for the next few seconds but let out everything he’d tried so hard to suppress. And at last he grieved for Anya; the woman who had touched his life so profoundly, but who had remained always an enigma to him.
‘I’m sorry, Sam,’ he said, wiping his eyes as he finally let go.
‘Christ, you don’t have to apologise for this,’ she promised him. ‘Ryan, after everything you’ve—’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t mean this. I mean … the things that happened before.’ He looked at her frankly, his green eyes betraying the full depth of his regret. ‘I’m sorry for shutting you out, Sam. For pushing you away, for not trusting you when I should have. It was a mistake, and it was my mistake.’
She said nothing in reply. She could sense that he had more to say, and was content to wait, content to let him find his own way of saying it.
‘I know what you gave up to join us. I know what you left behind. You trusted me, you showed faith in me, and I let you down. I found excuses not to take you into the field because it was easier than telling you the truth. The truth is … I was afraid.’
‘Afraid of what?’
Drake swallowed, trying to find the right way to say what he needed to. ‘Afraid I’d lose you. Afraid you’d trust me with your life and I’d fail you.’
Only now did he realise how foolish he’d been. Only now did he see how his ill-judged attempts to protect her had only served to drive her away.
He sighed, letting out a breath that was still ragged from his outpouring of grief. ‘I already lost one person I care about today. I can’t do it again.’
For several seconds she just looked at him, her expression difficult to read. He didn’t know if she was about to embrace him or slap him across the face.
Then at last her look softened a little. She sighed and took a step towards him. ‘Ryan, look …’ She swallowed, searching for the right words. ‘I know what it means to do the job we do. I know there are no guarantees, and I accepted it a long time ago. I was putting my life at risk before I met you, and I’ll probably do it again, because that’s my life and my choice. You don’t get to make it for me.’
She was speaking quietly, her voice measured and controlled, but there was a firmness in it too, a resolution to make him understand and accept how she felt.
‘It’s not any easier for me, you know,’ she went on, looking into his eyes now. ‘When you go out into the field. I know you might not come back, but I accept it because that’s the decision you’ve made. I respect you enough to abide by that.’ He felt her hand on his, warm and soft, her grip firm. ‘All I want is the same from you, Ryan.’
She wouldn’t back down on this, and if he was honest, he hadn’t expected her to. But this was a conversation that had been coming for a long time. He’d needed to tell her how he felt, somehow make her understand what was holding him back.
She understood, she accepted it, but she wouldn’t submit to it.
‘All right,’ he said at last, feeling as though a weight had been lifted somehow.
He saw her lips turn upwards in a smile. It was faint, tentative, but it was genuine. ‘Good,’ she said, the smile broadening. ‘Because if you don’t, I’ll kick your sexist ass.’
Even Drake couldn’t help but smile at that. It was just like her to make light of something like this.
‘So where do we go from here?’ she asked.
Drake looked over her shoulder, seeing another figure he recognised amongst the police and FSB agents hurrying back and forth. A woman, bruised and bloodied and dishevelled, her clothes ripped and torn, reminding him strangely enough of the first time he’d met her.
Miranova.
His momentary glimmer of good humour abated, the look in his eyes hardening with resolve as he thought about what she represented, the masters she served. And most of all, he thought of the man she’d taken into custody.
‘I’ve got a few things I still need to sort out with the FSB,’ he said, looking at McKnight again. ‘You mind if I have a word with Miranova?’
McKnight’s dark brows drew together in a frown. She had seen something in his eyes, something that left her with a sense of foreboding.
‘You sure you’re okay?’
He nodded, reached out and took her hand in his. ‘I’ll be fine. I just need to put this one to bed, Sam. I have to make sure it’s done right.’
Hesitating a moment longer, she finally nodded acquiescence.
‘I’ll go round up Frost and Mason before they cause any more trouble,’ she said, turning away. ‘Just watch yourself, okay?’
Drake managed to catch Miranova’s eye as he approached. She smiled a little in greeting, though the fatigue in her eyes was difficult to hide. She too had been in the wars over the past couple of days, and like him she was feeling every moment of it now.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, looking him up and down.
‘Ready for Round Two,’ he said, managing a weak smile. ‘You?’
‘I will pass on that.’ She sighed and looked up at the warehouse, and the sunlight shining through broken cloud overhead. ‘You saved my life, Ryan.’
Drake blinked, surprised at her sudden shift in tone.
Reaching out, she laid a hand on his and squeezed gently. ‘You risked your life to get me out of there. I won’t forget that. And I will make sure that you and your team have no trouble from us.’
Drake wasn’t sure what to say, but somehow he didn’t think he was worthy of her gratitude or her help. He had lied to her, used her, put her life at risk more than once over the past few days. If only she knew, she wouldn’t be thanking him now.
Sensing she’d made him uncomfortable, she pulled her hand back. ‘We recovered the computer from Atayev’s technical expert,’ she said, adopting a more businesslike tone. ‘From what he has told us, they were planning to open up the FSB’s computer systems to every hacker on the Internet. An attack like that would have crippled us for decades.’
‘But it’s safe now, right?’
She nodded. ‘He proved very cooperative once we threatened him with life imprisonment. Everything he did has been undone.’
Drake sighed, reached into his pocket and held up the chess piece that Atayev had left with him. A pawn, its polished white surface glistening in the winter sunlight.
‘Kind of makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’ Drake asked, staring at the piece.
‘Wonder what?’
He turned his vivid green eyes on her. ‘What they would have found.’
If Atayev had been right, if Beslan and the other terrorist attacks that had devastated Russia had indeed been orchestrated by the FSB, this might have been the only chance for the world to know the truth. And he had helped cover it up.
‘I don’t suppose we will ever know.’
‘No,’ Drake agreed. ‘I don’t suppose we will.’
Miranova decided to let that one pass. Drake had been through a lot over the past few days, and men under stress often said things they regretted later.
‘We have divers in the canal looking for the woman’s body,’ she said instead. ‘But it feeds directly into the Moskva River, and the currents are strong there. I’m afraid we may never find her.’
Drake merely nodded. He didn’t think he could stand to see Anya now anyway. Not like that. Perhaps it was better that she was lost to them.
Miranova glanced around and lowered her voice. ‘I have to ask, Ryan. Who was she? Really, I mean?’
Drake looked up at her, his eyes reflecting the full depth of his loss. He knew things about her – snatches of information, camera flashes illuminating brief moments of her life – but the woman behind it all had always been a mystery to him. He had hoped one day to learn the truth, to somehow find a way through the layers of armour she had built around herself.
<
br /> Not now.
‘I don’t know,’ he said at last.
Sensing he would say no more on the subject, Miranova wisely decided to let it drop. ‘For what it is worth, I’m sorry things worked out the way they did.’
‘Yeah,’ Drake said, slipping the pawn back into his pocket. ‘Yeah, me too.’
‘What will you do now?’ she asked. ‘Go back to Langley?’
Perhaps, though Franklin’s earlier suggestion about parting company with the Agency still weighed on his mind. If he did return to Langley, there would be repercussions from this ill-judged foray into Russia. Repercussions he might never recover from.
But that was a question for another day. There was something he had to finish first.
‘I want to speak to Atayev,’ he said. ‘Before I leave. I want to debrief him.’
Miranova looked dubious, as well she might. ‘After what he did, I’m not sure that is—’
‘I have to do this, Anika,’ he persisted. ‘I have to know the truth. You understand, don’t you?’
She was silent for a long moment, clearly torn about what to do. Her logical, pragmatic mind would be telling her it was unwise to allow an exhausted, injured and emotionally volatile man access to a suspect like Atayev. But there was no denying the debt of gratitude she owed him.
Finally she nodded.
‘I will speak to my superiors,’ she said, and for a moment he saw a flicker of amusement in her dark eyes. ‘They may even want to speak with you. After all, you are the hero who brought Atayev down. You may find yourself a popular man in Moscow now.’
Drake raised an eyebrow. After his actions in Khatyrgan Prison last year, that would certainly make a change.
‘As long as there are no photographers around.’
Rising to her feet, she laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘No promises.’
Part Four
Illusion
Former FSB agent Alexander Litvinenko publicly alleged that the Russian government was complicit in the events at Beslan. Litvinenko died from acute radiation poisoning in November 2006, shortly after meeting with two Russian officials. The Russian government denied responsibility for his death.
