“Don’t,” McKnight warned as she stared down the sights of her weapon, her finger tight against the trigger. “You’ve got a nine millimetre submachine gun aimed straight at your head. I admit I’m not the greatest shot in the world, but I’m pretty sure even I can’t miss from this range.”
Wheeler let out a breath. The fleeting sense of triumph he’d felt at outsmarting Drake had vanished as the true reality of his situation began to dawn on him. He had done nothing of the sort. Drake had been ready for this, just as he’d been ready for everything else that Wheeler had tried to throw at him.
“Put down your guns,” Drake instructed.
“Why? So you can kill us without a fight?” Santos spat. Wheeler knew her well enough to know she’d rather go down swinging than meekly capitulate.
Drake shook his head. “Like you said, nobody has to die here tonight. In fact, I’d much rather be on my way without any more deaths on my conscience. Put the guns down, and I give you my word you won’t be harmed.”
Wheeler couldn’t say why he believed him. Every rational impulse told him Drake was a traitor who would say and do anything to save his own life. And yet, there was something about the man that seemed at odds with this dire assessment of his character.
Hesitating a moment longer, Wheeler finally lowered his gun, laying it on the ground at his feet. After a reassuring nod from her superior, Santos reluctantly followed suit.
Mason and Frost moved forward, quickly retrieving the weapons while McKnight kept them covered. Meanwhile, Drake removed Wheeler’s tactical radio and held it up in front of him.
“Radio your people and tell them there’s no sign of us here,” he instructed. “If you try to use a duress code… I’ll be very disappointed in you.”
Chewing his lip, Wheeler nodded acquiescence. “All units, this is Viper team. No sign of tangos here. We’re going to work our way back to you.”
“You sure, Viper?” That was Krasinski, his voice edged with doubt and frustration. “We found tracks leading to an access hatch.”
“Then it’s a feint,” Wheeler replied. “They used it to distract you so they could slip away. Spread out and look for more trails. We’ll be with you soon. Viper Team, out.”
Clicking the radio off, Drake dropped the unit at his feet and crushed it beneath the heel of his boot. He gave Wheeler a look that might have been gratitude, before nodding to Frost and Mason.
“Tie them up.”
In short order, both operatives were securely bound to a steel post that had likely once formed part of a chain link fence keeping people away from the cement plant. The ropes wouldn’t hold them forever, but they would buy enough time for Drake and his companions to escape.
The injured woman had already vanished into the darkness near the shoreline, supported by Frost and Mason. Only Drake and McKnight remained.
“Comfortable?” McKnight asked as she checked Santos’ bindings.
“Fuck off,” the field agent replied, staring back at her in disgust. “You’re a disgrace. A disgrace to the Agency and a disgrace to your country.”
McKnight said nothing to this. And after she’d gagged Santos – none too gently – the field operative had nothing more to say, either.
“You know they’ll be hunting you for the rest of your days,” Wheeler reminded him as Drake wound up a strip of cloth to use as a makeshift gag. “It doesn’t matter where you go or how far you run. Sooner or later they’ll find you. Is that how you want to live your life?”
Drake looked at the man for a moment in thoughtful silence, as if sizing him up. “What’s your name?”
“My name?”
“Yeah. You have one, I assume.”
Wheeler snorted in bitter amusement. “It’s Frank.”
“Well, Frank, you’re obviously a good field operative, probably even a good guy,” Drake acknowledged. “So take some advice from someone who knows better – don’t come looking for me again. Don’t get drawn into my world. Believe me, it doesn’t matter what side you’re on. Sooner or later, everyone loses.” He reached up and tied the gag around Wheeler’s mouth. “You’ll probably have at least five or ten minutes to think about that. Use them.”
Leaving the two field operatives to contemplate his parting words, Drake and McKnight jogged off towards the shore, vanishing into the darkness within seconds. Not long after, Wheeler heard the sound of a boat engine roar into life, which soon faded away across the calm waters of the Gulf of Izmit.
Wheeler closed his eyes and waited for the rest of the assault team to find them. Part of him was still surprised he’d survived the encounter. Perhaps he’d been wrong, not just about Drake’s capabilities as an operative, but more importantly his character.
But then, what difference did it make now? He didn’t imagine he’d encounter the man again, and in truth he had little desire to go looking for him.
Once was enough for one lifetime.
Epilogue
Six days later
It was a beautiful day, the shining waters of the Aegean reflecting the pristine blue sky overhead. Olivia Mitchell watched as the small, sun-bleached fishing boat chugged across the wide bay towards her.
She had spent the last six days convalescing on the small Greek isle of Skyros; the south-most of the Sporades island chain. She and her group of unlikely saviours had spent this time hiding out in a ramshackle old log cabin somewhere on the forested slopes overlooking the sea, while a doctor that Drake had described as ‘discreet’ had tended her injuries. While hardly fighting fit, she was at least recovered enough to travel and look after herself.
Which was just as well, because it was time to part company from Drake and his companions. The boat was due to deliver her to a small town on the Greek coast about twenty miles to the west. Where she would go from there, she didn’t yet know. All she knew was that a week ago she’d been resigned to spending a good portion of her life in prison. Now she was free.
Well, as free as any wanted fugitive could be. And that was all right by her.
“Here, you’ll need this,” Drake said, handing her a plain canvas satchel.
Frowning, Mitchell opened it. Inside she found several bundles of money, each containing several thousand Euros at least. Beside them, tucked into a separate pouch within the satchel, was a Smith & Wesson semi-automatic. She looked at him in surprise, having no idea what to say.
“Ten thousand Euros, courtesy of our mutual friend,” Drake explained. “It’s all you get and there’s no more, so I suggest you spend it wisely.”
She thought to refuse his gift, reasoning he’d done more than enough for her already, but she knew he wouldn’t accept her refusal. Anyway, she would almost certainly need the money in the weeks ahead. It was hardly a life-changing sum, but perhaps it would prove life-saving. As for the gun, she could only hope she’d never have to use it.
“I… don’t know what to say.”
Drake made a dismissive gesture. “Just try not to get caught, yeah? We won’t be around to help next time.”
Of that, she had no doubt. Fastening the satchel, Mitchell slung it over her shoulder. “What about you? Where will you go now?”
“Probably best you don’t know,” he said. She didn’t blame him for being reticent about his plans. The less she knew, the less danger he and his friends were in. She was quite sure they had enough to contend with already.
“But all that stuff you told me about Cain, Anya… the Circle,” she protested, feeling like there were so many questions still unanswered. “Where’s it all heading?”
He didn’t have to say it. The look in his eyes told her there were still battles for him to fight, and that the outcome was far from certain.
Accepting this, she nodded and looked at him for a long moment, seeing him as if for the first time not as a soldier, not as an operative or the leader of the group who had rescued her, but simply as a man. “You never did tell me why.”
Drake looked at her curiously. “Why?”
> “Why you saved me,” she explained. “I mean… I know Anya asked you to do it, but there’s got to be more to it than that. Why did you risk your life for someone you’ve never even met?”
She saw a flicker of a smile then, a certain lowering of his defences. He’d remained aloof around her for most of their time on the island, giving her few details about himself or his life, and on some level she’d understood why. But now, at last, he was allowing her a small glimpse of the man behind those defences.
“I can’t say I believe in many things, Mitchell – not religion or luck or any of that crap. But one thing I do believe in is second chances. I got one, whether I deserved it or not, and… I’m pretty sure you deserve yours.” Drake nodded to the fishing boat, which had pulled alongside the wharf. A nimble deckhand leapt up, fastening the boat in place so she could embark. “Your ride’s here. Time to go.”
Mitchell hesitated, wishing there was some way she could thank him for everything he’d done for her, wishing there were words that could sum up what she was feeling in that moment. Instead, she embraced him tightly, saying nothing, hoping it was enough.
Releasing him, she stepped back, adjusting the satchel on her shoulder. “If you ever need help, if there’s ever anything I can do…” She smiled ruefully, knowing it wasn’t much of an offer. “Well, I’m sure you’ll know how to find me.”
Clambering aboard the gently rocking fishing boat, she looked at him one more time, wondering if it would be the last. She couldn’t say what the future held for Drake, or the group of people who had chosen to follow him, but she doubted his life would be a quiet one.
“Take care of yourself, Ryan Drake,” she said as the deckhand cast off the mooring lines and the wharf began to slip away.
Drake nodded to her in silent acknowledgement, before turning and walking away to rejoin his team.
With the island slowly fading away behind her, and the warm breeze in her face, Olivia Mitchell closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Like Drake’s, her own future was far from certain, but for the first time since awakening in that hospital she felt ready to face it on her own terms.
Because, like him, she too believed in second chances.
The End
First published in the United Kingdom in 2016 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
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Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © Will Jordan, 2016
The moral right of Will Jordan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781911420651
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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