Endgame (Agent 21)

by Chris Ryan

  Ten seconds later, they were behind the hangar in a huddled group. Raf and Gabs were sweating profusely, their faces racked with pain. They looked toward the hill and its rocky, icy slope. It was surely obvious to everyone, Ricky thought, that the two adults would find it almost impossible to climb, in their state.

  ‘That way?’ Gabs asked quietly.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Zak.

  Gabs nodded. ‘Listen to me, you two,’ she said. ‘Whatever happens on that slope, you keep going. You’ve done enough already. You’ve got us out of that hangar – now it’s up to us to make it to your dogs. Your body’s going to hurt, but forget about that. This battle will be won in your head. If we all keep our mental toughness, we stand a chance. Understood?’

  Neither Ricky nor Zak answered.

  ‘I said, under—’

  ‘We haven’t got time,’ Raf said grimly. ‘They’ll be swarming round us any minute. Move.’

  They didn’t need any more encouragement. As a group, they sprinted towards the hillside, covering the twenty metres of open ground in as many seconds. Ricky expected to hear gunshot any moment. But it didn’t come. Not yet, anyway . . .

  ‘Go,’ Gabs hissed at the bottom of the hill. ‘Both of you go first. Don’t look back – we’ll cover you if we need to.’

  There was no arguing with her. Ricky and Zak set off up the slope. Their feet slipped badly on the perilously icy rocks, and within thirty seconds Ricky’s lungs were burning with the effort of the climb. His AK-47 clattered hard against the rocks, and it was an effort just to carry it. But he didn’t dare discard the weapon. He might be needing it.

  Ignoring Gabs’s instruction, Ricky looked over his shoulder. They’d ascended maybe fifteen metres. Only another twenty to go. Zak was alongside him, while Raf and Gabs were five or six metres behind. They were obviously struggling. Every movement seemed to be a colossal effort, and their faces were etched with pain and exhaustion. He allowed his eyes to move further down the slope. A confused look crossed his face.

  ‘Why aren’t they chasing us?’ he gasped breathlessly at Zak. ‘What’s going on?’

  Zak stopped and looked back. He frowned. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘Keep going!’ Raf shouted from behind them. ‘They’re planning something. We need to get under cover. Go!’

  Ricky suppressed a shiver of panic. He faced back up the hill and redoubled his efforts. But it was like a nightmare – the faster he moved his limbs, the slower he seemed to go. He fixed his gaze on the brow of the hill, willing it to come closer, expecting any moment to hear the sickening retort of gunfire that meant they were being fired upon.

  Ten metres from the ridge, however, he heard a very different sound.

  It was a harsh, mechanical grating. It came from further into the base. Something about it sent a cold shock through Ricky’s body. It clearly did the same to the others – they’d all stopped and were looking back towards the base, trying to identify the source of the noise.

  Raf and Gabs turned in unison towards them. ‘Did you get a view of the base when you arrived?’ Raf asked, his voice breaking as he spoke.

  Ricky and Zak nodded.

  ‘Did you see helicopters?’

  Another nod.

  ‘What sort?’

  Ricky and Zak exchanged a look. It was Zak who answered. ‘Two utility choppers. One attack helicopter.’

  A shadow crossed Raf’s beaten-up face. ‘That’s what that noise is,’ he hissed. ‘That’s why the soldiers aren’t following. They’d just be in the way. Get moving!’

  They started climbing even more furiously. Ricky’s hands were bleeding from contact with the rocks. His heart was pumping two beats to a second.

  ‘Attack helicopter . . .’ he breathed as they went. ‘That’s . . . that’s bad, right?’

  ‘One missile from an attack chopper will destroy half this hillside . . .’ Zak responded without slowing down. ‘That’s if they even bother with it – the chopper’s guns will see us off easily . . .’ He stopped for a split second and threw down his weapon. ‘These are no good to us any more. We’ll move faster without them.’

  Ricky followed his lead. Just as he discarded his weapon, he saw a shape rising slowly above the nearest hangars.

  The attack helicopter was brightly lit, sleek and sinister. It continued to rise higher into the air, its nose pointing downwards slightly, its searchlights fixed on the hillside.

  ‘We can’t outrun that thing!’ Ricky shouted.

  ‘We’ve got to try!’ Zak countered.

  Their scrambling became more frenzied as they desperately tried to make it to the top of the slope. The sound of the attack helicopter was getting louder. Much louder. It was hovering directly above Hangar 1H now, and the beam of its spotlights slammed straight into them, illuminating them as if it was the middle of the day.

  Ten metres to the top of the hill. Ricky’s bloodied hands kept grabbing for the rocks. He didn’t dare look back. Didn’t dare waste his precious breath by shouting out. If they could just get over the hill, maybe – maybe – they stood a chance.

  Gunfire!

  The noise was like an axe at the back of Ricky’s head. It went right through him. Heavy-calibre rounds exploded on the rocks all around them. Ricky slammed his body flat onto the hillside, fully expecting to feel one of those rounds rip through him at any second.

  The gunfire subsided. He heard Gabs’s voice. ‘Keep moving! Keep moving! ’

  Ricky could barely obey. He felt paralysed with fear. If he moved, surely they’d see him. Surely they’d kill him . . .

  ‘They’re not shooting by sight!’ Gabs yelled. ‘They’ll have thermal imaging. The more you move, the harder it is to hit you . . .’

  Ricky surged forward, wincing with pain as the jagged rocks needled his bleeding hands.

  Five metres to the crest of the hill.

  And, suddenly, another sound. The grinding rumble of a second engine. It was coming at them from beyond the hill.

  ‘They’re surrounding us!’ Ricky yelled. ‘They’re surrounding us!’

  He looked over his shoulder. The attack helicopter was still hanging threateningly in the air above them. Raf, Gabs and Zak were all staring towards the top of the hill, their faces fixed with terror.

  Time slowed down. Ricky turned to face forward again. He saw the spinning rotor blades of a second chopper rising above the ridge.

  His heart in his throat, he watched it come slowly into view.

  He blinked.

  Ricky recognized that chopper. Its body was mustard yellow, with black horizontal stripes. Like a bumblebee.

  He squinted and stared through the windscreen of the aircraft. The pilot had receding hair, and a scar that stretched from his forehead up to his scalp. He was chewing on an unlit cigar, and his eyes, even from a distance, were a sharp, piercing blue.

  ‘Moriarty!’ Ricky bellowed at the top of his voice. ‘It’s Moriarty!’

  29

  EVERYBODY DIES

  Zak couldn’t believe his eyes. The last time they’d seen Moriarty, he couldn’t walk. How come he was flying that old chopper? How had he found them?

  Those questions would have to wait. The chopper was settling on the top of the ridge. They had to get into it. Fast.

  He turned to Raf and Gabs. Somehow they’d managed to keep up, and were just a couple of metres behind him. But they were a mess. He scampered down to them, buffeted strongly by the downdraught of the yellow chopper, and grabbed Gabs’s arm. She cried in pain, but allowed him to drag her up the hill towards the chopper. Zak’s eyes flickered in the direction of the attack helicopter. It was still hanging in the air, and he expected another burst of fire any second. But it didn’t come.

  Not yet.

  The side door of Moriarty’s chopper was open. Ricky was standing there, his hair blowing wildly in the downdraught, screaming urgently at them – but his voice was totally drowned out by the deafening sound of the
two aircraft. Zak, Gabs and Raf stumbled towards him. Zak’s eyes flickered towards Moriarty. He expected him to be looking at his sister, but he was surprised. The pilot’s brow was furrowed, his face white with pain, and his gaze was firmly fixed on the attack helicopter facing off in front of them.

  If he was scared, he didn’t look it.

  All three of them were gasping for air by the time they reached the door. Ricky ushered them inside. Zak caught a glimpse of a white bandage strapping up Moriarty’s knee as they fell heavily into the body of the chopper, a bundle of bruised, beaten bodies. Zak felt a moment of weightlessness as the chopper lifted into the sky.

  He pushed himself to his feet, just as the aircraft banked sharply, throwing him to one side. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the attack chopper. It was advancing.

  ‘That thing can put us down any moment it likes!’

  ‘Thanks, kid!’ Moriarty yelled back. ‘You think I don’t know that? We’re in Russian airspace. They’re within their rights to shoot us down if they want to. Our only hope is to get back over the date line, into US territory. Then they might think twice . . .’

  The chopper surged forward. Through the windows, Zak saw the familiar blast of snow and cloud. The others were getting to their feet. Gabs was staring hard at Moriarty, but it seemed as if the pilot himself was steadfastly refusing to look at her. With a flash of insight, he realized that Moriarty couldn’t bear to be reunited with his sister, only to be parted from her immediately, when the attack helicopter put them down.

  That thought made Zak lurch to the side window and press his face against it. At first he couldn’t see their enemy – they were surrounded by thick cloud. But a few seconds later, through a gap in the mist, he caught a glimpse of its evil shape as it sped past them. Outrun it? In this old aircraft? Impossible. Fight it? Get real.

  They needed a better idea. Or they were dead.

  Zak closed his eyes. He found the events of the previous few days spinning through his mind. Michael and Felix, dead . . . Malcolm . . . Cruz, luring them here on behalf of the Russians . . . And the Russians themselves, wanting to get their hands on a precious teenage spy, but unwilling to risk the fallout of abducting him themselves . . .

  His eyes pinged open.

  ‘Moriarty,’ he said sharply. ‘Is there a radio on this thing?’

  ‘Yep,’ Moriarty growled. There were beads of sweat on his brow as he struggled to keep the chopper level. ‘But unless you speak Russian—’

  ‘Tune it in to the aircraft emergency frequency,’ Zak barked. ‘Now!’

  ‘Kid, we’ve got an attack chopper on our—’

  ‘We’ll never escape it. Tune it in!’

  ‘Do it, Moriarty!’ Gabs’s voice was like a whip. ‘He knows what he’s talking about.’

  The sound of her voice had an immediate effect on the pilot. He jolted sharply and blinked furiously. He leaned towards his controls and, with his free hand, switched on the old radio set and passed the handset to Zak.

  ‘Hover,’ Zak said. Moriarty hesitated. ‘Hover!’

  There was a sudden lurch as the chopper slowed down. Zak could see almost nothing – they were shrouded in mist and cloud. But then, through the windowscreen, he saw the shape of the attack helicopter emerge through the mist. It hung in the air, no more than fifteen metres from the yellow chopper. On either side were two missile launchers. Zak’s heart almost stopped as he saw them slide upwards, locking into place.

  ‘I KNOW YOU’RE MONITORING THIS CHANNEL,’ he shouted into the radio handset. ‘I KNOW YOU CAN SPEAK ENGLISH. THERE ARE THREE CHILDREN IN THIS HELICOPTER! THIS IS BEING BROADCAST OVER A PUBLIC DISTRESS CHANNEL. ANYBODY COULD BE LISTENING. IF YOU WANT THE WORLD TO KNOW THAT A RUSSIAN MILITARY AIRCRAFT HAS KNOWINGLY SHOT US DOWN AND KILLED US, GO AHEAD AND FIRE.’

  Nobody, and nothing, moved. The choppers faced each other, surrounded by mist. Zak’s eyes didn’t move from the missile launchers.

  ‘This is what I know,’ he continued, his voice tense and clipped. ‘You paid Cruz Martinez to kill two security personnel in the UK. You paid him to kidnap two more, knowing that I would do whatever it took – and go wherever I needed – to find them. There’s already one UK citizen dead on the ice. If you shoot down this chopper, you’ll have more than a diplomatic incident on your hands.’

  Zak’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘You’ll have a war,’ he said. It felt like everyone in the chopper was holding their breath.

  ‘Do what you have to do,’ Zak said quietly. He released the pressel on the handset, and calmly passed it back to Moriarty.

  Nothing happened. The attack helicopter remained where it was, hovering just ahead of them. The missile launchers remained engaged.

  ‘You like a high-stakes game, kid,’ said Moriarty.

  Zak didn’t – couldn’t – take his eyes off the chopper. ‘You too, Moriarty,’ he said. ‘How did you know where to find us?’

  ‘The Little Diomede islanders told me where the military base was. They’re good people. I figured you might need a bit of help . . .’

  ‘You figured right.’

  There was movement in the cabin. Gabs struggled forward. She put one hand on Moriarty’s shoulder. For the first time during the stand-off, the yellow chopper wobbled. Zak saw a tear run down Moriarty’s grizzled face. ‘Good to see you, sweetie,’ he said in a broken voice.

  Just then, there was movement up ahead. The tail of the attack helicopter had risen slightly. Zak caught his breath. His message had failed.

  ‘Nice knowing you all,’ he said weakly. From the corner of his eye, he saw Gabs squeeze Moriarty’s shoulder a little harder.

  He closed his eyes.

  Nothing happened.

  Opening them again, he saw the attack helicopter still hanging in the air. But its missile launchers were moving again.

  They were sliding back to their original position.

  Disengaging.

  Zak felt a sudden, wild leap of hope. Slowly, the attack helicopter retreated, disappearing into the mist, like a ghost fading away.

  For a moment, nobody spoke. Zak realized that he’d somehow cut off all external noise. Now the hum of the yellow chopper’s engines assaulted his ears again. And he suddenly felt so weak that he thought his knees would collapse underneath him.

  ‘How about you get us out of here, brother of mine?’ Gabs whispered. If she felt any sense of relief, it wasn’t evident in her voice. In fact, the whole cabin was sombre. Ricky’s head was hanging low, while Raf looked barely conscious. Moriarty’s grizzled face was still tear-dashed. But he moved his control stick and the chopper banked sharply off to the right.

  ‘Wait,’ Zak said. His voice shook as much as his limbs and a heavy sense of despair weighed down on him. He looked over at the pilot. ‘Can you get down below the cloud line?’

  Moriarty nodded. There was a slight lurch as the chopper lost height. The dark, icy landscape came into view.

  ‘Get us to the date line,’ Zak said, ‘between the two islands. We’ve got one more passenger to pick up.’

  They flew in silence, with just the beating of the rotors for company. Less than a minute later, they approached the position where they had made contact with Cruz. Zak’s eyes were magnetically drawn to the three bodies lying on the ice.

  But to one body in particular.

  ‘Can you put us down on the ice?’ Zak asked quietly.

  Moriarty didn’t answer, but moments later the yellow chopper was settling onto the frozen wasteland. Zak moved towards the side door, but Ricky was already there.

  ‘I want to do it,’ Zak said.

  Ricky gave him a supportive smile. ‘Together?’ he said.

  Zak nodded.

  They opened the door and jumped out onto the ice. Malcolm’s body was lying ten metres away. They hurried over, then bent down and picked it up, Zak taking the head end, Ricky the feet. The body was horribly cold. Cold enough to suck any remaining warmth from Zak himself.

  He
looked across the ice, to where Cruz and Calaca were lying. Zak frowned, then realized that Raf and Gabs had exited the chopper, and had walked over to stand by them.

  ‘It’s not your fault, sweetie,’ Gabs said. ‘None of this is your fault.’

  ‘I thought I could change him,’ Zak said. ‘Cruz, I mean. I’ve always thought I could change him back into the person he was.’

  ‘Cruz made his own choices, Zak,’ Raf told him.

  Zak nodded at the corpse in his arms. ‘What about Malcolm? We shouldn’t have brought him with us. He wasn’t cut out for this.’

  Raf’s face tightened. ‘Maybe he wasn’t. But he also wasn’t a fool. He made his own choices too, buddy.’ He looked over at Ricky. ‘We all did.’

  ‘Does it get easier?’ Zak asked. ‘Losing people?’

  ‘Never,’ Raf said. ‘Not one bit.’

  An icy wind blew against them. Zak found himself vocalizing a thought that had been his constant companion for the past few days. ‘I’m not sure I’m cut out for this,’ he said quietly. ‘People seem to die around me. I don’t want that to happen any more.’

  Gabs walked up to him. She looked steely. ‘You think that if you weren’t around, people wouldn’t die? Think again.’

  ‘But Malcolm . . . Felix . . . Michael . . .’

  ‘If Michael were here, he’d tell you that everybody dies, Zak. Every single person. Some sooner, some later. The question is, what do we do with the time we have? Do we let it slip by? Or do we do something worthwhile with it? Do we make our life mean something, until the time comes for us to . . .?’ She nodded towards the dead bodies, and Zak knew what she meant. ‘That’s the choice you have to make, sweetie. It’s the choice we all have to make.’ She looked back at the chopper. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said, ‘my brother and I have quite a lot to catch up on.’

  She turned and walked back to the chopper, bowing her head against the downdraught. Raf followed her.

  ‘I guess she’s right,’ Ricky said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Zak replied. ‘I guess.’ He paused. ‘You did well, Ricky,’ he said. ‘Really well. I can see why Felix picked you out.’