[James Ryker 01.0] The Red Cobra

by Rob Sinclair

  ‘Yes.’

  Walker shook his head, confused. ‘Certainly not from me. And if so, he’s never let on.’

  ‘Munroe?’

  ‘Not everything. But he’s my lawyer. Of course he knows about Empire, and what was happening with the developments.’

  Ryker believed Walker, which only made him dislike Munroe all the more. Ryker was sure Munroe was only looking to save his client’s backside but the delaying tactics he’d been playing had only served to put Walker in a perilous position.

  As for Green, Ryker would have to keep his eye on the detective. But then, if Green had fallen foul of the Georgians, perhaps even received a note from the Red Cobra like Cardo and Walker had, wouldn't he have said something? ‘You said you owed them ten million. Why didn’t you pay them?’

  ‘I couldn’t!’ Walker protested. ‘I don’t have that kind of cash. I mean, I would’ve had to sell everything to get it.’

  ‘Did you offer to do that? Seems a better course than what’s happened.’

  ‘You’re saying it’s my fault they killed Kim?’

  Ryker didn’t answer, but what did Walker expect him to say? Of course it was his fault.

  ‘I didn’t know they were capable of... that,’ Walker said.

  ‘Capable of killing your wife, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you knew they were dangerous.’

  ‘Knew they were dangerous? I’ve seen movies, I watch TV. My knowledge of the mafia comes from fantasy, not real life. Kozlov told me they were dangerous. But...’

  ‘But they never threatened you. You never saw what they were capable of.’

  ‘No.’ Walker looked down at his feet.

  ‘But you do think that’s why she was killed? There’s no other reason?’

  ‘Are you saying there’s another reason?’

  Ryker didn’t answer. If Walker was telling the truth – that he owed money but the Georgians had never threatened such violence – then Kim’s sudden and horrific murder did seem extreme and unusual, particularly when the mafia had such a hold over Walker. If they wanted money they could have carried on milking him for years; he would never have let on to anyone. So why kill his wife like that? Ryker was certain it was Walker’s connection to Kozlov and the people behind Empire that had led to Kim’s murder, but Ryker didn’t believe she was killed over ten million euros.

  The only conclusion Ryker could come to was that Kim Walker was murdered because of who she really was. At least, who the Georgians thought she was.

  The Red Cobra.

  ‘I think we’re done,’ Ryker said.

  ‘But... what happens now?

  ‘It’s getting late. Now we eat. Then we sleep. Life goes on, Patrick. I suggest you enjoy it while you still can.’

  43

  Ryker spent the next half hour getting Munroe to climb down off the wall. With the help of Green, the lawyer eventually calmed as the reality of the situation sank in. Ryker sensed Munroe’s heated response to the exposure of the truth about his client’s business partners was partly fuelled by embarrassment. Still, despite the deadly situation they found themselves in, Munroe was threatening to end Ryker’s career. Ryker didn't fight that. It wasn’t as though he had a career, and nor did he want one. But Munroe liked to think he held the power and that was fine with Ryker.

  Eventually good sense won out, and the three men debated their next steps. Walker’s maid cooked up a pasta meal for the many houseguests, giving the men further time to ponder.

  Once they were finished and the policemen had been despatched to their watch posts, Ryker, Munroe, and Green started up their conversation once more.

  The lawyer’s instinct was that they should go to the Spanish authorities with the information they had. Ryker quickly played down the suggestion. For starters they didn’t know how far the corruption spread. If Munroe wanted to protect his client – physically rather than legally – then did he really want to run the risk of tipping off a corrupt officer? And secondly, doing so wouldn’t take away the immediate threats: the Red Cobra and Georgians. The Red Cobra was out there somewhere and, for whatever reason, she wanted Walker’s blood. And the Georgians? They’d had Kim Walker killed. Since then, Ryker’s snooping had twice put him in danger of the mob’s enforcers. If Ryker didn’t hold off, then the Georgians wouldn’t stand for him much longer.

  With the night ticking by, the men ultimately decided they would batten down the hatches until morning. There were six armed policemen on site at Casa de las Rosas. None of them were told the truth about Walker, the Georgians, and the Red Cobra. They didn’t need to be. The policemen were there for protection duty, and that was all Ryker needed them to be.

  Taking charge of the situation, Ryker outlined a plan for the ten men that would allow each of them time to rest that night and made sure all the house and grounds were covered by surveillance. To help them, they locked down half of Walker’s mansion. They didn’t need to try to cover the whole expansive interior.

  At midnight, Ryker took the opportunity to get some rest in the downstairs library where they’d earlier dragged some mattresses from the many guest bedrooms. He was alone in the room – a twenty-foot square that had two walls of floor-to-ceiling bookcases crammed with books and ornaments of various shapes and sizes.

  The other men in the house were all on edge, clearly not used to being in such a dangerous situation. Ryker, on the other hand, was calm. He tried calling Lisa, but like earlier in the day, he got no answer. He left her another voicemail, a slight feeling of anxiety seeping into him as he questioned why it was becoming so hard to reach her. Was she really safe out there on her own? Winter had already found them. What if someone else had come looking too.

  Barely two minutes later, Lisa called back and Ryker answered immediately. ‘Where are you? Are you okay?’

  ‘Yeah, of course. Why?’

  ‘I don’t know, I just thought... nothing.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I thought maybe you’d gone sightseeing or something.’

  He knew she’d understand his words: Sightseeing Or Something: SOS. Given their lives on the run, they’d long before decided on numerous SOS word combinations to allow them to alert the other discreetly should they ever be in danger.

  Lisa laughed. ‘No. I was taking a shower. Is everything okay?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s fine. It’s nice to hear your voice.’

  ‘I miss you. It’s so quiet here.’

  ‘I know. I miss you too.’ There was an awkward silence. ‘It’s late here. I need to get some sleep.’

  ‘Maybe next time we can chat properly.’

  ‘Maybe next time I’ll be home already.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  They said their goodbyes and within seconds of lying down on the bare mattress, Ryker was asleep. He dreamt of Lisa. In the dream, they were having sex – bizarrely, in Andrei Kozlov’s sumptuous bedroom. Ryker was lying on the giant bed, with Lisa’s naked, supple body riding on top of him. It was one of those dreams from which Ryker didn’t want to wake up. So when he felt something cold press onto his neck, when his eyes suddenly shot open, for a split second he felt abject disappointment.

  But only for a split second. Because that’s all it took for Ryker to figure out what was happening.

  The room was dark. Not black. The curtains were drawn and the lights were off, but the spotlights from the garden outside – usually tripped only by movement – had been set to stay on through the night and the glow from them seeped into the room through the thin curtains. It was enough light for Ryker to make out the black-clad figure that was sat on top of him on the mattress. And with the vivid and colourful images of Lisa’s naked body quickly fading, there was no mistaking the feeling of the object that was on Ryker’s neck.

  Cold metal. A knife.

  The figure wore a mask. Ryker couldn't see the face, but he knew who it was.

  The Red Cobra held a finger up to her lips. Ryker rem
ained still, though he was fuming.

  ‘Don’t call for help,’ she whispered.

  Her smooth voice sent a shock of memories through Ryker’s mind. Where moments earlier he’d been dreaming of Lisa on top of him, he now had a flash of the Red Cobra, Anna Abayev, in Lisa’s place, back in the hotel in Berlin where they’d shared a bed.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Carl.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘Then take the knife away from my throat.’

  She did so, pulling the blade down by her side.

  ‘What do you want?’ Ryker asked again.

  ‘You can live. Or you can die. Time to make your choice.’

  ‘I’m not dying tonight.’

  ‘Then help me.’

  ‘Help you to do what?’

  She leaned forward, moving to a few inches from Ryker’s face. When she spoke, he could feel her breath on his cheek. It made him shiver.

  ‘Kill them all.’ Her whisper was barely audible, somehow adding to the power of her words.

  The Red Cobra moved back upright. She took off her mask. If there had been even a sliver of doubt in Ryker’s mind about whether it really was her, it disappeared in that instant. He could never forget that face.

  Years had passed since Ryker had last seen the Red Cobra. He’d often wondered what had become of her, about how differently their meeting each other could have ended, and whether he could have helped her. Mostly, he wondered why she hadn’t killed him when she’d had the chance.

  Strangely, it was good to see her face. Reassuring. The Red Cobra gave Ryker a knowing smile. She opened her mouth to speak. She never got the chance.

  The Red Cobra’s appearance hadn’t changed. She was still pretty, and it was clear her body was still lithe and toned. And lightweight. Ryker grabbed hold of her wrist and thrust an arm around her back, pinning her to him, then sprang up from the mattress, the Red Cobra wrapped around him still. He drove forward, carrying her with him, and slammed her into the bookshelves.

  The crushing impact knocked the wind out of her. Her body was suspended in the air, held in place against the shelves by Ryker’s weight. He crashed her hand onto the wooden shelves behind. On the third impact, the knife fell from her grasp and clattered to the floor.

  Ryker looked into her eyes. For a second, he had a moment of doubt as she stared back at him. He imagined himself kissing her. Her kissing him back. How she tasted.

  Then Winter’s words burrowed into his mind: You see her, you kill her. Don’t even think about it.

  Ryker brought up his forearm, then pushed it into the Red Cobra’s neck and began choking her.

  It only took a few seconds for panic to sweep across her face. She clawed at Ryker’s arm and flailed at him with her fists, then tried to punch him in the side. For all her mastery in the art of killing, she was simply no match for Ryker’s strength.

  But Ryker was too angry at the situation he’d found himself in. With Walker. With Eva. With the Red Cobra – not just in Spain but in Germany all those years earlier.

  Anger clouded his judgment. The man who’d first met the Red Cobra wouldn’t have made such a mistake. Long before, Ryker – Carl Logan – had been taught not to fight with anger. He’d learned to control it. Anger wasn’t needed for the mechanic operative he’d become for the JIA.

  But he wasn’t that man now. He was James Ryker.

  With Ryker distracted by his own determination to choke the life from the Red Cobra, she swept her arm up and sprayed him in the face. He knew immediately what she’d used: pepper spray.

  The pressurised liquid burst onto Ryker’s skin and into his eyes. In an instant, it felt like his face was on fire, like his skin was melting, his eyelids bubbling and boiling. He couldn’t see a thing.

  Ryker couldn’t hold on. He let go, stepped back, and heard the Red Cobra thud to the ground. He shouted out as the pain in his face consumed him. He still couldn’t see, but he poised for the attack he knew was to come.

  He wasn’t up against an amateur, though. This was the Red Cobra. Only luck would have seen him block the unseen attack. It seemed he was all out. The blow from the Red Cobra to the back of his head caught Ryker unaware. He hadn’t heard a sound from her as she’d moved behind him.

  Unable to muster a response, Ryker collapsed to the floor.

  44

  Eight years earlier

  Whether she’d chosen to help Carl Logan or not, the Red Cobra knew she was playing a dangerous game. She was used to that. That was her life. But whatever the many and varied reasons for the choice she’d made, she couldn’t ignore the strong pull she felt toward Carl Logan. Was it his supreme confidence? Or how he seemed so emotionally detached from what was a deadly situation?

  Was he detached, or simply in control?

  Carl Logan reminded the Red Cobra of her father. He too had been charming and kind when he wanted to be, particularly when he was playing Dad. But she’d come to know that beneath the surface, he was quite a different beast. He’d worn so many faces in his life it was impossible to know who he really was. The same could be said for her, of course.

  She cursed herself for comparing anyone to her father, whom she still loved dearly and sorely missed. But, she figured, the similarities she saw between Logan and her father were a big reason she felt so drawn to Logan. And why she’d agreed to help him.

  Not that it meant she wouldn’t slice him open if the time came. She had to be prepared for that, no matter what.

  ‘How long’s the drive?’ the Red Cobra asked.

  ‘About an hour,’ Logan said, staring out of his window.

  They were travelling in a high-powered black Audi saloon. Logan was sitting in the back, behind the driver. The Red Cobra was next to Logan. The driver was the man she’d seen with Logan in Gazinsky’s hotel suite. He was again smartly dressed in a black suit. She couldn’t determine whether he looked more like a young businessman or a clichéd well-groomed secret agent from a Hollywood movie. Whichever it was, he was a mile away in looks and persona to the mysterious Logan. The driver had been introduced as Martin. She wasn’t sure whether that was his first or last name and hadn't sought to clarify.

  ‘Where are we going?’ the Red Cobra asked Logan.

  ‘East.’

  She knew there wasn’t much left of Germany heading east from Berlin. Soon they’d be into Poland. That made her nervous.

  ‘I don’t have my passport,’ she joked.

  ‘Sure you do.’ Logan turned to face her. He looked down at her rucksack, sitting between her legs. ‘You’re carrying everything you had with you in Berlin. Aren’t you?’

  He was right. She was. She’d packed her things that morning before setting off to the Waldorf to track down Gazinsky. She’d never intended to stay in Berlin another night. She looked away from Logan, out of her own window, and watched the city buildings blur past.

  ‘We’re not leaving Germany,’ Logan said, ‘if you were worried about that.’

  The Red Cobra turned back to face him. ‘I’m not worried. Just curious.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Why out of the city?’

  ‘It’s a safe place.’

  ‘Safe for what?’

  ‘Safe for you to meet someone.’

  ‘Gazinsky?’ she asked with optimism.

  ‘Maybe. You’ll see.’

  This time it was Logan’s turn to look away. And that signalled the end of the conversation for the rest of the journey.

  They were soon out of the city and onto the Autobahn 11, heading east towards the town of Eberswalde. The Red Cobra wondered if that town was their destination. But they passed right by it, heading closer and closer to the Polish border.

  The Red Cobra felt her nerves grow. In her line of work, she had to travel across borders with the utmost caution, because it invariably left a record of her movement. She had enough cover identities to allow her to move freely around most of the world but
hopping from one country to another was still a potentially fraught move. She liked to leave as little trail as possible. Plus she had countless enemies in countless locations, and Poland was certainly one such location.

  In the end, despite her wariness, she needn’t have worried because Logan hadn’t lied. They weren’t leaving Germany. But just where were they going?

  Not long after leaving the Autobahn they headed down a twisting road and into a thick forest that was filled with pine trees and oaks, the green canopy above them so condensed that it was like driving at night.

  They passed isolated houses here and there, and the occasional small cluster. Eventually they turned onto an even narrower road that continued for a couple of miles, coming to a stop at a rustic stone and timber house that looked in some need of love and care. Martin parked the car next to a grey SUV directly in front of the house. The lights were on inside.

  Somebody was home.

  Not for the first time in the journey, the Red Cobra wondered whether Logan was laying a trap for her. Was he about to turn on her out here? Imprison her? Interrogate, torture? Or maybe the plan was simply to kill her straight off and bury her in the remote woodland.

  But if Logan wanted to kill her, why bring her all the way out here alive? It simply wasn’t necessary. He would have killed her already.

  Or tried to at least. She still firmly believed she’d be able to get the better of him if he made a move.

  She wondered again whether this was the place they had stashed Gazinsky. And if Charles McCabe was there too, that would mean all the targets Potanin had given her would be right there in front of her.

  That would certainly put her in one hell of a dilemma.

  ‘Come on.’ Logan opened his door and stepped out.

  The Red Cobra did the same. Martin got out of the driver’s seat but then hung back, by the car, as she and Logan walked toward the house’s large front door. They were a yard away when the door creaked open.

  Inside, the Red Cobra spotted another suited man, dressed much like Martin, though this guy was older, forties probably, and also much thicker in the frame. His suit jacket was undone and he made no effort to conceal the holstered handgun that was strapped to his side. The Red Cobra, hands in her jacket pocket, caressed the handle of her hunting blade. A comforter.