Surviving the Fall (Hidden Truths Book 4)

by Brittney Sahin

  Just fucking great.

  Trent Shaw’s close-set, green eyes shifted to the monitors before looking back at Jake.

  “How the hell did you guys find me?” Jake blinked a few times. Maybe that information wasn’t relevant right now, but despite his current state, he was curious.

  Trent coughed a little. “When the British found you at the scene of the explosion, you were slightly coherent, and they managed to get your name. They called the U.S. and . . . well, we were both shocked and relieved to hear it was you.” He paused for a moment. “Before the explosion, you were on an OP and had gone missing. You were MIA for over a week.” Trent stood. “Jesus, Jake, I never thought I’d see you again. And, damn, when I got to London they’d already put you in a coma.”

  The drugs were trying to pull Jake back to sleep. His eyelids grew heavy, and it was getting harder to keep them open.

  “I need to talk with the doctor to learn more about your condition. Why don’t you get some rest, and we’ll talk again after you wake?”

  Jake looked past Trent and at the open door. “Looks like that won’t be happening.”

  Trent turned to follow Jake’s gaze.

  “He’s awake?” the man standing in the doorframe asked.

  That was all Jake needed—another man in a suit.

  “Why are you here? We made a deal. No police or agents while he’s at the hospital.” Trent gripped his temples with his thumb and middle finger and irritation settled between the two men, thicker than the London fog.

  Jake shifted his attention to the British guy standing before them. He was tall, lean, and had butter blonde hair that was slicked back. Behind his red-framed glasses were a pair of shale gray eyes.

  “You’re on her Majesty’s soil. We invited you to London, even though we could have waited until we learned more about Agent Summers. This is our jurisdiction, not yours.”

  Trent’s jaw tightened. “You better have called us as soon as you knew you had an American casualty.”

  “If we’re going to find out who was behind the explosion, we need to work together. Not dodging London PD’s phone calls, and mine as well. I’m running out of patience, Shaw. We followed your requests about Agent Summers—we have him isolated in a very busy hospital, which is not an easy feat . . . but you have to give us something.”

  Trent unbuttoned his suit jacket and crossed his arms. He stood firm in front of Jake’s bedside, almost blocking Jake from view. “And I told you we’d talk once—”

  “—he’s awake.” The man waved his hand at Jake.

  “He just woke up,” Trent said through gritted teeth.

  Jake looked back and forth between the two, his mind drifting in and out of a hazy drug-induced stupor.

  “And if it were your city that this happened in, how would you feel?” The British guy took a few steps closer to Trent, to Jake’s bed. “A bomb detonated in London, and your guy here is the only witness. We need answers. Now.” The man was practically in Trent’s face, and the two were squaring off. “Are you hiding something?”

  “Until my government grants us the authority to hand over classified intel to Her Majesty’s Secret Service, my hands are tied.” Trent tipped his shoulders up, and Jake could tell the Brit was near ready to blow a fuse. His cheeks reddened, and his mouth was tight.

  The man walked around to the other side of the bed when Trent didn’t back down. “I’m Justin King. I’m SS. And I need you to tell me what happened.”

  “SS?” Jake mumbled, unfamiliar.

  “Secret Service, or you might know us as MI5. We go by both over here.”

  “But James Bond was MI6,” Jake said in a low voice.

  The man blinked twice and released an exaggerated sigh. “MI5 is domestic. SIS,” the Brit began, and then cleared his throat, “or MI6 . . . deals with international threats.”

  “Well, whoever you are, I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to help.” Jake showed him his palms. “I can quote a few lines from some action movies, though. That shit comes to mind easily enough. But I still have no clue how I landed in this hospital.”

  “What is he talking about?” The agent looked over at Trent.

  “He has memory loss,” Trent answered.

  The British agent peeked over at the window behind the bed, where snowflakes began to drift in the air as a breeze swirled the powder. “And you’re sure that’s the truth?” His voice was colder now. Bitter—matching the chill of the January air.

  “And I’d lie because . . .?” Jake touched his forehead and shuddered as the pain in his head went from zero to sixty. Wasn’t he on pain medicine? Why was this happening?

  “We have no record of his entry to the country. Why was he here?”

  “Like I said, I’m unable to share any information with you until I’m given clearance to do so.”

  The Brit removed his glasses, cleaned them with his silk tie, and placed them back on his nose. “We’re fortunate no one died. I’m just trying to figure out what an FBI agent was doing in an abandoned factory wearing a bloody suicide vest. And considering he magically appeared in our damn country right before the explosion—”

  Jake’s ears perked at the new information. “Suicide vest?”

  The Brit sighed with frustration as if he hadn’t meant to let that information slip. “We recovered what looks like materials from a vest. There wasn’t too much C4, so you’re lucky—”

  What was it with everyone thinking he was so damn lucky? “So I wasn’t just at the site of an explosion—someone was trying to kill me?”

  Then chills shot up his spine. Or was I trying to kill myself?

  “Can you both get the hell out of my room? I need time to think.”

  “Maybe you’ll remember something,” the British agent said under his breath before turning away. “We’ll be in touch soon.”

  Jake shut his eyes and gripped the sides of the bed, holding onto the sheets as a memory cranked through his mind at hyper speed. It was a blur of images and sounds that he could hardly tell apart . . .

  A whip smacked against his skin. He released a moan, and his shoulders shrank from the pain as the leather ripped at his flesh.

  His hands were bound above his head.

  He was on his knees. Barefoot and in jeans only.

  The whip ate at his back as it lashed him.

  Blood.

  His blood.

  Dripping from his face down onto the concrete floor as he hung his head low.

  Jake’s eyes flashed open, willing the memory away. It was unbearable. His body shook, and he started to sweat as a rumbling in his stomach, a feeling of nausea, swept over him. “What in the hell happened to me?”

  Chapter Four

  Alexa’s gaze slid up from her computer and to the massive screen on the wall. Matt was updating the team on their mission in Munich, even though she still hadn’t been able to crack Boris Gregov’s encrypted files.

  “Gregov is in Cyprus.” Matt placed a pin on a wall map next to the screen, marking Gregov’s location. “We’re not yet sure what he’s doing there, but our agents are following him. That does put him pretty damn close to Istanbul, to Kemal Bekas, which means something could be up.”

  Xander stepped up next to Matt and began swiping his fingers across the screen, moving icons around and opening files. “We were able to copy Gregov’s computer, but Alexa,” he tipped his head at her, “is still working on decrypting the few files on there that we hope will be relevant.”

  Alexa scowled at Xander, knowing he was poking at her. But what choice did he have but to push her? He was second in command on the case—the lead intelligence officer. Then again, all the members of the team were itching to close the case. “It’s barely been two days, guys—I’m doing my best. Besides, we’ve been distracted by the incident in London.” She hated making excuses, but the files were nothing like she’d seen.

  Xander tapped at his wristwatch and winked at Alexa.

  “We haven’t intercepted any new t
ransmissions since the email about the attack,” Matt said, pulling her attention back to him. “Since we have no idea when or where it will take place, we’re shooting in the dark. And this time, we absolutely have to connect whatever attack the group is planning on Kemal Bekas—as well as prevent it. We chop off the head of their organization and—”

  “You don’t think another leader will rise if we take Bekas down?” Agent John Daniels interrupted, looking up at Xander and Matt.

  Xander swiped at the smart screen again, pulling up an image of Kemal Bekas. Surrounding his face was a web of other men and women—people MI6 believed were all connected to the group, known as @Anarchy. Although when talking—MI6 referred to them simply as Anarchy.

  And as much as the agency wanted to take down Bekas, they still hadn’t garnered enough evidence to swoop into Turkey and make the arrest. Or the kill.

  Alexa cleared her throat and rose to her feet, leaving the oval table to join Xander and Matt. “Bekas is the brains behind Anarchy. Without him, it’ll fall apart.” She hoped, at least. “And I don’t believe there is anyone,” she pointed to other faces on the screen, “who has the money and resources to pull off what Bekas has done. No Bekas, no Anarchy.”

  Alexa’s fingers skimmed her blouse, then rested on her collarbone as she thought about it all. “Of course, the hackers that have joined the group won’t up and quit hacking—but if they aren’t working collectively for one main purpose than they pose a lower risk, for sure. None of these hackers that work for Anarchy have the same conviction as Bekas. He’s motivated by hate and loss. The hackers working with him are motivated by money. Okay, so some enjoy creating chaos, but Bekas—he’s looking for retribution. And revenge is always a much more dangerous game.”

  There were two other main players aside from the leader, Bekas. The Russian, Boris Gregov, and a wealthy Frenchman, Pierre Reza.

  MI6 figured Bekas had named the terrorist group, @Anarchy, to attract other hackers to the organization—the younger generation of hackers ate it up.

  Anarchy. Chaos. Money.

  Why not?

  But after tracking @Anarchy for fifteen months, Alexa and her team realized @Anarchy was no longer just a group of cyber terrorists. The organization’s actions had become progressively more dangerous—murderous, even.

  Alexa stuffed her hands in the pockets of her tan silk pants and examined the names and faces of the men and women on the screen. The people were of many different nationalities and ethnicities, but they all had one thing in common. They had also been known for their hate of Britain and the United States.

  “And since we can’t ask the Turkish government to help us nail Bekas, we’re on our own,” Matt added glibly.

  “But Bekas is part Kurdish. You know the current government isn’t exactly favorable of the Kurds. We could use that to our advantage and at least smoke Bekas out of Istanbul. Maybe we’d have better luck getting at him in different territory,” John recommended.

  “It won’t work. Bekas won’t up and relocate the headquarters of his legitimate business, Bekas Tech, from Istanbul. And we can’t convince the Turks to force him out,” Matt said, folding his arms.

  John’s dark green eyes met Alexa’s, and he pinched his brows together, the lines in his aging face deepening. “Why don’t we just send an agent in and kill the bastard—we can be done with this.” John had been saying the same thing almost every day for the last six months, so he already knew the answer.

  “I wish,” Xander said.

  Alexa grumbled. She’d love to put a bullet in Bekas herself.

  But there were rules. These weren’t the olden days or the movies. They couldn’t go around killing businessmen without approval from Parliament. “So, right now, our focus is to find out what Bekas is planning. The email Gregov sent to Bekas two weeks ago hints that it will be their biggest attack to date,” Alexa said. Both worry and excitement pierced her. On the one hand this was the closest the team had come to taking the group down. But on the flip side—what if they failed?

  “And we’re certain that the message was decrypted correctly? I mean, it’s so soon. They don’t normally have hits that close to each other, and just last month they took credit for the attack at the British bank in India,” Jill Stanley said. She was the newest agent assigned to the team and was still getting her footing.

  “They’ve been speeding up the attacks. They’re more aggressive lately,” Alexa responded. That was why she didn’t have time to focus on the bombing in London, which had been at an empty and deserted factory. She had a real threat to stop.

  “Ahem.” Matt redirected the group’s attention back his way. “It’s critical we nail these bastards now and stop this upcoming attack. I don’t want to see any more deaths. You got it?” He raised his brows and rubbed his hands together. “So, give me what you have. I need updates on our leads—then you can get back to work.”

  “Any movement on Bekas?” Xander asked.

  “No. Our informant inside Bekas Tech said Bekas hasn’t left Istanbul in two weeks,” Tenley, another intelligence officer on the team, responded as she looked up from her notes.

  “And how is Berat?” Xander had been the one who’d managed to turn the Bekas Tech employee into an important ally.

  “Nothing new right now,” Tenley answered as she scribbled something down. Tenley was the youngest agent on their team. She’d only been recruited from Oxford two years ago, but her IQ was off the charts, and her uncanny ability to learn languages had garnered her a position on their team.

  “When do you normally hear from Berat?” Matt inquired.

  “Every Tuesday morning.”

  “Okay. Well, I want you in Istanbul. I want you to meet with him in person and try and get eyes on Bekas. Watch him like a hawk these next few days.” Matt’s hand swooped up to the back of his neck, annoyance spreading across his face. “John—go with her.”

  When neither Tenley or John moved, Matt’s eyes narrowed, and he held his hand up and flicked his wrist twice, waving his hand. “I meant now!” Ever since they heard of the explosion, Matt-the-joker from their OP in Munich had been on holiday. He was all business. As he should be, she guessed.

  Tenley popped to her heels and started for the door, and John followed after her.

  “We’ll get you assigned to a target soon, Jill. That leaves you, Sam. Please tell me you have better news about Reza.” Matt’s eyes darted toward the computer genius they had recruited from Kenya eight years ago. He had previously been hired by companies to hack their servers and find the faults in their systems, so the companies could better defend themselves from malicious hackers. When Sam had hacked MI6 to show the agency its flaws—on his own initiative—he had been arrested for the breach. Ultimately, however, the bold act had landed him his job.

  Sam scratched at the black stubble on his jaw, his dark brown eyes finding Alexa before sliding over to Matt. “Reza has been on the move a lot. He was in Greece, then Italy, and it looks like now he’s back home in Paris.”

  “You manage to intercept any emails or calls he’s made in the last few weeks?” Matt took a step closer to the oval table.

  “We’ve intercepted two emails, both encrypted. I’m working on decoding them. One was a little over a week ago, and the other more recent.”

  “Maybe it’s related to whatever Gregov’s working on.” Matt nodded at Alexa. “You want to add anything?”

  “Honestly, I should really get back to Gregov’s files,” Alexa answered.

  “Sounds good.” Matt looked over at Jill. “Let me get you more up to date,” he said to her. “We’ll all touch base tomorrow.”

  Alexa sat back down as Matt and Jill left the room, leaving her and Xander alone. She began drumming her fingers on the table by her laptop. “So—has Laney tried to rope you away from our case and on to the bombing?” Sarah Laney was the chief of MI6, also known as C.

  Xander rested a hip against the desk and folded his arms. “Not sure if this bombing
will fall in our laps or not. Should be Secret Service territory, anyway.”

  “True.”

  Alexa focused back on her computer screen and stared at it as the algorithm she’d set up to crunch through Gregov’s files continued to work—code scrolled across, becoming a blur. “Have we heard anything new from Secret Service?”

  “London PD started sweeping the site of the explosion and is working their way outward—they established a five-kilometer perimeter to check if the American involved in the bombing came from one of the surrounding points,” Xander explained. “I mean, I doubt the guy was wandering around the neighborhood with a suicide vest strapped to his chest and no one noticed.”

  She blinked a few times and dragged her gaze back over to him. “Which means he was in a secluded area before he arrived at the mill.”

  “Or he was dropped off, and the police need to extend their search perimeter if they don’t find anything soon.”

  “Any change on the American?”

  “Yeah. The doctor woke him up, but apparently, he has amnesia.”

  Alexa narrowed her eyes. “Really? I find that a little hard to believe.”

  Xander shrugged. “Yeah, me too.” He patted her on the shoulder and a breath of air rushed from his lips. “I’ll give you some time to work. Be back later.”

  “Thanks.”

  Once Xander had left, she pressed her hands to her face, and then rubbed her eyes. She was tired and sore from sitting in front of a computer for such long hours. “Come on, dammit.” She shoved her laptop back and stood up.

  Alexa moved over to the window and folded her arms. Her eyes fell upon the Thames, admiring the dusky sky’s reflection on the grayish water. Pillow-soft snow coated its banks.

  When was the last time I went for a walk? Of course, it was ridiculous to think of doing anything leisurely. Her only stress relief was the mandatory fitness training.

  She touched her stomach, her hand skating to her side as she closed her eyes, a memory moving fast through her like the pull of a ripcord. Then her shoulders shuddered and she stepped away from the window and went back to her laptop.