Assassins Retribution

by Rachel Amphlett

‘Why is he mobilising now?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Decker.

  ‘We haven’t heard from your contact in Switzerland, so we can assume the twins are still safe. Until now, we’ve always believed he would try to locate them before releasing this bioweapon because they’re the antidote.’ She waved a hand at the screens. ‘But this looks like someone planning an imminent attack. There’s no way he’d risk having those trucks if he wasn’t ready. So, what’s changed?’

  Decker launched himself from his chair, and reached out for one of the burner phones on the table. ‘I’ll phone my contact – we need to make sure the twins’ location hasn’t been compromised.’

  Eva and Nathan remained silent as Decker made the call.

  He spoke in hushed tones as he paced the floor next to the window, but as the conversation progressed, she saw his shoulders relax before he ended the call.

  ‘They’re safe. He reports that there’s been no suspicious activity near the school or the surrounding villages.’

  Eva exhaled, and sank back into her chair. ‘At least that’s something.’

  She turned as Nathan emitted a curse under his breath.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘This,’ he said, and tapped the screen.

  Eva gasped, and sat upright, the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

  ‘What is it?’ Decker moved away from the window and stalked over to where she sat at the table.

  ‘Miles Newcombe has sent her a message via my email address,’ said Nathan.

  ‘How did he know I’d read it?’

  ‘Law of averages,’ said Decker. ‘After the internet café, we’d obviously try to access the Section’s system again as soon as we were able. All he had to do was wait.’

  Eva ran a hand over her eyes. ‘Am I that predictable?’

  Decker shrugged. ‘They trained you. What does he want?’

  ‘To meet me and Nathan. In London.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Why drag you all the way there? Why not meet here, or somewhere else?’

  ‘Perhaps he can’t get away from London without raising suspicions.’

  ‘It could be a trap.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Maybe he heard something about Maxim. I think he might help us.’

  ‘You said that about Scott Lancaster,’ said Nathan, his eyes troubled. ‘That didn’t end well.’

  ‘It’ll be different this time,’ said Decker.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  Four

  Poland

  * * *

  Maxim prowled around the perimeter of the room, his eyes fixated upon the crates his men had stacked carefully on top of one another, ready to be filled once the weapon was ready.

  ‘You’re sure these will reach their destination safely?’

  ‘They will,’ said Vadir. ‘We have four trucks that have been hired from different companies. The crates will be split up evenly, and the drivers aren’t aware of each other’s destinations.’

  Maxim ran a hand over his chin.

  He’d stayed away as the laboratory technicians had emerged from the floor below, cradling their creations before slipping each one into a small square box similar to a popular brand found in supermarkets across the continent.

  When Vadir had first enquired how the weaponised smallpox could be delivered to its destination without being stopped, Maxim had grinned malevolently and pointed to the ceiling.

  ‘Lightbulbs,’ he’d said. ‘The city will be awash with lights for the festive season, and it will be simple enough for the men to pose as council workers. All they have to do is replace a lightbulb here and there, and then walk away – no-one will be any wiser. No-one takes any notice of a man working in the street if he wears a high-visibility vest – despite the name, he becomes invisible.’

  ‘But how will you trigger the pathogen?’

  Maxim had shrugged. ‘I won’t. We wait. Only one of those bulbs needs to be broken – accidents happen. Maybe a street vendor will knock one while setting up his store for the day. Perhaps a council worker will wonder why the light is not working and will carelessly throw the bulb away when replacing it.’ A smile crept over his features. ‘Patience, Vadir. That is all we need.’

  Now, he paced the floor, his own words echoing in his mind as Vadir urged the men to take care while the valuable cargo was prepared.

  He didn’t care if the trucks were stopped by the authorities at the border crossing; if the lightbulbs were damaged then, so be it.

  There would be no escape for those around the vehicle, and they would have no way of knowing what they had been exposed to until the first deadly symptoms began to show.

  It would be the same for the citizens and tourists in the city.

  A disease that had been officially confirmed as being eradicated in the late twentieth century would be unleashed, deadlier than ever before due to the genetic modifications Maxim’s team had made to ensure haemorrhagic symptoms.

  First, victims would sense a subcutaneous tingling, followed a day or so later by a rash that would quickly develop across their skin.

  By this time, the victims would have already been in close proximity with family, friends, work colleagues, fellow commuters – spreading the virus as people inhaled the same air the victim expelled.

  For the victim, the virus would progress quickly; the whites of their eyes would turn red, causing blindness while internal organs would haemorrhage and fail, leading to death.

  Those who had been inoculated prior to the phasing-out of vaccination in the 1980s would still act as incubators for the fatal disease, while anyone born after then would be at risk.

  ‘There is no-one in this world under the age of thirty who has immunity, except for the engineer’s children,’ said Maxim.

  Vadir dropped his gaze and kicked at an invisible stone. ‘We have not been able to locate them, Maxim. It is like they have disappeared off the face of the earth.’

  ‘It is not good enough. What does our contact in the British secret service have to say?’

  ‘He has been silent for two days now. His last communication to us was that he needed time to investigate further.’

  Maxim gestured to the final disguised vials that were being slipped into place in the last crate. ‘He is out of time.’

  ‘What about the twins?’

  ‘We will deal with them later. I want to have the maximum impact, to shake Europe to its core. The production has gone better than I expected, and it is too dangerous to store these vials for long. We have to do this soon.’

  ‘As you wish, Maxim.’ Vadir turned back to the men working at sealing the crates. ‘What do you think will happen when the virus is released?’

  ‘The Americans will blame the Russians,’ said Maxim. ‘Then, the English will do the same. The Russians and Americans will each point out that they only have the World Health Organisation’s approved stock of the virus, despite several cases where old samples have been discovered in university laboratories. The British will eventually be forced to admit they lost the samples they had in a fire five years ago, and every government leader will do all they can to distance themselves from the accusations. The minute quantities of vaccine currently available is administered to military personnel travelling to the Middle East. They will spend too long arguing over whether to use this for their citizens, or inoculate all military personnel to protect themselves in the face of civil unrest. In the meantime, millions will die. Terrorists and rogue states spend billions of dollars developing nuclear capabilities, whereas we will demonstrate our ability to completely wipe out three quarters of the world’s population with one simple masterstroke.’

  Vadir frowned. ‘So, where does that leave you?’

  ‘As the richest man in the world, and the most powerful, when I announce that I have developed a vaccine that will protect the younger generation – which I will provide to them, for a price.’

  ‘What if they say
no?’

  Maxim smiled. ‘They won’t. An ageing population cannot rebuild a devastated civilisation. If the governments of this world cannot inoculate their citizens against the further spread of this virus, there is no hope for them.’

  Five

  London

  * * *

  Gerald Knox keyed in the last two digits for the combination to the safe behind his desk, then rose and moved across the room to where he’d installed a small coffee machine.

  He tried to ignore the nagging sense of unease that had gripped him for the past forty-eight hours, but his gut twisted uncomfortably at the thought of the documents he’d placed in the safe.

  He pulled a fresh coffee pod from a drawer under the machine and inserted it, the aroma of ground beans soon filling the space accompanied by the promise of a caffeine fix he’d been desperately in need of for the past five hours.

  An emergency meeting had been called at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, yet when he’d arrived and settled at the large conference table amongst the other delegates it had quickly transpired that the Minister’s sense of urgency was several levels below what Knox and his colleagues considered a threat.

  It had involved cricket, for a start.

  After a heated discussion during which half-hearted threats about budget cuts had been made, the Minister had been pacified and hurriedly left for his office or wherever next he chose to wreak havoc.

  Gerald had shoved his copy of the agenda and his notebook into his briefcase, keen to return to the Section, only to be waylaid in the corridor outside the secure meeting room by another departmental head who wanted to discuss “that ruckus in Berlin”.

  He’d had no choice but to join the man for drinks at the bar.

  After an hour of enduring the man’s whinnying tone and increasingly drunken state, Gerald had made his excuses and left, pleased that he’d managed to steer the conversation the whole time towards the other man’s problems.

  No further mention of Berlin had been made.

  Which was just as well, because Gerald himself was still unsure what exactly had gone wrong.

  He’d replayed the scenario over and over in his head since, only to return to the same conclusion each time.

  Miles Newcombe had suggested the building, no-one else.

  Knox blinked, his attention taken by the fact the machine had fallen silent, and raised the china cup to his lips.

  The bitter liquid burned his mouth, but he savoured the flavours as he crossed the rug back to his desk.

  Placing the cup on a mat near his computer screen, he lowered himself into the chair and ran a hand over tired eyes.

  He’d thought that by restricting Miles’s duties within the department that he’d be able to control him, but it seemed that he’d underestimated the agent.

  He reminded himself of the successes the man had had in South America. Of course, he wasn’t as cold-blooded as some of the people the Section employed, but he was ruthless and had maintained a reputation for doggedness.

  He typed in his password and used his mouse to navigate around the screen until he found the files he wanted. Opening them, he cast his eyes over the content until he found the report that had chilled him upon reading it for the first time.

  He’d been reluctant at first to let Miles manage the fallout from the Berlin incident and use his own contacts to trace Eva’s whereabouts for the days following that, and had been pleased at the results to begin with, especially after he’d managed to track her to France.

  The fact that the Caretaker had been mobilised in the meantime, and by Eva herself, was of concern.

  As was Nathan Crowe’s involvement.

  Miles had reluctantly admitted they’d lost a good resource there, but couldn’t ascertain whether the man had accompanied her to France of his own volition or had been coerced – by force, or under false pretences.

  Obviously, the man had escaped the Berlin hotel with her to save his own skin, but after that, they had no answers.

  The Section simply couldn’t work out whether Crowe was still one of theirs, or had opted to join Eva and the Caretaker.

  And all because Miles had suggested the two stay together at the beginning.

  And now, this.

  Knox might have been Miles’s immediate superior, but it didn’t mean he had to trust him, and now it appeared his instincts had been right.

  He’d tasked two of his most competent operatives to shadow the man and report his every movement on a daily basis – more frequently if the need arose.

  He’d have congratulated himself for his foresight if the evidence hadn’t been quite so terrifying.

  The fact that Miles had actively pursued a meeting with the former Section chief, Philip Petersen, had surpassed even his own paranoia.

  And to find out that the two men had maintained communication since left a hollow at the base of his stomach.

  Petersen was meant to be ill; he was meant to be suffering from dementia.

  That had been the official prognosis, and the one that had been broadcast to personnel three years ago.

  It was the reason why the Prague incident had been managed such that the Section could clear up the mess left behind by Petersen, and still retain its standing within the intelligence community and, more importantly, the Foreign Office.

  Knox closed the file on the screen, and reached out for the bottle of thirty-year-old malt whisky. He poured a generous measure into a tumbler on his desk, and then turned his attention to the manila folder at his elbow.

  Flicking open the cover, he ran his eyes down a page of text that he’d learned by rote in the time since returning from the Foreign Office after it had been thrust into his hand by an aide who hurried alongside him before he’d reached the quiet confines of his office.

  The Russians had tried to keep Maxim Kowalski’s escape a secret, but in a world of cyber surveillance and subterfuge, there weren’t many places left to hide such information.

  It had been the Ukrainians who had first obtained the information, and had presented it to the British consulate in Kiev with ill-disguised glee six months after the event.

  Knox strongly suspected they’d tried to find buyers prior to then, except no-one really understood the danger as well as the UK intelligence agency he now led, and by the time the deal had been brokered, the price had dropped considerably.

  His hand trembled as he turned the page, and he took another sip of the whisky to steady his fraying nerves.

  The only satellite images that had been available via the Ukrainians at the time had depicted the old testing laboratory after the accident reported by the Russians.

  He’d spotted the ruse for what it was, of course. The Section had obtained other, more precise, images and these had been the ones he’d uploaded to the database for Crowe to find.

  A murmured phone conversation with a contact at MI6 had resulted in the images he now ran his gaze over, and it made for chilling viewing.

  He closed the folder, then logged out of the system and switched off the computer before turning his chair around to face the darkened city skyline, lost in thought.

  Two things were very clear to him now.

  Miles Newcombe could no longer be left to work alone, and Eva’s growing knowledge of the operation was dangerously close to blowing three years of work skywards if he didn’t intervene.

  Six

  Hyde Park, London

  * * *

  Eva shoved her gloved hands into her coat pockets and scowled at the grey clouds that covered the city.

  The sombre weather aggravated her black mood, her thoughts tumbling over each other as she tried to piece together the events that had brought her here.

  Nathan had reluctantly stayed away from the meeting place Miles had suggested and was safely ensconced within a basement flat Decker had led them to upon their arrival in the English capital the previous evening.

  With increased border security at the Channel Tunnel and major airports, t
hey’d elected to travel from the Continent by ferry instead, losing themselves within the crowds that returned from France laden with cheap alcohol and extravagant food choices ready for the Christmas festivities.

  She had no idea how Decker had sourced the flat, and she knew better than to ask.

  In their line of work, it was common to have several places to rest and recover – often spread around the world in case of compromise or simply the need to disappear for any length of time.

  She wasn’t surprised when, after ensuring they hadn’t been followed, Decker had spent ten minutes loosening the floorboards in the living area before setting them to one side and reaching into the cavity.

  A carefully curated collection of weaponry began to emerge before he’d replaced the boards, and then they had spent the next two hours cleaning and checking the arsenal of guns.

  Eva had forgotten the festive holiday was almost upon them, but now she had a greater sense of urgency.

  If Maxim was aiming for the ultimate impact with his plans, she had no doubt the following days would be crucial.

  She had to find out what he was planning, and then stop him.

  Nathan and Decker had spent the morning setting up the laptop and equipment they’d brought with them from Prague in their backpacks, creating a miniature operations room within the living area.

  ‘It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do,’ said Nathan.

  ‘Won’t we be traced?’ said Eva, nibbling at her thumbnail as she watched his fingers fly over the keyboard.

  ‘I’ve used every trick in the book – and some others – to try to evade them,’ he said. ‘We’re talking several layers of encryption, bouncing off different servers around the world. It’s the best I can do in the circumstances.’

  Now she sauntered along the ornamental lake’s edge, casting her eyes over the statues that lined the path, and tried to look relaxed.

  The irony that the English monarch, Henry VIII, had established the park as a hunting ground wasn’t lost on her.