Hunt for the Enemy (#3 Enemy)

by Rob Sinclair

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Fleming said, smiling at Logan. ‘It’s good, isn’t it? Bet you wish the British army had served food as good as this.’

  ‘It’s good,’ Logan said.

  He took another large swig from his glass of wine, which was now close to empty.

  ‘Help yourself to more,’ Fleming said. ‘There’s plenty of everything.’

  Logan noticed that both Fleming and Butler were drinking the wine but the Kazakh guards weren’t. Clearly they were still on duty and Fleming’s niceties only stretched so far. He poured himself another glass.

  ‘What happened to the rest of your squad?’ Logan asked. ‘From the army.’

  The smile on Fleming’s face faded somewhat at the question. Logan knew Fleming’s discharge from the army had been anything but honourable. He’d been publicly shamed. It was little wonder that a man with the sense of pride that Fleming had could see no better response than to flee the country for good.

  Logan did have some sympathy for Fleming in that regard. From what he’d managed to find out about Fleming’s discharge, it was the CIA who had messed up on the details of the mission they’d sent Fleming on. Then they’d hung him out to dry when the heat on them had got too strong. He could only assume that Fleming – an undoubtedly proud man – now had a deep-seated hatred of the Americans and the CIA. Which was exactly the reason Logan believed Fleming might help him.

  ‘Mixed bag really,’ Fleming said. ‘Jones is still in the army. He’s the only one of the old team that’s left. It was nearly twenty years ago when you were with us, remember. A lot has changed since then. The world has changed. Risks and terrorism have changed. Politics too. More than anything, a lot of us had just had enough. That kind of job saps your soul after a while.’

  ‘I know how you feel,’ Logan said.

  Butler grunted and Logan flicked him a stare.

  ‘But Butler’s the only one you’ve invited out here,’ Logan said.

  ‘No,’ Fleming said. ‘Actually, I invited all of them here. But most have families or just wanted to retire quietly. Butler was the only one who said yes. And I’m glad he did. He was my wingman in the army for years before they booted him out.’

  Logan resisted looking up at Butler, but he could well imagine the ex-soldier was giving him the death stare. He finished his stew and grabbed another piece of bread to mop up the remnants in the bowl. Looking around, he saw the others had barely got through half of theirs.

  ‘I like your style,’ Fleming said, nodding at Logan. ‘Just like in the army. When the food’s in front of you, eat like you’ve never eaten before and like you never will again.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Logan said, after he’d downed the last of his second glass of wine. ‘I was never in the army.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ Butler chipped in.

  Logan reached out again for the carafe of wine.

  Fleming laughed. ‘I said help yourself, but it’s not quite a bottomless pit.’

  Logan pulled back, not sure whether Fleming was being serious or not.

  ‘I’m kidding,’ Fleming confirmed. ‘Go for it.’

  ‘I’m just relaxing, that’s all,’ Logan said, grabbing the jug and pouring himself and Butler, who had finished his, another glass.

  Grainger tutted and Logan looked over at her. She was scowling at him.

  ‘It’s hardly the right time to be getting wasted,’ she said.

  ‘Ouch, that’s you told,’ Fleming remarked. ‘Bulat, go and fill up the wine, will you? Looks like we’re going to have a busy night.’

  Bulat dutifully did as he was told. Grainger finished her stew and pushed the bowl away.

  ‘Vassiliy, that was very nice,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘He doesn’t understand English,’ Butler grunted.

  Logan looked over at Grainger and saw her cheeks blush red. He squeezed his fists together, angered at Butler’s continued riling comments.

  ‘The food was very nice,’ Grainger said in what Logan knew was perfect Russian. ‘Thank you.’

  Fleming raised an eyebrow, impressed. Butler murmured under his breath and drank some of his wine.

  Grainger then carried on, speaking in what Logan assumed was Kazakh – he didn’t understand a word of it. Vassiliy tried his best to hide his laugh at what she’d said, as did the other Kazakh guards. He quickly composed himself, smiled and thanked Grainger, then stood up and began to clear away the empty bowls.

  ‘What was that?’ Butler said to Grainger. The anger in his voice was clear.

  ‘You don’t speak Kazakh?’ Grainger queried. ‘But you live here, don’t you?’

  ‘What did you say to him?’ Butler quizzed through gritted teeth.

  Grainger said nothing but held Butler’s cold gaze. Everyone in the room fell silent. Logan too was staring at Butler. He had no idea what Grainger had said, but inside he was glowing that she’d managed to piss off Butler. Whatever pressure she was under, and he knew she wasn’t anywhere near full strength, she still had a hard, resolute edge to her that he couldn’t help but be drawn to.

  ‘Perhaps it’s time we got back to the issue at hand,’ Fleming said, breaking the bitter silence.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Logan said, turning to his host.

  Butler huffed and went back to his food.

  Logan shot Grainger a quick look and winked at her. She didn’t respond.

  ‘So what kind of trouble are you in, exactly?’ Fleming asked.

  Logan thought about the question for a moment. The food he’d wolfed down was sitting nicely in his stomach but he could already feel the effects of the wine he’d drunk, making him calm and warm but also starting to cloud his thoughts.

  ‘I’m sure Butler filled you in on Grainger.’

  ‘He did. But what about you? How do you fit in?’

  ‘I was traded over to the Russians,’ Logan said with no emotion in his voice. ‘In exchange for information. After nearly twenty years of loyal service, that was my reward. My own people left me for dead.’

  ‘Then how does Grainger fit into that?’

  ‘Because she was part of that dirty deal too. The CIA were trying to locate her. You can guess what they wanted to do to her. I couldn’t allow that. Especially not after what they did to me. It was the CIA who set me up to allow the Russians to capture me. I’m sure of it.’

  Butler looked down at his wine but Fleming’s stare was fixed on Logan. The look on Fleming’s face had changed. Logan saw something in Fleming’s eyes that he’d not seen directed at him before. Not respect, but an understanding at least. Fleming had never given Logan a chance back in the day, but when you took away the facade, the two men had a lot of similarities, Logan knew.

  ‘What exactly are you planning to do?’ Fleming asked.

  ‘I’m going to get my own back. I’m not going to lie down and be used as a pawn. Anyone who was involved in that deal is going to pay for it.’

  Fleming smiled at that. ‘I was like you once,’ he said, the first time he had ever come anywhere close to comparing himself to Logan. ‘Nobody likes to be wronged. But you have to choose your battles carefully. I tried to fight the system plenty of times. Most of the time I won. But the one time I lost, that was it. I was out.’

  Logan assumed Fleming was talking about his discharge.

  ‘You blame the CIA for what happened to you?’ Logan asked.

  Fleming gave him a blank look. ‘Water under the bridge,’ he said eventually, though Logan could tell Fleming didn’t believe his own words.

  ‘And yet look at you now,’ Logan said. ‘I’d say it’s worked out pretty well for you.’

  Fleming shrugged. ‘Maybe. It didn’t seem like it at the time. I spent the majority of my life answering every call that came to me in the army and then, just like that, I was out. And not just out but discarded like an HIV-infected condom. You can only imagine how it felt to be put through that after everything I’d given.

  ‘But my point is: if
you’re taking on the big boys, you have to know what you’re doing. I tried it. I thought I had truth and justice on my side, but that’s not always enough. If you’re going after them, you have to be sure you know who you’re going for and why.’

  ‘I do. But it’s not quite as simple as you make out. This isn’t some moral crusade against the big machine of the world’s intelligence community. Plain and simple, it’s my life I’m fighting for. Grainger’s too.’

  ‘The stakes may be higher but the playing field’s the same.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘And don’t think that you’re the only one at this table who’s had to fight for his life.’

  Fleming held Logan’s stare a few seconds longer.

  ‘Okay. Back to work now,’ Fleming said in Russian to the guards. ‘Bulat, you can clean up later.’

  Bulat and Maksat stood up. Vassiliy stopped the tidying that he was doing and all three men headed for the door.

  Fleming took a large swig of his wine. ‘I’m going to help you,’ he said to Logan after he’d swallowed a mouthful.

  Butler’s gaze shot from his glass to Fleming, a startled look on his face.

  ‘I’m going to help you because I understand what you’re fighting against.’

  Logan wasn’t sure he really did, but as long as Fleming felt it, that might just be enough.

  Chapter 24

  Logan would be the first to admit that his turning to Fleming for help hadn’t come easily. Fleming was a man he’d long despised. At one point in his life, he’d wanted nothing more than to inflict serious pain on him. But a lot had changed. As he sat at the dining table, hearing Fleming commit to providing his help, Logan was reminded of a conversation he’d had with Lena during his captivity in Russia. She’d said Logan was a survivor. That he did whatever was necessary to survive. She was right. His being there, in Fleming’s house, was all about survival. There was nothing more to it than that.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want some?’ Fleming said to Grainger, swirling his wine glass.

  ‘No. Thank you,’ Grainger said. ‘I want to keep a clear head.’

  ‘I can only imagine how hard the last few months must have been for you.’

  Grainger said nothing in response. Logan knew the subject of her running to the Russians for safety was an uncomfortable one, not just for her but for him too. He’d certainly not felt like broaching it with her yet. But Fleming, now that he had laid his cards on the table, was enjoying seeing Grainger squirm.

  ‘So is it true?’ Fleming said.

  ‘Is what true?’ Grainger responded, a hint of exasperation in her tone.

  ‘Were you responsible for Frank Modena’s kidnapping?’

  Grainger said nothing.

  ‘And for the lives of all those innocent agents who died in the ambush,’ Fleming added. ‘It’s a cold person who can pull off something like that.’

  ‘Yes, well, sometimes people aren’t what they seem,’ Grainger said, her tone full of disdain and her manner making it clear that she wasn’t afraid to take on Fleming. ‘Are they, Captain?’

  Fleming held his gaze on her. Butler looked back and forth between Grainger and his boss, clearly enjoying the awkward moment and waiting to see whether it would escalate. That was the last thing Logan wanted. He didn’t trust Fleming, but he at least wanted to believe that Fleming was going to help them as he’d said he would. Challenging him was hardly going to play to their advantage.

  ‘Let’s just drop it,’ Logan said.

  Fleming held up his hands in defence. ‘Hey, I’m just trying to understand the predicament you two have found yourselves in.’

  ‘Move on,’ Logan said.

  Inside he was seething. Fleming had agreed to help, but that didn’t mean Logan had to like him. Still, he knew he had to try to play nice. For whatever reason, Fleming was giving them his hospitality, and as long as that was the case, Logan and Grainger had to keep Fleming on side. Plus, Logan really didn’t want to have to think about the events Grainger had set in motion that had led to Modena’s kidnapping and a number of innocent people getting killed. That wasn’t the Grainger he knew. The one he was helping.

  ‘The wine’s good,’ Logan said, hoping a change of subject would do the trick.

  ‘Any guess where it’s from?’ Fleming quizzed.

  ‘I wouldn’t have a clue.’

  ‘No, me neither. Bulat sources it for me. I enjoy drinking wine but it’s not my passion. Whisky, on the other hand, I know a lot about.’

  ‘You can get decent whisky in Kazakhstan?’

  ‘You can get decent whisky anywhere if you pay enough.’

  ‘That figures.’

  ‘Come on, why don’t we finish this wine off in the lounge? Then I’ll show you a thing or two about Scotch that I bet you didn’t know.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘You like cigars?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Shame. They’re one of my other passions.’

  ‘I’ve never smoked anything in my life.’

  ‘You’re missing out.’

  ‘Never really saw the point.’

  ‘Your loss.’

  Fleming got to his feet and picked up the carafe.

  ‘I’m just going to grab some water,’ Grainger said. ‘If I could?’

  ‘Help yourself. The stuff in the fridge is better than in the taps.’

  Butler lifted his glass and followed Fleming out of the kitchen. Logan stayed and watched Grainger pour water into her wine glass from one of the many bottles crammed into the fridge.

  ‘You okay?’ Logan asked.

  ‘Not really,’ Grainger said. ‘I hate it here.’

  ‘But what choice do we have?’

  ‘Logan, I know that. You don’t have to keep reminding me. It doesn’t make being here any easier, though.’

  Her forthright tone knocked Logan back. He was finding it so hard to break through to her. The affectionate moments they’d shared in the bedroom hours before already seemed so distant. It was as though she was constantly battling to keep up her defensive walls. Logan wasn’t sure whether it was just the dire situation they found themselves in or whether this was just the way she was now. Maybe it was the way she had always been and the person he had met and been attracted to so strongly in Paris had just been a facade.

  He really hoped that wasn’t the case.

  ‘I think I’m going to go back to bed,’ she said, after drinking her glass of water and then refilling.

  ‘Okay,’ Logan said.

  ‘You coming?’

  ‘No, I’m just going to have a couple more drinks. I’ll be up soon.’

  Grainger huffed. ‘Fine. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  She headed off. Logan immediately felt bad. It was early in the evening, though, and he thought it was important to keep up appearances with Fleming. Plus, he figured the more alcohol the three of them ploughed through, the more likely it was that any remaining falsities that Fleming and Butler were hiding behind would be exposed.

  Logan headed to the lounge. When he walked in, Fleming and Butler quickly stopped talking and looked up. It reminded Logan of the Scottish Highlands, when he’d come back from fetching firewood to find the two of them deep in discussion. On that occasion, the two soldiers had been plotting how to take Logan down and leave him alone in the wilderness.

  What were they plotting this time?

  ‘Ah, you’re alone?’ Fleming remarked.

  ‘She’s gone to bed. She’s not really with it. I’m sure you can imagine she’s having a pretty hard time at the moment. She’s been on her own for a year, always looking over her shoulder. She’s not used to company. To socialising.’

  Fleming shrugged. ‘It is what it is. So what’s your tipple?’

  ‘I’m fine with the wine for now,’ Logan said, sitting down on one of the threadbare sofas.

  Fleming was sitting on the other. Butler was hunched on an armchair.

  ‘Fair enough. Hel
p yourself,’ Fleming said, nodding over to the carafe. ‘How about you, Butler?’

  ‘Whatever you’re having.’

  ‘Good answer.’

  Fleming got up and headed over to the tall beech cabinet next to Butler’s armchair. He opened it up and Logan saw the vast array of spirit bottles neatly arranged inside. Fleming perused his collection before taking down one of the bottles from the top shelf. The labelling wasn’t familiar to Logan, but he guessed it was a whisky from its caramel colouring and the style of the bottle.

  Fleming poured large measures into two tumblers, gave one to Butler and then sat down with his own.

  ‘Looks like the wine is all for you then,’ Fleming said to Logan.

  The three of them sat there in the lounge with their drinks, each becoming more relaxed, each becoming more inebriated. To begin with, the discussion was banal and without much focus. Just three men with a bit of time and a little bit too much alcohol inside them.

  Logan was enjoying the respite, the feeling of doing something that felt like normality, even if he was in the company of two men he had long despised. But as they eased through several more rounds of drinks, Logan became more and more irked by the stuffy tone and snide comments still coming from Butler.

  Retirement from the army, if you could call it that, seemed to have mellowed Fleming. Logan actually found him to be engaging and interesting, even if he wasn’t exactly likeable. He had engrossing stories to tell of heroism and camaraderie, and Logan could well imagine that he had been a great leader of the men under his watch. In some ways, Fleming reminded Logan of Mackie, particularly in the way Fleming had mentored and looked after his men. Fathered them. It was exactly how Logan had always felt under Mackie: wanted, needed.

  Butler couldn’t have been more different to his boss. He was now bitter and morose, and much of his ire seemed to be directed at Logan.

  ‘I bet twenty years ago you never saw yourself sitting in Kazakhstan drinking Scotch and shooting the shit with me,’ Logan slurred to Fleming.

  Logan knew that out of the three men, he was handling his drink the worst. It was a long time since he’d had any alcohol at all. Tonight he’d had a skinful.