Hunt for the Enemy (#3 Enemy)

by Rob Sinclair

  The building itself looked like an old factory or textile mill that wouldn’t have been out of place in the industrial heartlands of Victorian Britain. It was surreal to see such a structure close to the heart of Beijing.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ Winter asked as the two men made their way along the deserted street, looking for an entrance.

  ‘There isn’t one,’ Logan said.

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  ‘No.’

  He knew it wasn’t what Winter wanted to hear, but they weren’t in control of this situation. Evans was. Logan still fully believed he’d get a chance to turn that around, but for now he had to just go along with what Evans had said and wait for the opportunity that he was certain would come.

  ‘Neither of us is armed even,’ Winter said.

  ‘It’s what Evans asked for. No point in taking a chance.’

  ‘But how the hell are you expecting us to get out of this alive if we don’t even have a plan?’

  Logan stopped and Winter followed suit.

  ‘If you want to run, then run,’ Logan said. ‘Nobody would think any less of you.’

  Winter scoffed and looked offended. ‘I’m not going to run. I just thought it would be better to have some sort of plan.’

  ‘Okay. The plan is we kill them all and rescue Grainger.’

  Despite the sarcastic nature of the comment, that was exactly what Logan intended to do.

  ‘To think we gave you all that tactical training,’ Winter said with a wry smile.

  Logan shrugged. ‘You didn’t. Mackie did.’ He set off again with Winter scurrying behind.

  ‘I admire your confidence, Logan,’ Winter said. ‘But do you think that maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew this time?’

  ‘No.’

  They came up to what looked like the original gated entrance to the factory, a simple wire mesh that was closed but not locked, beyond which lay a short pathway that led to a set of large, wooden double doors. The paint was peeling and the doors were covered in grime and mildew, but they looked structurally intact.

  Without saying a word, Logan opened the gate and walked up to the doors. He reached out for the handle of the normal-sized door in the middle of the left-hand loading door and pushed the handle down. The latch released. He looked over at Winter, standing by his side. Winter nodded, and Logan swung the door open and then walked in.

  It took Logan’s eyes a couple of seconds to adjust to the darkness that ate up the majority of the inside of the building, due to the many boarded-up windows. Bright rays of light pierced the black here and there from the few panes that remained unobstructed. When his eyes focused, Logan immediately knew they were in the right place. Because in the darkness, he could quite clearly see the narrow beam of a red laser reaching out from the distance to his chest. A second beam intersected the first, trailing to Logan’s right, onto Winter’s chest.

  ‘Close the door behind you,’ Evans said, coming into view from behind a large metal girder about ten yards in front of where Logan and Winter were standing.

  Logan saw that, as well as a gash on his eye from where Logan had butted him back in Kazakhstan, Evans had a fresh wound on his cheek and dried blood was caked on his face and clothes. He felt a sliver of satisfaction. Grainger was a fighter. That was for sure.

  And so was he.

  Winter back-stepped, the trail of red light following him as he did so, and he pushed the door shut.

  Logan stared at Evans who, despite the injury, had a smug look on his face, his hands behind his back, striking an altogether nonchalant pose.

  ‘I like what you’ve done to your face,’ Logan said. ‘It suits you.’

  Evans didn’t respond to the taunt.

  ‘Where is she?’ Logan said, his voice calm.

  ‘She’s right here,’ Evans said, indicating over to his right. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  Evans turned and walked away, across the barren expanse toward a set of sliding doors at the end of the room.

  Logan began to edge forward, in pursuit of Evans, scanning the area as he moved, taking in the surroundings. The room they had walked into was large, probably a thirty-by-thirty-yard square. The poured concrete floor was in good condition but the room was entirely empty, with the exception of the load-bearing metal struts that lay at regular intervals and the thick layer of dust that covered the floor and filled the air. Whatever previous use the building had seen as a factory or an office, it had been entirely cleared of anything of use and value now.

  As Logan kept stride with Evans, his gaze followed the path of the red laser hovering over his chest. At the end of the beam, out of the darkness, a figure appeared. It was the man who had been at the exchange in Kazakhstan. Mason. Logan looked off to his right, following the beam targeted at Winter’s chest. Another man came into view. Logan hadn’t seen him before. He was tall and wore blue jeans and a dark-grey jacket. He looked Chinese. The man Grainger had followed.

  The two armed men closed the distance to their targets. When they were just a few yards away, Logan could see that the guns they were holding were M4 carbines. Not playthings: these were heavy-duty guns. Serious weapons.

  ‘So how much did you have to pay Fleming to give me up?’ Logan asked Evans, who was still walking away.

  ‘We didn’t pay him a thing,’ Evans said without turning around.

  Logan guessed what the response meant and his heart sank. He wouldn’t mourn Fleming’s or Butler’s passing for a second, but he was disappointed. After what those two had done, Logan would have happily killed them both. Still, at least it was one less problem to consider. More than anything, Logan was surprised Evans had managed to fell the SAS men at all. Fleming, in particular, was someone Logan had never once managed to get the better of. And there weren’t many people like that.

  Logan walked past Mason, who hadn’t yet moved, eyeballing him the whole time. As Logan approached the doorway which Evans had stopped at, he felt pressure on his back. The muzzle of Mason’s M4, he guessed.

  Evans slid open the large inner door to reveal a near-identical room on the other side. Except this room wasn’t entirely bare, like the first had been.

  In the middle of the room was Grainger.

  ‘And here she is,’ Evans said, a smile on his face. ‘Another reunion for the lovebirds.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ Logan said as he entered the room.

  Grainger nodded, tears rolling down her face.

  Logan stopped and looked around. Winter came up two yards to his right, a rifle barrel pushed up against his back, the mirror image of Logan. Evans walked between them and up to Grainger.

  ‘You let her go now,’ Logan said. ‘That was the deal.’

  ‘I’m a man of my word,’ Evans said to Logan. ‘You’ve done everything I asked you to do.’

  ‘Let her go.’

  ‘Don’t worry, man. I won’t kill her. What the Americans or the Russians do with her is up to them. But you can’t hold me responsible for that.’

  ‘Just let her go!’ Logan shouted.

  Evans laughed but then scowled. ‘I will. But first, I want her to see you die.’

  Logan had been trying his best to control himself, breathing deeply, repeating a mantra in his head that had seldom helped his rage but he was hoping would this one time. He knew he had to control himself if he was to get out alive. Once the red mist descended, all bets were off. But seeing Grainger so helpless and Evans so mocking was making Logan’s task all the more difficult.

  ‘Kneel down,’ Evans said. ‘It’s time to say your last words.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw Winter get to his knees. But Logan stayed on his feet.

  ‘I said kneel down!’ Evans shouted.

  ‘It’s time,’ Logan said, turning his head toward Winter.

  He just hoped Winter would put up a fight.

  Logan had known Winter for a number of years. The young man was a pencil-pusher, but Logan knew he must have had
at least basic combat training. Commanders didn’t work the field like agents did, but they had to be prepared for situations like the one they were in. Plus, Winter had managed to pull a knife on Logan earlier with ease. He wasn’t a complete no-hope. Either way, Logan didn’t have enough time to save himself, Grainger and Winter. And when it came down to it, the hard truth was that Grainger’s life was worth more to Logan than Winter’s. He had to save Grainger first. For now, Winter would just have to take care of himself.

  Logan spun around, bending his knees and then springing upwards like a jack-in-a-box. He clenched his right fist, thrust it up and crashed it into Mason’s jaw, snapping his head back. It was perfect contact. The noise suggested to Logan that Mason’s jaw had probably been shattered to pieces. And the way that Mason’s body tumbled to the ground told Logan the single blow had been enough to put him out of the fight for good.

  As Logan threw himself to the floor, he glanced to his left to see whether the other gunman was a threat. He was pleased to see Winter scrabbling on the ground with his foe. Logan hit the deck right next to Mason’s crumpled body. He lifted up the M4 that had come from Mason’s grip, though its strap was still around the fallen man’s shoulder.

  Logan yanked on the gun. He pointed it toward Evans.

  The move had taken barely a couple of seconds. Evans had gone for defence first and taken cover behind Grainger. He was crouching down behind her. His head and torso were entirely hidden as he brought a handgun around and placed the barrel against Grainger’s temple.

  From their relative positions, there was no way Logan could deliver a fatal shot. But he didn’t need to see all of his target to make a difference.

  He took aim and fired.

  Logan hadn’t checked the settings on the weapon before pulling the trigger, but he knew the M4 had selective fire options. The quick treble blast of fire told Logan the weapon had been set to three-round bursts. Evans let out an animalistic yelp as each of the .223 calibre bullets tore into his ankle. He rolled to the ground, screaming.

  Logan heard a volley of fire from his right and his body tensed for a second. But the fact he could still hear Winter and the Chinese man grappling suggested the shots had all been wayward, whoever the intended target had been.

  Before Evans could even contemplate his next move, Logan aimed again and let off another burst of fire. This time the three bullets caught Evans in his arm and shoulder. He instinctively dropped his weapon as he continued to scream in agony.

  Logan yanked harder on the M4, pulling the strap from the fallen Mason. As he got to his feet, Logan turned his weapon. He pointed it toward Winter and the Chinese man, who were tussling on the floor. He tried for a second to take proper aim, but the bodies were writhing too much. As with Evans, though, Logan didn’t have to shoot to kill. He fired off three more shots and heard two more screams.

  He’d hit both men. But his shots had been aimed at their legs.

  The two men rolled off each other, giving Logan the target he needed. He fired again. All three bullets hit the Chinese man in a small cluster in his chest. Then Logan spun and sent another volley of fire into Mason’s chest – he couldn’t take any chances.

  Winter was clutching his leg, screaming, but Logan barely heard. He was only focused on one thing. He strode up to Grainger and kicked the handgun out of the reach of Evans, who was still writhing in agony on the floor. And Logan could see why. The multiple bullets he’d fired, landing in such close proximity, had very nearly severed both Evans’s ankle and his arm. Another round of fire would probably have seen his foot and arm taken clean off. Logan was tempted to put him out of his misery, but he knew the fight wasn’t over yet. He still needed Evans.

  He leaned down next to Grainger and undid the tape wrapped around her wrists and ankles. She virtually fell off the chair into Logan’s arms, burying her head deep in his chest. After holding the pose for a few seconds, Logan stood her up.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he said, holding on to her shoulders, craning his neck to look into her eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  Logan took his hands off her, studying her for a couple of seconds to make sure she had the strength and wherewithal to keep herself upright.

  ‘Come on. We need to finish this,’ he said.

  Her expression suggested she was reluctant, but she nodded.

  Logan moved over and used his foot to turn Evans over onto his back. Evans’s face was creased with pain, but as their eyes met, Logan thought he could see the faintest of smiles still on Evans’s face. It made Logan want to pound the life out of him. But he knew he had to restrain himself. Evans was the only man in the room who had the answers Logan needed. He had to at least try to get something useful out of him.

  Logan was just about to speak when he heard an entirely unexpected noise. He knew what it was as soon as he heard the click. A handgun being cocked. What surprised him was that he could see the glint from the shining metal out of the corner of his eye and he knew the barrel was pointing at him. He could still hear Winter’s cries from over the other side of the room. And Evans’s other two men were down for good. Logan was sure of that.

  Which didn’t leave many other candidates who could be holding the weapon.

  Logan turned to face the gun. His eyes moved from the barrel to the person standing behind it.

  Grainger.

  ‘I’m sorry, Carl,’ she said, her face streaked with tears. ‘I really am. But it’s the only way.’

  Chapter 50

  ‘Angela, what are you doing?’

  Logan’s mind took him back to the log cabin in the Appalachian Mountains over a year ago. The place where Grainger had fulfilled her desire to exact revenge on the man who had killed her father. The place where she had shot Logan and then gone on the run, into the hands of the Russians.

  That day, she had left Logan in turmoil. She had betrayed him in a most grievous way. Since that day, he had fought hard with himself to come to an acceptance of what she had done. In the end, he had wanted her back. He had fought to have her back, to rescue her from the grips of the CIA who were hunting her. He’d seen some good in her. And some hope for himself.

  But had it all been in vain?

  Because here she was again. Pointing a gun at him. After everything he had done to help her.

  He should have been feeling enraged. The red mist should have been clouding his mind. But it wasn’t. Not this time. Instead, he felt entirely empty.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Carl.’

  ‘You’ve said that to me before.’

  ‘I know. But I have to do it. It’s the only way to stop this.’

  ‘To stop what?’

  ‘You’ll never be free, Carl. Don’t you see that? They’ll come after you. They’ll keep on coming after you. They’ll come after me. As long as you’re still alive.’

  ‘They won’t stop just because I’m dead.’

  ‘But it’s not just about you.’

  ‘Then who is it about?’

  ‘Carl, they’ve got Tom. Lindegaard has Tom. They’ve taken him away. I don’t know where to. But if I don’t do this, they’re going to kill him.’

  And where before he had been empty, Logan now felt a wave of unexpected emotion. Something akin to dismay but infinitely more powerful rushed through his body. The wave was so sudden and severe it made him feel faint.

  Tom Grainger. Angela’s ex-husband. A man Logan had never met but felt he knew so much about.

  ‘Angela, put the gun down,’ Winter said through laboured breaths. ‘You’re safe now.’

  ‘Keep out of this,’ Logan blasted without turning his focus from Grainger. ‘You were given a choice,’ he said to her.

  Grainger didn’t respond but her hand was now shaking, her bottom lip quivering.

  ‘You chose him over me,’ Logan said.

  ‘It’s not like that! I chose for this to be over. No more killing. No more fighting or dirty deals. I love you, Carl, but just look at the destruction that follows
you.’

  ‘I did it all for you.’

  ‘But I can’t do it anymore.’

  ‘Once this is over, you won’t have to.’

  ‘That’s right. And there’s only one way to end it.’

  ‘You’re wrong about that,’ Logan said, but he could tell from the look in her eyes that his confidence was doing little to sway her.

  Grainger bowed her head for a second and Logan took a step forward.

  ‘I can’t let someone I love be pulled into this mess,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t live with that.’

  ‘Tom pulled himself into this mess, remember? He came to you in Moscow.’

  ‘But I pushed him away again. I didn’t want him involved.’

  ‘You still love him.’

  ‘Of course I do! Not like I did, but you can’t just stop caring for someone. They will kill him. I have to save Tom.’

  ‘Let me help.’

  ‘You can’t help me anymore,’ Grainger said, but there was a little less conviction in her voice now.

  She was a shaking mess. Even if she pulled the trigger, and despite the short distance, Logan wasn’t sure she would hit him.

  ‘Just do it!’ Evans said.

  The show of strength from the fallen man surprised Logan. But it also took away some of the turmoil inside his head. And the gap that was left filled with something familiar: anger. At Evans. At Lindegaard. At everyone who had betrayed Logan and caused him to be in this place.

  ‘Kill him, Grainger!’ Evans shouted. ‘Or it’s over for you.’

  Logan took another step toward her. Then another.

  ‘If you really think it’ll make a difference,’ Logan said to Grainger, ‘then do it. You won’t get a better chance than this.’

  ‘Kill him!’ Evans screamed.

  Logan stopped. He was now only inches from the barrel of the gun.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  He stared into Grainger’s bloodshot eyes. But he saw nothing. He didn’t see the woman he cared about so much. He only saw a target. A problem.