Avenger bs-3

by Andy McNab

  The rain was bouncing off the road and pavement and Danny didn't hear or see a thing when two arms reached out and grabbed him. One was clamped across his mouth and the other went round his middle, squeezing all the breath from his lungs, as he was dragged back over the wall and deep into the darkness.

  Somehow, when the head waiter helped Elena on with her jacket and said, 'We hope to see you again very soon,' she didn't quite believe him.

  She had hardly been a great advertisement for the chef's undoubted skills, and the long-suffering waiter had looked almost relieved when she asked if he would mind calling her a cab.

  The yellow taxi was waiting with its engine running and the rain bouncing off its roof. Elena hurried over and bent down towards the driver's half-open window.

  'Hotel Pennsylvania, please. It's on Seventh and Thirty-third Street.'

  'I know where hotel is,' said the driver gruffly in a heavy Eastern European accent. 'I drive cab, I know way around this town.'

  Elena got into the back of the taxi and pulled the door shut without saying another word. It moved swiftly away, splashing through the kerbside puddles. She shifted into the middle of the back seat and pulled her jacket collar up around her neck, feeling very small and very alone. She would have given anything to have had Danny, even at his most annoying, sitting in the cab with her.

  She glanced through the thick Perspex window between her and the driver and noticed the man's dark eyes staring at her from the rear-view mirror.

  The loneliness tightened in her chest and a single fat tear rolled down her left cheek. Quickly she looked away, hoping that the driver had not seen.

  'Listen… miss… I'm sorry, very sorry,' said the driver, looking in the mirror again. 'I'm not right to talk to you like that. I'm miserable man.'

  Elena almost smiled as she wiped the back of her hand across her face. 'It's OK, it's not your fault. It's been a… a bad day.'

  The driver nodded. 'You visit New York for first time?'

  'Yes.'

  'I drive you through Times Square. You must see. Don't worry, no extra charge, it's on the way.'

  Too tired to argue, Elena just slumped back on the shabby, ripped seat.

  They were soon at Times Square, but then, caught up in traffic, moved across it at a snail's pace. It was ablaze with light from the hundreds of neon signs and giant screens advertising everything from Coke to the latest Broadway shows and movie releases. Elena had been impressed by London's Piccadilly Circus but that was nothing compared to this.

  Thousands of people thronged the pavements and streets; cabs and cars jostled for position with two-seater pedal taxis and gleaming white stretch limos. Every tenth car seemed to be a stretch limo in this part of town.

  Voices shouted and traffic cops' whistles screamed. A woman stepped off the kerb and almost got run down.

  That's what it would be like, Elena thought. One minute alive, the next… not. A bang. Pain. And then… nothing. All these people, scurrying from one place to another. And what for? If death is the end for all of us, does it matter how it happens?

  Elena's driver glanced into the mirror again to see if his customer was looking any brighter. She wasn't; she seemed to be a million miles away, deep in her own thoughts.

  'Where you from?'

  'England. London.'

  'England!' said the driver, lifting both hands from the steering wheel for a moment and returning them with a thump that made the vehicle swerve across to the centre of the road. A horn blared and the cab driver made the single-finger gesture as another car passed his with only centimetres to spare. 'Maybe I should have gone to England instead of come here when I leave Russia.'

  'Russia?'

  'I live in Moscow. Until I come here with my wife and my two children.'

  'Why did you leave?'

  The driver laughed. 'For better life. Ha! It is joke. In Russia I have good job as engineer in factory. Not much money, but no one honest has money in Russia. Russian mafia, they have all the money. So we come here, start again. I'm lucky even to get this job. Live in stinking apartment, work every hour, never see my wife and kids and not enough money to pay even doctor's bills.'

  The vehicle cleared Times Square and soon after it pulled up near the Pennsylvania. Elena paid the fare, then, as the driver gave back her change, she pushed it all back into his hands.

  'They have saying here in America,' he told her. '"Life is bitch, then you die."' He looked at the tip Elena had given him and smiled. 'You have good holiday, miss.'

  26

  Danny was in the back of a hire car cruising past the Pennsylvania as Elena walked into the building. His ribs still ached and his face felt as though there was an imprint of a hand across his mouth.

  Mick was not exactly the caring, sharing new-man type; he had not been gentle as he pulled Danny over the wall, and Fran's words had been almost equally bruising once Danny had been bundled away from the surveillance area.

  Fran was driving the vehicle and Mick was in the passenger seat; they carried on for a block before taking a left turn. 'You were told!' said Fran to Danny for the third time. 'You were told to stay away and you deliberately disobeyed orders. You could have compromised the operation.'

  'Yeah, all right,' said Danny, pissed off with apologizing. 'But I didn't, did I? There was nothing to see.' He thought for a minute. 'I suppose I should have guessed that you two would be part of all this. Why didn't Deveraux tell us?'

  The two agents exchanged a look. 'Because you didn't need to know until it was necessary,' said Mick. 'Who d'you think is here to take out the target when we get to him? You? Your little friend? It's our job. Taking care of business.'

  Danny said nothing, but the thought struck him that maybe these two were not just here to take out Black Star. Maybe their business would not be concluded until they had also taken out Elena and him too. And what about his granddad? Maybe they had already… He pushed the thought from his mind; he didn't even want to go there.

  Fran took another left; she was heading towards the rear of the Pennsylvania, and she was still fuming that Danny had risked compromising not only the surveillance, but the whole operation. She pulled the vehicle into the kerb, switched off the engine and turned in her seat to glare into Danny's eyes.

  'Your granddad cost me a few busted teeth and Mick three cracked ribs last year. And he was also responsible for the deaths of two of our mates, with your assistance. So dropping you because you're fucking things up wouldn't cause me one moment's loss of sleep. You understand?'

  Danny swallowed hard and nodded, but Fran hadn't finished.

  'Good. So now you've had your horoscope read, you can get out!'

  She started up the engine as Danny opened the door and got out. As soon as it was closed again, she shoved the vehicle into gear and roared away.

  'Up yours,' said Danny as he headed for the hotel entrance.

  Elena was close to exhaustion, but she had still remembered to check out the rubbish bin on the way into the hotel. The small red dot was easy to see, if you knew what you were looking for. It was about five centimetres below the rim of the bin, which was almost overflowing with discarded McDonald's cartons, drinks cans and paper cups.

  When she reached the eighth floor, Elena went straight into the dispenser room, slipped some coins into the machine and pressed the button for bottled water. The machine thumped and the bottle thudded into the dispensing bay. Elena reached down and picked it up.

  She stood still and listened. The only sounds came from the constant hum of the air conditioning and a slight buzz from the electric lighting.

  Quickly she moved to the back of the machine and freed the small canister Danny had left for her. She opened it, pulled out the folded sheet of paper and read the instructions.

  Elena sighed. Even Danny's note at the end was just another order. So much to remember all the time. She gave herself a mental shake; too tired to think now. She needed some sleep, then her brain would start working properly aga
in.

  She jammed the container into her jacket pocket and ripped the paper into small pieces before shoving them into her mouth, chewing and quickly swallowing. It tasted foul, but she knew that with a few swigs of water it would be over in seconds.

  When she reached her room, she let the door slam and then walked over to the window without turning on the lights.

  She felt certain that Black Star was watching her, waiting for her to go online to receive her next set of orders.

  But Black Star would have to wait – for a few minutes at least.

  The New York skyline was ablaze with light; the varying shades of yellow, white and pale blue marking out separate buildings, roads, towers. Maybe a million lights were shining on the city.

  But Elena wasn't looking at the lights. Her eyes were fixed on the steady flow of rainwater that streamed down the window just centimetres from her face.

  Like tears, a flood of tears, washing everything away.

  27

  Dr Jacobson had spent a restless night; sleep was elusive and she had spent long hours trying to make a decision. She glanced over at the digital clock and saw that it was just after five a.m.

  As far as she was concerned, Elena had coped incredibly well so far. But Black Star, whoever he might be, was extremely practised at grooming the teenagers he had chosen to be his Angels of Death. His subtle use of his victims' own anxieties, his powerful use of language, his caring and sympathetic tone wormed their way into his victims' psyche. He fed the wildest and most extreme feelings of self-loathing and hatred of the whole world into the teenagers' minds. And when he had them, he struck. He was a master of manipulation. And the pressure was difficult for even a well-adjusted teenager to bear.

  But Elena, even with all her recent history, had endured it, usually without making the slightest fuss. Until the last couple of weeks. It wasn't surprising; Dr Jacobson would have been astounded if there hadn't been some reaction.

  But she was worried now.

  She came to the decision she had been wrestling with. She sat up, switched on the lamp and opened the single drawer in the bedside cabinet.

  She lifted out the envelope that Elena had tucked into the battery compartment of her computer. It was still sealed, but Dr Jacobson had decided that she had to read the letter that Elena had written to her father.

  It was a professional decision: she didn't feel right about reading what was obviously a very personal letter, but she had to know how Elena's mind was working. It was important – and not only for Elena's own safety.

  Carefully she pulled open the sealed envelope as gently as she could, unfolded the single sheet of paper and then began to read. Dear Dad, I don't know when you'll read this, or if you'll ever read it, but I had to write down what I was thinking while I have the chance.

  You've let me down, Dad – again and again and again. I really thought that this time, when we'd got to know each other more, you regretted the way you'd let me down in the past and that you were going to make sure we had a proper relationship in the future. Just a normal dad, that's all I wanted. Nothing extra special, or different from anyone else, just someone who I could talk to, who really cared about me, who wanted to be there for me when I needed him.

  But no, you've disappeared again, just like before. I suppose I should have expected it, but I didn't, I really didn't. And that's what makes it worse this time. So much worse.

  I still miss Mum, you know. Being the way I usually am, cheerful and all that, people think I've got over her dying. But I haven't. I think about here every day. I say goodnight to her and tell her I love her every night before I go to sleep. I thought that you and me would be able to talk about Mum at some time, that maybe you'd be able to help me. But no, you've gone.

  Danny's been a really good friend to me and we've talked sometimes, but it's not the same. I thought there was something special between Danny and me but it can't be the same as what's meant to be between a dad and his daughter. I suppose it was different when Danny and me both believed we were completely alone – it was stronger between us then. But he's got Fergus now, so I suppose he's got something like I hoped to have with you.

  Also, Danny's really wrapped up in all this stuff we've got to do. It's changed him. He forgot my birthday – everyone forgot my birthday. I know you always forget my birthday, but it didn't stop me doing this really stupid thing. I kept looking out of the window, sort of expecting you to turn up with a card and a present for me. I knew you wouldn't – you don't even know where I am – but I still kept looking, and hoping. All day, until I went to bed. And then I cried. I do that a lot lately and I hate myself for it.

  Anyway, Dad, the real reason for this letter is to tell you that I do love you and that I forgive you. You are what you are, Dad. I know you'll never change now. I wanted to say these things because I'm going away tomorrow and I don't think I'll ever see you again. So take care, Dad, and remember,

  I LOVE YOU.

  You Daughter, Elena

  XXX

  Dr Jacobson was a professional, and one of the rules of her profession was never to become emotionally involved. But as she refolded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope, her eyes were misting with tears.

  She got out of bed and reached for her mobile phone. It was very early, but Dudley, if he was sleeping, was about to get a rude awakening. He had to know about this. It was imperative.

  28

  Paddington Green Police Station, on the Edgware Road, is one of the main holding bases for possible terrorists or other high-risk suspects when they are taken into custody. It is like a fortress.

  Fergus was being held there. At Heathrow he had been bundled into a windowless white transit van and then taken directly to Paddington Green. There, the wagon was driven through an archway and into a lift, which slowly descended into the bowels of the building.

  No charges were made, no explanations were given, but Fergus didn't expect any. He knew the routine. All the way from Heathrow he had been silently cursing himself for not anticipating this move. Deveraux had stitched him up good and proper and there was nothing he could do about it. But that didn't bother him; not being in New York to protect Danny and Elena did.

  Fergus had read every one of Deveraux's sit reps for Dudley, and almost every one had reiterated that she wanted them dead. Danny and Elena were aware of the danger, but Fergus had reckoned on being there to get them out when the moment came.

  But he wasn't there. Instead he was stuck in a London cell with no chance of escape.

  Years earlier, Fergus had been incarcerated in a Colombian prison and had organized and led a mass breakout. That had been difficult; breaking out of Paddington Green was impossible.

  His possessions had been taken away and he was ordered to change into garish yellow overalls and to put on a pair of thin slip-on shoes with elasticated sides. He did so without complaint; there was no point in complaining.

  Then he was locked in a small purpose-built SSU. It wasn't a home from home. Despite government legislation that all cells should have some form of natural light, this place had none. It couldn't have – it was deep underground. The electric lights were recessed into the ceiling with thick wire running through the glass.

  There was a single bed, fitted to the wall, and a stainless steel toilet with a push button flush system, also set into the wall. There was nothing for any prisoner to rip away for use as a weapon. The cell was the ultimate holding pen. Even if a prisoner scratched paint from the wall, the guards would be alerted by the cell's hi-tech alarm system.

  With no natural light as an aid, Fergus was finding it difficult to keep track of time. The guards wore no watches when they came in with bread and water. And when food did arrive, Fergus knew it wasn't at normal meal times – that could also have been a guide to the time. It was all part of the process of keeping a prisoner disorientated.

  Fergus had eaten everything given to him apart from one small corner from a slice of bread. Bread usually goes a l
ittle hard around the edges after an hour and completely hard within twenty-four. It was Fergus's rough guide to the passing hours.

  He was desperately worried, not for himself, but for Danny and Elena. He was tired now, but he had to stay alert and try to figure out some new tactic.

  As he turned over on the uncomfortable bed, he heard the cell door being unlocked. Fergus got up, expecting to see at least two police officers entering.

  It was Dudley.

  They looked at each other for a few moments before Fergus spoke. 'Come to gloat? Or do you want to tell me what you've got in store for me? Don't bother, I know.'

  Dudley looked around the cell as if he was expecting to see somewhere to sit down. The bed was the only option so he remained standing. 'This is unfortunate, Mr Watts, I agree, but it was considered necessary.'

  'Yeah, I bet it was. Your idea, was it, or Miss Deveraux's?'

  Dudley shrugged his shoulders. 'That isn't particularly relevant now. There have been developments, Mr Watts.'

  Fergus felt a surge of panic. 'Danny – something's happened. Is he hurt? Or Elena… what is it?'

  Dudley reached into the left pocket of his overcoat. 'They're safe for the moment,' he said as he drew out the now crumpled envelope containing Elena's letter. 'But I want you to read this.'

  Fergus grabbed the envelope and pulled out the letter. He read it through; Dudley waited in silence until Fergus looked up at him. 'Where did you get this?'

  'It was hidden in Elena's computer. Dr Jacobson is of the opinion that Elena may be considering-'

  'Going through with what Black Star's telling her to do,' said Fergus quickly. He gripped the letter tightly, crumpling the paper even more. 'I should have seen this. I should have known what was happening to her.'