by Will Jordan
It didn’t take a genius to understand the FSB’s interest in her. Russia had been openly acknowledged as one of Iraq’s biggest suppliers of military hardware for decades, up until the First Gulf War at least. After that, their assistance had become more covert but no less extensive.
‘You think they were trying to cover their tracks.’
She shrugged. ‘It seems logical.’
‘So why does the Agency want it so badly?’
The woman gave him a withering look. ‘You don’t understand, Drake. Evidence like that would give the Agency huge leverage over the Russians.’
‘Blackmail,’ he breathed. ‘So what the hell does Munro want with it?’
If he was merely after extortion, he already had a serious bargaining chip in the form of the Predator.
‘I don’t know. But he would not go to all this trouble for no reason.’
‘No shit,’ Drake observed darkly. He had a whole lot of questions and few answers. ‘All right, whatever. First thing we have to do is make contact with your source. He’s the key.’
Anya looked dubious. ‘That won’t be easy. He could have gone into hiding after the invasion. He could even be dead …’
Drake’s grip on the wheel tightened. If her source was dead, then so was his sister. ‘Then we’d better get to work.’
Chapter 36
‘WE SEARCHED THE entire complex top to bottom. There was no sign of them,’ Dietrich reported. ‘As you can see, the tracking module was forcibly removed. Drake also dumped the vehicle and his cellphone. We have no way of tracking him.’
Franklin rubbed his jaw, surveying the scene with dark eyes.
After landing at Andrews, he had made a hasty car journey out to the scene of Drake’s last-known whereabouts to see the place for himself.
‘So they switched vehicles before the tac team got here,’ he surmised.
Dietrich nodded. ‘That’s our theory. But without knowing the make and model of the car they switched to, it’s hard to say.’
Franklin glanced up, catching sight of the CCTV cameras covering the parking lot. ‘What about surveillance footage?’
‘Looks like he had that covered too,’ Frost said. Reaching into her pocket, she held up a plastic evidence bag.
‘I found this attached to the main trunk cable.’
Franklin leaned in closer, frowning. Inside the bag was a black plastic box about the size of a cigarette pack. One end of the plastic casing had been removed, revealing a tangle of wires and a battery unit.
‘It’s a microwave emitter,’ she explained, sensing he had no idea what he was looking at. ‘Powerful enough to disrupt any data feeds nearby. It kicked in a couple of hours ago. Every camera on this level recorded nothing but static.’
Franklin rolled his eyes. ‘Why didn’t the building manager report it?’
‘We spoke to him already,’ she explained. ‘There are no permanent security staff on duty down here. The cameras are there to record, not to observe. Nobody was watching the feeds, so the problem wouldn’t even have been recognised until someone tried to manually access them.’
‘There’s no way Drake could have made this happen by himself. If you break this down, there’s only one conclusion,’ Dietrich went on. ‘He’s working with Munro.’
Franklin looked down at the dried bloodstain. ‘I can’t believe Ryan would do something like this. I’ve known him for years.’
‘Maybe so. But that doesn’t change the facts,’ Dietrich pointed out.
The younger man’s face was grim when he looked up again. ‘I want you to head up the search, Jonas. Find him and bring him in.’
Dietrich blinked.
‘Don’t look so surprised,’ Franklin said, unimpressed by his feigned disbelief. ‘You’re a Shepherd team – this is what you do. More important, you’re Drake’s team. Between the three of you, you know him just about as well as anyone. You’re our best shot at finding him right now.’
Dietrich had managed to assume a look of surprise and even reluctance, but inside he was jubilant. At last he was beginning to perceive the opportunity that lay before him.
This was his ticket back, his chance to reclaim what he’d lost. Despite injury and fatigue, he was still doing his job, and doing it well. That sort of thing got noticed.
Even better, Drake’s betrayal had cast a shadow over his entire career: every decision he’d made, every operation he’d headed up, every case officer he’d cited to negligence. This was Dietrich’s vindication, the proof that he had been wrongly persecuted.
If he played this one right, he could find himself back on top again. He could put all his past mistakes behind him, move on with his life.
And Drake … well, he would get what was coming to him. Dietrich would make sure of that.
‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘We’ll find him, Dan.’
Franklin nodded. ‘Pull whatever resources you need. They’re setting up a command centre at Langley tasked to this operation. Everything we have is at your disposal, so use it.’ With that, he turned on his heel and strode back to the waiting vehicle. ‘And for Christ sake, get some food down you. You look like shit!’
‘Where are you going?’ Dietrich asked as Franklin opened the door.
‘Back to Langley. I have to explain to Director Cain that we managed to lose his prisoner.’ He swallowed. ‘I’m counting on you, Jonas. Don’t let me down.’
‘Asshole,’ Frost remarked as Franklin’s car roared up the ramp to street level. ‘All he wants is to save his own ass.’
For once, Dietrich was inclined to agree with her.
‘I don’t care about his ass.’ He turned his attention to Frost. ‘We have to find the car they switched to.’
‘How?’ she asked, exasperated. ‘I told you, all the cameras in here were out of action. It’s a waste of fucking time.’
His headache was still pounding. ‘There have to be other cameras in nearby buildings,’ he said, swallowing down a sudden feeling of nausea. ‘Traffic cams, lobby security … whatever. Find one that was pointed at the exit ramp at the time of Drake’s escape, trawl through the footage and see what vehicles went up it.’
Frost looked dubious. ‘That’s a long shot.’
‘It’s all we have for now. Just get it done.’
But she didn’t move. She just stood there looking at him.
‘Do we have a problem?’ he demanded irritably. He felt as if he was about to throw up.
‘I think we do,’ she confirmed. ‘You might have Franklin fooled with all that “reluctant hero” crap, but not me. You’re loving this. You’re just itching for a chance to put Drake down, aren’t you?’
‘I don’t have time for this …’ he said, moving to push past her.
She caught his arm as he went, her eyes burning into his. ‘Then make time, Dietrich. Because I won’t stand by while you hang Ryan out to dry.’
He shrugged out of her grasp and glared at her. ‘Do your fucking job, Frost, or I’ll find someone who will!’
Frost, almost a foot shorter than he, stood unmoved by his threat. Her chin jutted stubbornly, her eyes blazing. ‘The hell you will.’
It’ll look bad if you lose control so easily, his rational mind told him. Don’t ruin everything now. Get her to cooperate.
With every ounce of self-control he possessed, he forced calm into his voice. ‘Look, you might not like me—’
‘I don’t,’ she assured him.
‘But Franklin put me in charge of this operation, and that’s the way it is,’ he said firmly. ‘Now, you can either fight me or you can work with me, but Drake stands a better chance if you take the second option. If you really want to help him, then help me find him.’
For several seconds she did nothing. She just stood there watching him, as if looking for some sign that he was lying.
‘If you try to fuck him over, I’ll kill you myself.’
Turning on her heel, she walked away.
Reaching into his pocket
for a cigarette, Dietrich watched her go. It wasn’t exactly a winning reconciliation, but he sensed that was the best he was likely to get from the hot-tempered young woman.
He didn’t care. In truth, he didn’t give a shit if she liked him or not, just as long as she did her job.
When he was a team leader once more, he’d make sure he never had to work with her again.
Chapter 37
DRAKE SIGHED AND rubbed his eyes. He’d been pushing the car hard all afternoon, wanting to gain as much of a head start on the inevitable manhunt as possible. According to the odometer they had covered well over 250 miles and were now deep into Virginia.
But they couldn’t keep this pace up for ever. A glance at the fuel gauge told him they needed to stop soon.
According to the road signs, they were approaching a small town called Jarratt. Spotting a gas station on the outskirts, he decided to go for it.
The woman perked up as their speed dropped.
‘We need fuel,’ he explained.
Pulling into the forecourt, he stopped beside the nearest pump and stepped out, making sure to take the keys with him. He didn’t think Anya intended to run, but he was taking no chances. He also had the Glock shoved down the front of his jeans in case the shit really hit the fan.
The terrain around the gas station was mostly dense woods and occasional tracts of farmland. He had no idea what they grew here but there were small fields all over the place, outbuildings and other utility structures scattered around. It was a quiet place, a backwater seldom used except by locals.
There was always the problem of CCTV surveillance – almost every gas station in North America had cameras in case of robberies – but there wasn’t much he could do about that. In any case, their pursuers didn’t know what kind of car they were driving or even what direction they were heading, so there would be no way to narrow the search. Short of trawling through footage from every gas station within 300 miles of DC, their chances of finding their targets that way were negligible.
All things considered, he couldn’t think of a better place to stop.
The main building was a 7-Eleven. There were no other cars parked at the pumps, and there seemed to be only two attendants on duty, both in their teens. One was manning the cash register, and the other was restocking a shelf with bags of Doritos. Neither looked very enthusiastic, which suited him just fine. They were less likely to remember him.
There was a click as the back door opened and Anya stepped out.
‘Better stay in the car for now,’ he warned.
‘No,’ was her dismissive reply. She seemed entranced with the mere notion of being outside, and he understood why. She hadn’t felt the sun on her skin in four years.
He reached for the petrol pump. ‘Fine. Just … don’t cause any trouble.’
She said nothing as she walked to the edge of the forecourt, closed her eyes and tilted her head back, raising her face to the sun. It was a warm day, and humid with it. Moisture seemed to linger in the air all around them. Some might have found it uncomfortable, but for her it was absolute heaven.
Sunlight, warmth, a faint breeze sighing past her …
The mere idea of experiencing such things again would have seemed ridiculous a few days ago. But here she was. Even if her life still hung in the balance, even if she was being hunted by Cain and God knew who else, in that moment, she was free.
‘Hey,’ Drake called out.
The spell was broken. Opening her eyes, she turned to look at him. He had finished pumping the gas and was screwing the fuel cap in place.
‘We won’t be stopping for a while. Do you need to use the bathroom?’
She shook her head.
‘Suit yourself. I have to pay for the fuel. Stay with the car.’
He ignored her hostile look and strode into the convenience store. Straight away he was in an air-conditioned world of car magazines, soft drinks of all shapes and sizes, potato chips, cakes, chocolate, engine oils, alloy-wheel cleaning kits and countless other items that he had no time to take in.
Making for the counter, he paused to grab a couple of bars of chocolate, some crisps, pre-packed sandwiches, two bottles of Mountain Dew and two mineral waters. He didn’t know what Anya’s food and drink preferences were, nor did he care. She didn’t strike him as a fussy eater.
Dumping his load of provisions on the counter, Drake fished in his pocket for some money as the cashier scanned his items.
‘Having a good day, sir?’ he asked, going through the motions.
‘Yeah. Good, thanks,’ Drake replied in his usual north London twang. He couldn’t imitate an American accent to save his life.
When the kid’s eyes showed interest, he pasted on a fake grin. ‘We’re on vacation for a couple of weeks, heading down to New Orleans.’
Drake couldn’t tell if that explanation satisfied the cashier’s curiosity, or if he just didn’t care. Either way, he went back to what he was doing, scanning and bagging each item with no sense of urgency.
Outside, Anya turned as a Ford pickup pulled in to the gas station, music blaring. It was a new model that she didn’t recognise, big and square and intimidating, red bodywork gleaming in the afternoon sun.
There were two men up front, one wearing a loose checked shirt, the other in a black tank top. The one in the tank top was in his twenties, young and strong, while the checked-shirt man was older, mid-forties. Both were working men, broad shouldered and well built, used to heavy manual labour.
The driver had his eye on her the moment they entered the station, and she saw him say something to his companion in the passenger seat. She couldn’t tell what, but their grins gave her some idea.
She turned her back on them, staring out across the grassy expanse beyond the forecourt to a belt of trees beyond. She had no wish to speak to such men. Where was Drake?
There was a click and a thump as a door opened, and she heard the scrape of work boots on the concrete. Another metallic click as a fuel pump was unhitched, then a low rhythmic hum as the gas started to flow.
Another thump as the second door opened. Both men were out of the truck now. Glancing down, she could see their reflection in the window of the Ford Taurus.
‘I don’t see how we’re gonna finish on time. You know we gotta get that floor laid down by Friday, then get all the wiring done, then get the air-conditioning guy in,’ the one in the checked shirt remarked, his voice strangely high pitched for such a big man.
The one in the tank top sighed. This was a debate that had been going on for a while now, by the sounds of things. ‘Not our problem. We can’t do a goddamn thing till the joists get delivered. They want to ride us for missing deadlines, they can just go ahead and bitch to the lumber company.’
‘Yeah, like that’ll happen.’
The passenger elbowed his companion and nodded in her direction.
‘Hey, darlin’,’ the young man in the tank top said. ‘How you doin’?’
She didn’t reply. Her mind was racing, trying to think of a way to back out of this situation. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself, didn’t want these men to remember her, but she couldn’t think of a way to get rid of them.
‘Hey. I’m talking to you, blondie,’ he called out, a little more insistent this time. He was trying to be genial and friendly, but she caught an edge of impatience in his voice.
She had to speak to him. If she ignored him, he would lose face in front of his friend and that would piss him off. She wasn’t concerned for her own safety, but she didn’t want to get into a fight. Not now.
She turned around to look at them both, doing a rapid threat assessment as she always did. The one in the tank top was the taller of the two, probably 6 foot 3 and about 210 pounds. His arms were heavy with thick corded muscle, his shoulders broad and square – the kind of build that came from more than just hauling timber around a construction site. Maybe he’d been a football player in high school.
The other man was a few inches s
horter, more fleshy and with a visible beer gut that came from hard work and hard living. She guessed his weight at perhaps 230 pounds.
The one in the tank top smiled at her. She was playing his game now. ‘We just wanted to be friendly, y’see. What’s a beautiful woman like you doin’ all alone out here?’
He was unusually confident for one so young. Still, with his strapping build and ruggedly handsome face, he was no doubt used to approaching women and having his advances reciprocated.
‘I’m waiting for my husband,’ she lied. ‘He’s paying for the gas.’
His brows rose straight away at the sound of her voice. She had learned English a long time ago and spoke it with confidence, but a trace of her former accent remained unless she made great effort to hide it.
‘Not from around here, are ya?’ he asked. ‘Where you from? Russia?’
She didn’t like the way this conversation was going, and she didn’t know how to turn it around.
Where the hell was Drake? What was taking him so long?
The man in the tank top had finished pumping his gas. Replacing the pump in its cradle, he rounded the pickup to approach her. He was still smiling, but the look in his eyes had changed a little. She had seen that look in men’s eyes before. She had seen it in Bastard plenty of times at Khatyrgan. It wasn’t as strong or malicious in this man, but it was there all the same.
‘I don’t want any trouble,’ she said. It took a great deal of self-control not to assume a defensive posture which she knew would further antagonise him.
‘Trouble? You don’t have to worry about no trouble from me!’ he laughed. He was enjoying this, toying with her, making her feel threatened. ‘What kind of trouble you think I’m gonna cause?’
She glanced away, hoping a show of submission and disinterest would help him get the message. Come on, you had your fun. Just walk away.
‘What? You too good to talk to me or somethin’?’ he asked. ‘What’s your problem?’
