by Will Jordan
‘How long ago?’ Dietrich asked without breaking stride.
The sergeant checked his watch. ‘About four hours.’
‘Goddamn it,’ Dietrich raged. ‘Four hours. Four fucking hours.’
If the attack happened last night, Drake and Anya might have an eighteen-hour head start on them. Perhaps more. Why had it taken so long?
He jerked a finger at the door leading to the interview room. ‘Buzz us in now.’
Henderson was a bedraggled, pale-faced mess of a man, hunched over in his chair with a blanket draped over his shoulders and an untouched cup of coffee in front of him.
His head jerked around when the door opened and the two agents entered the room. He eyed Dietrich with a look of blank fear, as if he expected the man to pistol whip him at any moment.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Henderson. My name’s Jonas, this is Kiera,’ he began, indicating his female companion. No way was he about to start telling civilians that they were CIA operatives. ‘We’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened last night.’
‘I’ve already told them everything I know,’ Henderson said, his voice almost a pleading wail. ‘I haven’t committed a crime – I’m the victim here. I just want to go home.’
Beside him, Frost tutted under her breath. She despised weakness and displays of vulnerability in others, especially men.
‘And you will, Mr Henderson,’ Dietrich promised him. ‘But first we need you to answer our questions. Can you do that?’
Henderson bit his lip, but finally nodded.
‘Good. Now, according to your testimony you were approached by the suspect at your hotel bar. Can you describe her?’
‘She was … tall, slim. She had blonde hair, blue eyes. Pale skin, but she was beautiful.’
‘How old was she?’ Frost asked.
‘I … I don’t know. It was hard to say. She wasn’t young, but she wasn’t old either. Maybe late thirties or early forties.’
‘Did she speak with an accent?’ Dietrich went on.
He nodded. ‘Russian, or Eastern European. I’m not exactly an expert, but it was definitely foreign.’
‘So once you met up, what happened?’
‘We had a few drinks, and after a while we went upstairs to my room.’ He shuddered at the memory. ‘Then she pulled a gun on me. She made me lie down, then tied me up in the bathroom.’
It all sounded very neat and academic.
‘Did she take anything?’ Frost asked.
‘My wallet – and my glasses,’ he added as an afterthought.
Dietrich frowned. She wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble just to snatch a few dollars. There had to be more to it.
‘Was there nothing else?’
The man thought about it for a few moments. ‘I couldn’t see what she was doing, but I heard her searching the room. She was looking for something.’ Then his eyes lit up as a memory resurfaced. ‘The safe!’
‘What about it?’
‘I heard her entering the pass code. I heard the beeping. I don’t know how she knew it, but it must have worked because I heard her open the door.’
Dietrich leaned forward. ‘What was in the safe?’
‘My passport.’
That was all he needed to hear. He was up and out of the room within moments. Frost followed in his wake.
‘Son of a bitch,’ Dietrich hissed, angry with himself for not making the connection sooner. Bedraggled and pathetic as he was, Henderson bore enough of a physical resemblance to Drake to stir a sense of familiarity in him. Enough of a resemblance to get the man through Immigration.
‘She’s planning to leave the country with Drake,’ Frost remarked.
‘If she hasn’t done it already,’ the man growled. ‘Stupid asshole! I should have seen this.’
He snatched his phone out of his pocket and dialled Franklin’s number. It rang only once before it was answered.
‘Talk to me, Jonas.’
‘She was here. Miami International. She stole a passport from a British businessman – Lewis Henderson. His details are on the police report. I want his name and passport details red-flagged immediately. And contact Homeland Security, find out if his passport’s been used in the last twenty-four hours.’
Franklin knew better than to argue, and wasn’t about to chew the man out for his brisk tone. ‘We’re on it. I’ll have someone call you as soon as we know something.’
‘Hurry, Dan. This might be our last chance.’
Shutting the phone down, he closed his eyes, leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his hair. He felt as though his mind was still working at half speed. Physically he was starting to feel better as the withdrawal effects receded, but his brain was letting him down. He was missing things that should have been obvious.
What else was he missing?
‘What’s on your mind?’ Frost asked.
‘A lot.’
She made a face. ‘Specifically?’
He sighed and opened his eyes. ‘Anya knew Henderson would be found sooner or later. She could have killed him to stop him talking, but she didn’t. She let him live.’
She shrugged. ‘It was a busy hotel.’
‘Have you forgotten what happened on the flight back from Russia?’ he asked. ‘She’s perfectly capable of killing with her bare hands.’
The younger woman’s expression darkened. Yes, she knew all too well what Anya was capable of. She didn’t care to be reminded of that moment when she’d found herself with a broken shard of glass at her throat.
‘Where the fuck are you going with this, Dietrich?’
That was the question, and one for which he had no answer. But something about this whole situation just didn’t add up. What were she and Drake trying to achieve? Where were they trying to go? And what were they going to do when they got there?
His confused and rambling thoughts were interrupted when his cellphone started buzzing. Damn, that was fast.
‘Dietrich.’
‘Sir, we’ve done the passport trace you requested.’ It was the young analyst he remembered as Sinclair.
‘Let’s hear it, Sinclair.’
‘The passport was last used this morning at 09.00 hours for an international flight.’
His heart sank. ‘What was the destination?’
‘Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.’
Chapter 51
THE HEAT IN downtown Riyadh was unbelievable. Every breath of scorching, dusty, smoke-filled air seared Drake’s throat as their jeep ground its way forward in heavy traffic, jostling for position with overloaded trucks and vans, sleek saloons and dilapidated old hatchbacks. Scooters and mopeds zipped in and out of the heavy traffic, taking ridiculous chances and leaving angry horn blasts in their wake. It was chaos.
Anya, for once acting as driver at her own insistence, navigated the chaos with a coolness that amazed him. By now he would have been leaning on the horn as hard as their fellow travellers.
Her presence also drew more than a few curious and sometimes hostile glances from their fellow drivers. Saudi Arabia was a staunchly Islamic country with harsh restrictions on women. The notion of female drivers was almost unheard of in this part of the world, not to mention ones with pale skin, icy blue eyes and long blonde hair kept unashamedly uncovered.
‘I don’t think they approve of you,’ Drake remarked as another driver leaned on his horn, shooting Anya a look of pure disgust.
It wasn’t that Drake feared for their safety. On the contrary, he was more concerned for any poor bastard who pushed her too far.
‘I am not looking for their approval,’ she remarked without concern.
‘Fair enough.’
She gave him a sly sidelong glance. ‘Does it make you nervous?’
‘What?’
‘Not being in control.’
‘Should it?’ he challenged her.
‘You did not answer my question.’
He offered a faint smile. ‘And you didn’t answer mine. Nasty habit we ha
ve here.’
They were making their way north, albeit slowly, on King Fahd Road, one of the major arteries that ran through the city. Off to their left, gleaming and indomitable in the evening sun, stood the immense Burj Al Mamlaka tower, a 1,000-foot-tall monument to Saudi Arabia’s booming oil economy.
Everywhere he looked, he saw symbols of wealth and prosperity. New buildings were sprouting everywhere; shining glass, steel and concrete had replaced the mud brick and sandstone of earlier eras, with the old largely demolished and forgotten to make way for the new.
He took a gulp of water, wiping his sweating brow with his forearm. It was as if the water was leaking out of him as fast as he could replace it, and he was sure Anya felt the same way.
Spotting a gap in the traffic, Anya gunned the accelerator, ignoring the horn blasts and the hostile stares. She wanted to put some miles in, and she intended to do it.
It had been a fifteen-hour flight from Miami to Riyadh, and neither of them was feeling their best when they finally cleared Immigration and spilled out into the burning afternoon sun. Still, they had made it, and that was miracle enough to silence any such gripes. They had been at their most vulnerable while locked aboard that tin can in the sky. If the Agency had found Henderson and learned of their plan, it would have been easy to have a snatch team waiting for them at Customs.
But it hadn’t happened. Somehow, through some miracle, they had made it to Saudi Arabia. Now they were barely a day’s drive from Anya’s contact.
With this in mind, their first port of call had been the nearest used-car dealership, where Anya had parted with 5,000 of her US dollars in return for a ten-year-old Land Rover formerly used by a British survey company.
The vehicle was a little rough looking after being used to haul rock and soil samples across the country, its paintwork scored, dented and weathered by years of sandstorms and hard driving, but a quick check of the engine bay and underside revealed that it had been well maintained. Drake could find no fault with the rugged vehicle.
It was just as well, because they were sure to need it. Their plan was to head north-west on Highway 65, before turning north on Highway 50 to a town called Al Majma’ah near the border. Anya claimed to know a man there who could show them the best place to slip across the border into Iraq.
But however they did it, it wouldn’t be by road. They were going to have to hightail it across the open desert, far from any checkpoints or border control stations.
They had also treated themselves to a Magellan satellite navigation system before leaving the airport. Navigating the featureless desert was a nightmare at the best of times, and they didn’t have time to waste plotting their position on a map. As long as they had the Magellan, they simply couldn’t get lost.
Their stylish Armani business wear was long gone now, discarded in favour of khaki trousers, hiking boots, loose white shirts, vests and sunglasses. Aside from the necessity of having more durable clothing for off-road travel, it was far too hot for anything else.
Drake glanced over at his companion. She was leaning back in her seat, one hand on the wheel, her eyes obscured by aviator sunglasses and her hair tied at the nape of her neck. She looked more comfortable and natural in such clothes than she ever had in a skirt or suit, and he thought he even saw a hint of a smile as she stamped on the gas, the engine roared and the breeze whipped at her hair.
Sensing his eyes on her, she turned to look, and her smile broadened.
‘I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.’
Despite his misgivings, he couldn’t help but return the gesture. There was something infectious about her smile, made all the more so because it was so rare. Already an attractive woman, a smile transformed her features in a way he couldn’t explain, rendering her truly, radiantly beautiful.
For a moment he found himself wondering at the soul lurking behind her icy exterior. He had caught glimpses of it at times, or thought he had, but she remained an enigma. A fascinating enigma.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yeah,’ he replied, glancing away. ‘Everything’s fine.’
For perhaps the first time, he actually felt good about their situation. They were almost at the end of their long journey now, their early problems and difficulties behind them. Soon they would find Typhoon, contact Munro, and he would see Jessica again.
He was quiet for a time, just watching the road ahead.
‘You know, when I passed my driving test I couldn’t wait to do stuff like this,’ he said, recalling her sudden burst of speed. ‘I wanted to be out there tearing up the road. Then one evening my dad takes me aside, drives me out to a stretch of road in the middle of nowhere and tells me to floor it – just drive as hard and fast as I can. I actually thought he was joking. He’d never done anything like that before. But he leans in close and looks me in the eye, dead serious – the kind of look that used to scare the shit out of me when I was little, and he says, “I’m not kidding. Do it now.”’
He chuckled a little at the memory. ‘I wasn’t about to argue. So off I went, pedal to the metal. I lasted about twenty seconds before I bottled it and slowed down, but God, those were the best twenty seconds of my life. My heart was pumping so hard I could hear it in my ears.
‘Then my dad turns to me with that same look and says, “Right, you got it out of your bloody system. Don’t ever let me catch you doing it again.” He was acting pissed off and serious, but I saw the look in his eyes. He’d never admit it, but I think he was proud he’d shared it with me.’
But instead of laughing, smiling or even dismissing the anecdote altogether, the woman looked strangely moved by his words. For a moment, an expression of such sadness and longing touched her that he wondered if he had said something wrong or offended her somehow.
‘Your father. He is … a good man?’
Drake shrugged. ‘He was like everyone, I suppose. He had his good days and his bad days. He was no saint, put it that way, and we didn’t often see eye to eye. But … he was my dad.’
He and his father had enjoyed a strained and often tumultuous relationship, especially as Drake grew older. His father had been a complex, demanding man; quick to anger, quick to criticise, quick to make him feel unworthy, often cold and distant, yet at the same time capable of quite surprising and spontaneous gestures of love and affection.
He’d spent a great deal of his childhood trying to win the man’s approval and respect, often without success. Then as a teenager he’d grown resentful, moody and rebellious, finding new and innovative ways to get in trouble and piss him off. Their rows had been so blazing during that time that they would go days without speaking to each other.
Only when he became an adult had their relationship stabilised a little, and the two men had at last developed a certain tolerance and respect for each other. For a time, at least.
She hadn’t missed his choice of words. ‘Was?’
He nodded slowly. ‘He died, three years ago. He had a heart attack one Sunday afternoon … died right there and then in his bedroom. The doctor said he didn’t suffer, it was like a light being switched off or something. I suppose they always tell people stuff like that.’ He blinked, pushing the memory away, then turned to look at his companion. ‘What about you? What are your parents like?’
She still had that distant, sad look about her.
‘Come on, even you must have had a mother and father.’
She avoided his gaze, keeping her eyes glued to the road. By now he’d recognised it as her standard way of killing a conversation.
Taking the hint, he leaned back in his seat and watched the suburbs of the Al Aqiq district flitting past. Ahead of them lay an endless expanse of shimmering desert.
* * *
‘Explain to me why we couldn’t intercept them at Immigration,’ Dietrich ground out, clutching his cellphone tight as he strode through the international arrivals terminal at Riyadh International. ‘We had Henderson’s passport number. Why the fuck wasn’t it re
d-flagged when he tried to enter the country?’
Passers-by gave him curious and disapproving glances, but he ignored them. He was seething with anger that they had missed such a perfect opportunity to intercept Drake, and he wanted to know who had fucked up.
‘It took time for the orders to filter through. Plus the Saudis weren’t being very cooperative,’ Franklin said from half a world away, sounding as tired and strung out as Dietrich felt. ‘You should consider it a miracle they even let a Shepherd team into the country. You don’t want to know the kind of favours I had to call in to make this happen.’
If Franklin was looking for gratitude, he was talking to the wrong man. Something wasn’t right about this. As contentious as their relationship might have been with the Saudis, the Agency wasn’t without resources in this part of the world. They should have had their own team on standby when Drake and Anya touched down, ready to lift them when the time was right.
‘Seven hours, Dan. They’ve got seven fucking hours’ head start on us.’
‘Then I suggest you don’t waste time bitching to me,’ Franklin snapped. ‘Don’t give me problems, Jonas. I’ve got enough of them here in DC. Do your goddamn job and find Drake.’
‘That went well,’ Keegan remarked as Dietrich ended the call. After their long flight, he looked even more crumpled and careworn than usual.
Dietrich gave him a sharp look but said nothing.
According to the briefing they had received just before leaving the United States, a representative of the Saudi government would be there to meet them in the arrivals area. That was all they had been told – no name, no description, nothing.
Dietrich scanned the sea of faces that confronted him, all eagerly awaiting the arrival of friends, loved ones and business colleagues. He had no idea who or what he was looking for.
Typical government operation. Then again, these were the same people who had once sent him a FedEx with nothing in it, and a cheque for zero dollars.
Just then, a tall, slender man in a grey suit emerged from the crowd and approached him. He was in his mid-fifties, with short greying hair swept straight back, and a neatly trimmed beard.
With dark unsmiling eyes and a hard, severe-looking face, it was obvious this guy wasn’t from the country’s tourism board.
