Redemption

by Will Jordan

  A chance to make a difference.

  But as she tried to negotiate the confusing and difficult political landscape of the Agency’s top levels, her attention became diverted away from the task force she had once led. She failed to see the growing rifts and discontent amongst her former comrades. It would be a fatal error.

  Two levers down. Come on, come on.

  She swallowed hard. ‘We came so close, Dominic,’ she said, eyes filled with aching sadness as she relived that brief moment of hope and optimism. She had come tantalisingly, agonisingly close to making it work. ‘Most of the Agency’s senior directors supported me. I was ready to take my plan to Cain when you tried to have me killed.’

  There were tears in her eyes now as she stared at him. She made no effort to hide them. ‘Even then I didn’t want to believe it. You were the best I had – my favourite. I told myself there had to be another explanation, so I came after you to find it.’

  She felt the tip of the metal shard brush the final lever. With desperate haste she went to work on it.

  ‘Don’t you understand what you did? You ruined everything. Everything I spent my life building, you destroyed in a single day. But even when it was over, I still couldn’t bring myself to kill you. That was my weakness,’ she lamented. ‘You had been like a son, and I showed you what mercy I could.’

  For a brief moment, Munro stood frozen in shock, his single eye blank and unfocused. Only now did he understand the full magnitude of his mistake, the scale of the misguided destruction he had unleashed. He had been so young then; rash and arrogant and filled with ambition, only to see it stifled by Anya, his commander, his unchallenged leader, the woman he had hated and loved in equal measure.

  The moment passed, his gaze hardened, and the weakness was gone. He smiled. ‘You know something? When this was all over, Cain wanted you brought back alive. He still has a soft spot for you, even now.’

  Reaching for the knife at his belt, he yanked it from its scabbard, the blade rasping against the metal sheath as it came free. For a moment he held it up in front of her, allowing the light to glint off the wickedly sharp blade.

  ‘Me, on the other hand … Well, like you said, there are some things you just can’t accept. So I’ll show you the same mercy you showed me.’

  He knelt beside her, fingers clamped around her neck with one hand as he brought the knife down to carve out her right eye. The last thing she would see was his face smiling in triumph.

  ‘An eye for an eye.’

  Anya stared back at him. She wouldn’t look away. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

  ‘Sir, we’ve got an inbound chopper!’ Redfield, the technician manning the Predator terminal, yelled in warning.

  Munro’s head snapped around. ‘What?’

  ‘A Black Hawk. Coming in fast and low. Looks like a strike package.’

  ‘A Shepherd team.’ Munro made his decision in an instant. ‘Target them with the Predator and take them out.’

  It was the opening Anya had been waiting for. With a click, the lock disengaged. Yanking her wrists out of the cuffs, she swung her right hand, still clutching the jagged piece of shrapnel, into Munro’s neck.

  He cried out in pain as the improvised blade bit into his flesh just above his shoulder, cutting a deep gash through skin and muscle. He pitched sideways, yanked the sliver of metal free and turned on her, his remaining eye burning with fury.

  She saw the gleaming flash as he plunged his knife down, and twisted aside to avoid it. The blade bit into the concrete floor, ringing with the impact and jarring his arm.

  Capitalising on his brief lapse, she reached down, closed her hand around the Smith & Wesson holstered at his thigh and yanked it free. He raised the knife for another strike, but before he could bring the blade down, she managed to plant a foot firmly against his chest and kicked out with all the strength she could summon. The blow caught him off balance and he was thrown backward, landing in a sprawl several feet away.

  Even as he hit the deck, she brought the automatic to bear, thumbing the safety off with practised ease. Rising up from the ground, he stared at her, his face frozen in shock and disbelief.

  I will show no mercy. I will never hesitate.

  She had shown him mercy once. Not this time.

  Movement to her left.

  The black man called Cartwright, armed with an M4 carbine. In an instant she knew he was the greater threat. Swinging the weapon around, she caught a glimpse of him raising his assault rifle just before she snapped off a round.

  His head jerked back as the projectile impacted just above his right eye. She didn’t even bother watching what happened next. He was down for good, and that was all she cared about.

  The man by the computer terminal was starting to react. Hurling his chair aside, he spun to face her, going for the weapon at his hip.

  Two rounds to the chest and another to the head was enough to put him down. He crumpled in a heap, his blood painting the computer equipment behind him.

  With the two armed men eliminated, she switched her attention back to Munro, her eyes flicking right even as she brought the weapon around.

  But the second or two it had taken her to dispatch his two comrades had bought him the time to rise to his feet, still clutching the knife. Lips drawn back in a snarl of hatred, he hurled the weapon at her with all the force he could command.

  His aim was true, but she twisted aside even as the blade flew through the air, clattering off the wall behind her. She rolled over and adjusted her aim, but the delay had bought her opponent a vital second. Munro was already moving, sprinting for the door.

  In the half-second before he vanished, she snapped off a shot. A cloud of blood sprayed from his shoulder, followed by a howl of pain as he vanished from sight.

  Chapter 69

  DIETRICH WINCED AS the first round slammed into the Black Hawk’s airframe. The heavy chopper was well protected against small-arms fire, but a well-placed shot to a vital system could still bring them down.

  ‘We’re taking fire! We’re taking fire!’ the pilot yelled.

  ‘No shit,’ Frost replied, ducking as a stray round zipped in through the open door and whanged off the roof of the compartment.

  ‘I can’t hold us here.’

  I guess it’s safe to assume these guys aren’t on our side, Dietrich thought with a wry smile.

  Keegan was crouched in the open doorway, his long-barrelled rifle against his shoulder. ‘I see the shooter. Control tower, top floor,’ he said, calm and composed. He was in business mode now. ‘Just hold us steady.’

  The fuselage resounded again with the clang of projectiles ricocheting off the armour belt. Sure enough, Dietrich could just make out the telltale muzzle flare of an automatic weapon snapping off bursts from the upper floor of the ruined control tower.

  ‘I have to break,’ the pilot warned.

  Keegan didn’t take his eyes off his target. ‘Fire, fire, fire.’

  The sharp crack of the rifle almost drowned out the thumping of the rotors. Dietrich caught a momentary glimpse of red spray within the tower.

  ‘This is it! We go now.’

  Latching his fast-descent harness onto the restraining pylon just outside the door, he gripped the friction hitch tight, stepped out and released his hold.

  The descent took all of three seconds. Three seconds of sickening helplessness as a storm of wind and dust swirled around him and the rope slipped through his hands.

  He landed hard, rolling aside and rising up to his knees as he unclipped himself. Frost came down next, groaning in pain as her injured shoulder took the strain of the descent harness, but made a good landing.

  Keegan was making his descent when more fire started pouring in on them, rounds whizzing past their heads and churning up the sand at their feet.

  ‘Cover!’ Dietrich yelled, sprinting for a collapsed wall that had once been part of an anti-aircraft battery, his weapon up at his shoulder. The stabbing pain in his injured le
g was a concern he had no time for now.

  Simple survival was the priority.

  ‘Anya, cuffs!’ Drake yelled the moment Munro disappeared.

  He had no idea how she’d been able to free herself, and now wasn’t the time to ask. He could do nothing with his hands bound.

  She glanced at him for a moment, decided she had no time to assist him, then shook her head.

  ‘I’m sorry, Drake.’ She was already turning away.

  ‘Anya, wait. Anya!’

  But it was no good. She wasn’t hearing him, and a moment later she had disappeared through the doorway. She was gone.

  ‘Fuck!’

  Allowing himself to fall back on the hard floor, he drew his knees up to his chest and passed his cuffed hands beneath his feet.

  Cartwright, the man who had brought him in, still lay where he had fallen, blood pooling around the gory exit wound at the back of his head. Heaving himself up, Drake rushed over and fell to his knees beside the body, frantically searching his pockets and webbing.

  He found what he was looking for in one of the side pouches of his body armour, and a few seconds later his unlocked cuffs fell to the floor. Wasting no time, he snatched up the dead man’s carbine and checked the action. The weapon was loaded and ready.

  Outside, he could hear the crackle of automatic fire, and the distinctive thump of helicopter blades. Munro’s men were being engaged by someone, and Drake had a feeling who.

  He hesitated, torn about what to do. Anya had gone after Munro herself, and she would show him no mercy if she found him. But with Zebari dead and his evidence gone, Munro was the only one left who could bring Cain down. He was no good to them dead.

  His gaze turned toward the corridor his sister had been dragged down. She was in the building somewhere. Munro had ordered Barnes to take her away. She had to be close. He just prayed she was still alive.

  It took him less than a second to make his decision.

  Rising up with the weapon at his shoulder, he hurried out of the room and into the corridor beyond, eyes and rifle eagerly searching for a target.

  There were doors set at intervals along both sides, some hanging ajar and others fastened shut. She could be anywhere. The building was large, possibly with further construction underground.

  He ached to call out to her, but couldn’t chance it. There was no telling how many of Munro’s men were in here with him. She could be anywhere.

  Suddenly an image leapt into his mind: a memory of Jessica being dragged out of the room by Barnes, her feet trailing behind her. Trailing along the floor.

  The bare concrete floors were covered with debris of all sorts, from broken pieces of glass, plastic and wood, to discarded pieces of paper and a fine coating of sand that had blown in over the years. Looking closer, he could see the distinctive tread patterns of numerous pairs of boots. No doubt Munro and his men had been using this place for several days at least.

  But there was another mark on the floor – two parallel lines cut into the sand and dust. Drag marks.

  Gripping the carbine in sweating hands, Drake hurried forward, following the tracks which turned right at a T-junction, leading deeper into the building.

  Blood pounded through his veins and sweat dripped into his eyes as his body wrestled with fear and adrenalin. Even as he advanced, his boots crunching through the broken glass and the crackle of weapons fire echoing down the ruined corridor, he could imagine Jessica huddled in a tiny cell, terrified, waiting for that bastard to put a bullet in her head.

  It could happen at any moment. If her captor suspected the game was up, he might well execute her and make a run for it.

  Suddenly one of the doors further down swung open on rusted hinges, and a bald head leaned out, a long grey goatee trailing down from the chin. It was Barnes.

  The weapon was already at Drake’s shoulder, his finger on the trigger. It was a perfect shot. He tensed up slightly as he adjusted his aim and squeezed off a round.

  There was a flash, the weapon kicked back into his shoulder, and an instant later he saw a cloud of blood paint the pale concrete wall. Barnes collapsed to the floor, his body jerking spasmodically as his destroyed brain misfired, sending random signals to his muscles.

  A scream of fear and horror echoed from beyond the door.

  ‘Jessica!’ Ignoring the man he’d just killed, he leapt over the body and into the room beyond.

  She was there, crouched in the corner of what looked like an old storage room, tears in her eyes as she stared at the dead body.

  Drake couldn’t help himself. Laying the weapon aside, he knelt down beside her and threw his arms around her, pulling her close in a crushing grip as if to confirm she was solid and real and alive.

  ‘Oh, Christ, Jess. I’m sorry …’ he managed to say, blinking back tears of his own.

  She was crying now. He could feel her convulsive sobs. She had held herself under control all this time, stayed strong for the sake of survival, but not now. ‘I heard shooting. I thought … you were dead. I thought I’d lost you.’

  He pulled back to look at her. With her hair in disarray, her clothes torn and grubby, her face streaked with dirt and tears, she was a pathetic sight. But she was alive. ‘You can’t get rid of me that easily,’ he said, managing a reassuring smile. ‘I told you I’d find you.’

  Her gaze flicked back to the dead body lying sprawled in the doorway, slick blood coating the floor. ‘I didn’t know, Ryan. I mean, I always knew you did dangerous work, but …’

  ‘Jess, look at me. Look at my eyes.’ Taking her face in his hands, he turned her towards him again. ‘It’s going to be all right. I’ll tell you everything when this is over, but we have to get you somewhere safe. Can you walk?’

  She swallowed and nodded.

  ‘Good. Let’s—’

  He hesitated, a noise out in the corridor catching his attention. The scrape of a boot on the dirty concrete floor.

  In a single fluid motion, he reached out, grabbed his carbine and brought it up to his shoulder just as a body-armoured figure appeared in the doorway.

  He’d kill any bastard who tried to touch her. No hesitation, no regrets.

  He tensed his shoulder as before, preparing for the recoil of the first shot.

  ‘Hold your fire, Ryan!’ Dietrich yelled.

  His grip on the trigger slackened as relief surged through him. ‘Jonas.’

  ‘You owe me a big fucking explanation.’

  Drake had one. ‘We found Munro. He’s been working for Cain the whole fucking time. This entire thing was Cain’s plan to destroy evidence of an illegal arms deal he tried to broker. He allowed Munro to hack the Predator drone that killed all those civilians, and Munro threatened to kill my sister if I didn’t cooperate.’

  For a moment, Dietrich simply stared at him, dumbstruck. His gaze turned to the woman still handcuffed on the floor, then back up to Drake.

  ‘You can prove this?’

  ‘The control station is right in there,’ Drake said, pointing back down the corridor. ‘So is Anya’s source. Munro shot him dead.’

  Dietrich’s eyes were wide in amazement.

  ‘You’ve got to believe me, Jonas. Anya’s innocent in this.’

  ‘I believe you,’ he said at last. ‘But I should fucking shoot you for all the trouble you’ve caused.’

  Drake couldn’t help but smile just a little. ‘You can shoot me later. First we have to find Munro. He’s the only one left who can bring Cain down.’

  Chapter 70

  HURRYING FORWARD WITH his weapon at the ready, Rahul scanned the rusting hulks of derelict aircraft for targets. Most of Munro’s men were clustered around the terminal building, holding Frost and Keegan at bay with sustained automatic fire. But there was so much noise and confusion that it was hard to tell who was firing at who.

  He had to hurry. He was circling around to outflank them, but the longer he waited, the more chance there was that they might escape.

  He almost didn’
t notice the sudden flurry of movement to his right. Whirling around, he brought his MP5 to bear on this new target, only to find the barrel caught in a ferocious grip.

  In a heartbeat Rahul found himself face to face with a man: big and tall and powerful. Two eyes stared back at him, one glassy and unfocused, the other filled with rage and murder.

  Rahul saw something glinting in the sun as the man brought his arm back, and realised an instant too late that it was an aluminium reinforcing strut from one of the broken airframes, one end bent and jagged.

  Without remorse or hesitation, Munro plunged the makeshift dagger into his adversary’s throat, forcing it through the man’s windpipe.

  Rahul’s eyes went wide, his mouth gaped open as if to scream, but all he managed was a sickening gurgle. With blood pumping from severed arteries in his throat, he fell to his knees, desperately trying to draw breath that wouldn’t come.

  Tearing the MP5 from his limp grasp, Munro kicked the dying man to the ground and turned away, quickly assessing the situation. His men were under attack by God knew how many Shepherd team operatives, and with at least two of them dead at Anya’s hands, they were up against it.

  He had little confidence in the men supplied by Cain. They were Private Military Contractors, mercenaries who fought and killed for the highest bidder. They were nothing compared to the elite, battle-hardened troops he had once commanded in Task Force Black.

  Pain burned outward from his left arm. The round had passed straight through, leaving blood seeping down to his fingers in crimson tracks. It wasn’t a critical injury, but the pain was another reminder of his failure.

  ‘Goddamn you, Anya,’ he hissed, reaching for his cellphone as he started moving. He had a Ford Explorer parked on the other side of the aircraft boneyard. That was his ticket out of this goddamned mess.

  Dialling a familiar number, he waited a couple of seconds while the line connected. It rang only once before it was answered.