Redemption

by Will Jordan

  ‘Talk to me.’ Even from half a world away, he could hear the tension in Marcus Cain’s voice.

  ‘We’re fucked,’ Munro said, wasting no time. ‘A Shepherd team just showed up. They’re securing the place as we speak.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Anya’s still alive. She knows everything, Marcus.’

  ‘You stupid son of a bitch!’ Cain hissed. Realising he had no time to waste on petty recriminations, he forced calm into his voice. ‘What about her source?’

  ‘He’s dead. I made sure of that.’

  Cain was silent for all of two seconds. ‘Get out of there. I’m going to handle this.’

  ‘Copy that,’ Munro said, tossing the phone away. He was under no illusions about his prospects when this was all over. Cain showed no mercy to those who failed him.

  He was going to have to disappear when this was all over.

  On the other side of the world in his expansive office at Langley, Cain slammed his fist down on the desk. Everything he’d planned so carefully was falling apart at the last moment. Only now did he realise on how slender a thread his entire career, even his very life, now hung.

  Reaching for his phone, he dialled the number for the CIA reconnaissance centre in Baghdad. He had a direct line to the chief of operations there.

  ‘Kaminsky,’ a deep voice announced a moment later.

  ‘This is Director of Special Activities Division Marcus Cain, Mr Kaminsky. You are to commence with Case Orange immediately. Authorisation Charlie, Delta, Victor, Victor, Kilo. I repeat, commence Case Orange immediately. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir. We have a Predator standing by. We’re vectoring in now.’

  Cain replaced the phone, closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, willing himself to stay calm and rational.

  There was a danger, no doubt about that, but he could still prevent disaster if he acted quickly. The whole reason he’d insisted on having the Predator standing by was in case something like this happened. It was his fallback, his final line of defence.

  He had learned a long time ago never to underestimate Anya, but even he hadn’t expected this. God, the things they could have achieved if only she’d learned to work with him instead of against him.

  He hadn’t wanted it to play out this way, but she had forced his hand. If need be, he would flatten that entire airfield and everyone in it to stop her.

  ‘He what?’ Franklin gasped, incredulous.

  ‘The order just went out,’ Sinclair confirmed, staring at his computer screen. ‘Director Cain ordered an air strike on Hijazi. They’re vectoring in a Predator right now.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ He was already reaching for his cellphone.

  Taking a deep breath, Frost leapt from cover and charged across the open windswept ground between two crumpled fuel bowsers, nimble as a gazelle trying to evade a lion. A fresh burst of fire erupted from the nearby building, rounds whizzing past her head to bury themselves in the ground around her.

  Switching direction, she threw herself behind the twisted remains of the vehicle’s cab. More projectiles slammed into it, some tearing right through the metal skin to leave gaping holes as big as her fist. Mercifully none of them found their mark.

  With her heart pounding, she peered through one of the bullet holes, trying to get a fix on her would-be killer. Sure enough, she caught movement at one of the windows of an office block about 50 yards away. She couldn’t tell what he was armed with, but judging by the volume of fire, she suspected some kind of belt-fed support weapon, probably an M60.

  As if to prove the point, he opened up again in a long, sustained burst, sacrificing accuracy for weight of firepower.

  Ducking as more holes were torn in her scant cover, she keyed her radio. ‘Keegan, I’m pinned down. Need support.’

  ‘I got your back.’ His voice was calm and composed. ‘You got a fix on the shooter?’

  ‘Office block, north-west side. First-floor window.’

  It only took him a moment to spot the target. ‘I see him.’

  Frost jumped as another hole was punched right through the wing only inches from her face. ‘Nail that son of a bitch!’

  Nearby, Keegan slowly let out a breath, his face a picture of calm.

  The rifle kicked back into his shoulder as he squeezed the trigger, the gas discharge from the expended round causing a slight ripple to pass through his clothing.

  An instant later, his target toppled back and disappeared from sight. A perfect head shot.

  Chapter 71

  HEART POUNDING, LUNGS burning, sweat running down his face in the hot sun, Munro sprinted through the ranks of ruined aircraft and ancient vehicles. The air around him was stifling, his T-shirt already soaked with perspiration as dry gritty sand swirled around him.

  He was almost there. He could see his jeep parked behind the stripped-down remains of a refuelling truck. Ignoring the pain in his arm, he rushed for it with a final burst of speed.

  ‘Dominic,’ a cold, ghostly voice whispered.

  Oh, no.

  Reacting on instinct, he whirled around, weapon up and ready, finger already tightening on the trigger.

  Nothing. Just sand and derelict aircraft.

  He could have sworn she had been behind him. She had to be. She couldn’t possibly have circled around in front.

  He exhaled, his finger easing off the trigger.

  The jeep was mere yards away.

  But he didn’t go for it. His instincts told him he was being watched. He could feel it. She was here.

  He spun, twisting the MP5 around to fire.

  ‘Don’t,’ Anya warned before he could bring the weapon to bear. She was standing a dozen yards away with the Smith & Wesson handgun levelled at his head.

  His own weapon was trained on him.

  ‘Put down the gun,’ she ordered.

  It would be futile to try anything. She could snap off three or four shots before he could draw down on her, and he knew she wouldn’t miss.

  Glancing down at the MP5, he hesitated a moment, then threw it aside in disgust. She’d been right – he should have killed her when he had the chance.

  Now unarmed, he turned slowly to face her.

  ‘If you expect me to beg, you’re wasting your time,’ he spat, glaring at her with every ounce of malice that years of hatred and bitterness commanded. ‘I’m not afraid to die.’

  Her eyes glimmered; cold and hard and remorseless. She said nothing, just kept the weapon levelled at him.

  ‘Go on, do it,’ he taunted, deciding to try one last desperate gamble. ‘Shoot me, like the fucking coward I always knew you were. Prove me right, Anya.’ Her eyes flashed, and just for a moment he saw her mask of control slip aside. He saw the long-buried anger and betrayal that still lurked deep within her.

  Saying nothing, she turned the weapon aside and hit the magazine eject button. The clip fell free from its housing, clattering to the ground. Racking back the slide to eject the round still in the chamber, she tossed the useless weapon away.

  ‘This is between us, Dominic,’ she said as she brought her hands up, readying her tired and injured body for one more fight. ‘It was always between us.’

  Munro smiled, hardly believing she had allowed herself to be so easily provoked. The stupid bitch actually thought she could beat him in a fair fight, hand to hand. Even now, she still clung to some obsolete notion that there was honour to be found in battle.

  It was the last mistake she would ever make. He would make sure of it.

  With Jessica now freed from her cuffs, Drake and Dietrich hurried back into the building’s former operations room, still bathed in the soft glow of computer screens.

  Dietrich’s phone started ringing.

  ‘What is it, Dan?’

  ‘Jonas, you’ve got to get out of there!’ Franklin’s voice was loud and urgent. ‘Cain’s bringing down an air strike on your position.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The order just went out. They’re vectoring
in a Predator to flatten the fucking place.’

  In that moment, any lingering doubts he might have had about Drake’s story vanished. ‘I don’t believe it. He’s trying to cover it all up.’

  ‘Cover what up?’

  ‘Cain’s been behind this whole thing. Munro was working for him. He even launched the first Predator attack to make it seem legit. He tried to sell nuclear secrets to the Iraqis before the invasion, and when the deal went bad he took the money and ran. Drake just told me the whole story.’

  ‘You found him?’

  ‘He’s with me. So is his sister. Munro took her hostage, used her as leverage to get Drake to cooperate.’ Further explanations would have to wait. ‘How much time do we have?’

  ‘Not much. I suggest you find a hole and hide in it.’

  Like that would do any good. Hellfire missiles were designed to penetrate strike-hardened bunkers. There could be no refuge from them here, and the Black Hawk chopper had peeled away to avoid ground fire.

  His eyes swept the room, coming to rest on the control station opposite.

  ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ he said, a hasty plan forming. Killing the phone, he turned to Drake. ‘We’ve got problems.’

  ‘So I heard.’

  ‘Cain’s bringing in an air strike to flatten this place. He’s going to kill everyone who knows the truth.’

  Drake glanced down the corridor leading outside. The corridor Munro had retreated down. Along with Anya.

  Dietrich saw the look in his eyes and guessed his thoughts. ‘You go,’ he decided. ‘Find Munro. I’ll take care of the Predator.’

  Drake’s eyes met his for a moment, and he nodded in gratitude.

  ‘Ryan, what are you doing?’ Jessica asked.

  He turned towards her, wishing he had more time to explain. ‘I have to find the woman I came here with. She’s in danger.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why you?’

  ‘Because there’s no one else. And because I owe her.’ He was out of time. Reaching out, he pulled her close in a fierce embrace, then released his grip and turned away. ‘Dietrich will keep you safe. Stay here until I get back.’

  Hefting the carbine, he turned and sprinted through the door.

  Dietrich hit his radio pressel. ‘Frost, what’s your position?’

  ‘North office block. We’re securing the first floor now.’

  ‘Forget it. Meet me in the air control tower. And make it fast. We don’t have much time.’

  Central Intelligence Agency Field Ops Centre, Baghdad, Iraq

  In the operations room, Kaminsky watched the live feed from the Predator drone as it made a wide turn to start its attack run.

  ‘Good roll,’ the terminal operator reported. ‘Bearing now three-one-five degrees. Time on target, ninety seconds.’

  ‘Go hot,’ Kaminsky ordered. He didn’t know what the hell was going on at that abandoned base or why it was so vital that they destroyed it, but that was little different from any other day in the pit. Their orders came down from above, and they followed them without question, without hesitation.

  And in this case, their orders had come from very high indeed.

  ‘Copy that. Weapons free. Arming Hellfires.’

  Chapter 72

  BALLING UP HIS fist, Munro swung hard for a crushing right hook, but Anya ducked it before he could connect. Quickly shifting his weight to keep himself on balance, he threw a left jab, but she twisted aside with ease, caught his arm and countered with a stiff right that snapped his head back.

  She was going to try to lock his arm. He knew it. He had sparred with her enough times to know her fighting style, the moves she tended to employ and the tactics she favoured.

  That was his key; the one advantage that none of her other opponents had ever possessed.

  Sure enough, she began to twist his arm down and around, exerting all her strength to force it behind his back. She would show no hesitation in breaking it.

  In response, he lashed out with his other arm, trying to catch her with his elbow. She saw it coming and ducked to avoid it, but the reprieve bought him the opportunity he needed to wrench his arm free.

  Rounding on her once more, he lashed out with a roundhouse kick to her left side, aiming for the vulnerable injury that he knew still caused her great pain. But she was ready for him, jumping back to avoid the crippling blow.

  She was standing a few paces away, fists up and ready, eyes locked on him. She was a daunting figure, and still a deadly opponent, but Munro noticed she was breathing harder from her exertions. Tiring fast. Her time in prison had weakened her, and loss of blood from the shrapnel wound had further sapped her stamina.

  He sensed she was thinking the same thing. She would have to finish this quickly, before her strength deserted her. And in that instant, he knew it would be her undoing.

  Munro had come to know Anya well in the years they had served together; well enough to realise she was by nature a defensive fighter, preferring to block and evade her opponents until they made a mistake and left themselves vulnerable. She disliked taking the initiative, because it negated her ability to read body language and anticipate her opponent’s actions.

  He could hardly believe it. The solution that had eluded him seven years ago was shockingly obvious now. To beat her, one simply had to let her attack.

  Allowing his breathing to come louder and faster than it needed to be, he dropped his arms a little as if struggling to hold them up. Then, muscles clenched in eager anticipation, he waited for the inevitable attack.

  It happened fast. Trying to capitalise on what she saw as weakness and fatigue, she rushed him, fists clenched, moving with the sinewy grace of a predator born to end lives.

  Munro saw her punch coming and, reacting with speed and strength that caught her unawares, grabbed her outstretched arm and twisted it with savage force.

  He had her. She couldn’t escape now.

  His next blow, aimed at the bloody wound on her left side, was delivered with all the strength, all the malice, all the hatred that welled up inside him like an unstoppable tide.

  There was no thought of staying silent this time, of taking the pain and maintaining her composure. Her back arched, her face twisted as her scream of agony echoed off the derelict aircraft hulks around them.

  It was like music to his ears. Elation and sheer, unfettered hatred surged through him. At last, he had her at his mercy.

  Mercy. She had shown him her tender mercy when she took his eye, when she murdered the men who had followed him in his bid for power.

  He would show her none today.

  ‘I always hoped it would come down to this, Anya,’ he hissed in her ear. ‘Just the two of us, like it should be.’ Bringing his arm back, he delivered another savage punch to the bleeding wound.

  She went limp in his arms, her consciousness fading as pain and darkness threatened to overwhelm her. She was done; broken and defeated at his hands. Munro hurled her to the ground like a rag doll and turned away in search of a weapon to finish her.

  It didn’t take him long to spot a hydraulic pipe hanging from the landing gear of a wrecked MiG-25. A hard yank was enough to snap it free of its restraining brackets, leaving him with a 4-foot length of metal ending in a jagged, wicked point.

  Perfect, Munro thought, gripping it tight as he turned on his crippled adversary.

  Chapter 73

  ‘DIETRICH! WHAT THE fuck’s going on?’ Frost demanded as she hurried into the makeshift command centre, sweating and out of breath. Her gaze swept over the three dead bodies littering the floor, and the woman in civilian clothes standing nearby.

  Dietrich was at the computer terminal, frantically trying to make sense of the complex system. ‘Cain’s bringing in an air strike to flatten this place! Munro was working for him, and now he’s trying to kill anyone who knows the truth.’

  It took her a moment to process everything she’d just heard. ‘Then we need to get the fuck out of here.’

  ‘They c
an target us no matter where we go.’ He turned to look at her. ‘But I’ve got an idea. Get over here and help me.’

  ‘Time on target, thirty seconds,’ the operator reported, his voice icy calm as he brought the Predator in for its attack run. ‘Missiles are hot. Laser designators active. We are weapons free.’

  Kaminsky nodded. ‘Strike is authorised.’

  ‘Time on target, twenty seconds.’

  He could see the ruined airbase on the monitors now. The cluster of control and administrative buildings, the collapsed hangars, and the rows of derelict aircraft destroyed years earlier.

  ‘Time on target, ten seconds. I have tone. Good target lock.’

  This was it. In a few moments, fireballs would erupt across the base as the Predator deployed its full load of munitions.

  Then, just like that, the screens went blank. All telemetry from the drone ceased as if the thing had just blinked out of existence.

  Kaminsky blinked, hardly believing what he was seeing. Not again.

  ‘What the hell?’

  Pain.

  Pain and intense, burning light all around her.

  Lying in a heap, Anya coughed, leaving a trail of blood on the sandy ground. Her mind was a hazy fog of agony threatening to engulf her. Yet somehow, through some supreme effort of will, she held it at bay.

  Struggling to focus, she looked up as the man wrenched a length of metal pipework free from a nearby aircraft and turned towards her with murder in his eyes.

  She had to get up. She had to defend herself.

  Clutching the dusty ground, she tried to push herself up. Pain and weakness assailed her from all sides, blood pounded in her ears and her vision grew dim as she sank back down.

  She was finished. She could do no more.

  Then, through the fog of pain, she heard a voice, faint and distant, yet at the same time clear and strong. It was her own voice.

  You will endure when all others fail.

  ‘It’s just like I told you, Anya. Sooner or later, we all get what we deserve,’ Munro spat as his boots crunched through the sand towards her. He was taking his time, savouring the final moments of her life before he took it. ‘And you’ve had this coming for a long time.’