Redemption

by Will Jordan

  You will stand when all others retreat.

  A hard kick to the stomach sent her sprawling on her back, pain blossoming outward from the point of impact. He wanted to look into her eyes when he killed her.

  Weakness will not be in your heart.

  ‘You know something?’ He smiled as he raised the makeshift spear, staring right into those chilling blue eyes without fear. She was no threat to him now. ‘I was always better.’

  Fear will not be in your creed.

  With a sudden, desperate burst of strength, she lashed out with a vicious kick to his right knee. It was a perfectly placed strike, hyper-extending the ligaments and tearing muscle. Pain exploded out from the damaged joint and he sank down, face twisted in shock and disbelief.

  You will show no mercy.

  Adrenalin surged through her veins, blotting out the pain, burning away fatigue and exhaustion. None of that mattered now. All that mattered was her enemy.

  You will never hesitate.

  Forcing herself up from the bloodstained ground, she turned towards Munro, ready to finish him before he recovered.

  You will never surrender.

  An instant later, she froze.

  Munro smiled with vicious hatred, clutching the MP5 he had been forced to drop earlier. Her sudden retaliation had crippled his knee, but it had bought him a few moments to snatch up the weapon lying half buried by the drifting sand.

  His eyes gleamed as his finger tightened on the trigger.

  At last, this was where it ended.

  Anya winced at the loud crack as the weapon discharged, already bracing herself for the searing pain as a projectile tore through her flesh.

  It never happened. To her amazement, Munro staggered back as a round slammed into his combat vest, quickly followed by a second. Turning the MP5 on his unknown attacker, he loosed a burst on full automatic, spraying fire indiscriminately, then turned and ducked behind a ruined aircraft fuselage.

  ‘Anya!’

  In disbelief, she watched Drake advancing towards her with an assault rifle up at his shoulder, still covering the gap Munro had disappeared through. Smoke trailed from the barrel, carried off by the fitful breeze.

  She felt his hand on her arm, the touch sending a shiver through her.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, his vivid green eyes shining with fear, worry, relief, and something else. Something she had never expected to see.

  He had saved her life. Just as he had the night he burst into her cell in Khatyrgan, he had saved her.

  ‘Anya. Are you all right?’ he repeated.

  ‘I—’ Her reply was cut short by the roar of a vehicle engine firing up.

  In that instant, her mind snapped back into focus.

  ‘Munro! We have to stop him.’

  Ignoring the stabbing pain in her side, she reached down and snatched up the Smith & Wesson she had discarded, slapped the magazine back into the port and racked back the slide to chamber the first round.

  Together they sprinted between the ruined aircraft, emerging onto the ruined tarmac runway just in time to watch a Ford Explorer roar past, exhaust spewing fumes, tyres churning the arid sand. Munro was at the wheel.

  Kicking up clouds of dust, the powerful 4x4 ploughed straight through the chain-link fence at the edge of the airfield as if it didn’t exist. They could do nothing but watch in helpless silence as the vehicle receded into the distance.

  They had failed.

  Half blinded by sweat, dust and sand, neither of them saw the tiny trail of white smoke that arced in towards the vehicle.

  Their first impression was of a bright flash that erupted next to the speeding jeep, replaced an instant later by an expanding blossom of smoke and flame. The blast lifted the Explorer clean off the ground and hurled it aside as if it were a toy. Staring in amazement, they watched as the ruined vehicle rolled across the desert floor, trailing smoke and hurling wreckage in all directions before finally coming to rest on its side.

  Glancing up, Drake could just make out the tiny but ominous shape of a Predator drone orbiting overhead.

  In the ruined ops room, Dietrich let out an uncharacteristic shout of elation as the broken remains of the vehicle came to rest. It was so surreal to view it on a computer screen, it was almost possible to believe it wasn’t real.

  But it was real. That same Predator had been poised to kill them and flatten the building they were in.

  ‘Damn it, Frost. That was some good shooting.’

  The young woman glanced up from the terminal. And for the first time, she grinned at him with genuine warmth. ‘Easy. It’s just like Call of Duty.’

  Chapter 74

  GASPING FOR BREATH, Drake and Anya slowed as they approached the wrecked vehicle, keeping their weapons up and ready.

  The blast and subsequent crash had reduced the 4x4 to a broken, twisted mass of metal. Smoke and steam drifted from the ruined engine bay. Shattered glass lay everywhere.

  Suddenly the cracked and partially destroyed front windscreen resounded with a crash from inside, bending outward. The blow was repeated with greater force, causing the damaged screen to shear off.

  Standing in silence, they watched as Munro, bleeding from countless gashes and with one arm hanging slack by his side, tumbled out through the gap to land on the sandy, rock-strewn ground. He was badly hurt, but he was still clutching the MP5 with his good arm.

  Drake and Anya had him covered in a heartbeat.

  ‘Put it down, Munro,’ Drake ordered. ‘It’s over.’

  His cut and bloodied face twisted into what could have been called a smile. He glanced up at the sky, as if he could see the Predator that had thwarted his escape.

  Anya took a step forward, keeping him covered with the Smith & Wesson. ‘Put the gun down, Dominic.’

  He turned to look at her with his single remaining eye. There was no trace of hatred or revenge in him now. He knew what was coming, and he wasn’t afraid.

  ‘I was wrong about you, Anya,’ he said. ‘I was wrong, and … I’m sorry. Cain lied to me. He lied to all of us.’

  Anya swallowed. ‘Then help me stop him. Together we can—’

  Munro smiled a bitter-sweet smile and shook his head. ‘We can’t stop him. Men like him can never be stopped.’

  He glanced down at the weapon in his hand, weighing up what he was about to do.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Anya warned, thumbing back the hammer on her Smith & Wesson.

  ‘I was a soldier once, Anya. At least let me die like one.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to end this way,’ she pleaded, knowing he wouldn’t listen.

  ‘Not everything ends the way you think it should.’ He closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath. His last. ‘I’m ready.’

  With a fast, practised motion, he brought the MP5 to bear on her.

  He never got the chance to pull the trigger. Jerking as a flurry of rounds from Drake and Anya’s weapons tore through his body, he collapsed backward with an exhausted, agonised groan.

  Shoving her weapon down the back of her trousers, Anya ran over and dropped to the ground beside her fallen comrade.

  His fading eyes met hers, and just for a moment a look of understanding passed between them. With a final effort, he reached up and clasped her hand.

  ‘Don’t … end up like me … Anya.’

  He could hold on no longer. His grip slackened and his hand fell away.

  Anya bowed her head, reached out and closed his unseeing eye as tears ran from her own.

  ‘Too late,’ she whispered.

  There was nothing more for her here. Rallying what reserves of strength remained, she rose to her feet with difficulty, turned and walked slowly away, her footsteps kicking up small wisps of dusty sand. Battered and bruised, injured and bleeding, she remained defiantly on her feet.

  ‘Anya!’ Drake called out.

  She halted and turned to look at him. The barriers were back up again.

  ‘What are you doing?’
>
  She glanced at Munro’s body. ‘There is nothing left for me here, Drake. It’s over.’

  ‘You have to come back with me.’

  ‘I have played that game long enough.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘Not this time.’

  ‘What about Cain? He has to answer for this.’

  ‘And he will,’ she promised him. ‘But I must do it alone, my way. This isn’t your fight.’

  Not his fight. It had been his fight from the first moment he saw her photograph in that briefing room at Langley. He just hadn’t realised it.

  ‘It is now.’

  Cain had threatened his family, manipulated him, destroyed his career, sacrificed innocent lives and risked many more in order to cover up his own mistakes. Drake was involved now, part of Anya’s story, whether he wanted it or not.

  And in that moment, he couldn’t help but remember the brief conversation with Hussam the previous night.

  I think there will come a time when you have to choose, either to stand with her or against her. When that time comes, I hope you make the right choice, Ryan Drake.

  ‘I promised Hussam I’d protect you, Anya. Whether or not you think you need it, I’ll be there for you, and I won’t give up on you.’

  He saw a change in her eyes then, a lowering of her defences. She looked as she had last night, when they had at last opened up to each other, bared their souls in the flickering light of the campfire.

  Hesitating a moment, she walked towards him and held out her hand, saying nothing, waiting for him to take it.

  He did so without reservation, without regrets or deception. He accepted her as she had accepted him.

  Gripping his hand tight, Anya smiled. But it was a bitter-sweet smile, tinged with sadness and regret.

  ‘You know your problem, Ryan? You’re a good man.’

  Moving with frightening speed, she reached for the weapon tucked into her belt, levelled it at his stomach and fired.

  The impact of the bullet felt like a sledgehammer driven into his guts. In an instant, the hot searing pain of the impact was replaced by a cold numbness that crept outward from the injury. Gasping in shock and disbelief, Drake fell to his knees, staring at the woman with wide, unfocused eyes.

  With the ease born from long years of experience, Anya yanked the carbine from his grasp before he could bring it up against her, then ejected the magazine and tossed the weapon away.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered, easing him down onto the ground. ‘Don’t fight me. It’s all right.’

  Vaguely, through the fog of shock and pain, he felt warm sand against his back as she laid him down with gentle care.

  ‘Why?’ he gasped, staring up into her eyes.

  ‘Remember what I told you once, Drake? We are both soldiers. No matter what they tried to make us, we are soldiers, and we do what we must to survive,’ she said, looking at him with genuine pity. ‘This is what I must do for both our sakes. Because where I’m going, you can’t follow.’

  He felt Anya take his right hand and press it against the bullet wound. ‘Hold here, press down hard,’ she instructed. ‘The pressure should slow the bleeding. When they ask what happened, you tell them you tried to bring me in, but I shot you. I betrayed you. Do you understand?’

  Drake’s pain-filled eyes opened wider as her words sank in. ‘No! I won’t …’

  ‘You do it, or they will blame you for everything!’ she said through clenched teeth. Only her eyes betrayed her true feelings. ‘I told you I have learned to live with a lot of things, Drake. But that is something I couldn’t live with.’

  She rose to her feet again. She was hurt and tired and in pain, yet she stood tall and unbowed, her dishevelled and bloodied hair fluttering in the breeze.

  Maras – a goddess of war.

  ‘Too many men have followed me to their deaths. I won’t let it happen again. You still have a life, a future.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t give you any of those things. But … if it means anything, I am grateful to you, Ryan Drake.’

  She sighed and looked up at the sky, blazing orange and gold now as the sun dipped below the horizon.

  ‘For both our sakes, I hope we don’t meet again.’

  With that, she turned and walked away.

  She had hardened herself to emotions like love and compassion a long time ago, but today her armour had slipped. Just a little, but enough.

  Bleeding and weakened, Drake could do nothing but watch as she faded into the distance, her blonde hair whipped up by the breeze.

  Part Four

  Resurrection

  The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.

  Sun Tzu’s The Art of War

  Chapter 75

  Iraq, 13 May 2007

  THIS IS HOW it ends.

  Lying there with one hand loosely pressed against the bullet wound in his stomach, he was alone. His strength was exhausted, his reserves gone, his blood staining the dusty ground. A trail of it led a short distance away, mute testimony to the desperate, feeble crawl he had managed before his vision swam and he collapsed.

  He could go no further. There was nothing left to do but lie here and wait for the end.

  A faint breeze sighed past him, stirring the warm evening air and depositing tiny particles of wind-blown sand across his arms and chest. How long would it take to cover his body when he died? Would he ever be found?

  Staring at the vast azure sky stretching out into infinity above him, he found his eyes drawn to the contrail of some high-flying aircraft, straight as an arrow. Around him, the sun’s last light reflected off the desert dunes, setting them ablaze with colour.

  It was a good place to die.

  Men like him were destined never to see old age, or to die peacefully in their sleep surrounded by family. They had chosen a different life, and there would be no reward for them.

  You know your problem, Ryan? You’re a good man.

  Had she been right?

  Could he look back on his life honestly and say he’d been a good man? He had made mistakes, done things he wished he could undo, and yet his final act had been one of trust and compassion.

  That was the reason he was lying here, bleeding to death. That was his final reward.

  A low, rhythmic thumping was drowning out the sigh of the wind. The pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, slowly fading as his lifeblood flowed out between his fingers. He might have slowed the bleeding, but he couldn’t stop it. Nothing could.

  He was dying.

  You know your problem, Ryan? You’re a good man.

  However he had lived, he knew in that moment that he would die as a good man. And that had to count for something.

  A faint smiled touched his face as the thudding grew louder. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the growing darkness that filled the world around him.

  Then, to his amazement, something loomed over him. A shape, vast and dark. And loud. A high-pitched whine filled the air, mixing with the hammering thump that he had mistaken for his own heartbeat.

  The peaceful scene around him was engulfed in chaos as a storm of dust and small stones erupted. Vicious winds whipped at his clothes, blasting his face and exposed skin.

  In an instant, his consciousness returned, and he stared up in awe at the vast underbelly of the Black Hawk helicopter.

  Shapes appeared in the doorway, and then suddenly they were descending on him, falling as if they had just thrown themselves out of the door.

  There was a thud, and a few seconds later Frost had detached herself from the fast-descent harness and knelt down beside him.

  ‘Ryan, can you hear me?’ she asked, having to yell to be heard over the whine of the engines and the thumping of the rotors. ‘Ryan! Look at me, goddamn it!’

  With some effort, he focused his attention on her.

  ‘Can you hear me?’ she repeated.

  ‘Yeah,’ Drake replied, squinting against the dust that was being kicked up into his eyes.

  ‘You’ve got
a gunshot wound to the abdomen. I’m going to stabilise you, then we’ll get you airborne. I want you to keep talking to me. Okay?’

  ‘My … sister?’ he asked, his eyes suddenly wide with concern.

  The young woman smiled and nodded. ‘She’s okay. She’s in the chopper right now. It was all we could do to stop her roping down!’ Her smile faded as she went back to work. ‘I’m gonna give you something for the pain.’

  Just as the syringe went into his arm, Drake looked up as another man in uniform rushed over and knelt down beside him.

  ‘It’s all right, Ryan,’ Dietrich assured him, his face etched with worry. ‘You’re safe now.’

  ‘So people … keep telling me.’

  ‘Where’s Anya?’

  Anya. He had some faint recollection of her looking down on him with sadness in her eyes, then turning to walk away.

  ‘Anya?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes, Anya! Come on, Ryan. Focus on me. Where did she go?’

  His vision was growing hazy as the drugs took hold, and it was an effort just to form the words.

  ‘She left. I couldn’t follow her. Where she was going, I couldn’t follow,’ he managed to say before the darkness swallowed him.

  Sir! Sir, you can’t go in there,’ Cain’s private secretary protested, rising from behind her desk as if to stop him.

  ‘Fuck you!’ Franklin snarled, striding past without so much as glancing at her. He didn’t give a shit who tried to get in his way. He was past that now.

  Throwing open the door, he practically burst into Cain’s office, scanning the room for the older man.

  He found him over by the window, staring out across the dark waters of the Potomac.

  ‘I figured you’d show up, Dan,’ he said without turning around.

  ‘What the hell have you done?’ Franklin demanded. His shoes rustled on the expensive carpet as he took a step toward the director.

  ‘What have I done?’ Suddenly Cain rounded on the younger man, blazing with anger. ‘Do you have any idea of the damage you’ve done today? Disobeying direct orders, interfering with an active operation, launching an unsanctioned mission against a foreign country … You just destroyed your own career, you stupid fuck.’