‘We lost a number of good friends to Equilibrium,’ explained Charley. ‘Surely there’s something that can be done?’
Stella leant back in her chair. ‘Your testimonies will certainly help our agents. You see, MI6 have been aware of –’
A knock at the door interrupted the Deputy Director. She looked up as a young man in a crisp pinstripe suit entered the room. ‘What is it, Henry?’
Ling sat slumped in the darkness, her back against the rough metal of the shipping container, her head resting wearily on Jason’s shoulder. There were a few whispered conversations going on, but most of the captives remained numbly silent. After being confined for so long, they were all too weak to do much more than exist. Their rations of food and water had run out the day before. The temperature was stifling and ever rising. The air was stale, suffocating, and stank of urine and excrement from the buckets festering in the far corner. Their past efforts at escape had turned to mere survival. There’d been no communication with the outside world and a fear had been steadily growing among the captives that they would be entombed inside the shipping container forever.
Then the stomp of boots broke Ling’s malaise. ‘Did you hear that?’ she croaked.
Jason nodded. Barked commands followed the heavy footsteps and they both sat up, sharp and alert. Jody and the other instructors came to their senses quickly too. They ushered the recruits away from the doors, cautious and fearful as to what was coming next.
A bone-like crack was heard, then the metal clunk of the padlock dropping to the deck.
Hunkered in the darkness like cornered animals, Ling and Jason prepared for the worst. The container’s doors swung open and the silhouette of a US Marine officer appeared before them.
‘Seagull One to Control,’ growled the officer into his head mic. ‘Hostages located and secured.’
A flood of tearful relief swept through the recruits as more marines entered the container and hurried to the captives’ aid. Unsteady on her feet, Ling emerged with Jason, blinking in the bright sunlight …
‘They’re really free?’ asked Connor, exchanging a look of astonishment with Charley and Amir.
Stella nodded. ‘A US Navy vessel intercepted the cargo ship an hour ago. I’ve been informed all the hostages survived the ordeal, just some cases of severe dehydration and mild trauma. They’ll be flown home in the next few days.’
Connor felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders, an immense relief rolling through him like a cool breeze. Although they’d managed to obtain the name of the ship and the container’s number, he’d feared that Mr Grey had lied to them. Evidently he hadn’t anticipated the three of them escaping and so had told the truth. Equilibrium might have won, but their victory was no longer total.
‘As I was saying,’ continued Stella once the three of them had calmed down, ‘MI6 have been aware of Equilibrium for quite some time. But the organization has been like a ghost to us. We haven’t been able to gather any concrete evidence as to their operations or personnel. There have only been rumours and hearsay.’ She shook her head in frustration. ‘What I’d give to obtain some solid proof of their activities!’
‘What time is it?’ interrupted Amir.
Stella frowned, then glanced at her tracker. ‘Coming up to midday. Why?’
Amir looked up at the ceiling, appearing to do some calculations in his head. ‘That should be long enough for it to be embedded. Can I access your computer terminal?’
‘This isn’t an internet cafe!’ said the Deputy Director firmly. ‘But you can use that laptop over there. It has guest access.’
Amir went over to the conference table and booted up the computer. Connor and the others joined him as he tapped away at the keyboard. A login window popped up on the screen and the edge of a smile crept into the corner of Amir’s lips.
‘The password is Gabriel,’ said Amir, stepping aside for Stella. ‘Would you like to do the honours?’
The Deputy Director typed in the password and a drive opened up, listing thousands upon thousands of folders. ‘What am I looking at?’ she asked.
Amir folded his arms and puffed out his chest. ‘All Equilibrium’s databases,’ he replied.
The Deputy Director did a double-take, then began to sift through the files. ‘But you said you had no proof.’
‘Well, we do now,’ said Amir smugly.
Connor stared at Amir. ‘But how? We surrendered the drive and they disconnected our transmitter.’
Amir grinned like a Cheshire cat. ‘Trojan horse!’
‘Explain,’ said Charley, as stunned as Connor by their friend’s miraculous accomplishment.
Amir cleared his throat. ‘Well, I realized we’d never get that flash drive out of the country, not with our lives at least. So I thought I’d return the drive in exchange for you two … along with a little extra “e-gift”. When the Director connected her tablet to the flash drive at the World Financial Center, a building I knew she owned, her actions immediately compromised their security systems. As soon as she entered the new password I had created, a drive-by download was triggered and a Trojan horse installed.’
‘What sort of Trojan horse?’ asked Stella.
Amir grinned even wider. ‘A special program I’d personally coded to create a back door into their mainframe. By installing it on her very own tablet, I knew the malware would be buried deep and be spread wide. No one would suspect her device to be the culprit.’
‘So, you mean … you had this planned, all along?’ asked Connor.
Amir nodded. ‘I have to admit, though, it didn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ said Charley.
Amir shrugged. ‘I didn’t know if it would work.’
Connor clapped his friend on the back, then hugged him. ‘Well, it did! Amir, you’re a genius!’
‘You’re more than a genius, young man,’ said the Deputy Director, calling her assistant into the room. ‘You may well have just brought down the biggest criminal network in the world.’
‘Don’t give him a bigger head than he’s got already!’ Charley laughed. ‘We’ll never get him out of MI6.’
Stella appraised Amir with a shrewd look. ‘After this technical display, we might not let him.’
She issued some quiet orders to Henry and within minutes her office was an intense buzz of activity as a select unit of analysts and agents pored over Equilibrium’s files. Once the hubbub had died down, the Deputy Director delegated specific tasks and the agents split off to back-up the files, initiate in-depth analysis and develop plans of action to curtail Equilibrium’s operations and bring the perpetrators to justice.
Connor, Amir and Charley were left alone with the Deputy Director. She gestured for them to join her at her desk. ‘So what are your plans now?’ she asked, settling back into her chair.
‘Honestly, I don’t think any of us have really thought that far,’ Connor replied.
Stella Sinclair pursed her lips and regarded them intently. ‘All three of you have shown great courage, impressive initiative and true loyalty to one another. To survive what you’ve just been through takes real talent and skill. You’re a credit to Colonel Black’s memory and his training.’
She glanced past them, checking that her door was closed. Then in a quieter, more confidential tone, she continued, ‘I was, of course, aware of Buddyguard, having been one of the initial supporters of the concept. I considered it a great shame that the project wasn’t officially endorsed. Colonel Black was bold and ambitious to pursue the idea. And, of course, he proved the concept was not only viable but supremely effective. There are many in government and this organization who secretly approved of his venture. That’s why he was given such free rein. Sadly, without a captain to steer the ship, I foresee that Buddyguard will have to be shut down for good.’
Connor looked at the others, their downcast and anxious expressions mirroring his own feelings of loss and confusion as to what the future might now hold.
‘A fire? That’s terrible,’ said his mum, after Connor and Charley had arrived unexpectedly at his family’s poky terraced house in East London. Propped up by pillows, she lay in the metal-framed bed, thin and fragile as a bird with a broken wing. Connor had been shocked by how frail and pallid his mother looked, the multiple sclerosis that she battled evidently having the upper hand that day. Her face was etched with pain and a slight yet constant tremor gripped her wasted body. But as ever his mum’s concerns were for other people rather than her own sufferings. ‘Was anyone hurt?’
Connor nodded. He felt Charley squeeze his hand for support. ‘The headmaster and two of the teachers died.’
His mum gasped in shock. ‘Any pupils?’
‘A few were injured,’ Connor admitted. ‘They’re recovering now, but the school’s been closed. Permanently.’
His mum reached out and took his other hand, her trembling grasp weak but full of love. ‘Oh, I am sorry, darling. I know how much you enjoyed it there. What a terrible thing to happen.’
‘Thank the Lord you two are safe, that’s all I can say,’ remarked his gran, shuffling into the room with a glass of water and a plastic pot of pills on a tray. She gave both him and Charley a grave but tender look, not for one minute fooled by their story of an accidental fire closing the school. Putting down the tray on a bedside table, she tapped out a couple of capsules into the palm of her wrinkled hand and passed them to Connor’s mum. ‘Sally says to take two of these. They’ll help you sleep. She’s off home now Connor’s here, but will be back in the morning.’
Seeing the state his mum was in, Connor was glad Sally had been around to take care of her, as well as his gran. And Sally would continue to do so for the foreseeable future. For Colonel Black had been true to his word when he’d said that his recruits’ welfare and safety were his number one priority. A comprehensive insurance policy had been taken out in the event of Buddyguard’s demise, ensuring that every recruit was financially secure and any contractual arrangements honoured until the recruit reached adulthood. Connor felt a further pang of grief in his heart at the loss of the colonel. He might have been gruff and stern of manner, but he wasn’t the mercenary exploiter that the Director had tried to paint him. Colonel Black had been a father figure, a mentor and, ultimately, a hero.
‘I suppose we need to think about a new school for you,’ said his mum, swallowing the capsules with a swig of water.
‘An alternative arrangement has been offered,’ Connor replied. His gran stiffened, her small pinched eyes drilling a question into him from behind her glasses. ‘But … I’m not sure if it’s right for me.’
His gran’s bony shoulders relaxed and her expression softened somewhat, although her mouth remained tight and thin. Connor anticipated that she’d be interrogating him later. But he wasn’t sure how much, if anything, he could tell his gran about the Guardian organization or his future intentions. Following Stella Sinclair’s confidential proposal, he’d initially declined her offer. He was long overdue a break and had no wish to dive headlong into another covert operation, especially when he had no idea what the Guardian role might entail. Yet he could already feel a familiar pull, a yearning for the ‘combat high’ that only came from being in the field. It was an irresistible draw that his father had experienced and often succumbed to, and that Connor craved too. But, for the moment, he was simply happy to be back home and to be with Charley.
For Charley had also declined the Deputy Director’s offer. She wanted to focus on her rehabilitation. She had a dream, a goal in mind. Equilibrium, for all its devious intentions, had implanted into her a remarkable piece of cutting-edge technology. So, rather than be controlled by it, she planned to master it. And Connor wanted to support her every step of the way.
Amir, on the other hand, had eagerly accepted the proposal to join the Guardian team. Stella had enticed him with the promise of a specialist IT role, and the prospect of becoming an intelligence agent was too much of a temptation for his computer-loving friend. His decision had led to his swift enrolment in the programme, the Deputy Director’s PA leading him away for further briefing. Their parting had been bitter-sweet, Connor happy that Amir had found his true purpose but knowing that he’d miss his friend. They promised to stay in touch.
Notwithstanding their own decisions, as both he and Charley left her office, the MI6 Deputy Director had told them in no uncertain terms that her door was always open should they change their minds.
‘Luckily, the school holidays are coming up,’ said his mum, stifling a yawn. ‘We’ve time to sort things out. I’m just glad you’re home, safe and sound, and not involved in any of this …’ She patted the newspaper on her lap. ‘I don’t know what the world’s coming to.’
On the newspaper’s front page ran a headline story about the terrorist attacks in China, referring to a recent incident at the famous Shanghai World Financial Center that had proved a significant lead on the perpetrators of the railway station shooting. Alongside this feature was another article about people-smuggling, and the disturbing evidence that children were being abducted and transported within shipping containers.
‘It’s certainly a dangerous world out there,’ agreed Connor, sharing a rueful look with Charley.
His mum yawned again, the pain etched in her face easing away like the sands in an hourglass.
‘Your mum needs her rest now,’ said his gran, ushering them out of the bedroom.
They made their way downstairs, Charley using his mother’s stairlift. Entering the front living room, Connor’s eye was caught by a photo on the mantelpiece. He took it down and settled into the comforting recesses of the sofa.
The picture was of his father. Smiling and handsome, dark brown hair clipped short, the green-blue eyes that he’d passed on to his son blazed with a sharp intensity. Connor recalled that this particular photo had been taken the month before his father had left on his fateful mission to Iraq. Bitter tears sprang at the corners of Connor’s eyes. His father’s death had gouged a huge hole in his heart, a gaping void that no other person could fill. But when he’d discovered how his father had really died, how he’d sacrificed himself to protect the American ambassador, a man who went on to become President of the United States, his heart had swelled with pride. The hole was still no smaller, but there was an understanding that his father’s death had counted for something, had somehow been of real service.
Yet there was always an unquenched fury deep within him at the injustice that his father’s killers had got away. It was partly what had driven him to excel at kickboxing, had compelled him to become a bodyguard, then had carried him through all the trials and ordeals of his assignments – a determination and crusade to protect others from the same fate.
Connor realized that the burning hole in his heart would never fully go away, but it was now more manageable. He’d uncovered those ultimately responsible for his father’s death. He’d been instrumental in bringing his father’s killers to justice. And over the coming months he’d be able to savour their destruction as Equilibrium’s empire was torn down piece by piece. It was only a matter of time before the Director herself was captured and punished for her crimes.
Then his father’s soul could finally rest. And so could he.
‘Your dad would be proud of you,’ said Charley, coming up alongside the sofa and putting an arm round his shoulders.
Connor smiled sadly at her. ‘I just wish he was around to meet you. He’d have really liked you.’
There was a knock at the front door.
‘I’ll get it,’ called his gran fr
om the kitchen. She shuffled past through the hallway.
‘Well, if it’s any consolation,’ said Charley, ‘we’d never have met if you hadn’t had a reason to join Buddyguard. So maybe he’s the one who brought us together.’
His gran came into the living room. ‘Connor, there’s someone from your old school to see you.’
Connor looked up expectantly from his father’s photo. Then all the blood drained from his face. Charley gripped the armrests of her chair in shock.
‘Hope I’m not disturbing you two lovebirds,’ said Mr Grey, limping into the room.
‘I’ll get us some tea and biscuits,’ announced his gran, departing the lounge after she’d shown Mr Grey to an armchair.
The assassin put aside his walking cane and stiffly seated himself. Connor and Charley hadn’t dared to move.
‘You don’t seem pleased to see me,’ said Mr Grey, pulling at a loose thread in the chair’s armrest.
‘How …’ began Connor, his chest so tight he struggled to breathe. ‘I saw you fall. You were dead.’
‘Not quite!’ replied Mr Grey acidly. ‘You wouldn’t make a very good assassin, Connor – that’s twice you’ve tried to kill me and failed. The glass roof broke my fall. I don’t pretend it didn’t hurt. I’ve a number of fractures, on top of the broken ribs you gave me – Charley, hands in your lap, where I can see them.’
He drew a Ruger SR9c semi-automatic pistol from inside his jacket and aimed it at Charley’s chest. She immediately retracted her hands from where they’d been reaching beneath her chair. The assassin then took a silencer from his jacket pocket and began to slowly screw it on to the gun’s barrel.
‘Don’t want to disturb the neighbours, do we?’
‘This is between you and me, Mr Grey,’ said Connor, glancing towards the door where he could hear his gran tinkling with cups and saucers and boiling the water. ‘Leave Charley and my family out of this.’
Fugitive Page 26
