by Will Jordan
‘It’s late,’ he said, stating the obvious. ‘He’s probably in bed already, and I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate security knocking on his door in the middle of the night. I’d rather not trouble him with this.’
That gave him pause for thought. Detaining potential burglars was one thing, but disturbing and harassing the very residents who paid his wages was another.
‘Then you can at least give me his name and address,’ he decided, opting for a compromise. ‘I can check with our controllers.’
The guy had him, and they both knew it. But before he could say anything further, Anya weighed into this discussion.
‘Look, it’s late, we’re tired and we’d like to get back to our hotel,’ she said, adopting an accent much like his. ‘You’ve got no right to detain us. So are you going to step aside and quit harassing us, or are we going to have to take this up with your boss?’
Drake glanced at her, giving her a sharp look that warned against further provocation. She was playing a risky game right now, and there was no telling how they might react to such a blatant challenge to their authority, especially from a woman.
‘We are here to protect the safety of our residents, miss,’ he replied, hiding behind official policy. ‘I must see some identification. I will not ask again.’
Anya shook her head. ‘I haven’t got time for this. Get lost, go bother someone else.’
With that, she strode forward with her head high, making straight for the van before Drake could stop her. He knew that such blatant defiance was likely to lead a confrontation, and suspected that was her intention.
Sure enough, it was the younger of the two guards who took the initiative. Moving forward to block her path, he raised his weapon, pointing it right in her face. A young man, full of bravado and pride, who wasn’t about to let a woman disrespect him.
It was likely to be the last mistake he ever made.
‘Get back,’ he snapped, brandishing the Glock as if he were a gang member defending his territory. ‘Now!’
Drake knew then that there was only going to be one way out of this. Reluctantly he gave Anya the faintest nod of acknowledgement as the guard closed in one her. There was no need to speak. Each knew what the other was thinking, what had to be done. It was just a question of timing.
She waited until he was almost on her, a set of handcuffs clutched in his free hand, before springing her trap. Her right hand shot out, grasping the frame of the Glock and jerking it backwards, wrenching it free of his grip before his finger could tighten on the trigger.
Even as she did this, she struck upwards with the flat palm of her left hand, catching him on the point of his chin. The concussive effect of having one’s jaw slammed upwards into their skull was not to be underestimated. Drake had seen everyone from boxers to seasoned operatives go down with a single hit like that, and this young security guard was no different. As his head snapped back with the force of the blow, he let out a low groan and began to topple.
Drake didn’t wait around to see what happened next. Already the first man was swinging his weapon towards Anya, instinctively acting to protect his injured comrade.
Taking a couple of steps forward to bring him in range, Drake kicked out with his boot, catching the man’s right knee with a powerful lateral strike. The knee joint simply isn’t designed to bend in that manner, and Drake could practically hear the cartilage and tendons popping as they gave way under the blow. Unable to support his own weight, the man began to topple sideways, looking almost confused by what was happening.
The weapon, however, was still a threat that needed to be removed. Sweeping his right arm upwards, Drake managed to catch the automatic from below, knocking it clean out of the man’s grasp before he could fire.
He almost felt bad about what happened next. Grasping his olive green shirt to prevent him falling to the ground, Drake turned the guard’s head towards him so that it presented the optimal target. There was no need for a dramatic haymaker punch that would take time to draw back and might actually give his opponent a chance to dodge or block. That was pure fantasy. The reality was that a short, sharp jab straight to the chin, delivered with the force and precision that years of training had endowed him with, was enough to put his adversary down.
He released his grip of the man’s shirt then, allowing his limp body to slump forward in a heap. His heart was thumping hard and urgently in his chest, his body now thoroughly pumped up by the violent if one-sided confrontation. Letting out a breath to calm himself, he turned towards Anya. Her own opponent was similarly incapacitated, and even as he watched, she was stooping down to retrieve the same handcuffs he’d intended to use on her.
‘What the hell was that?’ he snapped, irritated that she’d pre-empted him, that they’d been forced to defend themselves like this.
Anya looked at him in genuine bewilderment. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I could have talked our way out. Instead you had to leap in and fuck it up.’
‘He attacked me. I defended myself.’
‘Bollocks. You provoked him. You know you did.’
The woman let out a short, exasperated breath. ‘There was no talking our way out of this one, Ryan. We both knew this had to happen the moment they found us.’
Drake opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, he was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Drawing his weapon, he was just in time to see Frost appear at the entrance to the alley.
Surveying the scene, her response was typically sarcastic. ‘All good here?’
Drake snatched the Colt Cobra up from the ground. ‘We ran into some trouble.’
‘No shit.’
He ignored her. ‘Give us a hand, Keira. We need to get them off the street.’
Clearly they couldn’t leave them here. They might have been neutralized for now, but sooner or later they would wake up, and they were sure to be mightily pissed off when that happened.
‘Great, but where are you planning on taking them?’ the technical specialist asked, moving forward to help. ‘I don’t think the others are ready for guests back at the warehouse.’
Anya avoided Drake’s gaze as she hooked her arms beneath the young man, dragging him towards the rear of the van. Whatever she was thinking, she seemed content to keep it to herself for now.
In any case, he had his mind on other matters. Frost was right that they couldn’t afford to hold these men captive. They were dangerously short-handed already, and the possibility that two prisoners could escape or raise the alarm was a risk they simply couldn’t afford to take.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ Drake said, rifling through the older guard’s pockets until he found what he was looking for – a wallet filled with some crumpled rupees, a couple of bank cards and a driver’s licence.
Chapter 36
This was as good a place as any.
Drake brought the Bukhanka to a halt on a patch of rough, scrub-covered dead ground just off the narrow country road they’d been following. They’d been driving for about 30 minutes, and were by now a good 15 miles outside Islamabad. The last settlement of any sort they’d seen had been a little village several miles back, which was far enough off the grid that their house lights had been powered by diesel generators.
In short, they were in about as remote a spot as one could feasibly be.
For a moment or two he just sat there staring ahead into the darkness, silently debating the wisdom of what he was about to do. It wasn’t an ideal solution, but then, nothing about this mission was.
Just get it done.
Having reached a decision, he swung his door open and stepped outside, circling around to the rear of the van. Anya followed him.
Both security guards had awoken by now, and both were handcuffed and gagged. Gone was the bravado and pride that had prompted them to act so hastily before. As Drake hauled open the rear doors, their dark eyes swung around to face him, filled with fear and trepidation.
‘Out,’ h
e ordered. ‘Let’s go.’
Struggling up with difficulty, both men jumped down from the van on shaky legs, the older one nursing a noticeable limp after Drake’s takedown. Frost followed close behind. She still had them covered, though it was clear neither man posed a threat now.
The younger one was mumbling something, his eyes shining with tears, but the gag made it impossible to make out his words. Drake had little doubt, however, that he was begging for his life. The older man, to his credit, remained stoically silent. Either he was too proud to beg, or he was wise enough to realize it would make no difference.
Drake stepped forward to address the two captives. ‘Listen up, both of you. I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want honest answers. Nod if you understand.’
Both men exchanged a look that was part confusion, part cautious hope. They’d stepped down from the van expecting to be executed, and now they were apparently being offered something else. Realizing the opportunity that might just have presented itself, both men nodded agreement.
‘Were there other security patrols on duty in that area tonight?’ Drake asked.
After a moment or two, they shook their heads.
‘Did either of you radio in to report the van you found?’
Again, it was a negative.
He knew he had to ask the next question, had to give them a chance to prove themselves.
‘Take a moment to reflect on the fact that we know who you are and where you live.’ Drake held up the two wallets they’d confiscated for emphasis, and saw the naked fear in their eyes. ‘If we let you go, are you going to tell anyone about what happened tonight?’
There was no hesitation this time. Both men couldn’t have been more emphatic.
Drake glanced at Anya, who seemed unmoved by what she’d heard. Gifted as she was with the ability to detect deception, he imagined she would have been quick to let him know if she thought they were lying.
Making his decision, Drake pointed off into the darkness, where the landscape seemed to have formed a depression running generally north-east, likely an ancient river channel that had long since dried up. It was the kind of topographical highway that men could follow with ease even in pitch darkness.
‘I want you both to start walking in that direction. Don’t look back and don’t turn aside. Keep going until sunrise, then you’re free to go home. If you do as I say and keep your mouths shut, I give you my word you’ll never see us again. But if you tell a soul about what really happened tonight, we will find you, and we will make you wish we’d killed you. Now, think very carefully about this, because once you make that choice there’s no going back. Do you really want to be dead heroes for the shitty minimum wage they’re paying you?’
Both men exchanged a look. The kind of look only condemned men offered a last-minute reprieve could share. Their simultaneous head shakes came a moment later, and he didn’t blame them one bit. In their position, he would likely do the same.
Drake drew his weapon and gestured towards the river bed. ‘Then get moving.’
They needed no further prompting. Turning aside, they hurried away from their captors as fast as their legs would carry them, stumbling and limping across the uneven ground.
‘Gutsy move, man,’ Frost said, watching them go. Nonetheless, it was clear she approved of his decision. ‘You know there’s no guarantee they—’
Her voice was drowned out by the heavy thump of a silenced pistol discharging, and she let out a gasp as the older of the two guards jerked violently, then fell to the ground in a heap, like a puppet with its strings cut. Half a second later, a second shot rang out, and a cloud of red mist sprayed from the top of the younger guard’s head. Without making a sound, he stumbled forward and collapsed in similar fashion next to his comrade.
Neither man got up, and they never would.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Frost cried out, shocked by the cold-blooded murder she had just witnessed. ‘What the fuck was that?’
Wisps of smoke still trailing from the barrel, Anya lowered her weapon, her face devoid of emotion. It was as if she’d done nothing more than turn out a light.
Tearing his gaze off the two dead men, Drake rounded on her, his eyes blazing with fury. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘What had to be done,’ she replied coldly. ‘They were dead the moment they tried to arrest us. We both know that.’
‘They were just a pair of scared civilians. They took our deal, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Your deal,’ she corrected him. ‘It was not yours to offer. There was always a chance they would have talked, and I don’t deal in chances. Not with so much at stake.’
‘You fucking—’ Frost took a step towards her with her fists clenched, but stopped abruptly when the silenced automatic rose up to face her.
‘Do not test me, Frost,’ the older woman warned, finger resting lightly on the trigger. For a moment, Drake genuinely didn’t know what she intended to do, and that scared him more than anything else.
Frost’s eyes flicked from the weapon to Anya’s face, and back again. The flare of anger had abated now with the threat to her own life, but it had been replaced by something colder and more dangerous.
Hatred, deep seated and abiding.
‘Or what?’ she spat. ‘You’ll kill me too?’
‘I have done worse. Much worse, all for the sake of the mission,’ Anya promised. ‘That’s the way it has to be now, for all of us. The second you let fear or remorse or compassion cloud your judgement, Cain has already won.’
The look Frost gave her was caught somewhere between contempt and, to Drake’s surprise, grim amusement. ‘You’re fucking beautiful, you know that? For all your cunning and your experience and all that other bullshit, you still don’t see what’s in the mirror staring back at you.’ She shook her head as if this were a joke whose punchline only she understood. ‘You and Cain are just different sides of the same coin. No wonder you can’t kill the son of a bitch – you’ve already become him.’
Drake saw the muscles in Anya’s throat tighten, saw her mask of stern composure waver as Frost’s scathing words, delivered not with malice but with pity, slowly sank in. And it was then that he saw her finger tighten just a little on the trigger.
‘Anya,’ he said, speaking quietly and gently. ‘Keira isn’t your enemy, and neither am I. You’re better than this. Lower the gun before you do something we’ll all regret.’
But Anya didn’t respond. She remained frozen like that as the seconds crawled by, her body held tense and ready, her gun trained on the young woman standing not more than ten feet away. Standing this close, Drake could tell her breathing had quickened, her heart beating faster as adrenaline raced through her bloodstream.
‘Don’t do this.’
Finally his words seemed to penetrate through to her. He watched as the silenced automatic slowly dipped towards the ground, her taut muscles relaxing. In response his grip on his own weapon eased off. Whether Anya knew it or not, he had a round chambered and the safety disengaged, ready to be used.
Thank Christ she hadn’t forced him to make that choice.
The uneasy stand-off was over. Giving Anya a look of simmering disgust, Frost turned away and started walking towards the fallen men.
‘Where are you going?’ Anya called after her.
‘To give them a decent burial,’ she spat. ‘They deserve that much, at least.’
Anya sighed and looked at Drake. ‘We don’t have time for this.’
If she was expecting backup from him then she was to be sorely disappointed. Part of him knew she was right about the burial, just as part of him knew that letting those men go had been a risk they couldn’t afford to take. But Drake didn’t want to listen to those voices in his mind, didn’t even want to acknowledge them at that moment. Or her.
‘Here,’ he said, thrusting the two dead men’s wallets into her hand as he brushed past her. ‘Keep these. You earned them.’
He didn’t look
back as he strode over to assist Frost in her grim task.
Chapter 37
White River National Forest, Colorado
Pete McKnight took a breath, inhaling the chill mountain air as he stared out across the small lake, the sun’s late afternoon rays sparkling across the still water. Beyond the tree-lined banks of the lake, the stark snow-covered peak of Mount Thomas rose up into the almost cloudless sky.
Wrapped up in several layers to keep the chill away from his ravaged body, he eased himself into the chair he’d built himself many years ago. Back when he’d still been young and strong. Back when he could still do such things.
He was sitting on the porch of the simple log cabin he’d purchased nearly two decades earlier, intending to use it as a summer hunting lodge. In reality he’d begun to see the simple two-room dwelling as more of a home than the place in Kansas ever had been. Here, he had nothing but good memories. Memories of long summer days spent with Samantha as a child, walking for miles together, talking of everything and nothing, sleeping out under the stars, doing the kind of things parents were supposed to do with their kids. Not a care in the world between the two of them.
One of his biggest regrets about the cancer treatment was that he’d rarely had the time or the energy to come here. It would have been nice to spend one more summer here with Samantha, just the two of them like it used to be, but he knew that was never going to happen. She was a grown woman now with her own path to follow, and little time to indulge a sentimental old man.
He took a sip of coffee, brewed on the old-fashioned iron stove that was about as sophisticated a cooking implement as he possessed here. It tasted good for all that, especially with the healthy splash of bourbon he’d added.
Screw it, he’d thought. Not like he had to worry about his liver.
He could feel the phone ringing in his pocket, the vibrations somehow making it through all the layers of clothing. He’d been tempted to throw it away when he came here, to disappear altogether. Going off the grid, as they were fond of saying these days. But he knew she would only worry if she couldn’t contact him, so he’d kept it, knowing this conversation would come sooner or later.
