by Will Jordan
Better to get it over with, he supposed.
Laying his coffee aside, he fished the phone out of his jacket. ‘Yeah, Sam.’
‘Dad, where the hell are you?’ Her voice was hushed, urgent, edged with tension. ‘Jack left a message, said you checked yourself out of hospital without him.’
‘Yup,’ he concurred.
‘Why, for Christ’s sake? I sent him to keep you safe.’
‘I don’t need some young man playing hero, putting himself at risk for me. I can look after myself just fine,’ he promised her, glancing at the bolt-action hunting rifle resting against the cabin wall beside him. Good for killing reindeer; perhaps not so useful against men who could shoot back.
Pete McKnight smiled then. A bittersweet smile. ‘I’m looking at the most beautiful view, Sam. The one we used to sit out and look at together. I wish you were here to see it.’
He wasn’t going to say where he was over an open line, but she’d spent enough time there to know what he was referring to.
‘You’re sick, Dad,’ she replied, her voice strained and brittle. ‘You can’t be alone out there. If something happens to you—’
‘Sam, listen to me,’ he cut in, a harder and authoritative edge in his voice now. ‘I’m an old man. I know you don’t want to believe it – shit, I don’t even like to admit it – but it’s true. I’ve had my time. You’ve given me a little more than I expected, and I’ll always be grateful for that, but the rest is up to me now. Don’t send your friend to come looking for me. Let me do this my way, and you concentrate on what you have to do. I’ll be waiting for you here… when it’s over.’
He heard a noise over the line then. He couldn’t be sure because the signal wasn’t great, but he thought it might have been his daughter choking back a sob. A sound that had always made his heart ache.
‘I’m scared, Dad,’ she finally said. ‘I’ve tried to do the right thing, but… I don’t know how this is going to play out. I don’t know what’s going to happen.’
It was heartbreaking to hear her like this, to know that she was afraid and probably in danger, and that there was absolutely nothing he could do to help her. A man was supposed to protect his daughter, but instead she’d ended up protecting him. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
‘Not everything’s up to us. Only the man upstairs really knows how things are going to play out,’ he said gently. ‘But if you’ve done right by the people around you, they’ll do right by you. Okay?’
She sniffed, doing her best to pull herself out of it. ‘I hear you.’
‘Damn right you do. And listen, don’t go counting your old man out just yet,’ he said, forcing optimism into his voice. ‘I’ve made it this far. Maybe I’ve got a few more miles left in me.’
A sudden mechanical noise in the background told him something was happening on her end. ‘I have go, Dad. I’m out of time here.’
‘I love you, Sam,’ he said quickly, wanting her to hear it one last time, but the line had already disconnected.
Letting out a sigh, Pete McKnight replaced the phone in his pocket. Whatever dangers or enemies his daughter now faced, he couldn’t be there to help her. All he could hope was that other people were.
* * *
Rawalpindi, Pakistan
Wiping her eyes, Samantha pocketed her phone and drew a deep breath, trying to put aside thoughts of her father and compose herself. She had retreated to a quiet corner of the warehouse to make the call, despite the danger of discovery, because she’d needed to know where he was, whether he was safe. Well, now at least she had her answer.
He’d always been stubborn, always insisting on doing things his own way. Always seeing her as his little girl to be protected. She supposed she’d been naive to think he would change now.
A metallic grinding and clanking nearby told her that the warehouse doors were being opened to admit a vehicle. Drake, Frost and Anya were back from their recon mission.
Running her hands through her hair, she sniffed, took a couple of deep breaths and strode out of the empty office she’d been using for the call.
The van had just pulled to a halt in the centre of the warehouse. Shutting down the engine, Drake stepped down from the driver’s cab while Frost and Anya exited through the rear doors. Judging by their tense expressions and the chilly atmosphere between all three operatives, it was safe to say all was not well.
‘You’re late,’ McKnight observed as Drake approached. ‘Something happen?’
‘Ran into some trouble,’ he said, avoiding eye contact. Never a good sign.
‘What kind of trouble?’
That was when she saw it; saw his gaze flick towards Anya, who was already heading towards the makeshift ops centre that had been set up on the other side of the warehouse. As far away from Drake and the others as possible.
He shook his head, forestalling further questions on the subject. One thing she’d come to know all too well about Ryan Drake was that he didn’t talk about something until he was good and ready. Clearly now was not the time.
At least his preoccupation meant he didn’t notice the redness in her eyes, the tension in her body or the grief and worry that hung over her like a pall. She supposed she was thankful for that reprieve, short-lived though it might be. Drake trusted her implicitly, would never suspect her of wrongdoing, but even he must have sensed something was on her mind lately. How long would it be before he forced the issue?
‘Keira’s going to be uploading the images we took of the target area,’ he said instead. ‘Do me a favour and go see if she needs a hand.’
McKnight frowned, knowing full well Frost needed no assistance when it came to computers. ‘But she hasn’t—’
‘Just do it, Sam,’ he snapped, turning away and heading towards the weapons station that had been set up in his absence.
McKnight swallowed and nodded. Just a little while longer, she told herself. She only had to keep this up a little longer, and Cain would be dead. And all of this would be behind them.
* * *
Nearby, Cole Mason was busy checking the batteries on the team’s encrypted tactical radios when he spotted Anya approaching. It was plain she’d come to speak with him, though he had no idea why.
‘What do you need?’ he asked, realizing she wasn’t one for small talk.
As he’d expected, she wasted no time on greetings. ‘Has there been any activity outside while we were gone?’
‘Nothing. Quiet as a grave out there.’
He couldn’t have known how poor his choice of words had been. ‘All the same, we must set up a watch overnight. Why don’t you go out there and walk the perimeter.’
Just like that, he thought. As if he were some lackey to be ordered around.
‘Two reasons. First, there’s no need for roving patrols.’ He nodded to the laptop that had been set up on the table beside him, its screen split into four different video images showing the exterior of their warehouse from multiple angles. ‘Wireless cameras transmitting on a secure Wi-Fi network – a little gift from Keira’s bag of tricks. Set them up while you and Ryan were out sightseeing. Anybody tries to get near us out there, we’ll see them coming a mile off.’
Anya leaned over, examining the laptop dubiously as if she expected it to spring up from the table and attack her. From what Drake had told him, she’d never been entirely comfortable with advanced technology and wasn’t inclined to put her faith in it. People like Anya belonged to a different generation of operatives, but that didn’t mean they were right.
‘Chill,’ he advised, wishing she would go away and let him get back to work. ‘We’ve got enough to do as it is. Let technology do some of the work.’
‘Technology can be fooled and overcome all too easily. This operation should be proof enough of that,’ she said, fixing him with a disapproving look, as if she’d expected more from a former soldier like him. ‘And it is only as reliable as the person behind it.’
Mason said nothing to that. In truth
, he was growing increasingly uncomfortable under her scrutiny, as if she were a teacher and he a misbehaving student trying to cover up some illicit deed. The veteran operative had a way of making them all feel that way, and it wasn’t something any of them appreciated.
‘What was the second reason?’ she asked, suddenly changing the subject.
‘Huh?’
She gave him a look of strained patience. ‘You said there were two reasons for not going outside. What is the second?’
Laying down the radio, Mason rose from his chair and looked her square in the eye. ‘I take my orders from Ryan. Nobody else,’ he said, speaking calmly and quietly. No need to provoke a confrontation. He just needed her to understand that he wasn’t someone to idly fuck with or disrespect. ‘We clear on that?’
Drawn up to his full height, he was a good five or six inches taller than her, and a great deal larger and stronger. None of those facts were lost on either of them in that moment. And yet, they seemed not to make the slightest impression on Anya. He detected no sign that she was intimidated by him.
She stared right back at him, holding his gaze as if he were a curiosity to be examined, a minor puzzle to be solved before she moved on to more important matters. And much to his chagrin, he began to feel oddly self-conscious and perhaps even a little foolish standing before her.
‘You don’t like me, do you, Mason?’ she asked then, speaking candidly. ‘You resent me. You resent what I am, what I’ve put you all through. You think I’m responsible for all this, and you blame me for getting you injured three years ago.’
Mason clenched his fists, finding it a little harder to keep his voice calm like before. ‘You said it, not me.’
‘You don’t have to. I know it’s true, and… I can’t say I blame you.’ She spread her hands in what might have been seen as a conciliatory gesture. ‘So, what do we do about it?’
‘Do about it?’
‘I am short on friends in this team, it seems. Frost will never trust me, and as for McKnight… she has her own reasons for not accepting me. But you and I are soldiers, we both recognize the need for mutual respect. And since we might soon be going into battle, I would rather do it as your ally than your enemy. So I’ll ask you again, Mason, what are we to do about this?’
He honestly couldn’t tell if this was a genuine attempt at reconciliation, or simply another means of taking control of the situation. Mason wasn’t by nature a vindictive man, didn’t relish the thought of holding grudges, but considering everything Anya had put them through, everything they had risked for this woman without the slightest thanks or reward, he couldn’t bring himself to make that leap of faith.
‘The only thing we need to do is keep our distance,’ he said at last, his gaze hardening. ‘You do your job. Let me do mine. That’ll work just fine for me.’
He saw what might have been a fleeting look of disappointment.
‘It is your choice.’ She took a step back, defusing the momentary tension, though he wasn’t under any illusions that she was backing down or retreating. ‘Don’t let me waste any more of your time.’
Watching as she walked away, Mason let out a frustrated breath and sat back down. Whether he’d made his point or not, he didn’t feel any better about it.
* * *
Drake meanwhile was busy in the makeshift armoury that had been set up in one corner of the warehouse. McKnight and Mason had clearly not been idle while he’d been out scouting the target area, and he was relieved to find that all of the gear and weapons they would be using on the house assault had already been unpacked, stripped down, checked and reassembled before being laid out on a pair of collapsible wooden tables for inspection.
At Drake’s insistence, the assault group was going to be heavy on firepower when they went in, since they were almost certain to be outnumbered. But as Drake had learned many times both as a soldier and as a field operative, numbers alone counted for little. Surprise, aggression and a carefully coordinated plan could allow even a small force to overcome an enemy many times their size. Drake would be counting on all three factors when they breached that safe house.
This was going to be no stealthy recon mission, where shots were to be fired only as a last resort, but rather a short, brutal, bloody assault. Casualties would be high, so every shot had to count.
Their enemies were likely to be wearing body armour, which would deflect the fire from most pistols and other small arms. The obvious solution was to use heavier weapons with greater stopping power, but the problem was that their method of entry, as well as the tight confines of the building, wouldn’t allow for the cumbersome assault rifles they needed.
Thus, Drake had been forced to go for the best compromise between size and firepower that he could find in the Alamo’s armoury – the Heckler & Koch MP7. Resembling a compact machine pistol with a collapsible stock and fore grip, the MP7 was one of the most cutting-edge firearms available anywhere in the world, able to be fired ambidextrously, aimed with one or two hands, and holding up to 40 rounds. The 30mm hardened steel ammunition it fired was capable of defeating most body armour at close range, while its largely polymer construction rendered the weapon lighter than many contemporary pistols. Combined with the silencers he’d brought along, they were capable of spitting out a hail of armour-piercing projectiles while making very little noise.
It wasn’t just the assault team that were to be well armed. Resting on its collapsible bipod beside the smaller MP7s, like a lioness presiding over its brood of cubs, was the long menacing form of a Knight’s Armament Company SR-25 semi-automatic sniper rifle. Their plan called for at least one member to cover the assault team as they made entry, and perhaps lay down cover fire as they pulled out.
For this task, he’d wanted a weapon with long range, heavy stopping power, and a high rate of fire, and in that regard he could think of nothing better than the SR-25. These rugged and reliable weapons had proven themselves on numerous battlefields over the past 20 years, most notably in the desperate street fighting in Mogadishu in 1993 where fewer than a hundred US Rangers and Delta Force operatives had held their own against several thousand Somali militia.
These primary weapons were supplemented with both stun and smoke grenades, USP 45 pistols – another heavy hitter – as backups, and breaching charges that could be rigged and blown within a matter of seconds. If they made it that far without the alarm being raised, Drake had the option of using them to blast into the room where Cain was meeting. Failing that, if Cain made it to the panic room then they could always try blowing it open, or even collapsing the building around him and burying the son of a bitch under hundreds of tonnes of rubble. If the man somehow survived all of that, it wouldn’t be through lack of effort on Drake’s part.
Picking up one of the MP7s, Drake pulled back the charging handle to check the chamber was empty, then raised it up to his shoulder and stared down the sight before squeezing the trigger. As expected, there was a sharp, crisp click as the firing mechanism engaged.
He knew such checks were unnecessary, knew that he’d already checked their weapons before leaving Marseille, but he went through it anyway. Focussing on something practical like this, something he understood and could control, served to take his mind off the disturbing events of this evening.
‘I’ll say one thing for you, Ryan,’ a voice remarked, interrupting his thoughts. ‘You certainly have a flair for the dramatic.’
Glancing around, Drake found Anya holding what looked like a long, bulky rifle with a metal grappling hook fixed into the end of the barrel, and an attached cable snaking into a plastic drum suspended beneath. It might have vaguely resembled a weapon, but in reality the Plumett AL-52 she was holding was more of a tool than a gun. A vital tool as it happened, which was why Drake had requested two of them from her contact Malak.
However, the dubious expression on Anya’s face as she hefted the unwieldy device made it clear she was far from convinced by his plan. Not that he could blame her. It had all
seemed quite rational on paper several thousand miles away, but being confronted with the reality of what they were about to attempt was disconcerting to say the least.
The idea of a grappling gun seemed like something out of a bad spy movie, and in truth the bizarre devices depicted by Hollywood as capable of lifting grown men up the sides of buildings were pure fantasy. But the principle of using compressed air to launch a hook with an attached line that could be climbed, or in this case zip-lined down, was perfectly valid. Devices like this had actually been in use for decades, dating back to the Second World War when soldiers used them to scale cliff-top defences at Normandy.
‘Haven’t you got somewhere else to be?’ he asked, in no mood to converse.
She regarded him with a raised eyebrow, as if deciding on her plan of attack. ‘We should talk. About what happened earlier.’
‘I don’t have time for this,’ he said, turning away to resume his work.
‘Then make time,’ she said, grabbing his arm and turning him around to face her. ‘Because if we have a problem, it needs to be fixed before—’
‘The only problem here is you,’ Drake accused, yanking his arm free. ‘Don’t you get it? You’re pulling this team apart, turning them against each other, against you. And I don’t know how to stop it.’
‘You’re angry with me—’
‘Angry? Angry is what I’d be if you’d used the last of the toilet paper or deleted my favourite TV show.’ He pulled her closer, lowering his voice. ‘I watched you murder two men in cold blood tonight. What do you expect me to think of that?’
‘I expect you to see the truth,’ she said. ‘You know it had to be done, Ryan. Lie to me if you must, but don’t lie to yourself. Those two men would have gotten us all killed. All of us. So I killed them, because I knew you couldn’t. Maybe that’s the real reason I am here, to do the things the rest of you can’t.’
