by Will Jordan
He hadn’t wanted to go down this path, to dredge up old memories and resurrect old grudges, but if she insisted on trying to rewrite history then he was fully prepared to show her just how wrong she was. This was a confrontation that had been brewing since she’d left him to die in Iraq three years ago.
‘If you gave a shit about me, you wouldn’t have left me behind.’
He saw a flash of pain and anger in her eyes then, and knew that his words had cut deep. Deeper than he ever could have imagined in this distant, enigmatic woman. And the reaction they provoked was more intense than even he could have anticipated.
Her hands shot out, landing square in his chest to push him backward against the wall again. It was an instinctive action, driven by the need to lash out rather than a serious attempt to injure him.
‘I did it to protect you, Ryan!’ She was almost shaking with rage and long-buried frustration now as the two of them faced off. ‘Don’t you understand that? Or are you really too stupid to see the truth?’
He raised his arms to shove her away, and she responded the only way she knew how, grabbing his outstretched hands and trying to twist them aside. Drake, however, had come to know through painful experience just what she could do to people who tried to overpower her, and he was ready for it, exerting his considerable strength to stop her gaining the upper hand. Unable to prevail against him, she let out a sharp breath, reluctantly conceding that neither of them was going to win this fight.
‘Leaving you behind was one of the hardest things I ever did,’ she said, finally admitting the secret she had kept for so long. ‘But I did it to protect you… from me, from the same thing that happens to everyone who gets close to me. You don’t deserve that, because you are a good man. Better than this… better than me.’
Drake listened in stunned silence as she spoke, knowing she needed to get this out now that she’d started. Never before had she opened up like this, never had she allowed herself to show such vulnerability.
‘I tried to stay away from you, hoping in time you would let it go, hoping you would let me go. But somehow, Ryan Drake… somehow you always draw me back. I knew it was wrong, it was dangerous for both of us, but I wanted it anyway. And that frightens me.’ She swallowed hard, and he could have sworn he saw moisture glistening in her eyes. ‘I’m afraid this time I’ll lose you for good, and… I don’t know if I could live with myself if that happened.’
A silence descended on them then, broken only by the strained gasps of their breath and the thump of their heartbeats as they stood locked together in the midst of their struggle, neither enemies nor friends but something else entirely. Standing this close to her, feeling the warmth of her body, seeing the anger and fear and vulnerability in her eyes, watching her lips part as she drew breath, Drake couldn’t help but remember the only time he had seen her like this before.
The night the two of them had found each other, sharing their pain and grief in the flickering light of a campfire, finding release the only way they knew how. In that brief moment, he’d felt closer to her than he had with any other person in his entire life. Two souls, separated by a lifetime of different experiences, triumphs and tragedies, and yet they’d been drawn inexorably to each other, had accepted and understood each other without judgement or reservation.
It had been three long years since he had felt that same connection, but at last he felt a stirring of it again. And now that he did, he longed, ached with a desperate need to experience it again.
And, he realized then, so did she.
The moment was broken when the warehouse door swung open and Frost emerged, shielding her eyes against the late afternoon sun. Drake and Anya released their hold of each other, the woman backing away a step just as Frost turned her eyes on them.
‘Sorry. I…didn’t mean to interrupt,’ she said, looking flustered and uncomfortable as it became clear that she’d interrupted something very personal indeed.
‘What is it, Keira?’ Drake demanded, regaining his composure with difficulty.
The young woman cleared her throat. ‘I thought you ought to know, Cain’s flight touched down a few minutes ago. My guess is he’s en route to the US embassy by now.’
Drake let out a breath and nodded, forcing his mind back to the mission, forcing himself to block out everything else. The mission was what mattered now. It had to take priority over everything.
‘Go on inside, pack everything up. We leave in ten minutes.’
Frost pulled the door open but hesitated before entering, perhaps thinking to say something about the confrontation she’d just witnessed.
‘That’s all, Keira,’ Drake said firmly, pre-empting her.
As soon as she’d gone and closed the door behind her, Drake turned his attention back to Anya. There was much he still wanted to say to her, so many things they had to resolve, but now wasn’t the time. They both knew that.
‘We’ll talk about this later,’ he promised her. ‘But right now, we need our heads in the game. Both of us.’
She said nothing. The moment of exposure, of vulnerability had passed, and she was herself again; calm and focussed and ruthless.
‘And just so we’re clear, I’m leading the assault team,’ he said simply. Before she could protest, he held up his hand in an appeal for silence. ‘We both know they won’t follow you. So trust me, Anya. If everything you just said is true… then for once trust me to do this.’
She didn’t say anything, but he saw her reluctant nod of acceptance. It was enough. Leaving her alone, Drake turned away and pulled open the door to rejoin the team.
Leaving her alone.
Chapter 47
Forward Operating Base ‘Foxtail’, Afghan–Pakistan border – 23 February 1986
Marcus Cain closed his eyes and exhaled, his body still warm from the afterglow of their fast, intense moment of passion. He’d imagined this moment more times than he could count, yet he’d scarcely believed it could ever be real. That he would ever live through it.
The young woman, naked as he was, stirred beside him and sat up. He opened his eyes to look at her then, just taking in the beauty of her, the sinewy lines of hard-won strength, the long graceful limbs, the soft curves of her breasts and hips. She made no attempt to cover or conceal herself, modesty being a trait she’d no doubt had to abandon after months in the field. Nonetheless, the effect was to render her even more compelling. Never had he seen a woman so completely at ease in her own body.
Sensing his eyes on her, she glanced at him. ‘That was…’ She trailed off, her face colouring with embarrassment. ‘I did not mean to…’
‘Do you regret it?’ he asked, worried that he’d taken advantage of her.
She thought about it for a moment then shook her head. She was still blushing, but he saw a faint smile as well. And her eyes, so often daunting and intense, had a warmth in them now that left him in no doubt.
Leaning down, she kissed him again, slow and languid this time, but the brush of her naked skin against his made him wish he could do it all over again.
Reaching for her discarded trousers, Anya pulled them up over her hips. ‘What you said to me before, Marcus… I understand why you did it,’ she said, running her hands through her dishevelled hair. ‘But I told you once that I did not want any favours, any special treatment. And I meant it.’ She sighed and looked at him. ‘It is your choice. If you order me home, I will go. But I would rather you didn’t.’
He had a feeling she’d say that. Loyal to a fault as always.
‘If you stay, what will you do?’
The young woman shrugged. ‘Carry on, finish what we started.’
‘You know, people are starting to take interest in you back at Langley. Your career in the Agency could anywhere you want. You could become an instructor; help train the next generation of female field operatives.’
‘Next generation?’ she repeated, looking almost amused. ‘Am I already obsolete?’
‘That’s not what I meant.’<
br />
‘I know,’ she conceded. ‘But I’m no leader, Marcus. I never wanted to be. This is what I want to do; what I was meant to do.’
He wondered about that. There was a magnetism about her, a charisma that one couldn’t help but respond to, regardless of her age and gender. People would follow someone like her. He wondered if she herself even understood her potential.
‘I can’t change your mind?’ he asked without much hope.
She looked at him, flashing a smile as she reached for her T-shirt. It was the smile of someone who knows they’ve won. ‘When we’re finished here in Afghanistan, I will take up your offer. I promise. But not yet.’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’ Cain sighed, bowing to the inevitable. ‘There’s something else. Most field operatives are given a code name. The guys back at Langley were throwing around a couple of ideas, but I think I found one that suits you.’
She chuckled in amusement as she pulled the T-shirt over her head. ‘This should be interesting. Tell me.’
‘Maras.’
At this, she froze in the act of pulling on the garment.
‘You said your mother used to tell you old myths and legends when you were a kid, so I did some digging. If I understand Lithuanian mythology right, Maras was a goddess of war.’ He looked at her, partially dressed in her military fatigues and surrounded by the weapons of her profession. ‘Pretty appropriate, don’t you think?’
To his surprise, Anya turned away as if to hide her expression. ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice unusually heavy and serious at what was supposed to be a light-hearted conversation. ‘Yes, it does, Marcus.’
* * *
US Embassy compound, Islamabad
Gasping as the ice-cold water splashed his face, banishing any lingering vestige of fatigue, Cain straightened up to regard the reflection staring back at him in the mirror.
You look old, he thought, noticing the lines around his eyes and mouth, the grey at his temples. One of the old men of Langley that he used to regard with such amusement.
Not a great prospect for one of the biggest meetings of his professional life, but he supposed it would have to do. The hour was almost upon them. Outside the windows of his temporary suite at the US embassy, the sun was descending towards the western horizon as afternoon gave way to evening.
Drying his face with a towel, he reached for his tie and carefully knotted it, making sure it was neatly centred. As if he were preparing for a job interview, he thought with a flash of dark humour. Pulling on his suit jacket, he ran his hands though his hair, then nodded to his reflection.
What was it Tennyson had once said about situations like this? Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will.
That would do.
Emerging from his suite a short time later, Cain was immediately joined by Hawkins, who had been standing guard outside. Together the two men advanced down the corridor, technicians and intelligence analysts parting before them like the sea before the prow of some mighty warship.
‘Are we set?’
The formidable-looking operative nodded. ‘Everything’s in place. Say the word and we’re good to go.’
Last chance to back out.
‘Do it.’
Smiling that unique, sneering grin, Hawkins reached for his cell phone to make the call to the advance teams he’d already set up. As usual, his message was short and curt. ‘Dalia is a go.’
Cain couldn’t help but smile at that. Doubtless the code word for this operation meant nothing to a man like Hawkins, but if Anya had been here she would have appreciated its historical and spiritual significance. Dalia, the goddess of fate and destiny, who wove the threads of men’s futures and wrote the stories of their lives.
Well, tonight he was about to write a new story.
Emerging into the larger office space that acted as the nerve centre of Agency operations in Islamabad, they were met by the station chief Hayden Quinn. In stark contrast to the confident and promising case officer Cain had personally promoted to station chief a year ago, the man now looked exhausted and worn out by the demands of the job, not to mention edgy and nervous now that Cain was before him.
‘Deputy Director,’ he began, trying to look genial and welcoming. ‘Been a while since we spoke face to face. It’s good to have you here.’
‘Wouldn’t get too used to me, Hayden,’ Cain replied. ‘I’m just here to tie up a few loose ends.’
It wasn’t hard to guess the inferences Quinn was drawing from that. ‘I see. Is there… anything I can help with?’
‘Not at all. Everything’s in hand.’
‘Sir, if you’re planning on going outside the embassy grounds, we need to at least brief our security teams—’
‘Like I said, everything’s in hand.’ Taking a step closer, Cain laid a comforting hand on the younger man’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Hayden, you’ve been very helpful already.’
That much was certainly true. For better or worse, Quinn had played his part.
‘You take care of yourself.’
Leaving the station chief to ponder just what the future held for him, Cain resumed his journey towards the parking garage, with Hawkins at his side.
Quinn waited until both men were well clear of the room before digging out his cell phone and hurriedly dialling a number back in DC.
‘Yeah, Quinn?’ Franklin began, his voice carrying an edge of tension now.
‘It’s happening now,’ Quinn said. ‘Cain’s on the move.’
* * *
Leaning over the sink, Samantha spat out the last of the acrid-tasting mucus that had just risen from her stomach. Her abdomen ached from the painful muscle cramps it had just endured, and the lingering nausea that had prompted her sudden trip to the warehouse’s primitive restroom did little to improve her mood.
‘Not now,’ she whispered, willing the sickness to abate as she stared at her reflection in the grimy mirror. ‘Not now.’
She couldn’t afford to linger here for long. Drake and the others were ready to depart, both vehicles loaded and ready. If she kept them waiting, they were likely to get suspicious.
Just a couple of hours, she told herself. Hang in there for a couple more hours, and it would be done. It would be over.
‘How long have you known?’ a voice asked from the doorway.
Spinning around, Samantha felt the breath catch in her throat. Anya was standing there, arms folded, watching her with a shrewd and assessing stare.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You know what I’m talking about, Samantha,’ she said, using her first name for once. ‘The others might not have noticed it, but I have. You have barely eaten since we got here, and when you do it usually leaves you in here.’ Anya took a step towards her. ‘They call it morning sickness, but morning or night it never really goes away. That feeling of tiredness that lingers no matter how much sleep you get… the nausea, like being trapped in a moving car. Believe me, I know.’
Samantha’s eyes were wide as she stared at the older woman in the dim light. Someone who had been there long before her, who still carried the weight of what she’d lost.
‘I will ask you again, how long have you known?’
Samantha let out a sigh, too weary to keep lying. It was useless with someone like Anya anyway. ‘A week, maybe. When the sickness started.’
‘And you intend to keep it?’
The briskness of the question felt like a punch in the gut, perhaps because it was something she barely had the courage to ask herself.
‘I don’t know.’
Anya looked her over for a long moment. ‘You shouldn’t be doing this. Where we are going is no place for a pregnant woman. People might die tonight. You might die tonight, and your child with you.’
Tell me something I don’t know, Samantha thought grimly. Nonetheless, there was no way she was backing out now. ‘It’s my choice. I’m going.’
‘And what would Ryan say if he knew?’ She cocked an eyebrow. ‘I assume y
ou haven’t told him yet.’
Samantha swallowed hard, forcing back the nausea as she took a step towards the veteran operative. ‘Listen to me, Anya. You and I are never going to be friends. I know that, and so do you. But I’m asking you now, not to tell Ryan. I haven’t told him because we need him focussed on the mission, not worrying about me, not thinking about the future or anything else. Tonight, the mission is all that matters. So I’m asking you not to tell him. I’m asking you to let me help. Please.’
Anya said nothing, but Samantha could see a change come over her as the words sank in. A pain and sadness, old and long buried, seemed to have resurfaced. And for once, she didn’t look on her as a threat or an enemy.
‘It is your choice,’ she said at last, turning away. ‘If you choose to go, I can’t protect you.’
‘I can protect myself.’
Anya paused for a moment or two in the doorway, about to say something more, then thinking better of it. Without looking at her again, she left, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway.
Chapter 48
ISI headquarters, Islamabad
Agent Gondal had not long returned to his office after a long and wearisome afternoon spent following leads and tip-offs about vans matching the one reported last night. Most of them had led nowhere. He felt like he’d driven to every corner of the city in the course of the day, and was well and truly ready to end his shift.
At least, until Mahsud stormed into his office clutching several sheets of paper, his normally grim and serious face looking uncharacteristically excited.
‘We have them,’ he announced, slapping the papers down on Gondal’s desk with his meaty hands. ‘The results just came back from those numbers you asked me to run earlier today. It’s fake – all of it. Those bastards lied to us.’
Frowning, Gondal snatched up the papers and hurriedly skim-read the results. Robert Douglas, according to his passport number, had never existed. There was no record of him in any of the UK databases they were able to covertly access.
