Like Catherine, Mark too had taken choices that were difficult to live with. His appointment into the position of power that he occupied had been questioned time and time again by those that sat underneath his umbrella of control. They always questioned if his background in science and position of trust was enough to counteract his lack of military experience. He promised himself when he took the position that he would make the right decisions, and that he would consider the aspirations of the Agency above his own. That he would stifle his guilt and do what was necessary.
In all truth, everyday life had changed little. He went to work, called Ben regularly, and played football with him and Matthew most weekends. They still hit the bar together at the end of a long day. Ben still watched as Mark fooled around with any woman naive enough not to realise that behind the expensive suit, hid a married man who offered them nothing more than a quick fumble and a morning full of regret. It was as it always was. He celebrated the birth of Matthew, even though it was his very existence that almost threatened the whole operation. It even brought his choice of agent and her ability to maintain her role into question.
But it was during quiet times when he was alone that he couldn’t prevent the aimless wanderings of his mind. He couldn’t help but consider the friend he had lost, and the future they wouldn’t share as the bells rang in his success. He wondered once Ben was truly gone how his life might be. He knew the casual trips out and beers in a bar would be nothing but a memory. The fun would be gone. But maybe he could still see Matthew? Perhaps that would be possible. He could be there for Matthew, and that would help make up for what he had lost......wouldn’t it?
He knew that with Ben’s death part of him would disappear too, but trusted that the loss would make room for success, for money, and for the power that he craved. He would take Ben’s research and build it as his own. NEMREC would become known as Mark’s work, as his creation, for it would be him that would deliver it to its true and faithful purpose.
He stood up and pulled open the door. As he pulled it shut behind him he made his way up the corridor and back to the Surveillance Centre. As he turned the corner speed of the other body travelling in the opposite direction startled him, and he felt his heart skip as her presence took him by surprise. In unison they both gasped.
“What the hell?” Mark breathed a sigh of relief as his cognitive senses kicked into action, delayed by the influence of the two large whiskies. “I thought you’d had an accident?”
The response was almost automatic as she smiled. “We really weren’t very far away. I came in by the underground to get here quickly. I left my agents there.” She hoped that her thinly veiled lies were not detectable. She relied on the same training that the Agency had taught her, using it to cover the truth and lie convincingly. She was so good at it that not even the people who loved her could tell the difference between what was real and what was fabrication.
“Oh right, okay.” He glanced down at his watch and she tried to remember if she had told him where it was that the false accident had occurred, and if there was any conceivable way that she could have managed to arrive already. “I’m heading back to the Surveillance Centre. You don’t need to be here when they bring him in. You are staying in one of the safe houses, right?” She knew the plan. An isolated house far away from the city, where she was supposed to await further instruction with Matthew.
“Yes, and I was hoping to take Matthew now if you deem it a good idea. Unless there is anything you need me to do first?” She had learned a long time ago never to try to intervene with Mark’s assumption of power, and at all times to positively reinforce his level of control. Given any chance to ask his permission to ensure the completion of a task that she already knew that she would do, or to ask his approval for something that didn’t need it, she would take it. Posing her own ideas as his also worked in her favour. Many times she had managed to avoid an unwanted conflict or situation, or to secure a more favourable position based on this one technique alone. With her training and his lack of it, Mark was very easy to manipulate, and she wondered just how it was that more people didn’t seemingly take advantage of him in his senior position. She hoped this time her plan had not backfired, because the simplest request for her time now would throw everything away.
“Yes, I want you to take Matthew. It’s not appropriate for him to be here when we bring him in. Follow the plan. We will have you escorted to the safe house.”
“No, no,” she interrupted, hoping that she hadn’t made too rash a response, or in her haste belittled his ideas. “It’s an unnecessary use of resources when we have him being captured as we speak.” She knew it had worked when she saw hi nodding. He checked the time on his wrist watch, and promptly moved past her, suggesting the conversation was already coming to a close.
“Yes, quite right. I can’t afford to spare anybody for you. Get on with it yourself,” he said as he waved his arm towards the direction of Matthew’s room. “I’ll make a call to let them know you are coming. You’ll have to organise the car yourself.” He pulled his mobile from his pocket. “Mulligan is on her way to collect him.” He hung up and turned to Hannah with a smile. “It’s done. Go pick him up,” he said as he was already starting to walk backwards on the balls of his feet. He called out to her as the distance between them reassuringly grew. “He’ll be okay you know. I spoke to him earlier. It’ll be hard at first, but he will adjust. We’ll speak tomorrow. I’ll call you.” He turned and disappeared behind the next corner.
With that, Hannah hurried towards the opposite end of the corridor whilst Mark smiled to himself and stepped towards the Surveillance Centre. Pushing open the large double doors he announced his arrival with an immediate question.
“So where are we? What have we got?”
Forrester looked over his glasses and towards the back of the Surveillance Centre towards Mark. Mark didn’t notice Forrester’s exasperation as he took a coffee from the refreshments table, pouring himself a large mug of oily black fluid, and tipping in a couple of sugars. He could really feel the effects of the alcohol that he had just knocked back, and he wanted a clear head. He began walking towards the station where Forrester was working, considering each step and proceeding one at a time.
“Sir, the first team will be within one hundred meters of the transmit site within the next minute, and the rest are only minutes behind.”
“Good. Have them stand by and await their colleagues. Wherever he is holed up I want a perimeter around him. No chances for escape this time. This time he is ours. This time, he is dead.” Mark listened as Forrester relayed his instructions to the teams as they drove through the outskirts of the forest. He sipped on his coffee and pulled up an empty seat alongside Forrester. He wanted a prime viewpoint to watch the birth of his success. He watched the screen as the blue marker flashed, marking the newly detected signal. The Ben signal. They all watched as waves of red lights circled in, each representing a field agent. Mark could feel his pulse racing as he listened to the radio transmission from the leading team.
“Jedi twenty one, do you read me? Over.”
“Loud and clear Jedi, what is your position? Over,” relayed Forrester, speaking as he held down the transmit button of the intercom, clearly in his element. One of the few days he lived for.
“In position, approximately twenty meters from target. It’s a boathouse. I repeat. Boathouse. Over.”
“Standby, Jedi twenty one. Standby. Over.”
Mark sipped his coffee and stood up. He began to pace around the workstation, clearly annoying Forrester who was listening to a steady relay of messages. Each workstation gave its signal. Soon enough he had ten teams in place, over half of Mark’s company, and more than enough to encircle the boat house. Forrester looked across the room towards Mark, who was standing with his arms folded, one thumb brought up apprehensively tapping on his lips. He looked again at the blue marker flashing in the same position. It hadn’t moved. Could he be asleep, Mark wondered. He imagin
ed Ben sleeping, trying to rest after the events of the day. He sensed the first thoughts of pity, and as fast as they arose he brushed them aside.
“Sir, we have enough teams in place. We have the target surrounded. Whenever you are ready.”
Mark looked up at Forrester knowing that it was time to fit the final piece of the jigsaw in place. “What about the satellite? I want the satellite images.” Forrester looked towards his assistant for an update.
“About five minutes Sir,” said a bespectacled head from behind another workstation. Mark looked back up to the primary screen which filled almost a whole wall in front of them. He saw the blue marker, surrounded by red dots, the other side bordered by the river. Wherever they were, there was no way out.
“What the hell is taking so long with it?” Mark’s patience was wearing thin. Was it really necessary to have the satellite images? Did he really need them?
“He is surrounded, Sir,” coaxed Forrester, trying to divert the heat away from his aide. He was eager to see the strike. It wasn’t often he got a day like this, and his impatience was poking him. It wasn’t necessary, Mark thought. They could manage without it. “There really is no way out this time,” Forrester offered. It was the last push Mark needed.
“Okay,” Mark said. He took a deep breath. “Give the order.”
He watched Forrester pick up the intercom and press the transmit button. He listened as the static faded away. In its place he heard a jumble of muffled words as they rolled off Forrester’s tongue. He sat back down at the workstation with his fingers interwoven like the strands of hair in a braid, pulled tight and captive, and he rested his lips onto them. He didn’t hear as Forrester gave the order, and there was no machismo left. Instead he quietly and privately closed his eyes, said goodbye to Ben, and prayed for forgiveness for what he was about to do.
NINETEEN
In the near distance, the white walls of the small cottage glistened as if they were neon. The daylight was beginning to fade and the only light was the first rays of moonlight scattering down through the dusky sky. The moisture from the forest floor was rising, a carpet of mist which clung to the abundant ferns. One by one, the agents constructed their circumferential border between the cottage and the real world, and now whatever lay inside its wooden walls belonged to the Agency. The team leader positioned himself with his knees in the broken undergrowth, and he listened out for the breaking of twigs around him. Each snap indicated another agent in place who would be ready at his command. He watched a faint heat signal inside the cottage on his monitor, stationary and weak, perhaps secondary to the damp air. There was no smoke rising from the chimney, and the signal was too weak to be a fire. It had to be a person, one that was cold and wet, probably hypothermic.
He raised his finger to his ear, pushing the ear piece further in to hear the instructions as they were relayed to him.
“In position, approximately twenty meters from target. It’s a boathouse. I repeat. Boathouse. Over.”
“Standby, Jedi twenty one. Standby. Over.”
His calculations were accurate, and he had a good complement of men forming the border that they had created. He stood by as instructed. He reached down to his thigh, feeling for the handgun as it sat holstered to his leg. His fingers knew exactly where it was; trained well for speed and accuracy they would move to the gun without the need for sight or conscious thought. In the dead of night, in the blackest of rooms, he knew each member of his team could handle the weapon strapped to them as if it were an extension of their hand. His silent breath formed small clouds in front of his face which served to camouflage him further in the rising mist.
The rattle of metal and plastic filtered through the dusk as each agent checked his weapon. When the time came there were no questions asked. Each agent wanted to be ready. They would rally to their commander’s signal, weapon in hand and ready to shoot. No guilt allowed.
The team leader raised his fingers to his ear once more as he heard the break in static. He listened as Forrester gave the instruction. Without delay he raised his arm and clicked his fingers, forming a right angle with his fingers pointing at the sky. With two short strokes forward, his fingers indicated to the men that it was time. They relayed the message up the line, the signal spreading as fast as fire through dry woodland. The leader stalked like a wildcat, his legs low, creeping silently through the land. He crept towards the target. On point, his team fell into line behind him, a death snake winding towards the cottage. Standing at the side of the front door, the point man waited for the rest of his team to fall into place, their arms loaded and minds alert; nothing would get past them this time. They had only one instruction.
Shoot to kill.
Other agents swarmed around him, encircling their leading man to take up their positions. Others slipped into place around the sides and back of the building, and he waited until the final men were in position. The building was surrounded. Those at the front knew their destination once that door was open, left or right, push forward or hold back. The final agent climbed the steps leading to the porch taking, bringing him within striking distance of the front door. He was holding the battering ram in his hands, nose blunt and hanging low. The rest of the agents held their weapons up near their shoulders, stacked in next to each other in two rows either side of the door. The agent moved moved in close and began swinging the ram back and forth, feeling the inertia of its weight. The leader took a final confirmatory look around. With his finger on his ear piece listening out for instruction, he raised his eyes towards the agent stood expectantly at the door and gave a single sharp nod of the head. The agent lunged the ram at the door with all of his might behind it.
He delivered the blow just underneath the door handle. The silence of the forest was shattered as the wood splintered, but the door remained in place. One more recoil and delivery, and the ram smashed into the door once more. The wood burst open like sparks raining down from a firework. The agents filtered into the room to take up their positions, improvising by finding security behind settees and the very chair where Ben had sat only one hour before. The two most advanced agents scanned the front of the living area, circling the kitchen units and small cottage style dining table. There were some scattered pieces of tissue on the table and the floor which attracted their attention. Another agent clicked his fingers, motioning to the pot of congealed red gunk left on top of the cooker. One by one the agents filtered through the house, clearing each room, smashing in doors and opening cupboards as they conducted their search.
“What did you find?” the leader asked as he walked into the living room and saw his most senior agent returning towards him, empty handed.
“Sir, there is nothing here. We searched the whole place.”
The leader placed his fingers to his ears and spoke into the small headset mouthpiece.
“Nothing?” Forrester asked as he heard the relay that the search had proven futile. The team leader checked his screen for the signal trace again.
“We are still reading the signal. Is there a basement?” he said as he looked up to the agents which surrounded him. Several agents started another search for a trap door. They knew that there was no internal door left unchecked so the only thing left would be a trapdoor in the floorboards. They pulled the settee and chairs back, kicking them away to reveal nothing but solid floorboards. Another team in the bedroom simultaneously lifted the weight of the bed frame as if it were no heavier than a book, and again confirmed the absence of an escape route.
“There is nothing here, Sir,” replied the leader over the headpiece, confirming that the search of the bedrooms had proven fruitless. Then an agent on his knees spoke.
“Sir, take a look at this.”
The agent was holding up a small black box that could have been a speaker, or a child’s walkie-talkie. But he recognised it as a transmitter. He had seen them hundreds of times before, and used them just as many. As he took the device and released the transmit button he heard a voice in his
ear from Headquarters. It was Forrester.
“We’ve lost him.”
“Sir, I think that this is our heat signal.” Another agent held up the large pot of red dough like mixture, still warm from the preparation of the smoke bombs.
The leader tossed the transmitter aside in frustration, sending angular shards of plastic scattering to the floor as the lightweight transmitter shattered into pieces. He held down the transmit button on his earpiece and waited as Forrester took receipt of his call and cleared his secure line.
“Sir, the signal is just a transmitter. The target remains unsecured. I repeat. The target remains unsecured. Over.”
“What?!” Mark jumped to his feet as if his chair had caught alight, and sent it toppling behind him. “Ben wouldn’t know the first thing about what to do with a transmitter. They have lost him!” he bellowed as he pointed an accusatory finger at the red lights on the main screen. Mark scrambled his fingers across the desk in front of him looking for a head-set with which he could communicate directly to the team. He caught another communications officer by surprise as he took the headset from his head. Ramming it into place, he bypassed Forrester and spoke directly to the field agent.
“Jedi twenty one, this is Mark Ballantyne. What exactly have you found?”
Forrester staggered towards Ben. “Sir, you are risking security,” barked Forrester. But Mark ignored him. He didn’t care anymore.
“Sir, we tracked the signal, but it’s coming from a transmitter. There is nobody here. Somebody was here, but they left.”
“Surveillance to Jedi, do you read me, over?” Forrester interrupted, livid at the flagrant loss of anonymity across communication channels.
Identity X Page 17
