Assassins Rogue

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘My name is Eva Delacourt.’

  ‘You will live to regret this, I swear it,’ he sneered. ‘No-one does this to my family. No-one––’

  ‘Elliott?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shut the fuck up, and look behind you.’

  Heart racing, his jaw set, he did as the woman told him.

  Fury turned to disbelief, then fear.

  A tall figure leaned against the open patio doors, black T-shirt over worn jeans, bare arms tanned and strong – and pointing a gun straight at him.

  ‘Who the hell––’

  The shot hit him in the chest.

  Elliott dropped the phone, the blast knocking him backwards.

  His head smacked against the marble floor tiles, a dreadful pain coursing through his chest as his lungs tried to find air, instead drowning in blood.

  He heard the woman’s voice call out from the discarded phone as the assassin stood over him and took aim at his left eye.

  ‘That’s two down, Decker. One more to go.’

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  London

  * * *

  ‘How the fuck did he get through security?’

  Miles tried to shake off a creeping sense of exhaustion as Gerald Knox stalked the floor, the Section chief’s face flushed with anger.

  ‘The all-ports advice reached the security team at customs too late to stop him,’ he said. ‘We’ve lost the advantage here, Gerald, but we still have ten minutes until that plane is due to take off.’

  ‘They won’t ground it without a bloody good reason,’ Knox said. He paused beside the team of analysts who kept their gaze resolutely on their computer screens. ‘Given the debacle with customs, we can’t guarantee that the message will get through to the pilot in time, either. It’s not as if we can launch a couple of fighter planes to intercept it over the North Sea without the media having a field day either, is it?’

  Miles frowned, turned away from the Section chief, and crossed the room to where Greg sat. ‘Where is Marie Weston right now?’

  ‘Upstairs.’

  ‘Get hold of her, and tell her we need her down here – now.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘And what about our drone? Where’s that?’

  ‘Currently flying a mission over the northern coast of France.’ Greg cleared his throat. ‘I can’t say more than that.’

  ‘Active mission, or reconnaissance?’ said Knox.

  The analyst squirmed in his chair. ‘Reconnaissance, I believe, Chief.’

  Knox’s gaze met Miles’s, and a smile formed on his lips. ‘If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, Newcombe––’

  ‘We’ll worry about the arguments and the paperwork afterwards,’ said Miles. ‘Greg, tell them to turn back. We need them over Heathrow – immediately.’

  ‘We nearly didn’t get away with it last time,’ said Knox.

  ‘Do you have any other ideas, given that Aaron’s plane is about to take off?’

  ‘No.’ Knox turned his attention to the door as the security panel buzzed, and Nathan’s sister walked in.

  ‘You asked for me, Chief?’

  ‘Marie, we need your skills as co-pilot.’ Knox gestured to a spare seat beside a computer. ‘Our drone pilot is online, but his intelligence officer is dealing with another matter – you’ll need to guide him in for us and make sure we stay clear of radar until we can clear this up with the MoD, understand?’

  ‘Copy that,’ she said, and swung herself into the chair.

  ‘Your job is to stay within Heathrow’s airspace so that flight to Moscow isn’t allowed to take off,’ continued the Section chief, ‘and make sure you keep a look out for the RAF. I’ve sent a message to RAF Waddington about what we’re doing and why but just in case––’

  ‘Will it work? Will they ground the aircraft?’ said Emily, peering over her shoulder.

  Miles winked. ‘Just don’t tell anyone. Most people still think that the last time at Gatwick was a suspected terrorist incident.’

  A rapid string of commands filled the room as Marie and the team of analysts exchanged data, and then the screens in front of Miles flickered once before the drone’s cameras provided a view of the Sussex countryside.

  ‘Thank Christ it’s dark,’ said Knox under his breath. ‘I’d hate to have to explain this one to the general public.’

  ‘With any luck, we’ll be able to field any local enquiries without raising suspicion,’ said Miles.

  ‘I hope so.’ Knox frowned. ‘And where the hell are Delacourt and Newcombe?’

  Miles glanced at his watch. ‘Well, Eva should be boarding that plane bound for Moscow about now.’

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Heathrow

  * * *

  Eva smoothed down the ill-fitting skirt and smiled at the final stream of passengers entering through the door in the fuselage of the airliner.

  The navy uniform held a tangible whiff of expensive perfume, the bemused former owner now wearing a high visibility vest over black trousers and a sweatshirt while she stood on the gangway and pretended to check through the passenger manifest and catering paperwork with a colleague.

  Eva’s heart was still racing from the motorbike journey across London to the busy international airport.

  She hadn’t taken Crowe for a motorcyclist – they hadn’t used one in Prague – but he flew along the motorway like a man possessed, only braking once they reached the security gates and were let through onto the concourse beneath the passenger terminals.

  The team at headquarters were still arguing with their counterparts in government about what to do with Aaron Sykes, but Knox’s orders were still ringing in her ears from the day before.

  The Prime Minister wanted Elliott Wilder and his siblings dealt with – permanently.

  Unless and until she heard otherwise, Eva planned to do just that.

  She blinked, then forced another smile while she listened to the stewardess at her elbow murmuring directions to passengers and doing her best to cover for Eva’s non-existent knowledge of the aircraft’s seating arrangements.

  The last stragglers boarded with apologies, duty-free purchases and alcohol-laden breath before being ushered to their places in economy class by a patient steward. Final checks were made, and the door was closed while the staff disbanded to settle in their customers for the eight-and-a-half-hour flight to Moscow.

  Eva pulled out her phone, cursing under her breath at the screen.

  No missed calls.

  Peering through the window to the concrete apron below, she spotted Nathan standing beside a thickset man with a walkie-talkie radio.

  The taller man held up his hands.

  No news yet.

  ‘Dammit, Crowe.’ Eva straightened and watched as two stewardesses worked in the tiny galley beside her. ‘I don’t fancy my chances in Russia.’

  The crew hadn’t been told why she had joined them at the last minute, simply that her presence was linked to a security matter and that they were to await further instructions.

  In the meantime, she had work to do.

  A commotion past the open door to the cockpit caught her attention, and she strained to listen over the excited murmurs of the cabin crew beside her.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she said, impatient.

  The woman next to her, whose badge identified her as the cabin services director, gave an exasperated sigh.

  ‘The whole airport is closing. There’s been an unidentified craft in the area, so they’re not letting any aircraft land – or take off. We’re stuck here until they sort it out.’

  A groan arose from the three staff members hovering at the galley while Eva battened down the adrenalin flowing through her.

  ‘Best thing to do is keep the passengers happy while we wait for further instructions,’ the woman continued. ‘Come on, you all know what to do.’

  Eva shot one of the stewardesses a thankful smile as she handed her a glass of champagne, then moved up
the staircase towards the first class lounge.

  Loosening the red scarf at her neck, she reached into her bra and pulled out a tiny yellow pill before dropping it into the drink.

  She swirled it around, careful not to spill any of the liquid on her skin, and then lifted her chin as she reached the upper deck.

  Despite the captain’s voice ringing out over the intercom explaining there would be a short delay, the atmosphere was calmer up here, a different ambience to the cramped and noisy conditions in the lower class cabins below.

  Only half a dozen passengers were on the top deck, strategically placed by the crew so that they didn’t encroach on each other’s privacy.

  She spotted Aaron Sykes towards the rear of the cabin, his face turned to the window as he tapped an empty bottle of water on his knee.

  Eva frowned, did a quick calculation and then relaxed.

  He wouldn’t be able to see Nathan from here, wouldn’t be able to see the armed personnel who hovered in the shadows in case Elliott Wilder’s brother tried to flee.

  She set her shoulders and a smile on her face as she drew closer.

  Bending down, she cleared her throat.

  ‘Mr Sykes, a glass of champagne – courtesy of the airline to ease the inconvenience of our current situation.’

  Her earpiece hissed to life, the noise a painful jolt, and she shook her head, unnerved by the sudden voice in her ear.

  ‘Eva? They’ve grounded all aircraft,’ Nathan said. ‘Unidentified aircraft spotted above Heathrow. All flights in and out of London are being diverted. Stand down.’

  Aaron’s eyes widened.

  ‘Delacourt,’ he sneered.

  Eva took a step back, unable to conceal her surprise. ‘How do you––’

  Too late.

  Aaron Sykes unclipped his seatbelt, and swept the champagne glass from her grasp with his hand before she could react.

  The poisoned drink spilled over the carpet, showering the side of the seats opposite and splattering up the side of the cabin.

  ‘Fuck,’ Eva hissed.

  She lashed out with the heel of her hand, catching Sykes under his chin as he advanced towards her, then used her other hand to chop at his windpipe.

  He crashed to the floor gasping, unable to avoid her foot as it connected with his jaw.

  ‘Eva?’

  Nathan’s voice carried through the raging noise of her heartbeat in her ears and she paused, her hands resting on the back of the seat as she tried to work out whether there was enough poison left at the bottom of the champagne flute rolling across the carpet or whether she would have to throttle the Russian agent.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Prime Minister’s changed her mind. Knox says she wants Aaron Sykes alive. Apparently it’ll give her some leverage with the rest of her party colleagues.’

  Eva nudged Sykes’s leg with the toe of her shoe as he smirked at her, then reached under her uniform jacket for her gun.

  The man’s eyes widened as she caressed her finger across the trigger.

  The suppressed gunfire echoed off the fuselage, mixing with the screams of shocked passengers who scrambled out of their seats and onto the floor.

  Lowering the weapon, Eva contemplated the gaping hole in the Russian spy’s forehead and smiled.

  ‘Oops.’

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Four days later

  * * *

  Eva stood behind a large Doric pillar beside the steps leading out of the small church in Piccadilly and squinted at a grey and overcast sky as a light drizzle prickled her umbrella, the wind snapping at the nylon material.

  At the kerbside, three black four-door vehicles stood with engines purring, uniformed drivers helping passengers into the back seats before the doors were slammed and the cars eased into the traffic.

  She watched as they disappeared around a corner, then sighed and turned to the man beside her.

  ‘That was different.’

  ‘As memorials go, I suppose it had to be subtle,’ said Nathan, pulling his black tie away from his collar. ‘They were never going to do anything else.’

  ‘I suppose.’ She ran her thumb over the order of service, tracing the names of Patrick Leavey, Adrian Ogilvy and Jeffrey Dukes. ‘At least Knox was able to say a few words.’

  ‘But no-one will ever know the truth,’ said Nathan. ‘No-one will know how close Elliott Wilder got to starting a coup in Turkey and another war in the Middle East, or how those three men helped to prevent it happening.’

  ‘We’ll know,’ said Eva, ‘and so will everyone else involved in this. They won’t be forgotten. That’s what matters.’

  Nathan held out his hand. ‘The rain’s stopped. Fancy a drink somewhere before we head back to Prague?’

  ‘Go on, then. I spotted a bar that looked quiet for this time of day just along the road on our way here.’

  She lowered her umbrella, slipped her hand through his arm and fell into step beside him.

  ‘Any news from Knox about the charges the PM wanted to press after you shot Sykes? MI6 were keen to speak to him, weren’t they?’

  ‘I managed to convince them it was an accident. My hands were sweaty – my finger slipped.’

  ‘Did they believe you?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Eva grimaced. ‘But I think I’m forgiven. Knox mentioned something about there being one less terrorist to worry about.’

  Nathan shook his head as they turned into a busy four-lane street and crossed it, dodging between taxis and double-decker buses before pointing to the sign for the bar.

  ‘What do you want to do after all this, Eva?’ he said, turning to her before they reached the doorway.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She smiled. ‘Actually, I do. I want a long soak in a hot bath. I want to find a beach somewhere without a phone signal, and I want to sleep.’

  ‘Fancy something to eat first?’ he said. He stopped and pulled her to one side as he took out his mobile phone, and thumbed the screen lock.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ she said. ‘Who’re you phoning?’

  ‘Decker. We’d better let him know the news, right?’ Eva grinned as the video call was answered.

  ‘Hang on.’

  She glanced at Nathan while Decker spoke to someone in Spanish, then turned down the volume on the speakerphone as the shouting on the other end got louder.

  ‘Where the hell are you?’ she said.

  ‘El Salvador.’

  ‘What happened about going back to Italy after all this was over?’ said Nathan. ‘I thought you said you had work to do on the farm?’

  ‘Change of plan. Make it quick – things are about to kick off here.’

  ‘Thought you might like to know that the Prime Minister has granted us all amnesty. We’re no longer wanted by the British government.’

  Decker chuckled. ‘Well, at least that’s one less target on my back.’

  ‘What?’ said Nathan, his eyes widening. ‘Who else wants you dead?’

  ‘Too many to––’ He broke off and spoke to someone in the background before shots rang out and his attention returned to the screen. ‘I’ve got to go. Shout if you need me.’

  ‘Thanks, Decker,’ said Eva. She reached out and ended the call, then buttoned her jacket as a cold wind whipped along the street and tugged at her hair.

  ‘Was that gunfire?’ said Nathan, his eyes wide. ‘What the hell is he doing in Central America?’

  ‘God knows.’ Eva wound her fingers around his hand and led him towards the bar.

  ‘Do you think he’ll be all right?’

  ‘It sounded to me like he was having a blast. I don’t think we have to worry about him,’ said Eva, and raised her gaze to the sky at a sorrowful cry.

  A gull soared on the breeze, its movements hypnotic as it rose and fell on the air currents.

  Nathan moved closer and gave her a nudge with his elbow. ‘You’ve been a bit quiet since we were debriefed. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’


  ‘Bullshit. Come on – this is me you’re talking to.’

  She peered over her shoulder as the door to the bar opened and voices filtered out ahead of the small crowd that spilled out onto the pavement, their voices buoyant, then turned back to him.

  ‘A drone, Crowe. They used a drone to stop Aaron’s flight taking off in the end. They were prepared to do that, instead of letting me deal with him. Like I’m trained to do.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s like Miles said in the debriefing. Cutting edge technology, and all that.’

  Eva sighed and shielded her eyes with her hand as she gazed at the clouds scudding across the sky.

  ‘Bloody drones. I’m going to be out of a job at this rate.’

  * * *

  THE END

  About the Author

  Before turning to writing, USA Today bestselling author Rachel Amphlett played guitar in bands, dabbled in radio as a presenter and freelance producer for the BBC, and worked in publishing as an editorial assistant.

  She now wields a pen instead of a plectrum and writes crime fiction and spy thrillers, including the fast paced Dan Taylor and English Assassins spy thrillers, and the Detective Kay Hunter and Detective Mark Turpin mysteries.

  After 13 years in Australia, Rachel is currently based in the UK.

  You can find out more about her writing and visit her online shop at www.rachelamphlett.com.