Terminal Vendetta (A Diana Weick Thriller Book 3)

by Cate Clarke

  “Fuck,” he growled.

  “Mr. Tennison?” a voice asked. “Mr. Tennison, are you all right?”

  Rex flipped over onto his back, groaning. He was looking up at a tiled ceiling, still in Amita Voss’s office. But the window was broken. The place was scattered with glass and blood and the sulfurous smell of gunfire.

  A blonde woman with a braid was bent over him, looking down, shining a small flashlight in his eyes, one at a time.

  “He’s lucid,” she said to someone he couldn’t see. “He needs medical stat.”

  “Wesley…” Rex groaned.

  “Your son is okay, Mr. Tennison,” she said. “You’re going to be okay too.”

  “Dad!” Wesley called from somewhere unseen. “Dad! She took Mom! She took her!”

  Rex shot up, almost colliding his forehead with the woman’s nose, but she deftly got out of his way. The office was destroyed. The armchairs were both flipped over, one of them with a bullet wedged in the back of it, splitting the wood and stuffing peeking out like a beer that was about to foam over.

  “I’m Jillian Watts with SCO19,” the blonde woman said, reaching out a hand to him to shake. Just as he took her palm in his, two medics crowded around him, immediately tending to his back. Rex took in a sharp hiss through his teeth.

  “We gotta go after her,” Wesley said, pacing behind Watts, rubbing at the back of his head and at his wrists.

  “Where did they take her?” Rex asked, looking between his son and Watts.

  “Took a helicopter,” she said.

  “She took their helicopter,” Wesley said over her shoulder, and she shot him a glare.

  “Yes. She took the SCO19 chopper but we have drones tracking them,” Watts said. “As soon as they land anywhere, we’ll be on them.”

  “You’re on the ground following too?” Rex asked.

  Watts nodded.

  “Get me in one of those cars,” he said.

  “Mr. Tennison, you’re not in any condition to go after her right now…”

  As she doubted him, he tried to stand, working through the pain to try and get to his feet. The medics behind him muttered and swore as they rearranged their hands that were working on his burns. He had to fall to his knees first, the glass digging in through the pants he’d been wearing for three weeks. Then, one leg at a time, he stood.

  Jillian Watts sighed, looking over her shoulder at her crew that was working through the room.

  “Dad.” Wesley stepped forward. “I’ll go.”

  “No fucking way,” Rex snapped. “Sorry… no way, champ.”

  A sharp pain ran through from his spine to his side as he lifted his hand and clamped it on Wesley’s shoulder. He tucked in his lips, and he could feel his cheeks growing red.

  Wesley shook his head and said, “Dad… you can’t even lift your hand.”

  “I’m still breathing and that’s all that matters.” Rex grinned. Wesley returned it and then they grabbed each other, pulling each other into a strong hug after all that they had gone through together. All that pain, all that death but Wesley was still here. He had saved his life, and Rex had never been prouder of his son than he was right now. He clutched to the back of Wesley’s neck and head with the hand he’d been able to lift and kissed the top of his head. The smell of body odor, piss and infection floated under the moment. “You stink though, kid.”

  “You too,” Wesley replied into Rex’s sternum.

  “Clean clothes. And then we go after your mom?”

  Wesley nodded, his hair brushing against Rex’s bare chest.

  By the time they pulled apart, Watts had rounded the room and was gathering blankets from another officer. She passed them to Rex, shoving the pile of gray wool into his hands.

  “How about something to wear?” Rex asked.

  “Mr. Tennison, I cannot in good faith send you out and after your wife…”

  “Ex-wife. Mother of my children,” Rex corrected. “And I don’t care much about your faith, no offense.”

  “Whichever.” With dark green eyes, she looked him up and down. She let out another exasperated sigh and said, “Okay, fine. I’m not arguing with any more Weicks today. Hop in with the guys by the door.”

  On the outskirts of London, they followed the helicopter that was weaving erratically through the air. They were in a convoy of black SUVs. Whatever Voss was planning, it wasn’t going to be easy.

  This was an endgame thing. The type of plan that ended with the planner getting shot twice in the head.

  Out the window, three gray drones were following behind the chopper, keeping pretty good pace since it seemed that Voss wasn’t the best pilot. She was an experienced field agent with, apparently, a lot of skills. When Watts had shown Rex her profile, a lot of her strengths had reminded him of Diana—though she couldn’t be further from her in terms of personality.

  They were heading east along the Thames, the water weaving next to the road and slowly growing wider the further they went.

  Watts had given him some hefty painkillers, and for the first time in weeks, he wasn’t feeling each pump of his heart at the base of his spine. They’d given his wounds a quick sweep for glass and of antiseptic, and they were on their way. Maybe it was stupid to go after her in his condition. But Diana had always come after them. No matter what.

  She had come for him in the desert. For Kennedy in Ukraine. Now, it was their turn to rescue her.

  The helicopter was beginning to slow.

  The driver ahead spoke into an earpiece.

  “Yup. We see it,” he said. “Bloody fuck.”

  He leaned over his shoulder to mutter to Wesley, “Sorry, kid.”

  “I’m eighteen!” Wesley protested.

  In the middle of the Thames, there was a long skinny island, a broken dock on the southern edge and clusters of oak trees around its perimeter. The SUV pulled off on the side of the road, following suit with the convoy in front of it. The helicopter was circling over top, looking for a way to land. It teetered to one side, looking like it was about to crash into one of the traffic bridges behind it. It regained stability and then lowered down below the tree line and out of sight.

  “What’s on that island?” Rex asked, leaning forward.

  “Pretty much nothing,” The driver replied. “An old school, maybe.”

  “Y’all got a boat?”

  “We’ll get one.”

  “How fast?”

  “Probably fifteen minutes out.”

  “She could kill her in fifteen minutes.”

  “She could already be dead.”

  Rex glared at him in the rearview mirror.

  “Well, sorry, mate. If you want to play the realism game—”

  Rex opened the door and got out of the car, leaving it open so Wesley could follow behind him. The metal railing along the sidewalk was cold underneath his palms. Beneath them, the dark current of the Thames slapped against the concrete edge of the city. Across the water, the island—about three hundred feet out from where they were standing—was completely quiet.

  The sound of the helicopter’s engine cut.

  Rex wanted to kick off the new sneakers and strip the SCO19 clothes from his body so he could dive in and swim across to the island. Maybe ten years ago and one fatal infection ago, but he would never make it in his current condition.

  “Rex Tennison,” a deep posh accent said from behind him. He turned to see Idris Amber, his hands tucked into a coat, dried blood along his forehead, dark curls falling in front of even darker eyes.

  Amber reached out a hand and Rex shook it.

  “Last time I saw you,” Rex started, “you were the one with the burns.”

  With a quick glance, he noticed the fresh scar stretched across the side of Amber’s face. There were bags under his eyes and his beard wasn’t as manicured as he’d once seen it.

  “How the tables have turned,” Amber said, laughing a little.

  They both looked over at the island, sharing in the somber feelin
g of a life without Diana if this rescue mission wasn’t successful.

  “Can you get us over there?” Rex asked, going back to the railing.

  “You’ve gotta have a boat, right?” Wesley piped up. Amber turned to him, shaking his hand as well and clutching his hand to Wesley’s forearm.

  “I do,” Amber said.

  “I bet you do,” Rex said.

  “Yeah…” Amber stated, pointing down the docks to a speedboat, bouncing against its ropes. “That’s MI6, boys.”

  “This SCO19 isn’t doing much for me…”

  “With Voss going off her rocker,” Amber muttered, “I’m acting vice-chief, so Ms. Watts won’t be stopping us.”

  They were stopped, however, by several people on their way down the sidewalk and toward the docks. Not only by Jillian Watts of SCO19 but by other MI6 agents looking for direction from Amber as well as several persistent journalists.

  There was the sound of another helicopter approaching in the distance. At least, backup was on the way.

  But Rex couldn’t wait around any longer. As soon as his feet were on the dock, he hustled toward the boat, helping Wesley inside despite the cries of the journalists and Watts above that he was endangering the life of his son yet again. But the safest place for Wesley was—and had always been—with him and his mother.

  Being more important and wrapped up in his own politeness, Amber had to literally weed himself out of the hands of confused agents and a blonde woman who was shoving a camera into his face. He gave a small shake of his head and a heavy sigh as he came onto the boat.

  “All right,” Amber said, unhooking the rope from the dock and tossing it into Wesley’s lap. “Extraction team Weick, are we ready?”

  Both Rex and Wesley nodded.

  The boat started. The engine drowned out some of the noise from the sidewalk above. Water whipped up around the sides of the engine, splashing Rex across his face, and they headed toward the island.

  Chapter 28

  Amita Voss

  London, England

  Had it been easy? Absolutely not. Had it been reckless? They would say so. Was it worth it? Exponentially.

  By the minute, Amita felt more and more satisfied with every decision she’d made to get her here. Weick and Alek in her hands, tied up against the desks in the form that they were always meant to be. One against the other. Weick finally taking down her mortal enemy and ascending to a status greater than Amita could have ever obtained. It was like seeing her daughter—if she’d ever had one—walking across a stage, graduating. The principal moving the golden tassel from one side to the other as she smiled and waved at the crowd, but really her eyes were only looking for her mother. It wasn’t the stage that she’d wanted, but she was forced to use what was in front of her. Amita also had to move faster than she anticipated, shoving desks out of the way, scraping them against the old floors to make her own tableau of vengeance in the ancient classroom.

  Using masking tape, she taped both Weick’s and Alek’s hands to their pistols, using the entire roll to affix them to the wooden surface. The remaining zip ties had been used on their other hands, fastening their wrists to the back of the chair. One of Alek’s hands had been bandaged up and drops of blood speckled the gauze.

  The school smelled of dust and chalk. Two of the four windows in the classroom had been broken open and a scattering of beer bottles littered the floor by the chalkboard. This wasn’t the ideal but it would suffice. It would have to.

  Amita didn’t have time to waste so she slapped both of them awake, starting with Weick and then her ex-husband, Alek Fedoruk. She allowed them both a brief moment of panic as they pulled against the tape on their one hand and the zip tie on the other, staring at one another, trying to discern where they were and what was happening.

  “Amita,” Alek said in that patronizing tone. “What did you do?”

  “It’s your place,” Amita replied. “Thank you for the idea.”

  “Why are you doing this?” he growled—his voice rising as he yanked against the tape and it creaked under his strength.

  “It is your time, Alek,” she said. “It was meant to be this way.”

  “This isn’t fate, Amita,” he replied. “Worry about yours, not mine.”

  “Our fates have been intertwined for years, Alek. You know that very well, dear.”

  “Not by choice.”

  “Of course it was by choice! Did you not choose to abandon me and your son? Did you not choose to send that plane crashing down into the Earth? This is all a result of your choices, Alek. And by doing so...” She stood up straight, crossing her arms and standing just outside the line that the gun barrels had formed, pointing at one another. “You took away my choice.”

  The sound of her boots against the ground echoed off the old stone walls of the school as she circled the room. In the distance, there were the sounds of approaching engines and motors.

  “And now you must be punished,” Amita said, bringing her hands down to her side. She looked at Weick who was watching her with wide brown eyes. Her gaze flickered to every small movement, intense and trained, looking for a slip in her demeanor or another weapon concealed in her sleeves. Doing another circle around the room, Amita landed herself behind Weick, reaching over the back of the desk to put two hands on her shoulders.

  “It is your time now, Diana,” Amita whispered. “Shoot him.”

  “While I’d love to,” Weick muttered, not turning her head and barely flinching at Amita's grip on her, “I’d rather just wait for MI6 to burst in here and kill you both.”

  “If MI6 gets here before you shoot him,” Amita said, “I’ll kill us all.”

  There was nothing left for her outside of this aside from prison, and Amita had no plans to spend her time locked away in an unkempt cell. No. This was the final notch in the tightened belt that her mother had left behind, tied around her waist—the action that would truly redeem her in the eyes of those that haunted her.

  “No you won’t,” Alek said, laughing. “You always just got people to do things for you, Amita. You’re not going to do the dirty work.”

  “I did the dirty work for you, Alek,” she snapped.

  “Until it got too much for you,” he replied immediately. “You were out.”

  “You killed innocent people,” she growled, taking her hands off of Weick’s shoulders and stepping toward him. Drops of sweat squeaked out from underneath the layers and layers of tape on Weick’s arm. Her finger was off the trigger. Everything else under beige-colored tape.

  Alek said, “So did you.”

  “You killed my mother!” Amita screamed, stepping forward into the gun line, putting herself between the two barrels. She bent down in front of Alek, grabbing on to his pale eyes.

  With the back of her hand, she slapped him across the back of his face.

  “You’re not angry because she’s dead,” Alek murmured, burying his face partially into his shoulder and then lifting it to catch her stare. “You’re angry because I was the one to do it.”

  “Yes,” Amita said. “You’re right. Like I said, you took away my choice. I could have rectified our relationship. She could have joined us… she had a grandson finally but you took away all of it, destroying your own family-”

  Alek pulled the trigger. It gave an empty click.

  “I’m not finished” —Amita smiled— “you destroyed your own family… Now I’ve lost my train of thought…” She looked down at the unloaded gun in his taped hands.

  Alek’s face dropped from anger to defeat. It was according to plan, just a bit earlier than she’d anticipated. His finger pulled off of the trigger, reddening from the tightness of the tape around his hand. The gun was for show, to make him think as if he had a chance, as if he had a choice—the same thing that he’d done to her.

  “You never would have made good with your mother,” Alek said, dropping his chin into his chest.

  “Ah yes, that’s where I was,” Amita replied. “You’re quite
right… I likely would have never been able to see eye to eye with that horrid woman, but you took away my option to do so if I’d wanted. You also took away the option to kill her myself.”

  “That’s what it’s really about, Amita,” Alek said. “You wanted to do it.”

  “I’ll settle for you.”

  “But you won’t even do that yourself?”

  “Weick deserves it.” Amita moved back out of the gun line—Weick’s loaded gun no longer pointed at her back. “And I won’t let her miss the opportunities that I did.”

  Taking the last pistol out of her tailored suit pants, she pushed the magazine into the bottom. Both of them watched her, Weick still with those military eyes, looking for an opportunity to escape and Alek, with the eyes of the man she’d once loved, the ones she’d be chasing, the ones that had patronized her for years.

  With meticulous chosen movements, she cocked the gun, pressed it to Weick’s temple and said, “Now shoot him or die.”

  Chapter 29

  Diana Weick

  London, England

  The barrel of the gun was almost a welcomed coolness against the heat that was growing across her body. The tape on her right hand and the gun, partway up her arm, was causing everything to sweat. No air or wind moved between these school walls. It was stifling, tense and rife with a heartbroken family dynamic that Diana couldn’t even take the time to care about.

  She wanted to shoot Zabójca. If Voss was right about one thing, it was that Diana deserved to kill him after all he’d done. In fact, everyone in her family had a little bit of vendetta against this man. Wesley on behalf of Ratanake and Rex on behalf of Taras.

  Still, she wouldn’t kill him like this. Whatever grand fate Voss had planned, it wouldn’t be fulfilled this way. With each passing second, the helicopters and soldiers got closer, and Voss got more irritated with Diana’s patience.

  “Shoot him, Weick,” Amita said again, shoving her head with the barrel, cracking Diana’s neck to one side.

  “I’m not doing this for you,” Diana replied, keeping her finger off the trigger.