by Asia Mackay
*
I got back to the flat and sat down at the dining table. I opened my laptop. There was a high probability I would die tonight and I needed to say goodbye to my daughter. To write down thoughts and sentiments that one day, when she was old enough, she would cherish. A way for her to know me and what was important to me. My last words to her.
I sat staring at the blank page and flashing cursor.
So I needed to make them good.
I tried to picture Gigi the teenager. On her bed reading a printout her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday. Perhaps it had been something he had always said would happen and she had looked forward to it. Counting down the years, months, days until she got to hear from the elusive figure that was her mother. Or maybe it had been a surprise. Left at the end of her bed after a long day of loud music and party guests. And now she was reading and rereading every word. She loved me even though she never knew me. Her fingers would stroke the page. Read it over and over long into the night.
Or would she hate me for not being there? Leave it unopened for days until one evening she would tear apart the envelope, read it once and crush it up into a ball, dropping it on to the floor for Will to unfold later and put back on her bedside table. What good is a dead mother? Where was she when I needed her?
I closed my eyes. I wanted to be there, picking up her clothes, complaining that she was wearing too much make-up, arguing about where she was going that night and what time her curfew was. Sitting up with Will, laughing as we drank wine and glancing at the clock whenever the other wasn’t looking.
I needed to be there.
Because if I wasn’t, Will might marry again. Marry the type of woman I’d always hated. The sad lonely widower could have his head turned by some grabby blonde who liked the fact he was a high-flying lawyer and would muscle in on this ready-made family. No need to ruin her nubile body with a baby, he already had one. And she, this gold digger, would be the faux mum to my beautiful daughter. What if Gigi grew up thinking high-heeled shoes and skin-tight clothing were expected of her? And, worst of all, what if she grew up wanting to marry well rather than do well?
Gigi’s imaginary evil, vapid stepmother was an excellent muse.
An hour later I had a rambling ten pages that went from random (‘please don’t be a goth; no one understands them and with your colouring you just couldn’t pull off all that black’), to rousing (‘you can be anything you want to be, boys are your equals, always remember that’), then through to preachy (‘work hard in school; don’t do drugs, they make you stupid’). And finished with sentimental: ‘Be good to your dad, he’s a very nice man. I love you very much. I’m so sorry I’m not there.’
I looked at her spiky hair and big blue eyes staring out at me from my screensaver. I touched the screen.
At least she was still so young. At first she would miss me, look around the room wondering where I was. Check the face of each person that walked in hoping for me. But then, slowly, she would forget. Forget what I looked like. Forget I was ever even there.
I clenched my fists and squeezed my eyes shut.
I wouldn’t get to ever hear her call me ‘Mama’. To see her take her first steps. To see her try to run. To catch her when she fell. She would never know me and I would never know her. If she was a tomboy or a little princess. If she was loud or quiet. I would never get to know what she was going to be when she grew up. Or what kind of life she was going to lead. I wanted to know everything about her. Everything that was going to happen to her. But I wasn’t going to get the chance to. And that thought was breaking my heart.
A family was bittersweet. Having people to love, who loved you back made life so much better when you were living it, yet so much worse when faced with leaving it.
I took one last look at what I had written and closed my laptop.
This wouldn’t be the first time I walked into an op I didn’t think I would survive. But this was the first time I was truly scared. I had never had more to live for.
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘IT’S TIME TO GO, TYLER.’
Jake had arrived at the flat an hour ago straight from the airport. An assortment of guns were laid out on the sitting-room floor. Having checked them all he was now packing them back into his duffel bag.
I went into the bathroom and fitted my bulletproof vest under my clothes. I tied my hair back in a tight bun and stared at myself in the mirror. This was it.
I thought again of Gigi.
She had done nothing to deserve this.
I wanted to fight angry. I wanted to channel the rage I felt. I didn’t want to walk in there drained, resigned to my fate. I was going to go in guns blazing and fight for my life. The Snake had to be stopped. Cut off his head and his decapitated body would slither around blindly trying to find its way before it too would stop thrashing and come to a silent halt. With Sandy neutralised the Nyan would no longer be a threat to me. With no inside man in Eight they would no longer be able to use our resources to covertly eliminate Dimitri and walk away with full deniability. They would have no need to kill me.
One way or another after tonight it would all be over.
I came out of the bathroom. ‘I’m ready.’
‘I took the liberty of procuring a car for us. It’s waiting in the underground car park.’
‘We can finalise the plan on the drive there.’
‘What plan? All we have is a vague idea that needs a small miracle to actually succeed.’
Jake was right. There was no real plan. Our mission objective was to secure Sandy for interrogation. We needed answers. But if extracting him alive proved to be too difficult we had to kill him. Take him in or take him out. Both would put the Snake out of play.
Sandy would turn up with muscle, undoubtedly handpicked from his bulging contact list of Ghosts. These private guns for hire didn’t officially exist – they lived off the grid, never carried ID and would happily kill on command and ask no questions. At the end of a job they’d take their fee and disappear. He would know that there was a risk Dasha had been compromised. And that he and his gammy leg were no match for Jake and me. His agents. His protégés. He had trained us to be the best of the best, never expecting that one day he would be up against us.
*
Carmen would be the soundtrack to our showdown tonight. We passed the front of Syon Park where a fleet of black cabs and chauffeur-driven Mercedes were waiting for men in black tie and women in long dresses to finish their night of champagne, canapés and opera. I could already hear strains of music floating through the cold November air. Ear-shattering, beautiful and wonderfully dramatic. Good music to fight to. Good music to die to.
The evening had started a few hours earlier when the well-dressed pack would have made their way through the large imposing gates and down the sweeping driveway towards Syon House. Lacking an invitation, we would be forced to make a somewhat less graceful arrival.
Round the back, after a few hoists and a little swearing, we were over the wall and within the grounds of Syon Park. I reached for the duffel bag we had thrown over the wall ahead of us. I stripped down to my bulletproof vest, strapped a gun-filled holster to each thigh, and pulled on a long black dress.
Next from the bag came a blonde wig and large fur coat. The coats Dasha favoured were made of the softest fur of a thousand dead animals; mine was the best Oxfam had to offer. But it should do the job of making me memorable. And it managed to conceal the strange outline of my dress. I tugged on the wig.
‘How do I look?’ I tried to smooth the blonde hair down as I snuggled into the coat and pouted at Jake.
‘More cheap hooker than rich Russian, but let’s hope it does the trick.’
The sound of an engine and headlights made us slip into a stone alcove hidden behind a tree. It was a small cramped space. We watched as a groundsman got out from his truck and emptied the bin a few feet from us.
We were squashed up against each other. Legs entangled. Jake brushed
a strand of blonde hair out of my face.
The man got back in his truck and drove off. We slipped out of the alcove.
‘Right,’ said Jake. ‘Let’s go get fucking murdered.’
‘Where’s your fighting spirit? We know what we’re doing. Remember, we’re the best of the best.’
‘Yes, and Sandy is our boss so that makes him the best of the best of the best.’
‘You’re not being helpful.’
He turned to me and held my shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, Tyler. If anyone can do this, it’s us. We’ve got each other.’
He was right. Out in the field Jake and I were a perfect pairing. We didn’t need to talk. We’d move with all the grace of ballroom dancers, totally in sync. A step here, a slice there, in perfect unison; cutting our way across a bloody dance floor. And we’d always come out the other side. Together. Still standing. So far.
‘That’s better. Fighting talk.’ I squeezed his hand.
We waited until the truck was out of sight and set off across the manicured lawn.
*
The opera evening was being held inside the Great Hall. From across the grounds we could see the ground floor alive with lights and people passing the windows. As we approached the front lawn there was a scattering of party guests standing outside, taking advantage of the intermission to have a quick cigarette.
‘I’m getting into position.’ Jake disappeared into the darkness. I kept on walking until I reached the side of the house and slipped in the service entrance that the catering staff were using to ferry their equipment to and from their truck outside. I hoped I wouldn’t have long to wait. I paced up and down the echoing corridor trying to smoke the vape I had brought with me. It was disgusting. How could Dasha love them so much? Finally a white jacketed waiter came walking towards the door.
‘You there, hello! Helloooo!’ I did my best fake Russian accent.
‘Yes, madam?’ He quickly detoured to my side. ‘If you’re looking for the party, it’s back this way.’
I took a long drag before blowing sweet-flavoured smoke in his direction.
‘You can help me.’ I handed him a fifty-pound note. ‘You find this man.’ I pointed to a photo of Sandy on my newly procured iPhone. ‘He will be at the entrance. And tell him to meet me in the Conservatory immediately.’ He took the note and looked at the photo. ‘You get this message to him and there’ll be another few notes like this.’
‘Of course, madam. That’s not a problem.’ He scuttled off in the direction of the party, whatever task he was meant to be doing at the truck forgotten in favour of a little extra spending money.
With any luck, if Sandy asked him for details of the woman who had summoned him, a vague description of a blonde Russian in a fur coat smoking a vape and brandishing fifty-pound notes would be enough to convince him that Dasha was out there.
I headed outside past the genuine smokers and towards the Conservatory. It was separate to the main house, and with the ear shattering opera about to start up again, the sound of the inevitable gunfire was hopefully likely to be drowned out.
Jake crackled into my ear, ‘In position. No sign of hostiles.’
‘Roger that. Five minutes out.’
*
I entered the Conservatory and walked to the back of the silent building. It was one long glass corridor. I came to the end and positioned myself by a large floral display. On my left was a view out towards the back wall of the Visitor Centre. It was a reassuring blank canvas. No one could be out there without their face being pressed up against the glass. On my right I could see out into Syon Park, where hidden from view, behind one of the trees was Jake and his long-aim rifle. Picking the location was the one advantage we had. Anyone looking through a night lens would see a blurry visual of a lone blonde in a fur coat in a cold, darkened, empty glasshouse. We were banking on that being enough to convince Sandy to venture in.
I started my best impression of an impatient Russian pacing the floor as the clouds of vape smoke surrounded me. I took another drag. I had now got used to it. It was oddly comforting. Shit, it would be really annoying to survive this only to become addicted to the stuff.
I was the bait. Out and exposed, calling the predators towards me. Jake was the hunter who could pop them off one by one, and make sure he left the one we wanted, the prize Snake, alive.
It was a terrible plan. But we had no choice.
The building was quiet except for the distant strains of music coming from the Great Hall. Jake crackled into my ear again.
‘Male approaching. Can’t get a full visual but it seems to be Sandy.’
Sure enough, I could make out a limping figure coming towards the Conservatory door.
‘Confirmed visual. Neutralise him as soon as you get the shot.’ It didn’t matter if Sandy looked as if he was alone. He wouldn’t be. Our only chance was to knock him out with a sedative and attempt to extract him without falling foul of his henchmen.
The slamming of the door announced Sandy was now in the Conservatory. I had my back to him, my phone against my ear. He needed to get at least ten steps closer before Jake could take the shot. I made to look like I was far too busy angrily muttering to notice his arrival. I heard the sound of his footsteps echoing through the hollow hall as he headed towards me.
Just a few more steps, that was all we needed. My heart was racing now. Come on. Keep on walking.
And then I heard it. A pffffttt through the glass as Jake took the shot and the thud of Sandy’s body hitting the ground.
We had him. Things were looking up. I felt stirrings of hope that I really could make it back safely to Gigi and Will. And then I heard the noise of an engine. A large engine.
Headlights lit up the ground on my right. A large truck pulled into view.
I took both my guns out. They were coming for him.
‘Jake? Come in.’ Nothing but silence. Our comms were blocked.
I raced towards the unconscious body ahead of me. They couldn’t risk firing at me when I had their boss as a shield. I just needed to hold our position until Jake got here and we could carry the fucker out together.
I looked down at the man on the floor. A great plan. Except it wasn’t Sandy.
*
We should have known better. Rat on Rat. We were always going to be thinking the same way. Misdirection. The eye sees what the eye want to see. Just as we relied on a fur coat and a blonde blinding him, so he had relied on a heavy build and a bad limp blinding us.
And now I was trapped in a glass box. With Jake’s visual blocked by the truck parked in front of us. I heard the sounds of multiple feet hitting gravel.
No longer bait. Just dead meat. Waiting to be scooped up and devoured by the fast-approaching pack who knew I had nowhere to run.
I patted down the fake Sandy. Whoever this man was, he was clearly so disposable Sandy hadn’t even given him a weapon. I looked around. There was only one door. The Conservatory was empty except for fifty or so gilt-coloured dining chairs and not so much as a side table I could upturn and use for cover. It was why we had chosen it. It was all out in the open with nowhere to hide.
Chapter Thirty-Five
TWO GUNS WITH FULL chambers, and words. That was all I had to save my life. Five men walked into the Conservatory. I stood with my hands up and watched as they approached me down the long glass corridor. I had to try words first. Opening fire would be certain death.
‘You look shit, Lex. You don’t suit blonde.’ I could barely see Sandy as he spoke from within his circle of Ghosts. Even with the truck blocking the glass wall, he wasn’t taking any chances. ‘I wouldn’t be relying on Jake coming to save you. I have men out there chasing him down. Did you really think you could outsmart me? I fucking trained you. Just not well enough to ever get the better of me. Any final words before I end this?’
‘You end me and you’re ending your career. If I die, Chief, and Five and Six, all get a nice little folder of proof on all the different ways you’ve betraye
d your country.’
Sandy laughed. ‘Don’t you think I have enough resources to get to grips with any little pack of lies a couple of disgraced agents concocted?’
‘Don’t underestimate the evidence we have. We know everything. Everything except why you were so easy to buy off.’
‘Nice stalling attempt, Lex. But I’m going to kill you without letting you know a fucking thing.’ He raised his gun. I heard the click of the safety come off. Then he pressed his ear and frowned. ‘Jake is proving evasive. And I don’t like loose ends. We need to get him here.’
‘Forget it. He’s gone. Following procedure. On his way to Chief.’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Not when he thinks he might be able to save you.’
He shot me three times.
The force flung me on to my back and I hit the ground hard, my head taking the brunt of the fall. Sandy leaned over me and spoke into my mic. ‘You hear that, Jake? Lex is down. She’s bleeding out fast. Better hurry.’
I lay there staring up at the beautiful glass ceiling. It really was magnificent. My head was throbbing and my chest was agony. I could barely breathe. Two of the shots had hit me straight in the bulletproof vest, rendering my chest bruised and battered but were otherwise no great concern. The third was going to be a problem. It was at the base of my neck. I could only guess by the agonising pain that I was feeling from that area and the large pool of blood that was now covering the floor. I focused on my breathing.
Sandy was now ordering his Ghosts into position.
‘Check her for weapons,’ he directed to the Ghost nearest to me. I recognised him from the underpass. I should have killed him when I had the chance. He roughly patted me down. He found one gun in my coat pocket and pulled it out. He stood up to hand it to Sandy, just as I fired the other one.
I don’t like to make the same mistake twice.
Underpass Ghost went crashing to the ground.
‘What the fuck!’ Sandy came up to me, gun drawn, and kicked me hard. A strangled scream echoed round the Great Conservatory. I guessed it was me. Sandy booted my second gun across the room.