Covert Assassin

by Ethan Jones

  “They could have both of them covered,” Yuri said.

  Markov frowned, but did not scold Yuri for the interruption. “Next, there is a lot more security in the area, and it’s easier to search the surrounding buildings than along the highway.”

  “Right, but any one of the thousands of people around the hotel could be the killers,” Yuri said.

  “Sure, and that’s why we’ll have a team working there, sweeping the area and keeping a watchful eye,” Markov said. “And you’ll work with that team.”

  Yuri began to shake his head, but Markov waved a dismissive hand. “It’s decided, and your boss has already approved it.”

  “He hasn’t told me.”

  “Well, now you know about it. You can go ahead and make plans. Talk to MI6, do what you need to do.”

  Yuri nodded, but a deep frown was stamped on his face. “I will take care of everything.”

  “Good.” Markov nodded, then tipped her head toward the door. “I wouldn’t waste any time.”

  Yuri shook his head. “This is important for me—”

  “No, Justin and I have this covered. You won’t be with the convoy, so this isn’t relevant for your op.”

  Yuri thought about his answer for a long moment. It seemed he was going to object, but Markov’s stern face made it clear there was no room for discussion. So he sighed and stepped off the stool. “See you later, Markov. Justin.”

  “Take care, man,” Justin said.

  Markov said nothing while Yuri shuffled toward the door.

  “Why are you so rough on him?” Justin said.

  Markov shrugged. “What? Rough? We’re Russians; this is sweet talk.”

  “Yes, about sweet talk. I was thinking—”

  The phone ringing interrupted his words. Justin glanced at the screen. It was Carrie. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

  Markov nodded and sipped her cappuccino.

  “Yes, Carrie.”

  “Justin, we have a problem.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  MI6 Headquarters, Vauxhall Cross

  London, United Kingdom

  “What else do we know about the kidnapping?” Justin asked and glanced at the phone transcript Mandy had slid across the table. It was Ying’s phone call, where she had threatened to kill Mary if the team did not stop its efforts to thwart the assassination.

  “Nothing new.” Mandy shrugged and stood up. She walked to the large wall-size whiteboard, where she had taped a series of photos and had drawn boxes connected to each other by a series of intricate lines. “Mary disappeared three days ago. Security cameras show the last place she was seen was at the Caledonian Road station. That’s on the tube’s Piccadilly line. You’ve seen the video.”

  Justin nodded. The grainy, blurry recording showed Mary walking toward a series of apartment buildings and then disappearing behind a double-decker bus. “Right. What was she doing there?”

  “Not sure. As far as we know, she has no friends in the area. Maybe she went to buy something. There are many stores in the area, some high-end ones.”

  “Did anyone see her?”

  “No, but we’re still checking. We suspect this is where someone nabbed her.” Mandy tapped the map on the whiteboard. “Just outside the station.”

  “All right. So Ying has Mary. Did you get proof of life?” Carrie asked.

  “No, I wasn’t the one talking to her, otherwise I would have asked for that. But when she calls again, we’ll do that.”

  “Are you sure it was a local call?” Justin said.

  “Yes, according to our tech staff. The number could have been scrambled, but that didn’t seem to be the case. It was prepaid, just activated yesterday. No other calls were made or received by that number, which makes me think it’s genuine.”

  “Where did they triangulate the caller’s location?”

  “Waldegrave Gardens in Upminster. We’re checking the area, but the signal disappeared, so there’s not much hope of finding the caller.”

  Justin nodded and returned to the one-page transcript. He had read it perhaps half a dozen times. He looked at Mandy, who was still standing by the whiteboard. “They really think we’ll stop?”

  “No, this is to demoralize us and to eat up some of our resources,” Mandy said. “This sounds harsh, especially coming from me, but the Russian president’s life is more valuable than Mary’s.”

  Justin nodded. Whether he liked it or not, the UK’s policy was very clear when it came to dealing with terrorists. There would be no negotiations, no giving in. The only way that Mary’s life would be saved was by a rescue mission. Or a trade. If somehow we can capture Lim or Ying alive, it will be his or her life for Mary’s.

  He sighed and glanced at his laptop. The screen showed a map of the Russian president’s route. Markov was still working on securing Justin’s and Carrie’s participation in the convoy as part of the security. There had been some initial reluctance to having foreign intelligence agents so close to the head of the Russian state, especially considering the threat. No one openly suspected the CIS of having any part in the plot, but there was a heightened level of distrust of anyone who was not Russian. Still, Markov was confident she was going to convince her superior and the head of the Federal Protection Service, or the FSO, charged with the protection of the president’s life.

  “Let’s see if we’ve missed anything.” Justin clicked to the MI6 report Mandy had given them. He and Carrie had already reviewed it, but he wanted to re-examine it.

  Mandy shrugged. “I’m not sure there’s anything of use in there, except for what we already know. I’ve got to make a few calls, but I’ll be back in half an hour, I hope.”

  * * *

  It had been about twenty minutes when Justin’s phone rang. He recognized the ringtone he had assigned to calls forwarded from the phone he had left with the Mossad agent’s men back in Iraq. It could be Suen or Ying. They are the only ones who have that number. He glanced at Carrie, who said, “Speakerphone.”

  Justin nodded, then tapped the answer key and said, “Yes, this is Justin,” followed by tapping the speakerphone key.

  “Justin Hall, this is Lim. You’ve been looking for me,” said a strong male voice with barely a hint of the Chinese accent.

  “Lim, Huang Lim?” Justin said and motioned for Carrie to go and find Mandy.

  “Yes, were you expecting another Lim?”

  “Making sure you didn’t have the wrong number.”

  “Oh, you think you’re a funny guy.”

  “Sometimes. Why did you call?”

  “To tell you that neither you nor MI6 or the Russians will stop me.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “This isn’t my first op, Justin, and I’ve never failed.”

  “Do you have any investments, Lim?”

  A moment of pause, then Lim said, “No, but what does that have to do with—”

  “When people make investments, they’re told that past performance doesn’t guarantee future results. This will be your last op, and you will fail.”

  “Oh, really? What makes you so sure?”

  Justin smiled. “I’m not going to repeat your words, but let’s say I’ll explain it to you when we meet.”

  “When we meet, I’ll put a bullet in your head. How’s that for an explanation?”

  “We’ll see about that. Now, what do you want?”

  “I have something you want.” Shuffling noises, then Lim shouted, “Speak.”

  “Hey ... please, help ... help me,” a sobbing female voice said.

  “Mary, don’t worry, we’ll—”

  Lim’s voice cut Justin off. “No, you’re not going to save her. The only way you’ll see Mary alive is if you stand down and give up coming after me and Ying.”

  Justin frowned. He looked up as Carrie and Mandy burst into the conference room. “Lim, I thought you said no one can stop you. Let Mary go. This doesn’t involve her.”

  “Sorry, I can’t do that. She’
s my insurance policy. And you’d better follow my order, or her blood will be on your hands.”

  “I want to talk to Mary again.”

  “Why? You heard her, so you have proof of life.”

  “I want to reassure her that everything will be okay.”

  “It will be, if you do what I say.”

  “Lim, ten seconds with Mary; that’s all I’m asking for.”

  A brief silence, more shuffling, then the woman said, “Help me, this is Mary. They’re holding me at—”

  The sound of a slap, then Lim said, “Hall, that’s why you wanted to talk to her? So she could give you the location?”

  “No, no, of course not. Don’t hurt her.” Justin looked at Mandy.

  She nodded and mouthed the words, Yes, that is Mary.

  Carrie frowned and clenched her jaw. She stomped toward the phone, but Justin stopped her with a hand gesture.

  “I’m going to kill her, Hall. I swear, I will put a bullet in her head.”

  “No, Lim, look, don’t hurt her.”

  “Stay away from the president, and perhaps you’ll see Mary alive, if she behaves. But if I as much as sniff you or Carrie or anyone else from MI6, or the Russians, she’ll be the first to die. Got it?”

  “You think you’ll defeat the Russians—”

  “None of your business. Stay away, or you’ll regret your actions. Got it?”

  “Lim, this isn’t—”

  “Tell me you understand, Hall.”

  Justin sighed. “I do, Lim. But whatever...” His voice trailed off as Lim ended the call. Justin placed the phone on the table. “He’s gone.”

  “And he has Mary,” Carrie said and cursed Lim and Ying.

  “I’ll check with the techs,” Mandy said, “about the signal’s location.”

  Justin shook his head. “It’s of no use. Lim is a pro. The signal would be bouncing off a series of satellites. Or he could be simply using a cheap burner phone.”

  Mandy shrugged. “What do we do then?”

  Justin pointed at his phone. “Now we know for certain that Lim has Mary. Let’s keep searching for her. Maybe someone saw her when she was taken. Anything we can find.”

  Mandy nodded. “I’ll get us more help.”

  Carrie said, “Yes, and let’s get closer to the Russian president. Lim’s determined to go ahead with the assassination.”

  “Yes, and he seemed unfazed by the Russian security presence,” Mandy said. “Maybe he does have a mole in their midst.”

  “Or maybe he’s just overly confident. A serious mistake,” Justin said.

  Carrie said, “Whatever it is, let’s talk to the FSO.”

  “Yes, the two of you can handle the convoy. I still believe the attack will happen at the hotel, so I’ll cover that angle.”

  “Great. I’ll give Markov a call, then Carrie and I will meet with her and come up with a plan.”

  Chapter Forty

  On the M4 Motorway

  About five miles northeast of Heathrow Airport

  England

  MI6, along with the local police and MI5, had spent the whole night and the early morning hours searching the area around the Caledonian Road station. No leads. They had been unable to find any witnesses of the kidnapping or even someone who had seen Mary in her long red coat. Security cameras of stores in the nearby streets had not caught anything suspicious. While Mandy had not lost hope, it had become clear the investigation was unlikely to uncover any concrete evidence.

  Mandy and her team had combed through the buildings surrounding the Ritz-Carlton on Piccadilly, in the posh St. James’s area. They had tried to be as discreet as possible, to avoid any unwanted attention from the media or cause any alarm. The Russian president’s visit had already caused a wave of protests and calls for tougher measures against the rogue country and especially Russian oligarchs who owned unimaginable property wealth in London and throughout the United Kingdom. After the poisoning of a former double agent in London, just three weeks ago, by means of a military grade nerve agent—which the Prime Minister had labeled an “act of aggression”—London-Moscow relations had hit their lowest point in decades. The president’s visit was expected to, at least superficially, give the impression that relations were returning to normal.

  Mandy’s team had found a suspicious package on one of the rooftops of a building across from the hotel. The package had been sent to a laboratory to determine its contents and origin. The building’s CCTV cameras had captured the images of a few people that MI6 had identified as potentially linked to the package, and agents were already talking to them. There was nothing conclusive, but the search continued.

  Markov had convinced the chief of security to allow Justin and Carrie to escort the president’s convoy as it made its way to London. The chief had agreed, but on the condition that the CIS agents were unarmed and remained in the last vehicle in the convoy, as far as possible from the president. Markov understood Justin’s objections and had relayed them to the chief, but he had put his foot down. Left with no other option, Markov and Justin had accepted the terms. She was assigned to the second SUV following the president’s black Kortezh limousine, while Justin and Carrie had been relegated to an Audi bringing up the rear of the six-vehicle convoy.

  Justin glanced through the window. They were coming up to a tree-lined area stretching along both sides of the motorway. He looked at the driver in front of him, then gazed up ahead at the convoy snaking around a bend. The lead vehicle—a white SUV in stark contrast to the rest of the all-black convoy—was nearing an overpass. Justin peered hard and noticed the silhouette of a man standing close to the overpass’s rails, right above the convoy’s lane. “Hey, check that out. Eleven o’clock. Static man on the overpass.”

  The driver leaned over the steering wheel, then shrugged. “Someone out for a smoke.”

  “Or a walk,” said Sergei from the front passenger seat.

  “He’s not moving.”

  “Just relax, all right?” Sergei’s voice turned loud and firm. “He’s just taking some fresh—”

  His words were cut off by the front SUV’s flipping onto its left side as if a giant’s hand had flicked it over. It rolled once onto the other lane, then another time, before hitting the median’s rail. The tires were still rotating when a van slammed into it, unable to stop in time.

  “What just happened?” asked the driver.

  “The ambush started,” Justin replied in a calm voice. “Drive.”

  “What ambush? Where?”

  Justin ignored the questions and examined the man at the top of the overpass. He had taken a knee, and a long object appeared in his hands. “Rifle, sniper,” Justin shouted. “Get us there.”

  “The man ... is a sniper?” Sergei asked.

  “Yes, yes, drive, drive,” Carrie shouted.

  The SUV in front of the president’s limousine swerved hard to the left.

  The sniper must have fired a round or more. He ran to another position a few feet to his left, then dropped to a knee again.

  The SUV stopped.

  “Go, go, go,” Justin shouted at the driver.

  The man yanked at the steering wheel and moved onto the shoulder lane.

  Justin’s eyes were glued to the windshield.

  The sniper fired again.

  Two guards stepped out of the stopped SUV. The first one opened fire with his submachine gun.

  The sniper rolled on the ground and disappeared. Sparks flickered as bullets struck the rails of the overpass. The guard continued his barrage although the target was no longer in sight.

  The second guard turned his body around, glancing in all directions.

  A bullet struck him in the chest, and he collapsed against the SUV.

  “Shooter in the trees,” Sergei shouted.

  “Gun, hand me a gun,” Justin said.

  The driver shook his head. “No.”

  A group of other guards had spread out and had taken defensive positions around the president’s
limousine. Two of them noticed the second shooter—or at least his general location—and began to hammer the area with their barrages.

  One of the guards dropped to his knees as his chest exploded in a spray of blood.

  “Gun, right now,” Justin shouted.

  Sergei shouted, “No, you’re not autho—”

  A couple of bullets pounded the side of the Audi, cutting off his words.

  The driver said, “Here you go,” and handed Justin his MP-443 pistol.

  Justin cocked the pistol and held it close to his face. He could not see the shooter among the trees and was not about to fire blindly. Moreover, the bulletproof glass offered a relative level of protection. He sat up straighter and swung his head around.

  That was when he saw it.

  A tractor-trailer truck pulled out of the leftmost lane and onto the shoulder. It barrelled down, picking up speed, coming straight for the Audi.

  Justin shouted, “Move, move, go.”

  The driver had seen the behemoth breathing down their neck. He turned the steering wheel and stepped on the gas. The Audi jerked forward and squeezed into the small gap in front of a stalled taxi. A second later, the tractor-trailer truck shot down the shoulder lane pulling two cylinder-shaped tankers behind it.

  It was tearing toward the president’s limousine.

  “Who was that?” Sergei asked.

  Justin replied, “Ying.”

  “Who’s that?” asked the driver.

  “One of the assassins,” Carrie said.

  The president’s driver must have seen the approaching danger, because the limousine began to swerve through the stalled traffic. It went around the rolled-over SUV and picked up speed.

  So did the truck.

  “Follow it,” Sergei said to the driver.

  The Audi continued onto the shoulder lane, gaining on the tractor-trailer. Justin’s forehead was crumpled into a deep frown as he began to understand the details of the assassination plot. Those tankers aren’t filled with water.