by Chris Ryan
The colonel’s eyes bulged. He was pressing himself back in the armchair, as if he could escape Danny by sinking into the upholstery. Danny stepped back and dropped the shard on to the carpet. ‘Just a little word of advice,’ he said. He followed Bethany to the exit. Before he left the room, he looked back. The colonel was staggering towards his drinks table. There was a desperate clinking as he found himself a fresh glass and filled it from the whisky bottle. Danny left the room.
Bethany was already exiting the building. The guard in the hallway watched Danny with a bored expression. ‘What’s your name?’ Danny said.
‘Sandy.’
‘You armed, Sandy?’ The guard nodded. ‘Keep it cocked and locked. Don’t separate yourself from your weapon for any reason.’ The guard frowned and stood up a little straighter. Inside the room the colonel was draining another glass. ‘You got kids?’ Danny asked the guard.
The guard nodded. ‘Why?’
‘Get yourself off this job,’ Danny said, ‘if you want to see them again. Tell your mates.’
He marched along the corridor and out into the snow, where Bethany was waiting for him by the car.
6
The blizzard was worse than before as they left the colonel’s residence, but they couldn’t let it stop them. Their next destination was the safe house where Christina Somers – the interpreter on the MISFIT team who had given Ibrahim Khan languages training – was staying along with Bethany’s son. ‘I’ve only been there once,’ Bethany said. ‘Two days ago, to drop him off.’ She frowned, as though trying not to dwell on a difficult memory.
‘You’re going to have to direct me,’ Danny said.
Bethany made to plug the details into the satnav. Danny reached out to stop her. ‘It’s not secure,’ he said. ‘The satnav keeps a history. The colonel’s address is easy to find out. This one needs to stay secret. Just direct me.’
Their route took them into the Brecon Beacons, down winding roads and over narrow passes that Danny knew so well. He was familiar with every square metre of these hills, and had crossed them on foot in conditions worse even than tonight. Thirty-five-degree heat. Horizontal rain. Wet fog and knee-deep snow. Men had died in these hills in their desperation to join the Regiment. He drove with care along the icy roads, keeping his gears low and braking with his engine, not his foot. He could sense Bethany’s impatience as she directed him. She was obviously keen to see her boy. ‘Is the colonel always like that?’ he said, more to distract her than for any other reason.
‘A pompous, misogynist dickhead?’ Bethany said with uncharacteristic venom, and Danny found himself remembering what she’d said about her father. ‘Sure. Turn left up ahead.’
Danny followed her direction. ‘Was he right?’
‘About what?’ There was an edge to her voice. Danny realised she might think he was talking about her sexual preferences.
‘When you’re running an agent, do you get indications that they’re having second thoughts?’
Bethany stared straight ahead. ‘From time to time,’ she said. ‘But it isn’t a precise science. Sometimes they get scared. Sometimes they get greedy. It can be hard to know what’s going on in their heads.’ She paused. ‘People spy for lots of different reasons. Patriotism. Money. Glamour. Sometimes it’s just because it’s the only life they’ve ever known and they can’t think what else to do.’
‘What about Khan?’ Danny said. ‘Why do you think he did it?’
‘Truly?’ She considered the question. ‘Because he thought it was the right thing to do.’
‘And was there really no sign he was wavering? You can tell me, you know. Nothing you say is going to make its way back to MI6. I just want to find the guy.’
She shook her head. ‘He was almost too good to be true,’ she said.
‘When something seems too good to be true it normally is, if you ask me.’
‘Yeah. Maybe.’ Danny sensed she was holding something back.
‘He’ll get the colonel, you know. If he doesn’t move from
the house.’
Bethany looked out of the passenger window and didn’t reply.
The journey took a little over an hour. It was almost 21.00 when they turned down a small road in a gentle valley. Danny saw the glow of a house light about a football-pitch length away, though it was hard to be certain about distances in the swirling blizzard. ‘You’d better call,’ Danny said. ‘Let them know we’re approaching.’
‘There’s no mobile service here,’ she said. ‘They rely on a landline.’
‘How many security guys?’
‘Two,’ she said. ‘Frank and Alec. They do six hours on, six hours off.’
‘Make sure they can see your hands as we approach,’
Danny said.
He moved the car forward at a crawl. The tyres crunched in several inches of snow. The house came slowly into view. It was a lot less grand than the colonel’s opulent mansion. Two up, two down, by the look of it. Smoke billowed from the chimney, and only the lights on the ground floor were on. A black SUV was parked out front, close to the front door and facing away from the house. Its position told Danny it was probably the security guys’ vehicle: it was parked like that to allow for a quick getaway. A figure stood in the closed doorway of the house. An external light above him made the blizzard glow, and cast a long shadow away from the house. Danny could see the figure was holding something in his right hand, which was hanging by his side. A firearm.
He stopped the vehicle twenty metres from the house. ‘Get out slowly,’ he told Bethany. ‘Put your hands in the air. Don’t do anything to make him jumpy.’
They stepped out of the car, arms raised. The wind howled and the snow swirled dramatically all around them. ‘Frank?’ Bethany called. Her voice was muffled by the snow. ‘It’s
me, Bethany.’
The figure approached. He wore a heavy coat and a black woollen hat. Snow had settled in his scraggly beard, and he had piercing blue eyes that almost seemed to shine in the darkness. He smiled broadly. ‘Get yourself in out of the cold, my love,’ he said. He had a gentle West Country accent, stronger than Bethany’s slight burr, and he stowed his weapon in his coat as he spoke. ’Your lad’s just having a hot chocolate. Couldn’t sleep because of the wind, could he?’ He looked over at Danny. ‘This fella with you, is he? In you come, lad. I’ve got some coffee on.’
Frank led them inside, stamping his snow-covered shoes on the mat as he entered. It was a run-down place. Danny had never seen a safe house that wasn’t. Gaudy ancient wallpaper covered the walls of the hallway, stained here and there with yellow patches of damp. There was a musty smell. But it was warm, and somehow far more welcoming than the colonel’s austere mansion. ‘This way,’ Frank said.
He led them into a small kitchen. There was an old Aga against the back wall, and a little pile of washing-up by the sink. A tatty yellow roller blind covered the window. Sitting at a Formica table was a woman about Bethany’s age who could almost pass for her sister – her twin, even, if her hair had been blonde like Bethany’s and not chestnut-brown. Next to her was a little boy, his hands wrapped around a Thomas the Tank Engine mug. He had an unruly mop of brown hair and a slightly olive tinge to his skin. As soon as he saw Bethany enter, he jumped up and ran to her. Bethany bent down and wrapped her arms around him. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of his hair.
‘Little lad’s been asking about you all day,’ Frank said.
‘And all yesterday,’ said the woman at the table. She stood up and offered Danny her hand. ‘Christina Somers,’ she said. She had a well-to-do voice, slightly husky.
He shook her hand. ‘Danny Black,’ he said.
At this, the little boy wormed his way out of his mother’s embrace. ‘I’m Danny too,’ he said.
Danny crouched down to his level. ‘All the best people are called Danny,’ he said.
‘Are you going to marry my mum?’
The other adults in the room chuckled fondly. ‘I thi
nk your mum’s busy enough looking after you,’ Danny said.
The little boy gave him a serious nod. ‘Frank and Auntie Christina look after me as well,’ he said. ‘And Alec, but he’s asleep right now.’ He pointed at the ceiling.
‘It’s time you were asleep too, young man,’ Bethany said. She took him by the hand. ‘Come on, I’ll take you up.’
The little boy looked like he wanted to talk to Danny some more, but the lure of his mother was too great. ‘G’night, lad,’ Frank said as she led him out of the kitchen. ‘Did you want that coffee?’ he asked Danny, handing him a mug.
Danny accepted it gratefully. He’d warmed to Frank, but he didn’t have him down as a military man. Retired police, maybe. ‘What are your security protocols?’ he said.
‘My security protocol is I don’t let the principal out of my sight.’ He nodded at Christina to indicate who he was talking about. ‘Except for, you know, toilet and changing and stuff.’
‘That’s when she’s most at risk,’ Danny said. ‘I’m sorry, mate, but by rights you should be female. You’ve got to be with her at all times.’
‘Do I get a say in this?’ Christina said.
Danny put his coffee cup back down on the table. ‘Can you give us a minute, Frank?’
Frank looked uncertain. ‘Well . . .’
‘It’s okay, Frank,’ Christina said. ‘He’s with Bethany.’
‘Right,’ Frank said. He pointed to the door. ‘I’ll be just outside.’
Danny waited till he and Christina were alone. ‘Have you told him any details?’ he said. ‘Does he know about Khan?’
Christina looked uncertain, and Danny realised his knowledge of Khan was a surprise to her. ‘I’ve been fully briefed,’ he said. ‘MISFIT, Bullock, Armitage, Moorhouse . . .’
Her forehead creased. ‘Sturrock read me the riot act. I can’t tell anyone. Not even Frank or Alec. They don’t know who they’re protecting me from.’ She gave him a sharp look. ‘Why is Bethany here? I thought she was under close protection
in Vauxhall.’
‘Change of plan,’ Danny said, deliberately elusive.
‘You’re going after him, aren’t you? Ibrahim, I mean. It’s okay, I know you’re not going to confirm or deny, but it’s obvious. We can’t all sit around waiting for him to come and . . .’ She shuddered. ‘Promise me you’ll keep Bethany safe?’
‘She’ll be safe,’ Danny said.
‘I’ve known her for years. This business has affected her more than she’s letting on.’
‘Make sure you do everything your CP guys tell you to do,’ Danny said.
Christina glanced in the direction of the kitchen door. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ she said. ‘Frank’s the nicest guy in the world. Alec comes a close second. But Ibrahim would run rings round them both. I spent a lot of time with the guy and I never met a smarter man. I mean, I know he was a good soldier and everything, but he was smart. He could remember everything, the first time he read it or saw it. Instant recall. Perfect mimicry of seven or eight different Arabic dialects. Spanish, German, Farsi. He should have been an academic, not a soldier. I never heard him say anything I disagreed with.’
‘It would have turned out better for three SAS men if he’d stuck to his books,’ Danny said.
Christina’s expression darkened. ‘He used to talk about them,’ she said. ‘The things they said to him . . . I can’t help thinking . . .’
‘What?’
‘That they were lucky he didn’t stand up to them sooner.’
‘He did more than stand up to them. He butchered them.’
‘Well,’ she said, a hint of defiance in her voice, ‘maybe they brought it on themselves.’
‘You think?’ Danny said carefully. Christina jutted out her chin defiantly and it occurred to Danny that of all Khan’s potential targets she was the most vulnerable. As an interpreter, she wouldn’t even have had basic firearms training, and she seemed to adore Khan, despite everything. He would surely be happy to use that to his advantage.
‘MI6 don’t think he killed them because they were mean to him,’ Danny said. ‘They think he killed them because they were part of the MISFIT training team. So were you. If you’re thinking you’re not part of Ibrahim Khan’s plans, think again.’
Christina shrugged. She was obviously preventing herself from continuing the conversation. Danny felt a sudden twinge of doubt about her. She looked drained and exhausted. But somehow she didn’t seem scared. She’d spoken about Khan with respect, and about his attack on the SAS men with empathy.
‘Where are you going?’ she said. ‘After you leave here? Where do you think you’re going to find him?’
It was not a question Danny would ever have answered, but something told him to be doubly cautious around Christina Somers. He suddenly wasn’t certain where her loyalties lay. He drained his coffee. ‘Wait there,’ he said.
He left the room. Frank was waiting in the hallway. ‘Where’s Bethany?’ Danny asked him.
Frank pointed towards a staircase at the end of the hallway. ‘Up there, second on the left.’
Danny jerked his thumb in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Keep an eye on her,’ he said.
Frank nodded and returned to the kitchen. Danny headed up the stairs. They creaked noisily. He found Bethany on the dimly lit landing, closing the door of a bedroom. ‘He’s nearly asleep,’ she said. ‘Poor thing was exhausted.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t want to leave him,’ she said. There was a catch in her voice.
‘I think we should move him,’ Danny said.
‘He’s all tucked up.’
‘I don’t mean to another room. To another safe house. Away from Christina.’
‘Why on earth would we do that?’
Danny hesitated. He had to admit to himself that it was just a hunch, but there was definitely something about Christina’s attitude, and the way she spoke about Khan, that worried him.Bethany smiled. ‘Christina would never do anything to harm Danny. Or me. She’s just confused about Ibrahim. They got on well. It’s all a shock.’ She walked past Danny towards the stairs. ‘I’ll go and talk to her. Reiterate how important it is that her location remains a secret.’
Danny followed her downstairs. She went into the kitchen while Danny remained in the hallway. Frank joined him. ‘Those women,’ he said in his soft West Country lilt. ‘They’ll gossip for England.’ He gave Danny a sidelong glance. ‘Hereford Regiment?’ he asked.
Danny nodded.
‘You can always tell,’ Frank said. ‘Once you’ve met one or two, that is. I knew a chap once . . .’
Danny held up one finger to silence him. He stepped up to the kitchen door and listened hard. He expected to hear the soft murmur of voices, but there was silence. A sharp knot of anxiety twisted in his stomach. He opened the door and burst into the kitchen.
Bethany and Christina were on the far side of the Formica table. Bethany had one hand at the back of Christina’s head. Their lips were millimetres apart.
Danny remembered the colonel’s boorish comment. You’re barking up the wrong tree there, my friend. Worst-kept secret in Vauxhall is that our Bethany prefers the fairer sex. Christina pulled away, obviously embarrassed. Bethany gave Danny a ‘did you have to walk in on us’ look. Danny was about to murmur an apology, but at that precise moment they were plunged into darkness as the lights went out.
‘Get to the ground,’ Danny whispered. And when he failed to hear the sound of movement, he repeated himself. ‘Get to the ground. Now!’
He heard bodies hitting the floor. His eyes had grown somewhat accustomed to the dark. He could see the outline of the yellow blind in front of the window. Was that a shadow of movement he had seen behind it?
‘Frank?’ he whispered.
‘Yes, lad?’ Frank’s gravelly voice was full of concern.
‘Do you have your weapon?’
‘Yes, lad.’
‘Get upstairs, into the kid’s room. Don’t leave unless I give you the word.’
‘What are you doing?’ Bethany whispered.
‘There’s somebody outside,’ Danny said. ‘I’m going to find them.’
‘Oh my God . . .’
But Danny was already heading to the door. He was cursing himself for not having brought his weapon from his vehicle. To go and grab it now was impossible. He would expose himself to whoever was outside if he ran to the car. The bread knife was a distinct second best: a contact weapon that he had to be close to a target to use. But it was all he had. He held it low as he quietly opened the front door and stepped outside.
There was no moon to light his way. Even the snow was dark, though he could feel it against his face. He was dimly aware of footprints, but they were a mixture of his, Bethany’s and Frank’s. It was impossible to identify any extra sets. He closed the door silently and paused on the doorstep, scanning the area as best he could and holding his breath so he could better hear any external noises.
At first, nothing. Just the distant howl of the wind. Then, after a few seconds, a scratching sound. It came from his left. He peered in that direction. He could see nothing between himself and the corner of the house approximately ten metres away. He moved in that direction as quietly as possible, unable fully to disguise the crunch of snow beneath his feet. At the corner, he stopped. He listened hard. Again, nothing at first. Then the scratching sound. He consulted his mental picture of the house’s layout. Along this external wall was the kitchen window. He tested the blade of the bread knife. It was blunt, but it would do the job.