Rogue

by James Swallow

  ‘You’ll answer any question I put to you? Truthfully?’

  Marc’s expression showed his obvious disbelief.

  Lau met his gaze with a nod, guileless and open.

  ‘There is no value in lying to you, not now. You have already lost.’

  ‘Who is the woman?’ He couldn’t stop himself from blurting it out. ‘Grace.’

  ‘She is a fake.’ Lau nodded again. ‘But you know that, I think. You are perceptive, even if you let your emotions get in the way.’

  Marc stared into her shadow through the glass barrier, seeing her all over again.

  ‘How . . . ?’

  ‘I do not know her true name. I believe she is American, a product of the Central Intelligence Agency before she escaped to pursue her own ends. A mimic, trained to fully inhabit a given identity. She has a quite specific psychopathy that allows her to do so almost flawlessly, but it has also left her devoid of what you and I would consider morality.’ He smiled to himself. ‘A huli jing, of sorts.’

  ‘The nine-tailed fox,’ Marc said quietly, struggling to process what Lau had revealed.

  The name he used was of a mythological shape-changer from Chinese legend, a dangerous animal spirit.

  ‘You understand,’ said Lau.

  ‘Why this subterfuge?’ Marc pushed off the window, animated by sudden anger, advancing on the older man. ‘Baiting a trap for MI6? Oslo and Nicosia?’

  ‘Two birds with one stone.’ Lau became dismissive. ‘I am told the British have become troublesome of late. Some last spasm of imperial ambition making itself known before they become irrelevant. The woman’s deception brought them in, and through them, you.’ He pushed his empty teacup away across the table. ‘You were given the rope to hang yourselves. The woman to entice you, the threat of a terrorist plot in Cyprus to entice Ekko. He must be discredited utterly, you see. That is the only result that will suffice.’

  Marc’s hands tightened into fists. ‘People died because you and the Combine want to settle scores, is that it?’

  ‘It is that.’ Lau didn’t flinch at the mention of the Combine. ‘Do you want to live, Mr Dane? Do you want Ms Keyes to live? Your sister and brother-in-law and nephew? They can be put within the Combine’s reach, if required.’

  ‘You can’t touch my family . . .’ Marc growled. ‘They’re protected.’

  Lau continued as if he had not spoken. ‘That is what the Combine does. They are meticulous. They close up every avenue of escape until the only path which remains is the one that benefits them. You are deluded if you think you can oppose them, you and Ekko alike.’

  Marc’s fury seethed, but it had nowhere to go. He thought about grabbing the teacup, smashing it into Lau’s leathery, blank face. But what would that get him?

  A radio crackled, and Lau removed a walkie-talkie from inside his jacket. He listened to a snatch of conversation.

  ‘I am afraid this discussion is at an end. The Rubicon board of directors is about to make a momentous decision, and I wish to be there to see it.’ He eyed Marc. ‘Yes, I think you should be there too.’

  ‘And then what?’ Marc spat the question at him. ‘You get to take the castle, yeah? Like some conquering warlord coming for the throne. But what happens next? You reckon Glovkonin is just going to give Rubicon to you? Believe me, the guy doesn’t work that way!’

  And for the first time since he entered the room, Marc saw that Lau did not have an answer.

  *

  The board cast the vote, and Delancort watched it happen like it was in slow motion, like a film of something delicate shattering into millions of pieces. It felt unreal.

  McFarlane’s position had never been in doubt, but despite his simmering anger and disappointment, it still took Cruz a while to nod his head towards her. Then Keller, the German taking the place of the deciding vote, was left to cast his ballot. He talked for a while about how sorry he was, but after a few sentences Delancort tuned him out.

  It didn’t matter what was said, or what justifications were being given. Ekko Solomon was being severed from his stewardship of Rubicon. The action moved on inexorably, as if it had always been destined to play out this way, leaving Delancort to reflect on where that left him.

  ‘The ayes have it,’ said Finlay.

  Delancort’s opposite number, McFarlane’s thin Glaswegian assistant, announced the result with what might have been a sneer, if one looked at it closely enough.

  ‘And we’re done,’ said McFarlane, leaning forward over the table. ‘Gentlemen, I know this was difficult, but this is the only way we could proceed. We can no longer allow Ekko’s personal crusade to jeopardise the Rubicon Group. We have thousands of people who rely on us – our staff and our specialists, their families, and everyone who benefits from what we create. One man cannot put that at risk.’ She glanced towards Delancort, then away. ‘We’ve turned a blind eye for long enough. We gave him a chance.’

  ‘More than once,’ muttered Cruz.

  McFarlane nodded. ‘No more plausible deniability. We take responsibility for this mess by excising it and moving forward. By the order of this board, Ekko Solomon is dismissed from his post as chief executive officer of the Rubicon Group, and the activities of the Special Conditions Division are to end immediately. Permanently.’

  ‘Interpol will accept that?’ said Keller.

  ‘If we are fully transparent with them, we may be able to avoid the worst of the legal issues,’ she added.

  ‘There will be fines, penalties, at the least,’ said Cruz. ‘Rubicon will not escape censure.’

  ‘Better that than prison time,’ offered Finlay.

  McFarlane gave him a sharp look and he smiled weakly, realising he had overstepped the mark.

  But what the woman said next made Delancort’s ears prick up.

  ‘I’ve been in contact with Interpol’s lead investigator. He assures me that if we are completely open with him, it will go a long way towards mitigating the damage that Ekko has wrought.’

  ‘Damage?’ Delancort said the word without thinking, as the conference room’s door slid open.

  ‘What else would you call it?’ An older Chinese man picked out his comment as he entered, moving stiffly with a pair of bodyguards behind him. ‘Solomon brought all this to the brink of destruction.’

  Delancort’s eyes widened as he saw Marc Dane hustled into the room by one of the bodyguards. The Englishman’s hands were secured in front of him with a thick plastic zip-tie.

  ‘What is he doing here?’ said Cruz, indicating Dane. ‘And who are these people?’

  ‘I’d like to introduce Mr Lau, from Interpol.’ McFarlane nodded in the older man’s direction. ‘In the interests of transparency, I have to inform the board that we have been in communication over the past week. He brought me some troubling information that led me to act to remove Solomon from his position.’

  From the corner of his eye, Delancort saw Gerhard Keller’s face drain of colour as he studied the new arrival. Dane seemed to pick up on it too, but for his part Lau never once looked in the portly German’s direction.

  ‘I am investigating cases involving war crimes and terrorist activities,’ Lau began, pacing out his words. ‘By now, you will have heard the name Corte Vermelho. The location of a mine owed by Rubicon in its early years. Interpol is tracing the participants in a mass killing that took place there in the 1990s. Ekko Solomon is a person of interest in that investigation.’ He adjusted his position on the metal stick he used to walk, letting his statement sink in. ‘There is also the developing situation in Cyprus and Rubicon’s connection to it.’ He glanced towards Dane. ‘Your employee is going to help us with our inquiries into that. He wisely surrendered himself a short time ago.’

  Dane looked up and met Delancort’s gaze. They were the only two people in this room who knew there was more to that, who knew that Assim Kader and Lucy Keyes were also somewhere in the tower. Was Dane watching him to make sure he kept his silence? He broke eye contact, gl
ancing back at Keller.

  ‘Everyone believed you were dead,’ the German said quietly, staring fixedly at Lau. ‘It’s what Ekko told us . . .’

  ‘I know,’ Lau said, inclining his head. He approached the conference table. ‘As Ms McFarlane said a moment ago, in the interests of transparency I should make it clear who I am. My full name is Lau Fa Weng. I co-founded Rubicon with Ekko Solomon years ago, before I was removed from the equation.’ He gave Cruz and McFarlane an indulgent, fatherly smile, ignoring the surprise on their faces. ‘That was before your time. Before Herr Keller’s too, if truth be told. I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice to say, I am uniquely motivated to see the facts come to light in these matters. I am a victim of Solomon’s single-mindedness, as you have been, just like those poor souls at Corte Vermelho and elsewhere.’

  ‘You never told me any of that.’ McFarlane’s voice was low and rough.

  ‘It was not necessary,’ he replied.

  ‘Surely your personal interests compromise your involvement in this investigation?’ Delancort studied the older man, looking for the gaps in the truth he was presenting to them. ‘Your objectivity?’

  ‘On the contrary, Mr Delancort,’ said Lau. ‘It makes me the perfect man for the job.’

  Finlay’s attention had turned wholly towards Dane.

  ‘What about the active members of the SCD? Keyes and the others?’

  ‘That is a most important question.’ Lau turned to study the Englishman. ‘Will you answer truthfully, Mr Dane? If you do otherwise, I promise you will be inside a police cell within the hour. And that will be all you see for years to follow.’

  Something in his tone hinted at a familiarity with such things.

  ‘I dropped them off in Tahiti,’ said Dane, with a regretful shrug. ‘It’s a magical place.’

  ‘Marc . . .’

  Delancort’s dislike for the cocky ex-hacker came flowing up to the surface in that moment, his irritation flaring. He couldn’t recall ever having referred to the man by his first name before. It did not matter.

  How dare he make idiotic jokes when this situation is so grave?

  It was typical of him to be cavalier, to risk everything on a gamble, as if he lived a charmed life where the numbers always came up in his favour. But none of that was true. Dane was reckless, and a magnet for trouble. From the start, Delancort had been at odds with him, and with Solomon’s choice to make Dane part of Rubicon. He was only going to make it worse.

  Which meant there was only one decision to make.

  ‘Kader and Keyes are here, in the building.’ Delancort said the words before doubt could set in. ‘I believe they are hiding in the crisis centre while it remains inactive.’

  ‘You self-serving prick!’

  Dane recovered after an instant of shocked silence, spitting the insult across the room at him. He rocked forward, impotently furious, but the balding bodyguard grabbed his shoulder and reeled him back before he could do anything aggressive.

  ‘Thank you for that,’ said McFarlane. ‘Better late than never.’

  ‘Hedging your bets, Henri?’ Finlay asked the question from the side of his mouth, earning him another stern look from his boss.

  Lau exchanged looks with his operatives.

  ‘Bring Gera and Adaksin up here. Two teams.’ The dark-haired woman gave a nod and stepped away to speak into a hand-held radio, and Lau turned back to the board. ‘The more accommodating you are, the easier this will go.’ He focused on McFarlane. ‘You are aware that Solomon has a private computer database used for the logistics of his clandestine operations.’

  She gave a wary nod, and Delancort felt his gut tighten. He means the Grey Record.

  ‘Interpol have a warrant to seize it,’ Lau went on. ‘I trust that will not present a problem?’

  ‘We can make it available to you at a later—’

  Lau cut her off with a sharp jerk of the head.

  ‘No. I need to access it today.’ Before she could answer he continued. ‘You did promise full transparency, Ms McFarlane. I would hate to think you are going to renege on that.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, at length. ‘There are two security ciphers. Ekko has one . . .’

  Delancort felt the blood drain from his face.

  ‘I have the other.’

  *

  ‘I told you they would be here,’ said the woman, as Lau left the room with his team. ‘Dane’s friends.’

  ‘Oh. Yes, of course.’

  He paused, sparing her a fraction of his attention. There were so many moving parts to this endeavour, and it was vital for Lau to remain alert to the changing circumstances.

  He had few illusions that Pytor Glovkonin and his comrades in the Combine would consider him a spent force once the taking of Rubicon was complete, something the Englishman’s angry words had brought back to him with chilling effect. Lau would have to ensure he made himself invaluable to the Combine, if he wished to survive. If fate were to be just, then Solomon’s position should be his, but prison had dulled Lau’s appetite for such a life.

  At this moment, all he wanted was to be the architect of his old friend’s destruction. Lau would find something beyond that in the ashes, when the time came.

  He leaned closer to her, so their conversation would not carry. The Russians called her Milost and Dane had called her Grace, but those were cover identities. He had little interest in digging beneath them beyond one salient point.

  ‘You have some history with Dane.’

  ‘Not that much,’ she noted. ‘Someone else’s, really.’

  ‘Would it stop you from killing him?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Give me some credit.’

  ‘Take him with you to the crisis centre,’ said Lau. ‘Threaten his life to force the others to surrender. Their comradeship is a weakness you can exploit.’

  ‘Yeah, I thought so too.’ Her accent wandered away from its Russian baseline, briefly becoming fluid and malleable. ‘And after?’

  ‘Eliminate them. Make it look like an escape attempt.’

  *

  Marc stood with his back to the rear wall of the elevator as it began to rise, his gaze flicking to the bald-headed thug and then back to the woman. To Grace.

  ‘I know who you are now,’ he told her.

  She gave a dismissive laugh. ‘Oh, I doubt that.’

  ‘You stole the face of someone I cared about, and for what?’

  ‘For money, honey.’ She grinned at him from beneath the black wig she wore, and it sickened Marc that he could still see a little of Sam Green in her expression. ‘Yeah, sorry and all, but your former girlfriend?’ Her accent shifted to mimic Sam’s voice. ‘Dead and gone, Marc.’

  She sounded so much like her that it took him a moment to find his voice.

  ‘You’re a heartless snake, aren’t you?’

  ‘People always say that,’ Grace replied. ‘But they don’t get it. You have to feel something, y’know? To get into who a person is. You have to sense a little of what they felt. So I do that, I pour all of them into the hollow in me.’ She ran a finger down his arm. ‘I know what Sam felt. I know who she was.’

  An oiled, metallic snap-click pulled Marc’s attention away for half a second, as the other ALEPH operative drew and reloaded his gun. He removed the standard-size magazine for his Stechkin APS and inserted a new one as long as Marc’s forearm, filled with 9 mm ammunition. The Soviet-era pistol was capable of firing hundreds of rounds per minute, and loading it like that meant the user was expecting a war.

  ‘Hey.’ Grace snapped her fingers in front of Marc’s face, drawing him back. ‘Don’t be sad. Think of this as a way to get some closure.’

  ‘Stop talking like her,’ he grated. ‘Just fucking stop!’

  ‘You wanna know what I figured out about Samantha Green by living in her skin for the past six months?’ She pulled her own gun and followed the other man’s example, loading a heavy-duty magazine. ‘All she gave a shit about was
her job. Everything else – her mates, you and whatever you thought you had together?’ She prodded him in the chest. ‘It was sport, Marc. It didn’t mean anything.’

  He looked away, up to the ceiling of the elevator car, finding the plastic half-globe of a security camera nestled in one corner.

  ‘You don’t know her,’ he said.

  ‘Funny,’ she replied, as Sam’s accent melted away and merged back into something Russian and husky, ‘I was going to tell you the same thing.’

  The lift slowed as the indicator ticked up to the floor one below the level of crisis centre. Marc guessed at their tactics: they would get off here and go up one flight via the emergency stairwell, hoping to blindside Lucy and Assim by coming in from behind them.

  He had no way of knowing if they were still there, or if Assim was active inside the Rubicon tower’s systems. Are they watching through the camera?

  ‘Sigalov!’

  The woman saw Marc glance up and pointed out the security eye to her colleague. The balding man nodded back and reached up to smash the little camera with the butt of his gun.

  ‘Must be careful,’ she added. ‘Your friend Kader, I hear he’s very talented.’

  ‘He figured out who you were,’ Marc retorted. ‘I should have listened.’

  ‘Love is blind,’ she said airily. ‘It makes you stupid.’

  Marc felt the lift come to a stop.

  ‘So does arrogance.’

  He had been counting the floors since they left the conference level, and something didn’t add up.

  The elevator doors sounded a chime and slid open, to reveal not an office level, but the open atrium of the crisis centre. And standing right there, in half-cover behind an overturned desk, was Lucy Keyes with a short-frame shotgun.

  Marc threw himself out of the firing line as Lucy pulled the trigger, pumped in a fresh shell, and fired again, in the space of the same half-second.

  Sigalov was caught with his pistol aiming the wrong way, and he took both rounds in the middle of his mass. The impact from the solid-slug rounds blasted him back across the inside of the elevator car, and his hand went into a spasm. The ALEPH mercenary’s death-grip on his weapon set it off, bullets shrieking wildly across the floor, out into the corridor, up the wall of the elevator, into the roof. The fully automatic Stechkin pulled Sigalov’s arm up with the force of its muzzle climb, as the gun spewed brass ejecta into the air.