Matt leaned back in his chair, defeated. He remembered the guys hanging around the Bologna train station and their eagerness to sell him stuff. They weren’t surprised at all when, jokingly at first, he asked for a gun, and they had become a lot keener when he showed them US dollars. Checkmate, he thought ruefully.
‘This is all just a big game to you, isn’t it?’ He slumped further back in his chair.
‘Of course it is, Matt; it’s espionage, the purest of all games, and you’re only a beginner. Sure, you have an excellent reputation as a blunt tool of destruction, but this takes a bit of finesse.’
‘Well, I’m not sure I want to play your game.’ He leaned forward. ‘You’re obviously not going to discuss Allie’s death in any real detail. I was a fool to think you’d give a shit. I know there’s more to it than meets the eye though and I can’t help but think it was convenient for you to kill her in the crossfire.’
‘Give it a break, Matt. As I said before, it was an accident – do you really think I could just kill a person in cold blood because it would be to my advantage?’ Steph smiled sweetly at Matt. ‘She and I were after the same guys in Afghanistan and it just got confusing in the end. She was playing the game as much as anyone. Her death was…well, it was regrettable.’
‘Jesus, what are you playing at? Why don’t you just get to the point?’
‘Fine, I will. Do you want to be a sheep, Matt? Walking around blindly in a brainwashed haze, responding to stimulus without questioning the society that we’ve created for you? Or do you want to be let in on the secret? You can be a sheepdog, Matt, protecting the lambs; a protector who keeps the wolves at bay. You see, we created this game and the wolves play on our terms. We remove them when we want and we prop them up for a feed when we feel like it.’
Matt rolled his eyes and shook his head.
‘Nice analogy, Steph, but I’ve never been a lamb; I know how your government works. I, like most people, just tolerate the way that people like you play your stupid games at our expense. And I don’t want to be one of the sheepdogs, either, enforcing some sort of false protection over the masses. If that’s what you think you’re actually doing, you’re fucking delusional.’
Steph smiled and put her hand up to her face to brush an eyelash from her cheek. She looked at it on her finger and then flicked it away.
Matt studied her face for any emotion. There was none.
She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘And is your life’s work really so much more noble than mine? We’re not different, Matt, you and I.’ With her left hand, she picked up her cup and raised it to her lips, her right hand staying close to the Glock.
‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong. How about I give you my analogy, Steph? I’m a fucking lion. I was once in charge of a whole pride of lions just like me and we would hunt wolves – no silly games, just total devastation whenever we were released on them. And you know what, Steph, it has just occurred to me that when I’m done with the wolves, I’d be just as comfortable chasing the mangy sheepdogs that can’t be trusted.’
Steph slowly removed the Glock from under her beanie. For a moment, she trained it on Matt; her finger went inside the trigger guard. Then her expression relaxed and she eased the weapon back into the front of her pants. She looked around at the transient espresso crowd.
‘We hear a lot up here, Matt, mostly chatter about Russia and the Ukraine. Last month, though, some ISIS chatter made everyone sit up and take notice. They were talking about trying to buy a new weapon from some Russian gun runners: a nuclear weapon. It’s a miniature nuclear weapon and I want to get it off the streets. I had it confirmed by London and also by the Italian spy agencies.’
‘So what has that got to do with me?’
‘I have Faisal Khan. He thinks he’s working for ISIS now and is going to do the trade with the Russians. It had to be done through a third party because none of our agents has the background to make it seem convincing. Russian intelligence would blow holes in any of our cover stories. It has to be a guy who thinks he’s doing it for a greater cause.’
Matt’s mouth was agape. ‘What? Faisal Khan? You’re certifiably insane! How on earth have you got Khan?’
‘Easy – I broke him out of prison using my Afghan CIA force. I recruited a bunch of British Muslim boys who had been radicalised online and marginalised by society. They were looking to join ISIS and we intercepted them; it was easy to make them my own once we offered them cash and a sense of purpose. Just like us, they were only looking to belong to something bigger. Khan thinks they’re ISIS and he’s willing to work with them. Actually, I turned most of them myself, and the ones who aren’t British are from the Haqqani network. I’ve assembled a great little team and they’ve been knocking off commanders all over the capital.’
At her mention of the Haqqani network Matt’s anger started to rise again. ‘Jesus, you are a piece of work. But I still don’t get what this has to do with me.’
‘I need someone to shadow Khan. He’s going to take possession of the weapon and then deliver it to my people. I want to make sure that he doesn’t give us the slip and take off with it once he has it. He’s a crafty character, and I want some insurance. It looked to me like you didn’t have much going on at the moment, and so I thought you might like to do something for democracy and freedom and all that rubbish. After all, you’re a fucking lion…’ She smiled sweetly and took a sip of coffee.
‘You’re out of your frigging mind! Help you? I don’t trust you an inch, Steph. Why can’t you use one of your own? Or, better still, a special forces guy from DELTA or a SEAL?’
‘State denial, Matt. I can’t have an American do this. The Russians will be watching everything around the drop area. Australians love to travel and many of you travel alone; you wouldn’t look out of place there at all, especially given your country’s relationship and history with Turkey.’ Steph looked at Matt’s Suunto watch pointedly. ‘Well, you won’t look out of place if you play it smart, that is.’
Matt looked at his watch and then folded that arm under his other across his chest. ‘What makes you think I would want to do this anyway?’
Steph leaned across the table. ‘It’s a nuclear weapon, Matt,’ she hissed. ‘ISIS have said if they get it they are going to let it off in the centre of the Green Zone in Kabul. We don’t want that now, do we?’
Matt thought about it for a moment. He had been following the rise of ISIS closely and had already developed a deep hatred of its murderous ideology. He looked out the window at the snow-covered peaks now bathed in morning sunshine. The truth was, he felt alive. Maybe it was the alpine air, or maybe it was the sense of purpose that he had been missing since being relieved of his commando duties. He felt the excitement and the thrill of the chase, a mission greater than just getting up in the morning and living.
The two sat in silence for a while. Matt sensed that Steph was watching him, looking for a reaction.
Finally, he spoke. ‘I’m going to need cash.’
‘Of course, you’ll have more than you need.’
‘A weapon, surveillance equipment – the most up-to-date you have.’
‘Understood. I have people who can make sure it’s waiting for you in the hotel room that we organise; that’s not even an issue.’
‘And documents.’
‘Yes. I know.’
‘Intelligence support, tracking, satellites.’
‘All at your disposal, Matt.’
‘I’m going to want to get some blokes to help me; some support, backup.’
‘Bring whoever you want. Do what you have to do to stay in touch with Khan; it’s deniable on my part, just so we’re clear.’ Matt watched as Steph unzipped the front of her green polar fleece and reached inside. She produced an envelope and slid it across the table. ‘Everything you need is in there, Matt. WhatsApp me a list of whatever you need, anything. The room is already booked in the name of the passport inside; the equipment will be there.’
Matt opened the e
nvelope and fished out an Australian passport. The name inside was Regan Dransfield. The picture was of Matt and the passport wasn’t a fake. ‘Who came up with that name?’
Steph smiled at him. ‘Thought you’d like it. So, you’re all set.’
Steph rose from her seat. Matt stood too and in an instant he’d moved around the table to grab her right upper arm, his left hand flashing to the handgrip of her Glock. She was trapped. She had also underestimated his athleticism. He squeezed her hard enough for her to know how powerful he was. Steph took in a quick breath as if she was considering fighting back, but then thought better of it.
‘If you double-cross me, Steph…’
‘Get your hands off me, Matt,’ she rasped.
‘All I’m saying is, if this is a trick I don’t need too much of a reason to come after you – and I will come after you, and I will fucking end you.’
Steph relaxed in his grasp and smiled at him, more to reassure the other patrons who had become interested in their conversation than out of any show of warmth. ‘Matt, Matt, Matt…a lust for revenge just doesn’t suit you. You’re one of the good guys, remember? The sooner you accept your place in all of this, the sooner you’ll get good at this game.’
Matt let her go and took a step back. He caught the waitress’s eye and gestured for another coffee before sitting back down. ‘Where is it that I’m off to then?’ he said as he picked up the envelope and turned it over in his hands.
‘Istanbul. Enjoy the trip.’ And with that Steph turned and left.
Matt watched her walk across the car park and disappear down a set of stairs on the far side. Then he returned his attention to the envelope, tipping the contents onto the table in front of him. The first thing he picked up was a secure GSM phone. He looked at the instructions taped to the back. Then he inspected the papers and cards, placing them back in the envelope one by one as he went: one return ticket to Istanbul from Bologna, flying Pegasus Airlines; hotel accommodation booked under the name of Regan Dransfield; booking receipts, hire car details and an American Express card and PIN.
Matt thought for a moment longer and then took out his phone and dialled a number he knew well. The phone rang three times before it was picked up. In the background Matt could hear the familiar sounds of the Room Floor Combat Range at Luscombe airfield, as guys manoeuvred through and double-tapped their targets, sound and flash grenades going off; it was the roar of lions hunting in packs.
‘Hey, boss, where the hell are you calling from?’ asked JJ. ‘Hang on.’ He raised his voice to yell, ‘Guys! Make your weapons safe and place them down against a wall, then go and have a five-minute break and think of all the shit I would have said you did wrong!’
‘How are the boys, JJ?’ Matt asked when the sergeant was back on the line.
‘They’re okay. We have a new boss, Kris Smith; he’s taking some work, but I’ll train him up. He’s actually pretty good. How you doing?’
‘I’m good, JJ. Kris, huh? Yeah, he was an operations officer a few years back; it’s about time he had a platoon. He’ll make a good commander. I have a question for you though.’ Matt tapped the table with his fingers as he looked out at the snow now falling gently in the car park.
‘Send it, skipper.’
‘Do you have some leave? How would you like to come to Istanbul for a week, all expenses paid?’
‘Sounds good. What’s the occasion? Did you finally see the light and decide to elope with that British chick, what’s-her-name?’
‘Rachel…No, it’s nothing like that.’ Matt watched as a group of ski instructors came in for their morning espresso. He turned away from them and looked over the now-glowing mountains, the reflection of the sun shimmering through the pines and across the valley.
‘It’s Faisal Khan, JJ. He’s in Turkey.’
‘Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. That prick is busier than a one-armed bricklayer in Baghdad.’
Matt snorted his agreement at the joke. ‘So, when can you get away?’
‘At the end of the week, maybe a day or two later – not sure, but it can be pretty soon. How’s that sound?’
Matt heard JJ cover the handset and start yelling at the platoon again, telling them to run around the range; clearly someone had just antagonised him.
‘JJ, you there?’
‘Yeah, sorry, just sorting out a weak link.’
‘I’m going to need your passport number and date of birth. I’ll organise the rest and send you the details tonight. Keep this close hold, though; I don’t need the command knowing anything about this – I’m in enough shit already.’
‘What? This isn’t a special ops mission? You’re joking.’
‘No, mate, it’s someone else’s mission.’
‘Well, then I’m in, balls and all!’
‘That’s another image I didn’t need, big guy. Cool, I’ll wait for your information and get back to you soonest.’
‘Good stuff. I’m going to get back to beasting these guys and then I’ll fire it off to you. Catch ya over there.’
Matt hung up the phone. Well, that’s some serious firepower secured, he thought. He opened the email app on his phone and typed in a quick message containing much the same content as he had discussed with JJ. If Todd Carson, the US Special Forces captain Matt had become friendly with a few years ago, could also get away, then he wouldn’t just have firepower; he would have assembled an arsenal.
Matt’s thoughts turned back to Rachel as he gazed across the mountains. Why had he always kept her at arm’s length? When they’d broken up he had found himself falling for the beautiful Allie van Tanken. Rachel was so far away, living a different kind of life altogether, while Allie had been right there in Afghanistan, in Matt’s world. It was no wonder he’d been drawn to her – but he’d never had the chance to tell her. If he was to learn anything from Allie’s death, it was that he shouldn’t run away from love. Matt picked up his phone and tapped in another message, this time to Rachel.
Sorry to be out of touch. Will see you in a couple of weeks.
It was time to open up to her, he thought. Time to stop running away from love.
Matt took one more look out the window as he placed a handful of coins on the table.
He pulled his jacket back on and left the cafe. Stepping out into the cold he spotted a ski hire shop three doors down. He checked his watch; he had hours to kill before needing to leave for his flight.
Might as well get some skiing in then.
11
ISTANBUL
Matt elbowed the guy behind him in the middle of the solar plexus. The breath rushed out of the Indian businessman who moments before had been pushing against Matt’s back in the aisle of the cramped aircraft. Personal space wasn’t given much respect by those from the subcontinent, even cashed-up creeps like this one. Matt put it down to India’s huge population, but he didn’t excuse the bloke for his lack of manners.
‘Are you right there, turbo?
The skinny businessman just looked at Matt vacantly.
Matt grabbed his leather bag from the overhead locker and turned to face the front of the aircraft. The doors had been opened up ahead and those at the front of the line started making their way out of the plane.
‘Hope to see you again, sir.’ The flight attendant smiled.
As Matt walked past her through the small galley, he noted that she had been very attentive during the flight; perhaps a little too attentive…or was he just feeling paranoid after the operation Steph had orchestrated to get him to Italy in the first place?
The flight from Bologna to Ataturk airport had taken three hours, which was more than enough time for Matt to pore over the city guides and maps and memorise the layout of the streets around his accommodation. Clearing customs, he walked out into the modern airport terminal and picked up his roller bag. A line of orange Fiat taxis waited for customers on the road out the front. Matt made a beeline for the taxi at the front of the queue. The driver opened the boot, grabbed the
roller bag from Matt’s hands and threw it in. Even at four in the morning local time, the place was a chaotic jumble of taxis, police cars and trucks beeping and wailing for supremacy. The driver lit a cigarette as he got behind the wheel; he turned to Matt and said something in Turkish, smiling a decayed brown smile – the result of four decades of Turkish coffee and sweets, no doubt.
‘Do you speak English?’
‘Well, maybe a little,’ said the driver, his cigarette hanging precariously from his bottom lip. He tilted his hand from side to side, indicating that it was probably less than a little English.
‘Can you take me to the President Hotel in Sultanahmet?’
‘President Hotel, of course.’ The driver pulled out into the early-morning traffic.
Matt rested against the headrest and took in a deep breath, mostly of second-hand smoke. He let sleep slowly wash over him as they drove.
Thirty minutes later Matt was standing out the front of his hotel in Istanbul’s old town. The street was covered in a gentle dusting of snow. Matt shivered and raised his collar.
Grabbing his bag, Matt made his way up the short flight of steps and looked around the hotel lobby. The place smelled of fresh linen and sandalwood. In the corner of the golden room a fountain gently frothed and bubbled away, seeming to keep time with the classical guitar music being piped through the foyer. Giant blue and turquoise mosaics adorned the walls, and large smoked mirrors made the room appear much larger than it was. In the corner was the entrance to an old English pub, complete with a red British phone box.
Matt approached the reception desk, sizing up the staff member who was there waiting for him.
‘Ah, man, am I beat.’ Matt laughed. ‘Seriously, not doing the red eye again.’ He dropped his roller bag and leather holdall on the ground and let out a sigh. Hunching over to disguise his natural size, he said, ‘Hey, can I leave my bags here? I’m checking in later this morning and can’t be stuffed draggin’ ’em round Turkey anymore.’
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