by J. F. Kirwan
‘Actually,’ Jake continued, ‘I never told anyone how I did it.’
Nadia noticed Jake’s left hand, his fingers slightly curled. Was he holding something?
Danton’s upper lip twisted. He began to get up, glanced at the coffee table, saw it was kicked over, spotted the Luger, then his eyes tracked back to Jake.
‘A bull shark’s eyes are black,’ Jake continued, ‘no pity, nothing, just death staring right at you. Then, as their jaws open impossibly wide, their eyes roll back. It’s the last chance to kill them. You have to be quick. No hesitation. The knife goes straight through the eye, into the brain, and then you twist hard with both hands.’ He pointed at Danton. ‘You’re the shark. I’m going to kill you.’
Nadia stared at Jake. Shit! He means it, he really means to try it. Danton no longer looked for the Luger. Of course, it was all about power. Jake had challenged him. Now Danton would want to kill him with his bare hands.
Danton attacked faster than she would have given him credit for. He rushed Jake like a bull, yelling, arms outstretched, shoving them both back against the wall, his hands finding Jake’s throat. But then his shout turned into a groan. He staggered away from Jake, a dive knife buried into his gut up to the hilt. Jake took a pace forward, grabbed the hilt, and twisted it hard. Danton cried out, and began to fall backwards. Jake hung onto the knife. It slipped back out of Danton with a sucking sound, its blade soaked in blood and gore. Jake set Elise free, then Nadia.
Nadia got to her feet, walked over to her Beretta and aimed it at Danton. This time. She was ready to pull the trigger. For Sammy, and for what Danton had done to Elise, and who knew how many others over the years. Her breathing came under control. She could make this monster go away, never take another breath, never think another thought, never give him a chance to repent, because he didn’t deserve forgiveness. Danton needed to be put down. She aimed. The left eye. Her finger flexed.
‘Wait,’ Elise said, coughing, her gag removed.
She came to Nadia’s side, with Jake’s help.
Danton was curled up like a baby, nursing the stomach wound. Nadia knew they could let him bleed out on the floor, it wouldn’t take long, and he’d get to feel a fraction of the pain he’d dealt out over the years.
‘F-fucking whore,’ Danton stammered, blood on his lips, his face covered with beads of sweat. ‘You don’t have it in you. Just another pussy!’
Elise held out her right hand. It shook violently.
‘Not a good idea,’ Nadia said. But then again, maybe it was. If Nadia had been able to kill Pox and Slick five years ago, things might have been different.
In any case, Elise’s hand remained where it was.
Nadia moulded Elise’s trembling fingers around the Beretta. Elise aimed towards Danton’s trunk.
‘No,’ Nadia said. ‘The Russian way.’ She angled the gun towards Danton’s face. He looked up at that moment, the skin around his eyes wrinkled with pain, blood trickling from his mouth.
‘Fuck you, bitches, I’ll see you in hell,’ he said. He spat blood on the floor.
‘No you won’t,’ Elise said. Her hand steadied. She pulled the trigger.
Danton’s skull exploded, spattering the floor with blood and brains.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Jake said. He reached out for Elise. ‘Are you –?’
‘Don’t touch me,’ she said, her voice full of venom. Jake withdrew his hand as if he’d received an electric shock.
Nadia eased the gun from Elise’s grip, and stared at the gore. She found the Luger, picked it up with a handkerchief, then put it in Danton’s right hand, placing his index finger around the trigger. It wasn’t much of a cover. Her and Elise’s prints were everywhere, and the police would quickly discover the bullet in Danton’s head wasn’t from the Luger. But it might buy her a day or two, after which it wouldn’t matter.
She watched Jake and Elise as they stared, rooted to the moment, guessed the damage it was doing. She checked to see if Jake was used to this. He wasn’t. He looked like he was about to throw up. Good. Definitely not an agent. Still, her plan was awry now. Elise would go to the police for sure.
Which meant she was screwed, soon to be arrested. No chance to retrieve the Rose. And she’d now passed Kadinsky’s deadline. The most likely outcome was that she’d be locked up for years, tormented by visions of Katya’s last moments. She imagined Katya’s terrified breaths, crushed under the soil, trying to scream, no one able to hear.
No.
There was still time. She sprung the clip from the Beretta, counted the bullets inside, though she knew how many were there, and re-inserted the magazine.
‘Hey,’ she shouted, to snap them out of it. They both turned to her.
‘Let’s get out of here.’
As they marched back to Hugh Town in the drizzle, she considered the line she’d just crossed. She hadn’t had her finger on the trigger, but she’d aimed the weapon, and if Elise hadn’t needed to do it, then Nadia herself would have terminated Danton. So, finally, she had joined the ranks of her father. But the Rose was out there, and she had to believe Katya was, too. Adamson was still out there as well, with his Navy SEAL buddies. In her book, she’d killed once. That meant she could kill again.
Adamson had better not get in her way.
Chapter Seventeen
Adamson clutched his mobile and made a supreme effort not to shout. His neat little retirement plan – a last chance to give the world the finger for slowly draining away his life – was coming apart. Jorgenson’s near panic on the other end of the line didn’t help.
Adamson paced his words. ‘How did they find out?’
‘A Russian, someone from one of their Mafia gangs. I wasn’t there for the call, only heard about it when I saw Peters in the washroom. He let slip that one of our own had maybe gone rogue.’
It took only a few seconds to backward-chain the events. Danton. He should have been caught by the police but he got out… with the help of the Russians… he must have told them about him. And now they’d leaked his name back to the CIA. Bastards.
‘Go pick up Sandy, right now,’ Adamson said. ‘Get them on the boat to the Keys, then take the charter plane.’
‘Do you have it yet? And what about this MI6 blackout? Is that related?’
Adamson could practically smell his CIA partner’s fear down the line. ‘No, pretty sure it’s something separate.’ He doubted that, but he needed Jorgenson to stay focused. ‘The Rose is in the bag. Look, it’s three am here. By tonight I’ll be back on the mainland. I’m going to head to Ireland, less heat there. Then I’ll fly to Lisbon, then on to Bogota for the trade. I’ll call you in twelve hours from Dublin.’
There was a pause. Adamson didn’t like pauses. ‘Listen, we’re almost there,’ he said. ‘We knew this could happen. It just moves us up the schedule.’ He took a breath. ‘I’ll double your share.’
No pause this time. ‘Okay. I’ll hit the road, pick up Sandy and Arnie. Get the device, Bill, or else we’re all screwed.’ Jorgenson hung up.
Adamson sighed. He stared at his other phone, the Blackberry, lying on the bed. Two missed calls from the Office, separated by an hour. If he missed the next one, that would seal it. They’d assume he was compromised or rogue. Either way they’d send someone to bring him in, with a silencer, just in case.
He wanted to call Sandy, but by now her phone would be tapped. Jorgenson knew that too, he was no idiot. Right now the less Sandy knew, the better. And the MI6 attack… The other buyer had some balls, and a lot of muscle to pull that off. He had to move quickly. Fuck the weather.
He dialled another number. ‘Charlie? Yeah… I’m fully aware what time it is.’ He let Charlie utter some profanities, then cut in. ‘We need to go as soon as possible.’ More swearing. ‘Double or nothing.’ This time a pause, but a good one. ‘Look for the first half in your account in ten minutes.’ He heard Charlie talking to the other guy, Buzz or Bud, Adamson couldn’t remember and didn’t care. He caught snatc
hes of the guy’s complaints: ‘It’s dark, for Christ’s sake… the viz will be shit… yeah I know the storm’s calming down, but it’s still Force Five out there…’ Adamson waited. Whinging morphed into grudging acceptance. ‘Double? I don’t know… I suppose… but only in daylight.’
Charlie came back online. ‘Dawn. Six a.m. Bring waterproofs. Wire the money like you said, or you can dive the wreck yourself.’
Adamson knew how to close a deal. No pauses. Absolute confidence. Like it would be a pleasure dive. ‘I’ll be there.’ Adamson clicked off the connection. He hadn’t counted on being on the boat. He was a field operative, sure, but he hated boats, especially in rough weather.
Too bad.
The Blackberry rang. The Office. He stared at it, contemplating his twenty-five years of service for the CIA, the good times back in the early years, the bad times that had burgeoned in the last ten. He counted the phone rings. It would click to answerphone on the eighth. At two he picked up the phone. His thumb hovered over the answer button. There was still time to turn back, just. Already things weren’t going to plan. Third ring. If things went any more wrong he could end up dead. Could he really turn back now? Fourth ring. He could say he was doing a sting operation, luring in the Colombians, but actually trying to manoeuvre it into US hands. He’d have to kill Danton, but that was on the cards anyway. Fifth ring. But what then? Go back to work, keep his head down until retirement in Burbville, buy a crummy condo on the coast, and watch the pennies here and there? Sixth ring. He had that same gnawing in his guts he felt too often at work, slowly dying of boredom and tired of being looked over in favour of younger talent, balls prized over experience. Seventh ring. He tossed it on the bed. Screw you all. Eighth ring. It clicked to voicemail. It was done. They didn’t know for sure that he was double-crossing them. For all they knew, the Russian leak was false, and he’d been abducted or killed. They wouldn’t move on Sandy. Not yet. By the time they did, she’d be gone.
Feeling better, he prepared for the boat trip, just a medium-sized waterproof bag so he could head across to Ireland afterwards – one of the local skippers would take him there, or at least up to Wales where he could grab the ferry. He picked up his Smith & Wesson, checked it, then found his small sheath knife and strapped it above his right ankle.
Logging on to his tablet, he booked a ferry ticket to the mainland, and a one-way flight from Heathrow to Jo’burg, neither of which he would take, then checked the Dublin ferry timetable. He wired the money to Charlie’s Swiss account. It was almost all of his advance from the Colombian cartel. No matter. Soon he’d have more than he’d know what to do with. Last, he sent an encrypted message to his Colombian contact: Package secured. Will meet in Bogota as planned.
One more thing: let no bad deed go unpunished. Like most high-level CIA operatives who’d lived long enough, Adamson had a mirror, someone on the Russian side, an agent in the Kremlin, who was his counter-part. He’d actually met him once at a function in St. Petersburg. Occasionally, one side would contact their mirror, and leak information. It could be real, could be shadow-boxing, or could be simply a way to avoid something escalating when formal diplomatic channels were blocked by media-fuelled posturing. This time, it was personal. Adamson sent him a direct message.
Kadinsky has the Rose. If he’s not dealing with you, maybe the Chinese?
There. That would give Kadinsky something to think about.
Adamson leaned back in the armchair. Now he had some time to kill. He’d love a massage but that little bitch Nadia had ruined them for him, and a drink was out of the question. Instead, he called up photos of his family on holiday in Bora Bora the year before, and watched the videos of little Arnie skimming stones at the water’s edge, Sandy coquettish in her sarong.
Happy times.
***
Nadia left them to it and retreated to her room – her presence wasn’t helping. Elise had wanted to go straight to the police. There had been a screaming match inside Elise’s room when Fi found out Elise had been abducted, and she didn’t yet know the half of it. Nadia hadn’t said anything, just looked in Elise’s direction once or twice. Elise would be smart enough to know what would happen to Nadia, that she’d be arrested. She also knew for sure that Nadia had risked her life to save her. And Elise had fired the shot that killed Danton. But ice cold logic usually arrived later rather than sooner.
The rain finally stopped spattering the skylight, and the wind died down. Nadia was emotionally drained but needed to think things through. Five days since the heist. Danton was dead, but Adamson and his SEALs were still out there. The attack on MI6 and the storm would hold people at bay a little longer, but it wouldn’t be long before helicopters and Navy patrol boats barrelled their way towards these sleepy isles.
Jake had said thirty-six hours before MI6 was operational again. That ended at nine am, in six hours’ time. But at first light somebody – Fi or Elise – would call the police. Nadia’s window to get the Rose was closing.
She wrapped her jacket around her. It wasn’t that cold, but it was very late, or very early, and her body temperature was dropping. Her best case scenario right now was that Jake would help her find the Rose, then hand it over to the British authorities. Katya would die, and it had all been for nothing, the past five years merely a stay of execution. In which case she should have stayed put in Lubyanka jail.
Her phone pinged. Kadinsky. She’d been waiting for it. She’d exceeded her seventy-two hours. Her thumb hovered above the message, not wanting to open it. But she touched it, and a video screen opened, black at first, and then it played.
Katya looked like hell. Her lips trembled. She was trying not to cry. Someone in the background bellowed something at her, making her flinch. Nadia stood up, eyes glued to the small screen, holding her breath. Katya did the routine. Stroked the almost invisible scar on her temple, uttered the phrase ‘Still alive.’ But her left forefinger was missing. All that remained was a bloody stump. Katya mouthed ‘sorry.’ Tears slid down her cheek. The video blanked.
The phone slipped from Nadia’s hand and fell to the floor. She stood there, her own breath suddenly roaring in her ears. She wanted to kill Kadinsky, put all her remaining bullets into his fat skull. But he wasn’t there. She couldn’t get to him. Katya’s face was all Nadia could see. Nadia lifted her left hand to her chin, opened her mouth, and put her forefinger inside. Closing her eyes, she bit down hard, then harder, unleashing an anguished cry, venting all her frustration on her own body. She bit down till she tasted blood. Then she dropped to her knees, shivering with cold rage.
The Beretta lay on the bed. The only thing she had from her father. She’d always defended him. But now… She spoke to it, as if it was him.
‘Why? Why did you leave us? You left three women behind. How could you? What was so important that you deserted us?’
She sounded like her mother.
The phone beeped. A text message.
Next time her neck
Nadia crawled over to the bed, propped her back against the mattress. She had to get the Rose. Not with Jake. Ben, maybe, although she’d told him not to go there. She’d dive the Tsuba with him, or by herself. Whatever. The time for being prudent was over. She imagined her sister’s corpse, her beautiful head at an ugly, twisted angle… She got to her feet, went to the sink, ran her finger under the cold tap, wrapped a hankie around it and pulled it into a tight knot. She gathered her stuff, chucked all her dive gear into her bag, and checked the magazine in her Beretta. One last glance around the room. Empty. Like she’d never been there.
She took the stairs two at a time. At the bottom she met Jake, a dive-kit bag by his feet, one hand on the bannister, blocking her path. She made to push through but he held firm.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked.
‘You know where I’m going. Move or I’ll break your arm.’
Jake stood his ground. ‘I’m coming with you.’
Her anger boiled over. ‘The hell you are.’
He looked at her hand. Blood seeped through the crude bandage. ‘What happened?’
‘You punched your own face, remember? My turn.’
He grabbed her wrist. ‘Is Katya still –’
‘For another few hours. Now, move your arm. I mean it.’
He removed his hand. ‘We’ll help you find the Rose and get Katya back.’
‘I don’t need your help.’ She was almost at the door.
Jake’s voice grew a sharp edge. ‘Do you really think this is going to save her? You find it, you hand it over, he kills you both?’
She opened the door. Her chest heaved. ‘Or you help me find it, Jake, then you give it to MI6 and Katya and I both die anyway.’
His voice softened. ‘I won’t. I promise.’
She whirled back to him. ‘Promise on Sean’s soul.’ The words, fuelled by anger, poured out of her mouth. ‘If you betray me swear that he’ll go to hell, where Danton and Janssen will be waiting for him.’
Jake stepped back, almost stumbled on the stair behind him. He gaped at her as if seeing something for the first time. Then his brow flattened. ‘I promise… on Sean’s soul. And on my life. I will save you and Katya.’
Nadia was shaking. What had she just said, sounding like her mother, of all people? But she had to be sure of Jake. And now she was. She tried to regain her composure.
‘Do you have a plan?’ she asked.
‘I do. But I need your phone.’
She hesitated, then handed it to him. ‘When do we dive the Tsuba?’
‘As soon as you send this text.’ He began tapping with his thumbs. She noticed he wasn’t very good at it.
‘But it’s dark. The storm…’
‘We have torches. The storm has died down.’ He looked up. ‘Better we arrive before anyone else does.’ He went back to typing. ‘Claus and Gary are coming, Pete will be skipper.’ He held up a hand without looking at her. ‘They volunteered. Claus and Gary have military training – nothing like you of course.’