He clambered in. The trailer couldn’t be bolted shut from inside. A flapping door would see the truck stopped in short order. He twisted one of the plastic lengths into a crude rope. A minute’s work, and he tied the locking bar outside the door to a pallet. It would hold it shut – while letting him get out in moments.
Reeve sat and waited. Ten worrying minutes – maybe the driver’s shift was over? – but then the truck’s engine started. A jolt, and the vehicle set off. The door banged, but held closed.
He was on his way. To where, he didn’t know – but it was away from his pursuers.
Reeve bunched up more wrapping as padding, then leaned back. Despite his efforts to stay alert, exhaustion claimed him in minutes.
The mood at Mordencroft Hall was grim.
‘So, where will Reeve go?’ asked Blake. ‘What’s his background? Who will he run to?’
Maxwell’s laptop was open, the instructor accessing Reeve’s file from SC9’s distant servers. ‘No immediate family in the country,’ he said. ‘His mother’s dead, and his father’s in prison.’
‘He might still try to see him,’ suggested Parker.
‘I doubt it. Alex’s testimony put him there.’
Stone raised his eyebrows. ‘He grassed up his own dad? Knew there was a reason I didn’t like him.’
Locke’s shoulder wound had been bandaged, his arm in a sling. ‘It may have been entirely justified,’ he said.
Stone snorted. ‘You never grass on your own.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Maxwell. ‘His nearest relatives are in Australia, so he won’t be popping in.’
‘What about friends?’ asked Flynn. ‘I know he was in the forces. Maybe he’s got some old army buddy who’d help him.’
‘Not according to his record – he was in the Special Reconnaissance Regiment, by the way. He was noted as a loner with no close friends. Everything was about the job. Which was one of the reasons he was approached by SC9, of course.’
‘SC9,’ Parker said, with a small smile. ‘The Billy No-Mates brigade.’
Another snort from Stone. ‘You lot, maybe. I had loads of mates.’ Expressions of disbelief from the other recruits. ‘Fuck off.’
‘Let’s concentrate on Alex,’ Maxwell said impatiently. ‘His SRR training means he’s adept at escape and evasion in any environment. That was even before everything he learned here.’
‘Where is he from originally?’ said Locke.
‘Manchester. Clayton, specifically – not one of the nicer parts. Coronation Street on crack, from what I gather. So he’ll feel more at home in that kind of environment. He’ll probably head for a major city.’
Maxwell’s phone rang. ‘The boss. This should be fun.’ Maxwell had left a message with his superior on the drive back. He waited for audio confirmation that the line was secure, then spoke. ‘Sir.’
‘Maxwell.’ The voice was upper-class, condescending – and taut with anger. ‘So. What the hell happened? Why is Reeve not only still alive, but on the run?’
‘We did train him to be the best,’ Maxwell replied, regretting it as he spoke.
The remark was, as expected, not well received. ‘Do you think this is a joke?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Damn right it’s not. There’s a traitor in our midst, and you let him escape.’
‘Sir, I did not let him escape,’ said Maxwell. ‘He was shot and wounded. I’ve already arranged to be notified if he’s admitted to any nearby hospitals.’
The condescension grew thicker. ‘I’d suggest you widen the search radius. He could be anywhere.’
‘We’re already working out where he might go.’
‘We?’
‘The other recruits. The other Operatives now, I suppose. They did all pass.’
‘Fucking knew I made it,’ muttered Stone with a victorious smile.
Maxwell ignored him. ‘Unless you’re reconsidering the results, sir?’
‘No. They all qualified.’ A lengthy silence, enough to become concerning. ‘Maxwell,’ the voice finally said, ‘this . . . fiasco reflects very badly upon you. You were on my shortlist to head the agency when I retire. I’m now seriously debating that decision.’
‘Sir,’ Maxwell protested, ‘I was working without full information. I wasn’t told why Alex was declared Fox Red. If I’d known why he was a security threat – which personally I didn’t see—’
‘That wasn’t your decision to make,’ his superior snapped.
‘No, sir – but I would have been better prepared. Nothing I’d seen suggested that he was a traitor.’
Cold anger at being challenged. ‘The profiles don’t lie, Maxwell. And you helped compile them. Reeve was a threat. To SC9, and to the country. I gave you orders to eliminate him – and you failed to carry them out. Maybe I should replace you with someone more capable.’
Maxwell felt a cold weight in his stomach. ‘Sir, we can still track him down. Reeve is good, but so are the others. And it’s one against six. We’ll find him.’
Another unsettling pause. ‘Very well. Put me on speaker.’ Maxwell did so. ‘You’ve all qualified as SC9 Operatives. This is your first mission. Hunt down and kill the rogue asset – at all costs.’ The call ended. The others exchanged looks.
Maxwell took a breath to compose himself. ‘Well, those are your orders. To kill the man you’ve spent nearly a year training with.’ He met each of their eyes in turn. ‘Can you carry them out?’
‘Fuckin’ hell, yes,’ exclaimed Stone immediately. ‘Never trusted that autistic northern cunt.’
Blake nodded. ‘He’s a traitor. He deserves to die.’
‘I can’t think of a better way to prove our effectiveness,’ said Locke.
Parker’s reply was succinct. ‘Yes.’
‘If he’s turned against us,’ said Flynn, ‘then . . . yeah. We have to.’
‘All right.’ Maxwell stood. ‘Then let’s find him.’ He began to pace around the room. ‘He’s running. To where? What’s his objective?’
‘Fleeing the country,’ said Blake. ‘He’s a traitor, so he’s working for someone. He’ll go to them for sanctuary.’
Nods from the others. ‘We should get his picture out to all ports of exit,’ said Locke.
Flynn picked up on Maxwell’s uncertain frown. ‘You don’t think he’ll try to leave the country, sir?’
‘You can call me Tony now, Deirdre,’ he replied. ‘You all can. You made Operative; we’re all equals now. Except,’ he continued with a wry smile, ‘I’m more equal than others. I’m still your superior. For this mission, at least.’ The curl vanished from his mouth. ‘Alex’s reaction after I tried to shoot him . . . it wasn’t someone who’d been caught. He was confused. Surprised – unsuspecting. Not what I’d expect from someone whose cover was blown.’
‘He seemed ready for action when he attacked me,’ Parker countered.
Stone gave Maxwell an aggressive, questioning look. ‘How come you didn’t kill him, then? How could you miss?’
‘Because he’s one of the best I’ve ever trained,’ Maxwell shot back.
‘He’s not better than me.’ The instructor’s lack of a reply only made Stone’s scowl deepen.
‘Surely you can’t think he’s innocent?’ Locke asked. ‘He tried to kill us.’ His cold eyes flicked towards his wounded shoulder.
‘We have our orders . . . Tony,’ added Parker. ‘Straight from the boss.’
‘I know what our orders are,’ Maxwell said. ‘And I intend to carry them out. But to kill Alex, we have to find Alex. Like I said: what’s his objective? Escape, yes – but that’s his most immediate priority. What comes after that?’
A lengthy, contemplative silence. Flynn was first to speak. ‘You said he seemed confused,’ she said to Maxwell. ‘Do you mean . . . like he wanted to know why you’d tried t
o kill him?’
‘Exactly that,’ Maxwell told her. ‘There was a moment when I thought he was actually going to ask me. But then he ran . . .’ His brow furrowed. ‘I know his objective.’
‘What?’ Parker asked.
‘He does want to ask me.’
‘I don’t share your reasoning,’ said Locke. ‘He knows why. Because he was a mole, and he was discovered.’
‘Humour me, for now,’ said Maxwell. ‘I know Alex better than anyone else here. And I think he wants answers – from me. I’m the only person who can give them. He can’t ask the boss; he doesn’t know who he is. You lot don’t either, so he won’t come after you. He’ll try to find me.’ He folded his arms. ‘We have to be ready for him.’
‘How would he find you?’ asked Flynn. ‘We all got new identities when we were recruited. We haven’t given him enough personal info to track us down.’ A cutting look at Stone. ‘Not even Mister “I was in the Met Police’s Territorial Support Group” there.’
Stone was caught off-guard. ‘I never fucking told anyone that. And definitely not fucking Reeve.’
‘Not directly,’ Locke said. ‘But you revealed enough over time for it to be a straightforward inference.’
‘Yeah? Well, I inferred plenty about you too. Fucking psycho.’
‘That’s enough,’ Maxwell said firmly. ‘I know that talking about your background is against regs. But shit happens. Even I’ve let things slip.’ His voice took on a new, meaningful tone. ‘What’s the one thing you all know about me?’
He let the question hang in the air. Realisation gradually spread around the table. ‘That’s right,’ Maxwell went on. ‘You know it; Alex does too.’ A confident smile slowly appeared. ‘And that’s how we’ll catch him.’
CHAPTER 14
Reeve jerked awake.
A moment of confusion. Where was he? A dark, noisy room, being shaken. Interrogation training—
Memory returned – along with the pain in his arm. The truck.
A glance at his watch. He’d left Fort William just under three hours ago. Enough time to have reached Glasgow.
He peered through the gap between the doors. Slow-moving traffic behind, numerous grey buildings. Definitely in the city. Once the truck reached its destination, he would quickly slip out.
And then what?
Only two options came to him at first. Hide – or run. He could escape the country even without money, or a passport. There were ways through any nation’s security checks. He had been taught how to exploit the holes in Britain’s own.
But . . . where would he go? Even if he reached mainland Europe, what then? He would still be a priority target for SC9. Fox Red status would never be rescinded. His former colleagues wouldn’t end the hunt – until he was dead.
The same would happen if he hid, though. Staying off the grid in Britain for any length of time was nearly impossible. It was a small, crowded country full of snoops and curtain-twitchers. Without contacts, without money, he would have to use alternative methods to survive. Methods that would draw the attention of the authorities.
And SC9 would quickly follow.
SC9. They had recruited him, trained him – now they were trying to kill him. Why?
He had been declared Fox Red. A designation for threats to the agency itself. He knew he wasn’t a traitor, so why did they think he was?
Two possibilities. One, he dismissed out of hand. An error, some misinterpretation of events. Unlikely. From what he understood, SC9’s instructors all contributed to a profile of each trainee. Even if one mistakenly thought him a threat, the others would surely have been consulted. This was no accident of circumstance.
It was the other possibility. He had been set up.
The truck slowed and lurched over a gutter. He went back to the doors. Stationary lorries rolled past. Another truck park. Time to bail out.
Reeve waited for his ride to stop, then moved the pallet. He opened the door enough to look outside. No observers. He jumped down. The jolt made his arm hurt. He winced, then closed and bolted the door before moving clear.
The rain hadn’t ceased despite his hundred-mile journey. He splashed across the concrete. Of his two options, running seemed the best. It would at least give him time to recover and plan his actions. He regarded the trucks. Several were owned by European hauliers: French, Dutch, Polish.
Thanks to Brexit, police cooperation between the UK and European Union had drastically reduced. If he drew attention on the continent, it would take time to be relayed home. And he was now fluent in several languages; more intense SC9 training. Enough to pass as a citizen of one EU country while in another. He could stay a step ahead of his pursuers . . .
But something held him back from the Europe-bound trucks. An image of Maxwell flashed through his mind. His instructor’s face after firing the first bullet. Maxwell had looked grim, but in a distinct way. It was reluctance; the expression of a man obeying an unwelcome order.
Maxwell hadn’t wanted to kill him. He had been told to do so by his superior. Why?
It came back to the set-up. Who had framed him? Not Maxwell; his unguarded emotion had seemed genuine. Not his boss, either. SC9’s head wouldn’t need to fabricate a reason to declare him Fox Red. His word alone would be enough.
It had to be one of the other recruits. But which one? And again: why?
Only Maxwell could provide any answers. But how could he possibly get them? His mentor was now leading the hunt for him. If he got too close, he would be a dead man . . .
No, Reeve told himself. He was thinking of himself as the target, a victim. Reverse it. Maxwell is the target. You have to get to him. How?
First step: locate him. Find out where he is – or where he will be.
Reeve felt a sudden, unexpected sense of anticipation. He was starting a hunt of his own. It would be a challenge – the toughest he had ever faced. Potentially a deadly one. But he could get to Maxwell. And if he did, he could find out who had framed him.
The decision was made. He had to reach London.
He turned away from the European trucks. Several others displayed London phone numbers. He picked the best candidate and sneaked inside. This was half-loaded with pallets of shrink-wrapped cardboard boxes. A shipping label had a London address; the truck was going where he wanted. He shut the door as best he could, then climbed over the boxes. A hidden space behind them. He nestled into it, then waited, enduring the pain.
Nearly thirty minutes passed, then someone came to the door. ‘Oh, fuck,’ came a rough voice. The driver, realising his trailer was open. Reeve hunched low. Both doors swung wide, the man clambering up. Heavy footsteps. A light came on; his phone’s torch. Reeve stayed motionless as it swept over the boxes . . .
And flicked off again. Satisfied his cargo hadn’t been stolen, the driver clomped back out. The doors slammed. Metal rattled and scraped, and they were locked.
Reeve raised his head. The trailer’s interior was almost totally dark. He cursed. There was no way to reach the locking bars from inside. He was stuck in here until someone opened the doors.
He already felt thirsty, and hunger would inevitably follow. He had to hope the truck wouldn’t park up overnight. Resigned, he fumbled for more painkillers, then lay down.
Another few minutes, then the engine started. The truck jolted out of the city, eventually roaring on to a motorway. Sleep claimed Reeve once more.
This time, exhaustion couldn’t hold off nightmares. Maxwell loomed over him again, smoking gun in hand. The other recruits rolled behind him. Parker, Locke, Stone, Blake, Flynn. All were armed and ready, trying to kill him. He was running, but couldn’t get away—
Armed and ready. The thought echoed as if spoken. What did it mean? Armed and ready. It was important, but he couldn’t grasp why. Armed and ready . . .
The dream finally dissolved in
to darkness.
Parker leaned through the door of Maxwell’s office. ‘Ready?’
‘Almost,’ Maxwell replied. His decision was made: the group would head for London. He was certain they would find Reeve there. He knew some of the others disagreed, but didn’t care. He was still in charge of the hunt for SC9’s rogue asset. If he was wrong, it would be on his head.
No helicopters or private flights this time. They had a five-hundred-mile-plus drive ahead. But first, they had to clear and secure the Hall. At least, he thought with dark humour, there was less to store in the armoury. The team were now armed and equipped for any eventuality.
Parker retreated, and Maxwell turned back to his laptop. On screen was the situation update he had written for the boss. One final check before sending it. Both to make sure it was accurate, and presented his actions in the best light. Even in this business, office politics were inevitable. Especially, he mused, glancing at the desk’s bullet holes, with his career on the line.
A faint sigh, then he clicked send. He would know what the boss thought of the report soon enough.
That thought triggered another. Something the boss had said. About his reports. Rather, the reports that had been electronically compiled to form Reeve’s profile. The profile that had led to his being declared Fox Red.
Something was tugging at a thread in his mind. Why?
He wasn’t sure, but Maxwell had long since learned to trust his instincts completely. They had saved his life more than once. If something felt wrong, it almost certainly was.
But what?
He stared at the laptop for a moment – then started to search through his files. Even knowing he was about to depart, there was something he had to check.
CHAPTER 15
A clash of metal kicked Reeve from his sleep. He pushed himself upright, remembering too late his wounded arm. He gasped – rather rasped, his mouth dry.
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