Operative 66 : A Novel

by McDermott, Andy

  Parker reacted automatically to the unexpected threat. He spun, seeing the figure on the rooftop – and fired.

  Connie fell. She slithered limply down the tiles and disappeared behind the balustrade.

  Parker turned back to finish Reeve—

  His target was waiting for him.

  Reeve’s pain was overpowered by fury. He pulled upwards with all his left arm’s remaining strength – and lunged with his right. His hand clamped around the collar of Parker’s coat. He yanked downwards. Parker lurched forward. His wounded midsection hit the balustrade. An agonised cry – then Reeve pounded his forehead against the stonework.

  Parker reeled. Reeve didn’t release him, smacking his head down again, and again. Blood splattered the balustrade. The gun dropped from his hand. One last impact, then Reeve used the other man to haul himself up. His weight almost pulled Parker over. The stomach wound ground against the edge, making him howl. Reeve didn’t care. One knee reached the stone surface. He levered himself on to it, then rolled over, releasing Parker.

  The other man gasped in fear as his legs slipped over the parapet. He clutched frantically at its inner edge. One hand caught it. He slewed around.

  Reeve dropped to the floor. He snatched up the phone and painfully stood.

  Parker’s free hand clawed for grip, found it—

  ‘Craig.’

  The Operative instinctively looked up – and saw the phone right before his face.

  It recognised his features. Blood and bruises meant nothing, only the shapes beneath them. The phone unlocked. Parker’s eyes went wide in realisation—

  Reeve punched him, hard.

  Parker lost his hold. His weight snapped him backwards, over the edge. He fell with a scream – that ended abruptly on hard stone several floors below.

  Panting, Reeve pulled back. Connie’s slumped form was partly visible beyond the access ladder. He had to help her—

  The phone glowed in his hand. If it went back into rest mode, he would never be able to unlock it. Even in death, Parker would win.

  He summoned the list of recently-used apps. One was an email program. He opened it. It resumed where Parker had left off. Two items. The first was marked Sent. The other was scheduled to be sent at 21:07.

  The clock at the screen’s top read 21:06.

  He had under a minute. Maybe just seconds. How to cancel it? A three-dot icon next to the waiting mail. He touched it. A new screen appeared. The scheduler itself. Where was cancel—

  There. He thumbed the button. Relief . . .

  Was premature. A pop-up. Are you sure? ‘Yes!’ he roared, hitting it—

  The pop-up vanished. A moment later, the clock ticked over to 21:07 . . .

  Nothing happened.

  The email remained queued. No progress bar appeared, no list of recipients ticking off one by one. Reeve gasped, relief now flooding him. He had done it . . .

  ‘Connie!’ Victory already forgotten, he staggered to her. He pocketed the phone and crouched. Blood glistened on her clothing. ‘Connie, can you hear me?’

  Silence for a long moment . . . then she moved. ‘Alex?’

  ‘I’m here. Where are you hit?’

  Teeth clenched, she looked up at him. ‘My arm . . .’ She tried to move; he helped her sit up. Her upper left sleeve was torn. She regarded the wound – then released a pained laugh. ‘Oh, that’s ironic. I got shot in the same place as you.’

  ‘At least nobody hit you with a car,’ he replied. ‘Let me check—’

  Footsteps nearby. He turned in alarm, looking back along the rooftop.

  Maxwell advanced on them, gun in hand.

  CHAPTER 59

  ‘Stay there, Alex,’ Maxwell snapped. He aimed his weapon at Reeve. ‘Raise your hands, slowly.’

  Reeve obeyed, palms open. ‘I’m unarmed.’

  ‘You were trained by SC9. There’s no such thing.’ He stopped a few metres away. ‘Move away from her.’

  ‘She’s hurt,’ Reeve protested.

  ‘I’ll see to her.’ The statement was chillingly ambiguous. ‘Don’t make me shoot you.’ Reeve reluctantly stepped back.

  Despite her fear, Connie spoke. ‘Isn’t shooting him what you’re here to do?’

  Maxwell gave her an almost amused look. Then: ‘Where’s Craig?’

  ‘Down there,’ Reeve replied, glancing towards the plaza below.

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘Hopefully.’

  ‘Saves me the trouble. You were right. He was the mole.’ A wry smile. ‘His trying to assassinate an MP on live television was a bit of a giveaway.’

  ‘He told me the Russians backed him,’ said Reeve.

  ‘Did he say why he did it?’

  ‘Revenge against the establishment for his parents. He wanted to burn everything down.’

  Maxwell nodded. ‘Releasing SC9’s records to the media would have done that, yes.’

  ‘You know about that?’

  ‘The boss phoned just before I got here. So many alerts went off at GCHQ I’m surprised you didn’t hear them from here. Craig’s email went to over a hundred media outlets worldwide. But not the password to unlock the files. Thanks to you.’

  ‘Do I get a medal?’ was the mocking response.

  ‘What happens now?’ Connie asked quietly. ‘Are you going to kill us?’

  Maxwell pursed his lips. ‘My orders concerning you still stand, Alex. And I’m going to carry them out.’ Reeve and Connie exchanged glances; hers fearful, his defiant. But he knew he couldn’t escape Maxwell in his battered, exhausted state—

  The older man continued. ‘Starting in . . . three minutes.’ He gestured at the rooftop beyond the dome. ‘I think there’s a way to climb down to the Strand. I suggest you take it.’

  Reeve stared at him in surprise. ‘You’re letting me go?’

  ‘As you said all along, you weren’t the traitor. That won’t change your Fox Red status, unfortunately. After what you did in France, you can’t come back to us. But as far as I’m concerned? You’ve done SC9 – the whole country – a great favour.’

  ‘I didn’t do this to protect SC9,’ Reeve replied. ‘I did it to save an innocent woman from SC9. You know, maybe Parker was right. A country that allows something like SC9 to exist really is corrupt. Maybe it should be exposed.’

  Maxwell merely shrugged. ‘Then innocent citizens would pay the price of the diplomatic fallout. Is that what you want?’ Reeve had no reply. ‘Didn’t think so. Your profile suggested you had an idealistic streak, Alex. I guess Craig didn’t need to fake that part.’ He pointedly checked his watch. ‘Two and a half minutes.’

  With reluctance, Reeve backed away. ‘What about Connie?’

  ‘I said, I’ll see to her. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt her.’ That was said almost with exasperation. ‘I trusted you, Alex. Do me the same favour, huh?’

  Reeve grudgingly nodded. ‘Connie – go with him.’

  ‘But what about you?’ she protested.

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ He started past the dome.

  ‘Go somewhere we’d never look for you,’ Maxwell called after him. ‘And don’t give us a reason to look for you. I’m giving you a chance. Don’t waste it.’

  ‘What if Scott sends more Operatives after me?’ Reeve asked over his shoulder.

  ‘Then you have to be better than them. Which . . . well, remember what I told you at Mordencroft.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He looked back at Connie. ‘And thank you, Connie. For everything.’ With that, he disappeared over the crest of the copper roof.

  Connie watched him go in dismay. Despite his promise, she didn’t trust Maxwell. She looked up at him. ‘Are you going to kill me?’

  ‘No. Here. Let me help.’ Maxwell holstered his gun and raised her gently to her feet. ‘You’re hurt. I’ll get you to a hospi
tal.’ He led her back towards the King’s Building.

  ‘You’re not going to arrest me, or anything?’

  ‘I don’t think either of us want to involve higher authorities right now. Do you?’

  They reached the broken window. A security guard and two police officers were waiting inside. Connie stiffened in fear, but Maxwell was unperturbed. ‘Jason Trent, Security Service,’ he said, presenting an MI5 identity card. The cops reacted in surprise, but accepted his credentials. ‘The assassin’s taken a dive off the roof. Secure this area until an investigative team arrives. I’m going to find the body.’

  ‘What about the other man?’ one officer asked. ‘The one who ran after him?’

  ‘I didn’t see anyone else out there.’ He started past them.

  ‘Who’s this woman, sir?’ said the other cop, probing. ‘We’ll need to know for the report.’

  ‘Bystander,’ Maxwell replied firmly. ‘She went out there to help and got shot for her trouble.’ He pointed at the security guard. ‘You, take this lady to the ground floor. If there isn’t an ambulance there already, call one for her.’

  ‘Er . . . yes, sir,’ the guard replied, cowed by Maxwell’s instant assumption of authority. ‘If you’ll, ah, come with me, ma’am?’

  Connie followed him to the stairs. Maxwell had already hurried ahead. ‘Thank you,’ she called after him.

  He didn’t break stride. ‘Remember what I said.’

  ‘Which part?’

  ‘About not wasting chances.’ He continued his rapid descent.

  The guard brought Connie to the ground floor. She was soon in an ambulance. It sped from Somerset House with lights and siren on. On its way along the Strand, it passed the building covered in scaffolding. Connie looked out at Reeve’s escape route.

  If he had taken it, there was no sign of him. Nor was he amongst the crowd at ground level.

  He was gone.

  Maxwell made his way to the Thames side of Somerset House. Parker’s body was easy to find. A police cordon had already been set up around it. He used his MI5 credentials to pass through.

  Parker was definitely dead. His skull was smashed, bloodied face grotesquely deformed, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. The fall had probably broken every major bone in his body.

  Maxwell found the most senior officer present, a uniformed inspector. Higher ranks would be on the way; he needed to act before they arrived. ‘Has he been searched?’

  ‘Not yet, sir,’ the inspector replied. ‘We’re waiting for the CSIs.’

  ‘This can’t wait. I need to check him now. My authority, on national security grounds. File a report with Thames House if you have any objections.’ Thames House was MI5’s headquarters.

  But again, nobody challenged his apparent seniority. ‘Yes, sir,’ was the only reply.

  Maxwell donned gloves and quickly went through the broken corpse’s clothing. Most of what he found belonged to whomever Parker had killed to get press access. But a wallet contained several credit cards, all in different names. Some fake IDs, ditto.

  There was something conspicuously absent, though . . .

  ‘His phone,’ Maxwell muttered. He half-smiled, shaking his head. ‘Oh, Alex. You cunning little bastard . . .’

  Time to go. He waited until the inspector was occupied, then quickly departed. Once clear, he took out his own phone.

  His call was answered almost immediately. ‘Well?’ Scott barked. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Craig Parker’s dead,’ Maxwell replied.

  ‘And Reeve?’

  No hesitation in the reply. ‘He’d already gone by the time I arrived. They must have had a fight on the roof. Parker lost.’

  There was no immediate response. But Maxwell could hear Scott breathing heavily in his anger. ‘At least SC9 is protected, sir,’ he continued. ‘Parker didn’t send the password for the stolen files.’

  ‘That might still happen if he set the email on a timer,’ said Scott.

  ‘I think it would have already happened by now. If something went wrong, he would have timed it to go almost immediately. And something did go wrong. Alex Reeve stopped him from killing Elektra Curtis in an extremely public assassination. That was very much against the intent of your orders, sir. I think we can safely assume Parker was the mole, not Reeve.’

  ‘Reeve.’ The name sounded almost like a curse. ‘How the hell did he track Parker down?’

  ‘No idea. But in this case, he helped us.’ Maxwell paused, choosing his words carefully. ‘Sir, with that in mind . . . are you going to rescind his Fox Red status?’

  ‘Don’t be absurd,’ came the sharp reply. ‘He’s more of a threat to SC9 than ever. He knows too much. For all we know, he intends to carry on where Parker left off.’

  Maxwell knew there was no point arguing. Anything else he said might raise questions about his own actions. ‘Very well, sir. Am I still in charge of the operation to track him down?’

  ‘For now.’ Distinct petulance behind the words. ‘Although you’ve hardly covered yourself in glory.’

  ‘We’ll get him, sir. It’s just a matter of time.’

  ‘It had better be, Maxwell. It had better be.’ Scott ended the call without another word.

  Maxwell lowered the phone. His expression was blank, placid; the emotions beneath were anything but. He drew in a deep breath, looking back towards Parker’s body. A long moment of thought. Then he turned and walked away into the night.

  CHAPTER 60

  Connie looked out at Paris as the Eurostar slowed. She was excited – but also nervous. She didn’t know what to expect.

  Nine months had passed since the night Alex rescued her. Since the night she last saw him. She had tried to return to her old, normal life. It had been impossible.

  Even as her wound healed, she knew she wouldn’t be the same. Not physically, but mentally. Nightmares had been frequent companions, and sudden bursts of heart-clenching anxiety. Over time they reduced in frequency, and intensity. But every so often, something would trigger a memory. Valon Bato’s lizard face would reappear, promising sudden, brutal violence. Other men loomed behind him. Jammer, sneering and smirking. Bato’s thugs, fists clenched.

  And a stone-faced assassin, pointing a gun down at her.

  That was the most terrifying memory of all. Not just for the event, but for what it represented. She had glimpsed something meant to stay unseen. Something rotten, dirty. Corrupt. A part of the system the state wanted to conceal, even from itself.

  SC9. A death squad.

  And Alex had been a part of it.

  That was one fear which never faded. SC9 knew who she was. Knew she had seen the face of the man controlling it. If he thought for a moment she could expose him . . .

  It felt as if the entire weight of British state security was upon her. Unrelenting, remorseless, uncaring. It would crush her without a thought. Unless she moved.

  So she had.

  She made the effort, found the time. Found the money. Literally. Returning from work one day, she discovered a package addressed to her in the hall. It contained over ten thousand pounds in cash.

  The package hadn’t borne a stamp. Alex had been there.

  She knew the risk he had taken. Her flat could have been under observation, agents watching for him. But nothing came of it. She knew that, because a week later, a letter arrived for her at the hospital.

  Hope you got my present. It might help you follow your dream of a change from this island life. If it does, I’ll see you again at the star’s end. Love, A.

  She knew instantly it really had come from Alex. Island Life was a Grace Jones album. A smile at the memory of their night in Banon.

  The good part, at least – not the awkwardness that followed. She had come to terms with why things unravelled. Alex had been clinging to the hope that SC9 would take him
back. That had been dashed with force. Because of that, he had realised the agency’s real nature. He had saved Elektra Curtis – he had saved her. Had he truly been the merciless killer of his training, he would have done neither. The real man was still there, under the protective shell.

  The man she wanted to see again.

  So long-held idle dreams were finally pushed to fruition. She applied for an Italian passport. It had at last arrived. From what she’d heard about Italian bureaucracy, nine months was considered a rush. She made use of her new identity to book a train journey to Paris. As an EU citizen – once more, post-Brexit – all Europe was open to her.

  The Eurostar pulled into Gare du Nord. End of the line: the star’s end. She hoped that was what Alex had meant. How he could even know she was coming, she didn’t know. But she knew how resourceful he could be. If there was any way for him to meet her . . . he would find it.

  She could be wrong, of course. She could have made a huge mistake in coming – in abandoning her old life. Her flat’s lease was about to expire. She hadn’t renewed it. She had handed in her notice at the hospital. She had sold anything she didn’t truly need – which had been a surprising amount. Even her phone and replacement laptop had gone. They could be traced, she now knew; tracked. That was not paranoia, but necessity. Whatever promises Alex’s mentor had made, he wasn’t in charge of SC9. They would still be looking for him. She had to be sure she didn’t lead them to him.

  The other passengers moved for the exit. Connie waited for the aisle to clear, then retrieved her wheelie case. It was not large. She followed everyone off the train. Crisp late-morning light shone through the station’s glazed roof. It was chilly, midwinter, but the sky was clear and blue. She walked down the platform. Wariness at the uniformed men near the exit. But nobody stopped her, or even paid her any attention. She passed through the glass gate without trouble.

  Now what?

  Part of her had the romantic hope that Alex would be standing there waiting. She knew that was unrealistic. She was right. He was nowhere in sight. But she still felt a flutter of worry. What if he wasn’t coming at all?

  The flutter grew to a flap as the minutes passed. The Eurostar arrivals concourse gradually emptied. The gate shut. Everyone was off the train. Connie felt exposed and vulnerable, standing alone in the echoing space. The fear grew that she had made an awful mistake. God, what had she done? She had given up everything, walked away from her life – to what? She must have gone insane . . .