Something to Die For

by Will Jordan

  It was as daunting as it was exhilarating. She had entered a world of which she had little experience or understanding: a world of subtlety and negotiation, of power plays and political manoeuvring.

  The simple task of coordinating and organising it all took up so much of her time and effort that she was no longer involved in tactical planning and operational execution.

  Was this to be her future, she wondered? From a soldier to a spy, and now a bureaucrat? No longer leading her men, but directing them from some office in Washington? That prospect left her with mixed emotions. On the one hand, it meant the chance to set the objectives instead of simply fulfilling them, to be a shaper of policy instead of an instrument. And yet the thought of never being out in the field again, of never leading from the front but expecting others to do it in her place… it was as if she was cheating somehow. Shirking her responsibilities and turning her back on the men who had risked just as much as her.

  The sound of approaching footsteps caused her to turn. Her contact had arrived.

  ‘Good morning,’ Freya Shaw said, her tone light and airy.

  Her eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, and while she was still a strikingly attractive and elegant woman, Anya could see the subtle changes wrought by time. The little winkles around the mouth and eyes, the strands of grey in her raven black hair, the hardening of her features. Freya Shaw was growing old.

  ‘A little morbid for a meeting place, don’t you think?’

  Anya had set the location. She’d been doing it for a while now, in fact.

  ‘Not at all,’ she countered. ‘It gives me perspective.’

  Freya’s eyes fastened on the great marble sarcophagus of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The marine honour guard were, as always, silently standing watch in front of it.

  ‘Well, let’s hope we don’t end up here permanently,’ she remarked with a wry smile. ‘Walk with me, would you?’

  Anya followed as she led the way uphill, Freya moving a little slower than in her younger days.

  ‘Things have been going well for you lately,’ the older woman remarked conversationally. ‘A string of successful operations, increased funding, more recruitment into your unit. I’m impressed.’

  ‘I do what I can,’ Anya replied, a little uncomfortable with the praise. It wasn’t something she’d received much of in her life.

  ‘So I’ve noticed. And as it turns out, I’m not the only one.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Halting, Shaw removed the sunglasses and looked Anya up and down, as if assessing her for the first time. The two women were about equal in height, one older, more experienced and powerful, the other younger and stronger, with her best days still ahead of her. Shaw seemed to recognise it in that moment.

  ‘Our… mutual friends feel it’s time you took the next step.’

  Anya’s eyes opened wider. ‘The Circle?’

  A smile flickered on Shaw’s lips. ‘They’ve been following your progress these past few years, and they like what they see. They think you’re ready to take your place at the top table. And, as it happens, so do I.’

  Anya was struck dumb by this news. She knew only a little about the mysterious group that had so aided her career over the past decade, most of which information had come from Shaw herself. So many layers of power and influence one might rise through, without ever knowing where the true decisions were made.

  But the Inner Circle, as it was informally known, represented the very top of this vast pyramid. The governing body. The select group of individuals who ran it all.

  And they wanted her to join them. Anya – the orphan girl from Lithuania.

  ‘Chances like this only come once, Anya. People could work their entire lives, and never get to where you are,’ Freya said. ‘Bloody hell, try not to look too miserable about it!’

  ‘I understand, and I… I’m honoured,’ Anya said, still struggling to process it. ‘I just never expected this. When I imagine the Inner Circle, I think of…’

  ‘Old men?’ Shaw prompted helpfully. ‘Old men with white hair and expensive suits, meeting in dark board rooms?’

  Seeing Anya’s rueful expression, she smiled in amusement. ‘Well, who can blame you? Just like the president, like congress, the military, the Agency…’ She lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘Maybe that’s the point, Anya. Maybe we have enough old men in expensive suits. Maybe it’s time for something different.’

  ‘But I’m just a…’ She stopped herself then, realising the world had moved on since the formative experiences of her own childhood. ‘What I mean is, I don’t know if I can be like them. Think like them. I am not… cunning, or political, or anything like that.’

  ‘Like I say, that’s the point,’ Freya explained, regarding her with fond amusement. ‘When the Circle was formed, the hammer and sickle was still flying over the Kremlin. But the world has changed, and it’s time the Circle changed with it. The men who sit at the top table are the past; they’ve sat there too long, become too rigid in their thinking. But you… you can be their future. A better future, for them and for us.’

  It was only then that it all seemed to come together for her.

  ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ Anya asked. ‘You made this happen.’

  Again that smile, knowing and enigmatic. ‘Like I told you all those years ago, Anya. You don’t need to be anyone’s pawn. Not anymore.’

  Anya was struck by the enormity of this moment. For all the battles she’d fought and the challenges she’d overcome, she had never courted power or influence over others. All she had really wanted was to make a difference. But at last she realised how inextricably linked the two things were, how it was impossible to achieve one without embracing the other.

  And how important it was not to abuse either.

  ‘But my men…’

  ‘Your men will be just fine,’ Shaw assured her. ‘Task Force Black practically runs itself anyway. Your second in command is more than up to the job, if I recall.’

  Dominic Munro, the tactically brilliant and driven special forces operative, had risen swiftly through the ranks of Task Force Black, becoming her most senior lieutenant in just a handful of years. And with her recent absence from operational leadership, he was now the de facto commander of the unit. A good man. A strong man. A man that she could rely on.

  ‘Well?’ Shaw prompted the younger woman. ‘You’ve just been offered the keys to the kingdom. What’s your answer?’

  Islamabad, Pakistan – April 29th, 2011

  Anya gripped the edge of the sink tightly, her head lowered as she let out a slow, calming breath, before looking up at the mirror. The reflection staring back at her was a far cry from the naïve young woman who had stood at Arlington more than a decade earlier, so caught up in the whirl of opportunities that she failed to notice the ground shifting beneath her feet. She could scarcely have imagined the cruel fate that would overtake her and her entire unit just weeks after that meeting.

  She blinked, forcing the memories away. That was the ghost of a future that never came to pass, and the woman at the heart of it was long dead. Now she had more pressing matters to attend to.

  Leaving the bathroom, she strode through to the apartment’s cramped living space, where Alex was bent over his laptop.

  ‘How close are we?’ she asked.

  ‘Almost there,’ he replied without looking up. ‘Their network protocols are pretty old, but the configuration is kind of weird so it takes a while to get a—’

  ‘I don’t need the details,’ Anya interrupted. Computer hacking was neither a skill nor an interest she possessed. ‘How much longer?’

  ‘Ten, fifteen minutes. Once I’m in, I’ll have everything you need. Radio frequencies, deployment patterns, everything.’

  ‘Good.’

  Crouching down, Anya grabbed the holdall lying on the floor, hoisted it up onto the table and unzipped it.

  ‘I can delay reinforcements and generally fuck up their response, but I c
an’t do anything about his protective detail,’ Alex warned. ‘It’s you against them. And last time I checked, there’s only one of you.’

  ‘I only need one of me,’ she replied, removing a disassembled M4A1 assault rifle.

  A lightweight submachine gun might have been preferable, but going up against men in body armour, she needed the extra stopping power of the 5.56mm weapon. She’d even procured armour-piercing rounds.

  Alex didn’t say anything to this. Something was on his mind, she knew. Something more than just the dangerous mission ahead.

  ‘You want to tell me something, Alex,’ she stated, pulling back the ejector handle to check the firing assembly. ‘Do it now, while we still have time.’

  The young computer specialist sighed. ‘Frost has been tracking me online.’

  Seeing Anya’s darkening expression, he held up a hand to forestall any reprimand. ‘Relax, she doesn’t know where we are.’

  ‘But there is something else,’ Anya prompted him.

  He nodded. ‘She contacted me by encrypted message. Neither of us could see the other, but we could talk.’

  Anya’s grip tightened on the weapon. ‘I told you not to make contact with Drake’s group,’ she said icily. ‘You promised you wouldn’t.’

  ‘I know. And you know I’d never tell them anything.’ Alex was speaking slowly and quietly, aware of the delicate situation. ‘But Frost said that something had changed, that they were all in danger.’

  ‘I know all of this already,’ Anya said dismissively.

  Alex’s eyes opened wider. ‘And you didn’t tell me?’

  ‘It wasn’t for you to know. Drake and the others are no longer your concern.’

  ‘But you’ve been keeping tabs on them.’

  Turning away, Anya laid the assault rifle down hard on the table, and reached for the case of ammunition. ‘Like I said, it’s not for you to know.’

  ‘He hasn’t given up on you, you know,’ Alex said gently. ‘All this time, he’s been looking for you. Maybe you shouldn’t give up on him?’

  Whirling around, Anya grabbed him by his T-shirt and shoved him against the wall, pinning him with her forearm pressed against his neck. A single, sharp blow there would collapse his trachea and kill him within minutes. She had done it enough times to know.

  She saw a brief flare of shock and fear at her sudden outburst, but it soon gave way to a growing sadness. And worse, pity.

  ‘You going to kill me, Anya?’ he asked, staring into her hard, cold eyes. ‘Is this what we are now?’

  She’d gone too far, she realised; lost control in a way she never did. When had she become like this? Exhaling, Anya relaxed her grip and pulled away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, ashamed. ‘You didn’t deserve that.’

  ‘They’re asking for our help,’ Alex implored her. ‘Are we really going to ignore them?’

  Anya avoided his gaze, turning her attention back to her gear. She couldn’t afford distractions like this, especially now. She needed her head in the game.

  ‘We have our own mission now. That’s what matters.’

  Chapter 35

  Sheffield, Texas – April 29th

  Situated in southern Texas, about 50 miles north of the Mexican border, and with a population of less than a thousand people, the small town of Sheffield was about as remote a backwater as one could find. The kind of place where the younger residents spent every night dreaming about leaving.

  A single main road ran through the dusty conglomeration of sun-bleached wooden houses that had taken root in the midst of the Texas desert. It was serviced by a gas station, a couple of convenience stores and cheap bars, and a single motel used mostly by truck drivers stopping off for the night.

  Drake had picked this place as their rendezvous location for two reasons. Firstly, because it was easily 100 miles from the nearest FBI field office, and secondly because the name Sheffield appealed to him. He’d always been amused by the American penchant of naming their towns and cities after existing places.

  Either way, it had made for as good a place as any to regroup with the rest of his team after the tense border crossing from Mexico. Normally the loosely enforced southern border was a piece of cake even for untrained civilians to cross, never mind a team of former Shepherd operatives, but there had been a major increase in border patrols over the past few days. The added security had forced them to head further east to a more remote stretch of the frontier, not to mention parting with a healthy wad of cash for a local ‘expert’ to guide them through winding mountain passes, where a 4x4 was waiting to pick them up on the other side. By the time they made it to the small town of Sheffield that evening, they were all hot, tired and thirsty. One of Sheffield’s local bars was a perfect place to remedy all three problems.

  Their two teammates, Dietrich and Mitchell, were waiting for them, both nursing beers and looking annoyingly rested and comfortable. Drake had to admit he was relieved to see them again. It had been a couple of months since the group had parted company, and as much as he hated to admit it, he’d missed them.

  With greetings exchanged, Drake duly presented his summary of everything that had happened to bring them here, and his intentions now that they were back in the US.

  ‘Ha!’ Dietrich snorted once Drake had finished. He tipped his bottle of beer back – his third so far – draining the remnants. ‘Good fucking luck, Ryan. You’ll need it with a plan like that.’

  A burly, grim-faced man who had served in both the West German intelligence service and the CIA, Jonas Dietrich’s personality and sense of humour – if it could be called that – very much matched his appearance. In this case, however, his doubts weren’t entirely unwarranted.

  ‘Nobody said this would be easy, Jonas,’ Drake replied.

  ‘Okay, say for the sake of argument this contact of yours isn’t full of shit and doesn’t have you killed the moment you show up, and he’s somehow able to get you access to Cain. And through some miracle you manage to take the asshole out without getting killed yourself, you’re still going to be wanted for murder and treason. And the Circle will still be hunting you. Explain to me how this plan improves our position again?’

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dietrich,’ Jessica said, none too impressed by his cynical attitude. ‘I can see you’re a real asset to the team.’

  ‘And what exactly have you done for us, Mädchen?’ he challenged her. ‘Because last time we met, my team had to save your ass from a prison cell in Iraq.’

  ‘Actually, they weren’t your team at all, they were Ryan’s,’ she pointed out politely. ‘And last time we met, you were a barely functioning heroin addict.’ Seeing his dark expression, she added, ‘Things can change, Mr Dietrich. People can change. Perhaps you should remember that.’

  For once in his life, Dietrich seemed to have no comeback. Instead he snorted with grim amusement and rose up from the table, towering over her for a moment.

  ‘I need a piss,’ he announced.

  With the tense atmosphere somewhat eased by his departure, Mitchell offered a more diplomatic view. ‘Dietrich might be an asshole, but he does have a point. That’s a long chain of Ifs and Buts you’re depending on there, Ryan. A lot of ways to get killed.’

  A former investigator with the US Army’s Criminal Investigation Division, Olivia Mitchell had become embroiled in the conflict with Cain a couple of years ago. The encounter had nearly cost her life, but a daring rescue by Drake’s team had freed her from CIA custody. She’d since become a useful ally, with a clear, analytical mind and a calmness under pressure that helped balance out the more fiery members of the team.

  ‘I know the risks,’ Drake assured her. ‘But everything we’ve learned so far tells me Freya was on the level. I believe this man can give us what we need: one good shot at Cain. That’s all I’m asking.’

  ‘You still have to get away with it,’ she reminded him. ‘Killing Cain is no good if it costs your life.’

  Drake fix
ed her with a hard look. ‘Like I said, I know the risks.’

  ‘That’s why we need you,’ Jessica chimed in. ‘The more of us there are, the better chance we have.’

  ‘We?’ Dietrich said, picking up the conversation as he returned to the table. ‘Are you coming in with the rest of us?’

  ‘I’m not afraid to risk my life,’ she said firmly. ‘Even if you are.’

  ‘Easy, Dietrich,’ Frost said, before the man could rise to the bait. ‘Try not to be an asshole every day of your life.’

  Dietrich glowered at his young colleague but said nothing.

  ‘Look, the first step I’ll take alone,’ Drake said, leaning forward and looking at each of his comrades in turn. ‘If the meeting turns out to be a trap, then I take the fall. If he can’t help us, we walk away. But if not, then we decide whether or not to go for it.’

  His determined expression, however, made it clear his mind was already made up.

  ‘When’s the meeting?’ Mitchell asked.

  ‘Tomorrow night in DC,’ Drake explained. ‘I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning. All I need to know is who’s with me.’

  Silence descended on the table. If they wanted to walk away, he wouldn’t blame them. Their contact was dubious to say the least, never mind their odds of success, but it was all they had left. Their last chance.

  Frost was first to voice her thoughts. ‘Shit, Ryan. You know I’m in.’

  Mitchell considered it a moment longer before nodding. ‘Okay, let’s hear what he has to say.’

  With two of the party now committed, all eyes turned to Dietrich, who sipped his beer apparently without concern. Only when Frost aimed a kick at him beneath the table did he finally respond.

  ‘Fuck it,’ he grunted irritably. ‘I’ll go just to watch the fireworks.’

  Chapter 36

  Ojinaga, Mexico

  Antonio Gomez brought his truck to a halt in front of his modest single-storey house and killed the engine, sighing in satisfaction at what had proven to be a very profitable day. The wad of dollar bills from his client still bulged in his jeans pocket.