by Will Jordan
Cain leaned forward. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Operation Neptune Spear,’ James explained patiently. ‘The target location your teams are raiding at this very moment is a fake. Bin Laden is quite some distance away, safe and accounted for.’
Cain could feel his heart pounding. ‘You know where he is?’
‘Of course we know. We’ve known for the better part of a decade.’
‘Why did you…’
‘Why did we protect him?’ James finished for him. He leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. ‘Didn’t it ever occur to you that he was worth more to us alive than dead? His military value is negligible at this point of course, but his symbolic value is beyond measure. He’s an enemy to hate, but never truly defeat. A target to strive for, but never quite reach. Just like war and chaos, the hunt for him is more useful than his actual death would be.’
The cold, pragmatic logic of the Circle at work again. They were willing to protect the most wanted terrorist in the world in order to stoke fear and hatred, sowing conflict and chaos wherever it suited them.
‘It took some work on our part to convince you that you’d found the right place, of course,’ the leader of the Circle went on. ‘Feeding false information to your contact Qalat in Pakistan, getting all the right people to fall into line. And of course, making sure the illusion was maintained until the crucial moment.’
* * *
As the prisoners below were secured, the rest of the assault team advanced up the central stairway, heading for the upper floor. Their hearts were pounding as they ascended the steps. They were close. The man they’d been hunting for so long was just yards away from them.
The faint thump of footsteps on the landing above caused them to freeze for a moment, waiting and listening, their weapons trained upward at the closed door at the top of the stairs.
And then, slowly, the door edged open to reveal a tall, lanky figure clad in a loose-fitting nightshirt, a greying beard trailing down to his chest, his thinning hair in disarray. He peered out into the stairwell, and for a heartbeat his gaze fastened on the SEAL team below.
It happened so fast that those involved would struggle to recount exactly how it played out. The lead SEAL team member raised his assault rifle, took aim just as the target retreated into the room, and uttered a single word.
‘Contact.’
* * *
Cain sat in rigid silence, watching the man opposite. James’ earlier relaxed joviality had departed now, giving way to something colder and more clinical as he delivered his instructions.
‘There will be blowback from this, of course. Blame and recriminations, but most of it will be deflected away from you. Your subordinate Franklin will take most of the heat, and probably be forced to stand down. But we already have someone more… reliable in mind to replace him.’
It had all been a lie. Just like everything else, it had been one giant game of deception. The realisation was written plain on Cain’s face.
‘One thing you still need to learn, Marcus, is that every man has his place. Every man needs to recognise his limits. You may have earned a seat at this table, but you don’t control what happens here. You never will. I trust we understand each other?’
* * *
Franklin could do nothing now but wait, hunched over the conference table, staring at the night vision aerial image of the compound half a world away.
He didn’t speak, didn’t move a muscle. There was no point in pressing the mission commander or the team leaders for an update. They would report back when they had something to report.
Glancing momentarily at Kennedy, he saw the man’s eyes were closed, his fists clenched as he whispered, ‘Come on, come on.’
The seconds stretched on without an acknowledgement. And with each moment that passed, more doubts began to creep into his mind. Were they wrong? Had this all been a mistake? Was their intel flawed?
Had Cain led them astray?
Then just like that, a crackly, distorted voice came over the radio net.
‘For God and country – Geronimo, Geronimo, Geronimo.’
* * *
The world around Bashir Shirani felt like the aftermath of a tornado. Everywhere he heard the sounds of women and children crying, men yelling orders and defiant outbursts, the stench of burned plastic, wood and cordite, the destruction wrought upon the dwelling that had been his home for the past several months.
All of it shattered by the American assault team that had swept through the place, killing and destroying everything in their path. Nothing could stand against force like that. Nothing.
‘Up!’ the operative behind him said, grabbing his cuffed hands and hauling him to his feet. He saw other prisoners, members of the Master’s household, likewise restrained, some hurling abuse and impotent threats at their captors. Most fell silent when thick felt bags were placed over their heads, and a moment later his world went dark as he too was hooded.
He could do no more here. He would be taken away for processing.
* * *
Cain could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket, though he made no attempt to answer it. He knew what it meant, and smiled faintly as he regarded the man seated opposite.
‘Yes, James. We understand each other.’
Unknown to the leader of the Circle, a trio of figures had slipped into the room behind him, moving swiftly and silently into position. Just like him, they had had to manoeuvre carefully to reach this point, overcoming many defences and security measures, killing many people who stood in their way. But they were here now, and they were ready.
‘But there’s something I want you to know before we go on.’ He paused, savouring the moment. Relishing what was about to happen. ‘My team are exactly where they need to be.’
Just for an instant, Cain saw a flicker of doubt. This man who had spent his life planning for everything, foreseeing every possibility, countering every strategy, sensed that something wasn’t right. He sensed a flaw in his position.
A flaw that was suddenly revealed by the thump of suppressed automatic gunfire. Seated at a table nearby, a man and woman cried out in shock as a stream of projectiles tore into them. Tumbling backwards, the man pulled the tablecloth with him, upending glasses, plates and cutlery that crashed to the floor.
More panicked shouts and screams erupted across the dining area as the shooting continued and the occupants were mercilessly cut down.
Instinctively James turned towards the source of the commotion, tearing his attention away from Cain. It was the opportunity he’d been looking for. Cain had brought no weapon with him, but he didn’t need one.
Seizing up the steak knife that James had left unattended on his plate, he seized it up, drew back his arm and plunged it into the man’s hand with every ounce of strength he could summon. The sharpened blade carved its way through skin, muscle and bone before embedding itself deep in the table surface.
The man’s face crumpled, twisting in agony, and he opened his mouth to scream. He never got the chance. Before he could utter a sound, the operative who had approached from behind looped a length of rope around his neck and pulled it violently taut, jerking his head back and cutting off his scream before it began.
Jason Hawkins was no stranger to this method of killing, and had always found it oddly satisfying to literally crush the life out of a man. He smiled as he tightened his grip, confident that the feeble old man couldn’t possibly escape, but held back enough to keep him alive. His master had given explicit instructions that this wasn’t to end until he said so.
Oblivious now to the chaos and death all around him, Cain stood up from his chair and slowly approached the terrified man, one bloody hand still pinned to the table while the other pawed uselessly at the rope.
Cain’s eyes were alight with sheer, absolute hatred as he leaned in closer. Hatred that had been carefully suppressed and controlled for twenty years.
‘Right now, you’re probably asking yourself that most fundamental question of all – w
hy?’ he said, mockingly repeating the man’s earlier words. ‘I think now, at the end, you deserve a little truth. The truth is, I knew exactly what the Circle was, long before I came here tonight. I’ve known for a very long time. Just like I knew you were protecting Bin Laden, feeding me false information, leading us to the wrong place. And I let you believe it. That’s why he’s dead now, just like you’re about to be. That’s why the Circle ends today.’
The smell of burned cordite was thick in the air as the assault team swept through the room, dispatching anyone who had survived the initial onslaught. The entirety of the Inner Circle, everyone responsible for commanding the whole corrupt organisation, was either dead or dying.
They had exposed themselves today, believing nothing could touch them. Believing they could trust him. That was their biggest, and last, mistake.
‘Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this moment?’ Cain asked, his voice shaking a little as he spoke. ‘How many times I’ve thought about killing you?’
This was the culmination of Cain’s plans. This was everything he had worked towards for twenty long years. And at last, he had what he wanted.
James’ other hand pulled and wrenched at the knife pinning it to the table, tearing the flesh even further and bringing fresh jolts of agony.
‘All this time, you thought you controlled me. You thought you knew me. And little by little, year by year, you began to trust me. And this is where it brought you. Everything you worked to build, every person you betrayed, everything you achieved… it was all for nothing. I wanted you to know this, James. I wanted to look you in the eye at the end.’
Straining, grunting and gasping desperately for breath that wouldn’t come, James looked up at the man looming over him. The man he’d always believed he could control and manipulate. The man who was about to kill him.
And at last, as the darkness closed around him, he knew true fear.
‘This is your reward,’ Cain informed him, relishing his moment of triumph. ‘This is peace in our time.’
Giving Hawkins a nod, he watched as the big, powerful operative increased his grip, muscles and tendons straining with the exertion. James’ eyes bulged in agony and horror, his face turning purple, spittle flying from his mouth, his arm flailing uselessly as the pain and terror and desperation reached a final, unbearable peak.
And then, at last, he went still as death found him.
* * *
Bashir Shirani blinked as the bag was whipped off his head, a pair of bright flashlights shining into his eyes. He was in a small outbuilding at the far side of the compound. Outside, he could hear the high-pitched whine of helicopter engines spinning up, accompanied by urgent shouts from the assault team as they fell back.
Their mission accomplished, they were preparing to pull out before Pakistani military and police units arrived. All that remained was to deal with one loose end.
‘Name?’ one of the troopers barked at him, his voice wary and tense. Tonight had been the biggest night of their lives, and the last thing they wanted was for something to go wrong just as the mission was winding down.
‘Salah ad-Din,’ he replied without hesitation.
There was a moment of silence as the armed men around him considered his answer. Then at a nod from the team leader, one of them drew a knife and brought it down on him.
Shirani felt the plasticuffs at his wrists fall away, and brought his hands around in front, rubbing the raw skin. All things considered, it was a small price to pay for what he’d accomplished tonight.
Bin Laden was dead, as were most of al-Qaeda’s senior leadership.
‘Thank you,’ he said quietly, rising to his feet.
‘No. Thank you,’ the team leader said, shaking his hand. The Nomex combat glove was coarse and rough against Shirani’s palm, but he didn’t care. ‘America owes you a debt. And… Director Cain sends his thanks.’
Shirani nodded, some of the pressure of the past few months undercover finally starting to come through. He had been Marcus Cain’s hand-picked operative, entrusted with the most important and secretive mission imaginable, and he had completed his task.
He knew there would be a lengthy debriefing, and an even longer spell needed to readjust to normal life – he’d almost forgotten what ‘normal’ meant – but for now, he simply felt exhausted.
The team leader seemed to sense it too, and smiled encouragingly at him.
‘Let’s get the hell out of here, shall we?’
Chapter 56
Washington DC
Marcus Cain felt as if he were in a dream as he strolled out of the smoke-filled restaurant, leaving the assault team behind to begin the clean-up operation. A good number of people were going to have to ‘disappear’ after tonight, but that no longer mattered to him.
His work was done, his task complete. He was witnessing the beginning of a new age. An age free from the insidious influence of the Circle. The new world he’d hoped to create twenty years ago had at last come to fruition.
His cell phone was ringing again, and this time he answered. ‘Cain.’
‘We got him,’ Franklin informed him, his simple statement belaying the gravity of the situation. ‘It’s done.’
Cain sighed, closed his eyes and nodded. After so long, so many setbacks and challenges, he could hardly accept that it was all over.
‘Well done, Dan,’ he said, genuinely meaning it. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’
Franklin didn’t say anything to that, but his momentary silence told Cain the sentiment was acknowledged. ‘The White House is going apeshit. They want to put out a statement as soon as possible. The president wants to congratulate you personally. Where are you now?’
Cain glanced back into the dining area, where broken plates, glasses and dead bodies lay strewn across the floor, tables upended and chairs toppled. The Inner Circle, the most powerful and untouchable men and women in the world, lay dead, their blood pooling on the expensive imported marble tiles.
‘Just finishing up here.’ The heaviness in his voice told Franklin that more information was unlikely to be forthcoming. ‘Listen, once the dust settles, the Agency’s going to be needing a new deputy director. I can’t think of anyone better than you.’
Silence greeted him once more, though it wasn’t grudging, uncomfortable silence. This time it was shocked, stunned muteness.
‘Marcus, are you… sure about that?’ Franklin asked, regaining his voice.
‘I already raised your name with the president. He agrees you’d be an ideal choice.’ He sighed. ‘You’re a good man. Better than me, I think. The Agency’s going to need men like you.’
‘No conditions?’
‘No conditions.’
‘I don’t know what to say…’
‘Say yes,’ Cain advised. ‘Make this easy.’
Franklin exhaled slowly. ‘Okay. When you get back to Langley, we’ll talk.’
Footsteps on the marble floor behind drew Cain’s attention back to the present, and he turned as Hawkins approached, his expression one of satisfaction and contentment. Death was his business, but it was more than just an occupation for Jason Hawkins. He enjoyed it, thrived on it.
‘We’re all done here,’ he reported.
‘That’s good,’ Cain replied absently.
The veteran operative cocked an eyebrow. ‘Thought you’d be popping the champagne right around now.’
‘The Circle might be gone, but the work’s just beginning,’ Cain reminded him gravely. It would take a long time to undo everything they’d wrought. He gestured back into the wrecked dining area. ‘How long to make all this disappear?’
‘Two, three hours, tops. We’ve got a clean-up crew on it already,’ he confirmed. ‘By the time we’re done, nobody will even know we were here.’
‘Good work, Jason. I want you to head to the rally point near Capitol Hill. Prepare the field teams for my arrival.’
Hawkins frowned at the change of plan. ‘Shouldn’t we f
inish up here first?’
Cain shook his head. ‘Drake never made a move on the motorcade. That means he’s still out there. I want you on standby in case he tries something.’
‘Fair enough.’ He was about to turn away but halted, a smile forming. ‘Lighten up, Marcus. We won. Enjoy it.’
Saying nothing, Cain turned away and strode out through the main entrance. Once he was certain he was away from the building and out of earshot, he fished out his phone once more and dialled a new number.
It was answered within moments. His call was expected.
‘He’s on his way. Have your team ready.’
‘They’re already there,’ a distorted voice responded. ‘I hope for your sake there are no surprises.’
‘None,’ Cain promised. ‘He’s all yours.’
An effective tool he might have been, but Jason Hawkins had outlived his usefulness tonight. A man like that had no place in the new world he’d brought about. And if his death helped to make amends for the Vault attack in London, then so much the better. It had been easy enough to convince them Hawkins had exceeded his authority and launched the attack without permission, because it wasn’t a lie.
They were welcome to him.
His short call concluded, Cain slipped his phone back into his pocket and took a deep breath. The rain had eased off at last, the air cool and fresh as the warmth of the day bled away. Traffic rumbled by on the main drag, pedestrians strode past on the sidewalk, and a chopper thumped its way through the darkness somewhere overhead.
The world continued as it had before, unaware that a seismic shift had just taken place. Most people would never learn of the events in that restaurant, and that was fine with him. That was the life he’d chosen.
He started walking, heading down the street and away from the vehicle that was waiting for him. ‘Sir!’ his protective agent called after him. ‘Sir, where are you going? We have a car standing by.’