by Will Jordan
Drake hadn’t missed his implied meaning. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Enough,’ Starke said, his voice booming far louder than any of them could hope to match. ‘It’s time to finish what you started.’
‘Killing me won’t bring the Circle back,’ Cain reminded him. ‘They’re gone. It’s over.’
‘Far from it. You might have taken out the leaders, but everything they created is still intact. All that’s needed is for someone to carry on their work.’
It didn’t take much imagination to guess who Starke had in mind. He might have failed to protect them from Cain, but he was ready and willing to seize the opportunity and fill the power vacuum that had opened.
‘The same offer applies to you, Miss McKnight. Kill them both, and your record will be expunged. You’ll get your life back, and all of this will be a distant memory.’
Drake glanced at McKnight, sensing the doubts that were slowly blossoming in her mind, the long-abandoned possibilities awakening once more. She was tempted.
‘What’s the matter, Ryan?’ Starke pressed him. ‘Are these people really worth dying for? Would they hesitate in your position?’
Drake backed away from Anya, his eyes flicking between her and Cain. One of them had been his ally, the other his enemy. Now he didn’t know what either represented.
But the question remained – would they pull the trigger, in his place?
‘Tough decision, Ryan? Maybe you need a little… incentive,’ Starke suggested. ‘Look up.’
A pair of large-screen televisions had been mounted high on the walls on both sides of the main altar, probably to display hymn verses and other references during ceremonies. Now, however, when they flickered into life, they displayed something very different.
Drake felt the world start to close in around him, narrowing to a single tunnel between himself and the TV. It was displaying camera footage, low quality but clearly distinguishable. He recognised the location and the people in it right away, because he had been with them barely an hour ago.
It was the rest of his team, back at the disused garage. They were clustered around Frost and her computer terminal.
‘I think you understand my point now. Finish your mission, and you and your team get to walk away. Refuse, and… well, take a guess.’
Tearing his eyes away from the screen, he looked at Cain and Anya. Two people who had cost him a great deal already, and who might cost him even more depending on what he did in the next few seconds. Were they really worth it? Were they worth sacrificing everything he had left?
‘Take me,’ Cain commanded. ‘Take me and let the others go.’
‘Very noble of you, but I’m not in the business of leaving loose ends untied.’
Drake could almost feel the man’s firm resolve to protect Anya, even at the cost of his own life.
‘You already lost a loved one because of this, Ryan,’ Starke reminded him gravely. ‘Are you willing to lose another?’
‘Ryan,’ McKnight said, her voice hushed. ‘He’ll kill us no matter what we do.’
‘Time to choose,’ Starke commanded him. ‘Your mission, or your friends.’
Last of all, his gaze came to rest on Anya. The woman at the centre of all of this. The person who had saved, and very nearly ended, his life on more than one occasion. Who had taken and given so much.
She was watching him now, waiting for him to make his decision.
‘Remember what I told you once?’ she said quietly. ‘You’re a good man, Ryan. No matter what happens, remember that.’
‘No more talk,’ Starke’s booming voice commanded, everywhere and nowhere all at once. ‘Kill them now.’
Drake’s finger tightened on the trigger, inching fractionally towards the crucial point. Whatever justifications they might have for their actions, both Cain and Anya had committed terrible acts in their lives. They had each murdered, betrayed and lied in order to survive.
But so had he.
Was he really any better than them? Was he more deserving of life? Was it even his place to make such a choice?
‘No,’ Drake said at last, lowering his weapon. ‘I won’t do it, Starke. We both know you’ll kill us all, no matter what I do. I’d rather die with a clear conscience.’
He heard the NSA director sigh wearily over the speaker system.
‘You know, for a moment I actually thought you might have the balls to do it,’ Starke said mockingly. ‘But you’re right about one thing. You are going to die.’
As if on cue, the big doors at the far end of the church crashed open, allowing at least half a dozen figures to rush in through the breach. Drake’s head snapped around, taking in the tactical operatives, the heavy body armour, the silenced assault rifles swinging towards him and the others. And in the midst of the assault team, a man he recognised.
Hawkins smiled as he raised his rifle, taking aim. Not at Drake, but at Anya, standing alone and unarmed in the midst of the altar. She would be the first to die.
Drake saw it too.
‘Get down!’ he shouted, knowing he was too far away to intervene.
It happened so fast, so easy, it almost didn’t seem fair. Sighting her centre mass, Hawkins took first pressure on the trigger, exhaled and relaxed his muscles, then unleashed a short, deadly accurate burst that zipped through the air and struck its target.
Except that target wasn’t Anya. Just as the assault rifle kicked back into his shoulder, another body moved in between them.
Marcus Cain stumbled backwards as the rounds slammed into his torso, pulling Anya down with him. They landed together on the stone floor of the altar, Cain still shielding her with his dying body, his blood staining the ground around them.
At the same moment, Drake turned his weapon on Hawkins and opened fire just as the man was bringing his weapon around to sight his next target. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Drake take aim, knew the man had the drop on him, and tried to leap behind cover as Drake pulled the trigger. White hot pain seared through him as the round tore into his neck and he went down, his blood painting the pew behind.
In the midst of the unfolding firefight, Cain and Anya lay together behind the altar, holding each other close, everything around them forgotten. For a moment, their eyes met and everything else seemed to fade away. Cain watched as Anya’s shock and disbelief give way to growing realisation at what he’d done.
He saw a faint reflection of the young woman who’d once looked at him with love and longing, who had once been willing to die for him, and who now realised he’d done the same for her.
‘Anya!’ Drake yelled, gripping her arm and trying to pull her away. ‘We have to go! Now!’
Nearby, McKnight had leapt down from the altar, trading fire with a trio of assault operatives who were advancing along the edge of the vast room, using the pews and pillars for cover. The room echoed with the thump of suppressed gunfire.
‘Hurry, Ryan! Get her up!’
Coughing weakly, Cain nodded. ‘Go,’ he urged her. ‘Get out of here.’
There was so much still to say, so much they might still have done together. And none of it would come to pass now. This was where their story ended, and she knew it.
‘I’m sorry,’ Anya whispered.
‘Come on!’ Drake implored her, physically hauling her away.
Cain was oblivious to the desperate battle unfolding around him, the thump of automatic weapons and the frantic shouts. His laboured breathing was growing shallow, his damaged heart slowing as the final moments of his life played out.
His head lolled to the side, taking in the shelves of unlit candles neatly laid out nearby. And in the midst of them, a single one burning brightly, illuminating the photograph he’d carefully placed below it. His daughter, Lauren.
He would see her soon, he thought as the flame of his life flickered out and the darkness closed in around him.
Chapter 60
‘Where the hell is he? Talk to me, Frost,’ Jessica demanded, pacing ba
ck and forth across the dusty, litter-strewn floor of the garage, impatient for news on Drake.
‘If I knew what the fuck was happening, don’t you think I’d tell you?’ Frost hit back.
So far their night had swung wildly from triumph to disaster and back again, leaving them completely in the dark about what was happening. The last they’d heard from Drake, he and McKnight were en route to the church where Anya was planning to confront Cain.
How and why he’d decided to join forces with their traitorous former team member – or even how she’d found him in the first place – was a complete mystery. There simply hadn’t been time to question him.
‘We should go there ourselves,’ Frost decided. ‘He may need backup.’
‘What about the plan?’ Mitchell countered.
‘The plan’s fucked,’ she stated bluntly. ‘We’re on our own now.’
Mitchell sighed but nodded agreement. ‘Fine. What about Dietrich?’
Thinking on it for barely a second, Frost switched comms frequencies. ‘Dietrich, come in. Relocate to National City Christian Church ASAP. Ryan’s off comms and needs urgent backup. Over.’
There was no answer.
Frost repeated her summons. ‘Dietrich, acknowledge this transmission. Over.’
Once again she was met by dead air. Both men had simply disappeared.
* * *
Anya was in a daze as Drake hauled her away from the altar, barely even conscious of the firefight raging around them. Glancing left, she watched with a strange sense of detachment as the wooden frame of the pulpit shattered under a stray burst of gunfire. On her right, more rounds ricocheted off a stone pillar, busting apart in a spectacular shower of sparks and broken masonry.
And all the while, Drake pulled her onward, with McKnight covering their retreat.
‘Changing mags!’ McKnight shouted, ejecting the spent clip from her smoking weapon.
Hearing the crash of another door being blown open nearby, Anya looked up as two more men advanced into the room straight ahead, trying to cut them off.
‘Contact front!’ Drake called out.
Both he and McKnight emptied their weapons into the two operatives, aiming for the head instead of wasting ammunition on their formidable armour. One stumbled backward while the other was spun sideways, triggering a long burst on full automatic that stitched a path across the stonework in front of them.
‘Go!’ Drake cried, pushing past their fallen bodies and into the corridor beyond.
In that instant, the world snapped back into place for Anya. Reaching down, she snatched up one of the dead men’s weapons – a Heckler & Koch G36 assault rifle – and dropped to one knee to present a smaller target.
Sighting the nearest operative as he broke cover, she squeezed off a short, deadly accurate burst that slammed into his upper chest and face. She saw a burst of red, heard a muffled scream as he went down.
‘Fall back!’ McKnight yelled.
‘Go! I’ll cover you.’
In response, McKnight grabbed her arm, forcing her to look round. ‘You can’t win this one, Anya. We have to go. Now!’
Those words seemed to cut through the fog of rage and vengeance that had enveloped her. She could make a stand here, probably take a few of them with her, but in the end they would get her. Her death would serve no purpose at all.
Glancing down at the dead man by her feet, she undid a pouch on his webbing and yanked out the fragmentation grenade within. A few seconds later, she’d yanked the pin free and placed the device beneath the body.
Firing off another wild burst through the open doorway, she retreated deeper into the building with McKnight right behind her.
* * *
Nearby, Jason Hawkins pulled his hand away from his neck. The Nomex combat glove was slick with his own blood. Drake’s hastily aimed shot had grazed him, just missing an artery, but it was bleeding profusely all the same.
‘You okay, sir?’ one of his operatives asked, eyeing the gory wound.
‘It’s nothing. Move up!’ Hawkins snarled. ‘Run those bastards down.’
As his team closed in on the doorway, Hawkins rose to his feet and ascended the steps of the altar, glancing up at the cross overhead before turning his gaze downward to the man lying dead on the floor.
Marcus Cain, the director of the CIA. One of the most powerful men in the country. The man who, less than an hour ago, had tried to have him executed. An eye for an eye, as his father always used to say.
Reaching up, he pressed his radio transmitter. ‘It’s done. Cain’s dead.’
‘Good,’ Starke replied, speaking directly over the secure comms system. ‘And the others?’
‘We’re on it.’
‘I suggest you finish this quickly. Local police have been alerted. I can stall them, but not for long.’
Nearby, his team advanced into the doorway, encountering two of their comrades lying sprawled on the stone floor. One reached down to check for signs of life while his comrades covered him.
What he didn’t notice was the grenade lodged beneath the dead man’s shoulder. Not until he heard the faint ping of the spring-loaded fly-off handle detaching, and saw the metal sphere roll into view.
‘Grenade!’
The roar of the detonation sent a cloud of smoke and stone fragments out into the main altar room, the vibrations trembling up through the building’s structure to send shivers of dust down from high above.
Hawkins was obliged to turn away to avoid flying debris. But as the echo of the blast died away, he let out a slow, carefully controlled breath.
‘Get in there,’ he instructed, seething with rage. ‘Find them.’
* * *
The main body of the church was flanked by a pair of five-storey buildings. Constructed of the same grey stonework as the church itself, they were devoted to less spiritual and more practical matters; mostly administrative duties, project planning and general workspace for the church’s sizeable staff. Tonight, however, the place was deserted, the lights turned off, the desks and meeting rooms unmanned.
Weapon in hand, Drake advanced quickly up a flight of stone steps and along the short corridor connecting the church building to the office block, heading for the north end of the building where a stairwell led down to an emergency fire exit. The same way he and McKnight had made entry.
He had no idea what they were going to do once this was over, how he could begin to process everything he’d learned about both Anya and his mother, but that would have to wait.
Don’t think about it now, he commanded himself. Just keep moving.
Reaching up, he powered up his comms unit and spoke urgently into the microphone. ‘Keira, Keira, come in. You need to get out of there now. Repeat, you’ve been compromised. Get the fuck out.’
Frost didn’t respond. Neither did anyone else, for that matter. All he could hear was the faint hiss of static in his ear. Was it the heavy stone structure around him, or something else? Was he already too late?
Catching footsteps behind, he glanced over his shoulder as his two companions sprinted to catch up with him.
‘They’re coming,’ Anya reported, avoiding Drake’s gaze. ‘We barred the door at the other end, but it won’t hold them long.’
‘We’re almost out,’ Drake replied as they pushed through into a large, open plan office area, banks of desks and smaller meeting rooms set at intervals. Everything had been powered down for the night, the lights turned off and the computers shut down. The only illumination was from the glow of street-lamps outside, hazily filtered through the drawn curtains.
‘We have to warn the others,’ McKnight said.
‘Comms are down,’ he replied, trying again in growing desperation. ‘Keira! Anyone, come in!’
Nothing.
‘Fuck!’ he snapped. One or both sides of the transmission were being jammed by Starke. The head of the NSA. The man who was tapped into everything.
‘They can’t hear you,’ a woman’s voice taunted
him. ‘You’re too late.’
Drake’s reaction was born from pure instinct. Twisting aside, he threw himself behind a bank of desks just as a storm of automatic gunfire erupted in front of him, the muzzle flashes bursting across the dimly lit office space like lightning. Glass shattered as rounds blasted apart computer monitors and tore through thin wooden desk partitions, showering him with debris.
Anya and McKnight likewise took cover on the opposite side of the aisle. Angling her weapon over the top of the desk, Anya snapped off a long burst, spent shell casings clattering to the ground around her. It was loud but futile, buying them mere seconds. The answering hail of gunfire was both accurate and sustained, forcing her to flatten herself against the floor.
Quickly assessing the situation, Drake reached his conclusion about the same time as his companions. ‘Get out of here, both of you,’ he hissed. ‘I’ll draw their fire.’
Anya shook her head. ‘We have to do this together.’
They both flinched as more rounds chewed up the floor between them, some ricocheting wildly into the wall behind.
‘No time to argue. Just go!’ Drake snapped, readying himself.
Anya stared back at the man who was about to risk his life for her, wishing there was something she could say to him. Some way of making this right.
‘I’m sorry, Ryan,’ she whispered.
Drake met her gaze, and for a moment she wondered if he might harbour similar sentiments. ‘Find a way to warn the others,’ he ordered her. ‘Don’t let this be for nothing.’
Swallowing, Anya nodded.
At the far end of the room, Riley smiled as she gleefully emptied the remains of her P90 submachine gun’s magazine in Drake’s direction, revelling in the wanton destruction. The short, compact weapon jolted against her shoulder with satisfying power, the smell of cordite smoke thick in the air around her.
Death and destruction had always held a certain fascination and excitement for her, one that was almost arousing in its intensity. But tonight the anticipation was heightened by the knowledge of who she was about to kill. Drake and Anya trapped together. No way out, except through her.