Keira chewed her lip and looked away for a moment, trying to decide whether it was worth it, whether the woman would even hear what she had to say. Garcia was watching her intently, waiting to see what she’d do.
‘He provoked me,’ she admitted at last. ‘He came looking for a fight. He got one.’
‘In what way did he provoke you?’
She could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment. ‘He made fun of the way I look, the way I dress. And he made fun of my mom, said she… she slept around.’
Garcia’s expression softened just a little. ‘Your mother’s divorced, if I understand it?’
Keira swallowed and nodded, her jaw clamped tightly shut.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said, actually sounding like she meant it. ‘You know we have counsellors I can put you—’
‘I don’t want to talk to anyone,’ Keira snapped. ‘I just want to be left alone. Why is that so hard for people to understand?’
Garcia didn’t react to this. Instead she glanced down at her pencil, making a small, neat note on the report she’d been compiling. ‘Then maybe you should rethink the way you present yourself,’ she said without looking up. ‘If you want to be left alone.’
Keira frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
Laying down her pencil, the principal looked across her desk at Keira with that same expression of strained, long-suffering patience. ‘The way you dress, style your hair, the make-up you wear… All these things affect the way people see you. The fact is, some people don’t like what they see.’
‘Then maybe they should look somewhere else,’ Keira said heatedly.
‘Look, I’m going to be honest. You’re a bright, young woman, Keira. You’ve got strong grades in every subject you apply yourself to, but if you keep refusing to fit in and let people provoke you, it’s going to ruin you. Where you go from here is up to you.’
‘Are we done?’ Keira asked, wanting to leave, wanting to escape this claustrophobic office and the ticking clock and the endless files and reports.
Garcia shook her head almost imperceptibly, as if conceding that this was a battle she wasn’t destined to win. Another student who would never fulfil the promise they showed.
‘Keira, you know this school has strict policies when it comes to fighting,’ she said, adopting a harder, more official tone. ‘No matter the provocation, it’s not acceptable to lash out physically.’ She paused for a second. ‘I’m going to recommend no criminal proceedings be pursued at this time, but I’m enforcing a two-week suspension, effective immediately. Your parents will be notified today, and I’ll arrange another meeting prior to your return.’
She looked up from her report with disappointment in her eyes.
‘Now we’re done.’
* * *
The CIA’s headquarters building contained some of the best-appointed and most secure conference suites anywhere in the world, many of them designed for use by top-level personnel and featuring a combination of cutting-edge technology and stylish comfort that would make many five-star-hotel managers jealous.
Briefing Room three, located deep in the bowels of the labyrinth building, was not such a place. A cramped, windowless office barely 10 feet by 15 feet, most of its internal space was taken up by a big, cheap-looking conference table that was too large for the room. The air smelled of coffee and sweat. A scattering of chairs were laid out awkwardly around it, three of which were occupied.
The first man who caught her eye was the biggest of the three. Mid-thirties, muscular build, and with his dark hair close-cropped, he had the olive skin and dark eyes that suggested Mediterranean heritage.
The man seated beside him was about as different as it was possible to be. Easily 50 years old, small and wiry and weather beaten, with shaggy blonde hair falling almost to his shoulders and a prodigious handlebar moustache, he looked like he’d just stepped off the set of some old Western movie. She half expected him to be packing a six-shooter at his hip, and for a Stetson to be hanging by the door.
The third man rose up from his chair as she entered, and straightaway she guessed him to be the team leader. Tall and well built, and with a presence that seemed to magnify both aspects, he held himself with the confidence of a man used to giving orders and making decisions. He’d been wearing a suit like most of the personnel at Langley, but the jacket was already hanging discarded over the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned so that he could work more comfortably. The kind of guy more accustomed to combat fatigues than a shirt and tie.
All three sets of eyes were now on her, appraising and assessing, but her face betrayed no hint of intimidation. She knew that to hesitate or shrink from them now would destroy any respect these men might have afforded her. She’d encountered such sexism enough times in the army, where women were regarded as liabilities for a unit, and knew the only way to meet it was with confidence and determination.
‘Good morning. My name’s Keira Frost,’ she began, focussing her attention on the man she assumed was the team leader. ‘I’m—’
‘I know who you are,’ he interrupted curtly, speaking right over her. She was surprised by his British accent. ‘You’re the tech specialist they sent me.’
Frost noted he didn’t say ‘the tech specialist I requested’, which told her a lot. Shepherd team leaders generally selected their teams from a pool of specialists from every relevant background imaginable. Teams could be as large or small, as uniform or diverse as the mission demanded and the team leader wished.
But he hadn’t chosen her. She’d been sent to him.
‘That’s right,’ she said evenly, deciding not to dispute his assessment.
He grunted something that might have been acknowledgement. Great, she thought, already noting his hostile look and gruff demeanour. I’ve been lumbered with a fucking Neanderthal as a team leader.
‘Introductions,’ he said abruptly, turning to the other two men. ‘We’re short on time so I’ll make this quick. The big lad there is Cole Mason, our assault specialist.’ He pointed a finger at his muscular colleague, who nodded with the barest hint of greeting.
‘And this is John Keegan, who’s on sniping duty,’ he added with a glance at the wannabe cowboy.
‘Looking forward to watching your back, and anything else you need,’ he said, his thick, Southern drawl matched only by the lascivious smile partially hidden by the bushy moustache. This prompted a snigger from his colleague Mason.
Frost could practically feel herself bristling at such an overt display of male bravado. She was particularly annoyed at the team leader for not disciplining the men under his command; as the CO, it was his responsibility to knock shit like that down before it got out of hand. That told her a lot about the kind of man she was dealing with.
‘Never caught your name,’ she said, staring him right in the eye. Her tone was calm and composed, but the look she gave him was one of barely disguised contempt.
‘Name’s Drake,’ he replied. This minimal social pleasantry exchanged, he turned his attention back to the laptop he’d been working on. ‘Get yourself set up, Frost. I assume you’re up to speed on the situation?’
Indeed she was. Well, as best she could be in the short time she’d had to study Flashback’s dossier. ‘One of our assets went missing in Ukraine, and we’re going in to pull him out,’ she said, taking a seat at the table and laying the folder down.
Drake raised his eyebrow. ‘You’re not going anywhere near him, Frost. Cole and I will handle the extraction while John covers us. You’re tech support only.’
She frowned, wondering if she’d overstepped the mark. Why was he being so defensive toward her? ‘Look, I didn’t mean to presume—’
‘Let’s get started, shall we?’ Drake said, cutting her off.
She exhaled to calm herself. ‘Of course.’
‘Here’s what we know so far. As of today, Flashback has been declared officially MIA. His last transmission indicated that the
organisation he’d infiltrated was gearing up for a big arms shipment, planned to go ahead within the week. Then he went dark. Our assumption is that he’s been compromised, which needless to say has gotten his handlers shitting bricks. Flashback represents six months of work on their part, building trust and establishing connections. If we lose him, we lose the chance of stopping a major push by Russia into Ukraine, not to mention our best shot at taking down the men responsible.’
He allowed that statement to hang in the air of the cramped briefing room for a moment before going on. ‘Fortunately, we may have caught a break. About 12 hours ago, NSA satellites intercepted a call from Anatoly Kourisov, believed to be the leader of the arms-smuggling operation, referring to Flashback by his cover identity.’
Drake’s laptop was hooked up to an overhead projector, allowing him to bring up images on the wall opposite. Going to work, he called up a picture of a stocky, bald-headed man in his sixties, clearly taken surreptitiously from some distance away as the man was exiting a vehicle. Heavy featured, grim-faced and unsmiling, he looked like he’d led a dark and unpleasant life, and was happy to inflict his experiences on the rest of the world.
Frost flipped her dossier to the section on Kourisov. There wasn’t much to see. Born in St Petersburg in 1952, drafted into the Red Army aged 18. After completing his mandatory term of service he opted to remain in the military, eventually serving several tours in Afghanistan and rising to the rank of colonel. With the dissolution of the Soviet Union and the military downsizing that accompanied it, Kourisov like many other officers, found himself unemployed almost overnight. Details of his life after that were sketchy as he seemed to keep a low profile throughout the 1990s, but in recent years he’d begun to appear on the CIA’s radar with suspected links to the illegal arms trade and Russian ultranationalist groups.
These days he was considered a high-priority target in the CIA’s efforts to keep Russia from extending her influence into Ukraine. No wonder the Agency was so worried about losing their source in his operation.
‘Our friends at the National Reconnaissance Office believe they’ve tracked Kourisov’s location to this building,’ Drake carried on, switching to a satellite overhead shot.
The building in question looked to be an industrial unit judging by its general size and dimensions. Presumably they had decided to set up shop in some disused industrial plant or other; there were certainly plenty of such places in the former Eastern Bloc countries.
Roughly L-shaped, with a flat roof and enclosed by a chain-linked fence that kept it isolated from similar units nearby, it looked like the kind of place one could easily store weapons and equipment.
Looking closer however, Frost was surprised to find the factory surrounded by heavy woodland, with most of the nearby roads and buildings overgrown with trees and bushes.
‘Where exactly is this?’ she asked.
‘Pripyat.’
Drake’s answer was delivered with such matter-of-fact casualness that she wondered if she’d misheard him. The place couldn’t serve as the base for an arms-smuggling operation, or any other kind of organisation for that matter. It had been abandoned for twenty years, virtually devoid of human life ever since the devastating meltdown at the nearby nuclear power plant.
A dead city forever frozen in time.
‘That’s in Chernobyl,’ she said quietly.
‘That a problem for you, Frost?’ Drake probed.
‘No, it’s just… I thought Pripyat was a ghost town,’ Frost said, fumbling. ‘It’s been sealed off ever since the disaster.’
‘And so it has,’ Drake agreed. ‘Which makes it an ideal place for Kourisov and his mates to operate from. There are no visitors, no civilians, nobody around to see what he’s up to. The only worry he has is the Ukrainian police that patrol the Exclusion Zone around the city, and we’re guessing he’s already got them in his pocket.’
Drake leaned back, surveying the group. ‘Our mission is clear. We insert covertly into the Exclusion Zone during the night, make our way through Pripyat and infiltrate the factory. Our primary objective is to find and recover Flashback, preferably alive. He’s no good to the Agency if he can’t tell us what he knows,’ Drake added. ‘Secondary objectives are to apprehend Kourisov if he’s on site and bring him in for interrogation, along with any hard intel we can get our hands on. Weapons and ammunition will be catalogued then destroyed with demolition charges once the team is clear of the area.’
Frost frowned at this. Shepherd teams were supposed to operate as covert entities, avoiding confrontation as much as possible. What he was proposing sounded more like a search and destroy mission. ‘Won’t that draw attention to us? We could leave them for the Ukrainian authorities to deal with—’
‘Is this your briefing or mine, Frost?’ Drake interrupted.
‘Just offering my opinion.’
‘If I wanted it, I’d ask for it. Right now you’re here to listen.’ Seeing her frustrated look, he pressed his attack. ‘That a problem?’
‘No.’
‘Good,’ he said, resuming his briefing. ‘Bearing in mind Kourisov’s connections, Ukrainian forces are to be considered hostile elements. We avoid them if possible, and engage if necessary. As soon as we’re out, we’ll pull out of the Zone, rendezvous with our extraction vehicle and exfiltrate the country. Assuming everything goes to plan, we’ll be in international airspace before dawn. Questions?’
Mason spoke up right away. ‘What’s the plan of assault?’
‘Standard three-man infiltration pattern. John provides cover while you and I make entry.’ Expanding the satellite image to encompass nearby terrain, Drake indicated another line of buildings to the north-east of the plant, with the remains of a road running parallel to its facade. ‘We approach from the north through the city, and make our way into this admin block here, about two hundred yards from the plant. There’s plenty of cover and a good field of fire from the upper windows so it should make an ideal sniping position.’
Keegan nodded, no doubt doing some mental arithmetic to determine whether Drake was right. ‘I can make that work,’ he decided.
Having allowed her male colleagues to voice their opinions, Frost decided she’d earned the right to address her own concerns. ‘Where do you want me?’
Drake indicated a tower block two hundred yards further north. ‘You’ll be standing by on comms here. According to Flashback, Kourisov has a reputation for tight security around his operation, so he may have electronic surveillance measures in place as well. If we run into anything, your job will be to talk us through disabling it.’
‘Over a comms channel?’ she asked, incredulous.
‘If you’d prefer carrier pigeon…’ Drake made a dismissive gesture, which prompted a few chuckles from Keegan and Mason.
Frost could feel a blush rising to her cheeks. ‘What I mean is, it makes more sense for me to go in with the assault team. That way I can bypass any security measures directly.’
‘Absolutely not,’ Drake said without looking up from his laptop, not even giving her suggestion a moment’s thought.
Frost’s ire was rising with each passing moment she spent in this asshole’s company. ‘But there’s no telling what you might run into,’ she persisted, trying to adopt a sensible, reasoned tone. ‘If this Kourisov guy is as paranoid about security as you think, he could have closed-loop cameras, infrared sensors, pressure pads… It would be like trying to talk someone through open heart surgery over the phone—’
‘I’ve made my decision. You stay out of the zone of engagement and advise us over the radio net, if and when I ask for your help. Until then you keep your mouth shut. Now if there’s nothing—’
‘Excuse me, sir,’ she said, putting particular strain on that last word as she interrupted him for a change. ‘But I’m not finished talking.’
Drake turned to her.
‘You might not like me or want me on your team, but you should at least listen to me because this is the kind
of stuff I know about,’ she said. ‘I was brought in because you needed a technical specialist to advise you. Well, here I am, and I’m advising you in the best interests of the mission to let me go in with the assault team. I’ve been through the same training programme as you, and with respect, I’m just as good at my job as you are. Now what is the problem?’
Had her heart not been beating so fast and loud, Frost imagined she could have heard a pin drop in that briefing room after that last remark. Even the hum of the air conditioners seemed to have receded, as if the building itself were holding its breath, waiting to see what happened next.
She couldn’t help herself. He’d been pushing her since the moment she entered the room, trying undermine her, trying to provoke a reaction. Well, fuck him. Now he had one.
Drake leaned back in his chair and glanced up at his two male colleagues. ‘Would you give us five minutes, please?’
Exchanging a look, Keegan and Mason rose from their chairs and left the room, with Keegan closing the door behind him.
As she’d expected, Drake wasted little time. ‘You were in the Signals Corps before joining the Agency, right, Frost? Did a tour in Iraq.’
‘That’s right.’
‘See any combat?’
She could sense where he was going with this, but wounded pride and an inherent streak of defiance wouldn’t allow her to back down. ‘Some.’
In truth, the closest she’d come to front-line combat was when a roadside bomb had virtually obliterated the lead Humvee in her convoy outside of Mosul. She could still remember the flash, and the fleeting thought that it wasn’t as big or fiery as they showed in the movies. She’d escaped harm, but three of her colleagues hadn’t been so lucky. Pieces of them had ended up scattered over a 50-yard radius.
Drake could sense the weakening in her resolve. ‘And have you ever killed a man? Ever looked him in the eye as his life faded away, knowing that you’re the one who took it?’
Trial by Fire Page 2