Endgame (Agent 21)

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Endgame (Agent 21) Page 21

by Chris Ryan


  Five minutes passed. The shouting faded away. As Ricky looked back over his shoulder, he could no longer see the glow of the torches. Everything was black. They could do nothing but continue to follow this tiny, rough path, and hope that it led somewhere that they wanted to go.

  They were heading more steeply uphill. When Ricky finally caught sight of the brow, it was about twenty-five metres in the distance. He felt as though the sweat was freezing on his forehead.

  – Is it just me, said the voice in his head, or is it getting brighter?

  Ricky blinked heavily. He looked around. There was no doubt about it. There was a faint glow. The light seemed to be coming from beyond the crest of the hill, which was suddenly more distinct – a craggy black line twenty metres beyond them.

  ‘Zak,’ Ricky hissed.

  ‘I know,’ said his companion. ‘Keep going.’

  They upped their pace – still crawling, but with a new purpose. They covered the distance to the brow of the hill in thirty seconds. The light was very bright now. For a moment they lay flat on the ground, catching their breath. Then, together, they pushed themselves up a fraction, so that they could see the terrain beyond.

  Ricky’s eyes widened at what he saw.

  27

  1H

  It was a military base, situated in what looked like an immense crater, surrounded by high, rocky cliffs. In the centre was a helicopter landing zone. Zak counted three choppers dotted around it. Two of them looked like personnel carriers of some kind. The third was plainly an attack helicopter. It had a sleek body, and guns on either side. The kind of kit that you really don’t want on your tail. Despite the late hour, the whole base was alive with activity: trucks skirted the landing zone, and there were about thirty armed, uniformed soldiers milling around the area.

  Surrounding the LZ were a number of large, square buildings: eight on the far, southern side of the base, eight on the northern side, closest to Zak and Ricky. Each of the buildings had a number and letter painted on the roof. Those on the nearest side were marked 1A, 1B, 1C . . . all the way to 1H. On the far side, they were marked from 2A to 2H. As Zak and Ricky watched, the large, wide doors of the building marked 2C slid open. Bright light burst from inside and a small truck emerged, pulling another attack helicopter out onto the landing zone.

  ‘Aircraft hangars,’ Zak breathed. And then his eyes widened for a moment. ‘What was it Gabs said?’ he whispered urgently.

  A look of dawning realization had crossed Ricky’s face too. ‘Be careful of hangers-on. Something like that.’

  ‘No,’ Zak said. ‘What were the exact words?’ He closed his eyes, and tried to replay that horrible video in his head. He saw Gabs’s bruised face and her shivering body. And he heard her weak, trembling voice. Be careful . . . of hangers-on, eh, sweetie. His eyes widened even more. ‘Come with me,’ he hissed. He clambered a few metres back down the hill, Ricky following. Casting around, he saw a flat patch of rock, covered with an icy, frosty layer. He pulled off his glove and, with one fingernail, scratched some words into the ice:

  Hangers-on, eh?

  ‘You see what she’s saying?’ Zak said, barely able to keep a note of excitement from his voice.

  Ricky nodded and made a small hissing sound under his breath. With his own finger, he drew two vertical lines in the ice:

  Hangers | on, e | h?

  ‘They’re in Hangar One-H,’ Ricky whispered. ‘Their messages have been leading us here all along.’

  ‘You bet,’ Zak answered. He crawled back to the crest of the hill. Hangar 1H was at the end of the line of hangars on the near side of the base. Zak and Ricky moved further along the ridge, about forty metres, until it was directly opposite them. Distance: fifty metres as the crow flies, but the hillside looked rocky and hazardous. ‘The hangar will be guarded,’ Zak told Ricky, who had crawled up beside him again. ‘We’re going to need a diversion.’

  ‘Again?’ Ricky asked, a bit sourly.

  Zak furrowed his brow, thinking his way carefully through the next few minutes. They could only see the back end of the hangar, where there was clearly no entrance. In order to make a plan they needed to know how many guards there were at the unseen entrance. Impossible from this vantage point. But then . . .

  ‘We’ve got eyes on the inside,’ he breathed.

  ‘What?’ Ricky asked.

  ‘Follow me,’ Zak said. ‘Keep very low. If I raise my hand, hit the ground.’

  ‘Care to tell me what we’re doing?’

  Zak gave him a sharp look. ‘Rescue mission,’ he said shortly. ‘What else?’

  Without another word, Zak rolled over the crest of the hill to reduce the chance of revealing himself along the ridge. When he was a couple of metres over the brow, he saw Ricky doing the same. He crouched low and started crawling down the hillside.

  It was treacherous underfoot. Several times his boots slipped on the rocky, icy slope, and his body thwacked hard against the hillside. He tried to keep one eye on the military base down below, but the lower they went, the more the hangars on the near side of the LZ blocked their view. As they got closer, however, they could hear increased sounds from the base: the roaring of engines, and people calling to each other in Russian. They were halfway down when a sudden burst of shouting hit Zak’s ears. He immediately raised his right hand. He and Ricky dropped to the ground. Not a second too soon. From somewhere, a floodlight shone across the hillside, moving quickly from west to east. It missed them only by a matter of metres.

  Zak found himself breathing and sweating heavily, despite the cold. They stayed flat on the ground, not moving, for a full two minutes before setting off again.

  It took fifteen minutes to reach the bottom of the hill. Zak’s every sense was on high alert. They were now positioned just twenty metres from Hangar 1H. To their left was Hangar 1G. There was the noise of some kind of engine from inside that one, but so far as they could tell from here, 1H was quiet.

  They crept forward. Zak’s skin was prickling. A Russian soldier could appear behind these hangars at any moment. And if that happened, it would be game over . . .

  It was with a deep sigh of relief that they reached the back of Hangar 1H. Zak felt it carefully. The building was cheaply made – this back wall was a thin sheet of corrugated iron. Good. That meant it would be resonant enough. He stepped back slightly and then, very gently, started tapping on the metal wall.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Ricky hissed.

  ‘Shhh . . .’ Zak replied, and continued tapping. His taps were a series of short and long beats – the Morse code his Guardian Angels had taught him so long ago.

  It took him twenty seconds to complete his message, at the end of which Ricky whispered an immediate translation. ‘How many guards are there?’ He looked at Zak. ‘You think they’ll be in a position to answer? They looked in a pretty bad way on those videos.’

  Zak didn’t answer. All they could do now was wait.

  A minute passed.

  Two.

  The sick feeling in his stomach grew more intense. What if they weren’t there? What if word had reached the Russians that Cruz was dead? What would that mean for Raf and Gabs?

  He tapped his message on the hangar again.

  ‘Mate,’ Ricky whispered, ‘I don’t think we can stay here too much—’

  He paused. From the other side of the metal wall was a tapping sound. It was slightly hesitant, as if the person making it was struggling.

  Dot. Dot. Dash. Dash. Dash.

  ‘Two,’ Zak translated immediately.

  And then the tapping came again. Still struggling. Some taps weaker than others. But fluent enough. Zak and Ricky’s eyes narrowed as they translated.

  ‘Coming . . . your . . . way . . .’

  They exchanged a sudden alarmed look.

  More tapping.

  ‘One . . . on . . . either . . . side . . .’

  Zak pointed to the left-hand corner of the hangar, but he didn’t need to – Ricky was already
running in that direction. Zak himself sprinted to the right-hand corner and waited, his heart pumping, his back pressed up against the metal rear wall. He felt himself flexing his fingers . . .

  There were footsteps approaching along the side of the hangar . . .

  He raised his left arm, and with a quick glance could see Ricky on the other corner, raising his right.

  The two Russian guards appeared at the same time. Zak instantly recognized the weapons his guy was carrying – an AK-47. But the soldier had made a bad error. The weapon was pointing forward from his body in the firing position, which meant it appeared from the side of the hangar, at right angles to Zak, before the soldier was even visible. Zak didn’t hesitate for a second. He slammed down his raised hand and grabbed the far end of the barrel and, before the soldier had a chance to squeeze the trigger, he yanked the butt hard into his chest.

  The soldier grunted in pain and stumbled forward like a drunk. Zak wasn’t finished yet. His guy had let go of his weapon in an attempt to clutch his chest. It was still strapped round his body, but Zak had a good amount of control over it. He angled the weapon so the butt was pointing up towards the soldier’s head, then slammed it hard into the area just between the eyes.

  The soldier’s eyes glazed over. He slumped heavily to the ground. Zak grabbed him by his ankles and dragged him fully round to the back of the hangar. Then he checked the guy’s pulse. It was there, strong enough. He’d live. But he’d have a hell of a headache when he woke up.

  Zak looked over towards Ricky. He saw almost a mirror image – Ricky’s guard was out cold too, lying on his back behind the hangar. They both unclipped their guard’s AK-47 and, breathless, met back in the centre of the hangar.

  ‘They could wake up any time,’ Ricky said, fumbling with the weapon, trying to put the safety catch on.

  Zak nodded his agreement. ‘We’re going to have to move fast.’ He looked uncertainly at the weapons. ‘Nobody dies,’ he reiterated.

  ‘Nobody dies.’

  ‘And Ricky?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You have used one of these before, haven’t you? We don’t need any accidents . . .’

  Ricky nodded. ‘Day on a range with Felix,’ he said. ‘The bullets come out this end, right?’

  Zak gave him a severe look. ‘Don’t fire unless you have to. We’ll go this way.’

  They ran back to where Zak’s guard was lying. Then, side by side, they turned the corner and advanced silently to the front of the hangar.

  They were on the very edge of the military base here. There were no personnel up ahead. Just the far end of the landing zone. Hangar 1H was about thirty metres in length. They covered that distance in ten seconds. When they reached the front corner, they pressed their backs against the wall. There was light spill coming from the front of the hangar – a clear indication that the guards, in their hurry, had left the door open.

  Zak turned to Ricky. ‘Ready?’ he whispered.

  ‘As I’ll ever be.’

  They swung round the corner, brandishing their weapons. Zak felt his stomach lurch. The landing zone was teeming with people – he estimated twenty-five soldiers at least. But the nearest of them were twenty metres away, and facing in the opposite direction. Distance to the entrance of the hangar: five metres. If they were quick – very quick – they might just manage to get into the hangar without anyone seeing . . .

  They sprinted, catlike, then swung round into Hangar 1H.

  Zak’s eyes burned momentarily from the brightness of the light. He squinted hard, and it took a good three or four seconds before the dazzle left him.

  When it did, his mouth went dry.

  Raf and Gabs were there, but they looked barely alive. They were slumped against the back wall, their hands tied together. Their faces were as bruised and bloodied as they had been in the videos Cruz had sent. More so. Their heads lolled listlessly and, although their eyes were open, they were staring into the middle distance, as though not even aware where they were.

  Zak sprinted towards them. He was aware of Ricky behind him, moving back into the hangar, but facing the entrance, his weapon covering it. He let his own weapon fall to the side as he slid to his knees right by his Guardian Angels.

  Gabs blinked. She turned to look at him, and spoke in a hoarse voice, a shadow of what it once was.

  ‘What kept you, sweetie?’ she said.

  Zak raised an eyebrow. ‘Ran into a couple of obstacles,’ he muttered.

  ‘Cruz?’

  Zak frowned. ‘Won’t be bothering us any more. Nor will Calaca.’

  ‘Does Michael know you’re here?’

  Zak looked her in the eye. ‘Michael’s dead. And Felix. And . . . and Malcolm. We’re on our own. No backup. No support.’

  For the briefest moment, a look of unspeakable anguish crossed Gabs’s face. It was almost too much to bear. Zak glanced over at Raf, whose face was a mixture of anger and confusion. Then he looked down at the cable ties that bound their wrists and ankles. They were digging deeply into their skin – their wrists were bleeding. He pulled out the hunting knife he’d stolen from the cab driver’s car, and with four quick slashes cut through the plastic ties.

  ‘There are dogs and a sledge,’ Zak said abruptly. ‘It’s about a twenty-minute tab. Think you can make it?’

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ Gabs whispered with an unconvincing smile. ‘But we’d better move fast. If they find out we’re gone . . .’

  Ricky nodded in agreement. Right then, however, Raf spoke.

  ‘Behind you,’ he breathed. His eyes flashed.

  It was as Zak was spinning round, weapon engaged, that he heard the first burst of fire.

  28

  ATTACK

  Ricky felt like the air had been punched from his lungs.

  Three Russian soldiers had suddenly appeared at the entrance to the hangar. They were armed, and were advance. One of them barked an order. Ricky didn’t recognize the word he spoke, but he could definitely tell what it meant: ‘Fire!’

  Time slowed down. As the Russian soldiers continued to advance, Zak’s mantra rebounded in his head: ‘Nobody dies.’

  He angled his AK-47 down a few degrees and let rip a burst of fire. The sharp recoil caught him by surprise, but the rounds exploded onto the ground less than a metre from the soldiers’ feet. As sweat trickled stingingly into Ricky’s eyes, he saw the soldiers diving out of the way. The exit was clear. He didn’t know how long for.

  ‘Move!’ he roared, looking over his shoulder as he did so. He saw Zak standing up. His AK-47 was pressed expertly into his shoulder. The thought shot through Ricky’s mind that, for the first time since he’d known Zak, he looked like a fully-fledged adult. Not a kid any more.

  Behind him were Raf and Gabs. To start with, they were still crouching on the ground. But slowly they rose, phoenix-like. They were beaten up, and in very bad shape, but there was something encouraging about the way they stood, flanking Zak. Raf had broad, muscular shoulders and a face like thunder. Gabs was slimmer and sleeker, but appeared, if anything, more dangerous. She was holding a pistol. Ricky recognized it as the red one. From his own snow jacket he withdrew the second handgun – the bulky old one Tyler had given them. Zak, Raf and Gabs moved forward in grim formation. Ricky handed the gun to Raf, who took it, cocked it, and held it – double-handed like Felix had taught him – in front of him.

  They stood in a line – Raf, Ricky, Zak, Gabs – facing the open exit of the hangar. They could hear shouting outside.

  ‘Nobody dies,’ Zak said, his voice like steel.

  ‘Whatever you say, sweetie,’ Gabs croaked. ‘Rifles to semi-automatic. Fire.’

  Ricky flicked the switch on his AK-47 and fired a single shot. At the same time there were three shots from his three companions. The rounds fell harmlessly at the mouth of the hangar, but the sound they made echoed loudly. Only an idiot would put themselves in that line of fire.

  ‘Forward,’ Raf said.

  They adva
nced in a line, weapons engaged. Ricky’s eyes flickered left and right – he couldn’t help noticing that Raf and Gabs were both limping. Walking was clearly very painful for them.

  Ten metres from the exit, they heard another surge of voices outside.

  ‘Fire!’ Gabs ordered.

  A second set of bullets kept the exit clear. ‘We need to turn right and get up the hill,’ Zak said, his voice as taut as a wire.

  ‘I’ll cover you,’ Raf said.

  Ricky turned to him. ‘Mate,’ he panted. ‘Are you sure you—’

  He fell silent at a single glance from Raf. He might have been all messed up, but Ricky had never seen such a look of fierce intensity. ‘Yeah,’ Ricky muttered after a second. ‘You cover us.’

  Raf moved forward into the doorway, where he automatically fell to one knee, the old firearm firmly in his double-handed grip. He took a moment to aim, then fired a single shot.

  ‘Go!’ Zak hissed.

  Gabs surged forward, Ricky following, Zak bringing up the rear. As Raf fired a second covering shot, they swung quickly out of the hangar, turning hard right. From the corner of his eye, Ricky saw numerous figures on the landing zone. Too many to count. He lost sight of them as he followed Gabs round the corner of the hangar, but then he heard Zak, behind him, firing a burst from his AK-47 before he and Raf joined them.

  Gabs, still in the lead, was limping heavily.

  – She’ll never make it up the hill, the voice in his head fretted. And what if the dogs have gone? What, then?

  Ricky ignored the voice. Looking over his shoulder he saw Raf and Zak. They were walking backwards, their guns pointing towards the front of the hangar. When a Russian soldier appeared fifteen metres from their position, Raf fired another single shot. Ricky caught a muzzle flash, and knew the round must have passed inches from the soldier – he shouted in alarm, then dived back behind the protection of the front of the hangar.

 

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