Hunter Killer

by Chris Ryan

  The colour drained from her face. Her eyes widened. Confusion.

  Then she closed them.

  ‘I didn’t have a choice,’ she whispered.

  ‘Everyone has a choice,’ Danny said. His eyes flickered towards the gun. It was lying five metres away. He stepped over and picked it up. An S&W 9mm snubnose revolver. It seemed improbable that someone like Victoria even knew how to use it. But he wasn’t going to take the chance.

  ‘Get to your feet,’ he said.

  Atkinson didn’t move. ‘If you’re going to kill me,’ she whispered, ‘please don’t do it here. Let me disappear. I don’t want my children to see my body.’

  Danny felt a click of satisfaction. He knew that everyone had a pressure point. Atkinson had just artlessly revealed hers. He raised the snubnose and pointed it at her. ‘I’ll post your fucking corpse through their bedroom window if you don’t start talking.’

  She stared at him in horror. ‘I didn’t have a choice,’ she whispered.

  Silence. Just the drip-dripping of water. And outside, the sound of a car passing. Danny stepped towards the mobile phone and pulled the battery from the back. Then he flung it back to the floor. It clattered noisily. He gave Atkinson a long, uncomfortable stare, but didn’t say anything.

  ‘He threatened to kill my family,’ she whispered.

  A pause.

  ‘Abu Ra’id?’

  Atkinson shook her head. ‘Of course not,’ she breathed. She buried her head in her hands for a moment. When she looked up again, her face was tear-strewn. Mascara was smeared round her eyes. Danny almost felt sorry for her.

  Almost.

  ‘Gengerov?’ he asked quietly.

  The name seemed to go through Victoria like an electric shock.

  ‘You know?’ she whispered.

  Danny kept a blank face. He couldn’t let her see how little he actually did know.

  ‘Abu Ra’id told you?’

  No response.

  ‘I was young,’ Atkinson breathed. ‘I didn’t understand. Pyotr Gengerov helped me with my Russian so that I could get my Moscow posting.’

  She closed her eyes again. ‘We fell in love,’ she said. ‘At least, I fell in love. That’s all. I didn’t think I was being indiscreet.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Atkinson said. ‘Really, nothing. Nothing important. But it was enough. Enough for him to . . .’ She buried her head in her hands again.

  ‘To blackmail you?’ Danny said.

  She nodded.

  ‘How long have you been feeding him information?’

  A pause.

  ‘Twenty years,’ she said. ‘He said he would reveal everything if I didn’t keep the intelligence coming. I’d have gone to prison for the rest of my life. And I had . . . I had children by then . . .’

  She dissolved into helpless tears. Danny paced round her. He knew there was more to come.

  ‘I thought I was getting away with it,’ she said once her crying had subsided a little. ‘But then . . . Syria happened. Relations between us and the Russians hit rock bottom. And he wanted . . .’ She tried to steady herself with a deep breath. ‘They wanted names. The names of all British personnel operating undercover in the Middle East and Africa.’

  Danny felt himself frowning. He wondered how many of his mates’ names would be on a list like that.

  ‘And?’ he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

  She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t do it,’ she whispered. ‘I swear, I just couldn’t do it. But he insisted. He’d always kept my identity secret from Moscow, but now he said if I didn’t give him a list of names, he’d reveal my name to Moscow and London. And he threatened to harm my family. I believed him. You don’t know what he’s like. I truly believed him.’

  Another pause.

  ‘So you decided to kill him,’ Danny said.

  Bloodshot eyes looked back at him. ‘It was for my children.’ Her voice cracked as she spoke.

  ‘And Abu Ra’id?’ Danny said.

  She bowed her head again. ‘He was my best weapon,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  A flash of irritation crossed her face. ‘Why do you think nobody could ever deport him? He was working for us! Our highest-ranking double agent.’

  Danny blinked heavily. ‘What?’

  ‘Only a handful of us knew about it. Me, the head of MI6. Four or five others in the security services. The PM, of course. Abu Ra’id was going to deliver the whole network. Or so we thought. He was permitted to orchestrate minor acts of terrorism to keep his cover, but nothing like Paddington or the Trocadero. Nothing like that.’

  Danny stared bleakly at her. ‘Go on.’

  Victoria lowered her eyes. ‘I truly believed he was on our side. We all did. I didn’t realise just what he would do for his own cause. When Gengerov demanded that list of names, I asked Abu Ra’id a personal favour. It was all anonymous, of course – he only knew me by a code name – but I needed someone to eliminate Gengerov. He could use his people to do it.’

  ‘How did he know about Hammerstone?’

  ‘He didn’t,’ she said flatly.

  ‘He knew the name.’

  Victoria thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘I left him a package in the grounds of Hammerstone House containing all the details he needed to know about Gengerov. I mean, for God’s sake, I couldn’t just invite him into Thames House. I told him he could engineer some small diversion, to distract everyone’s attention from the hit on Gengerov. But I swear, I had no idea he would . . .’

  ‘That he would get his goons to fit up a bunch of Down’s syndrome kids to bomb the fuck out of London?’ Danny said.

  ‘I never thought . . .’

  ‘No!’ Danny spat back. Images of mutilated bodies in the bombings filed through his head. He remembered Spud the last time he’d seen him, on the brink of death, being wheeled into the back of the Red Cross van. ‘You never thought!’ He paced round her again, trying to work out his next move.

  She looked up suddenly, her mascara more streaked than ever. ‘I tried to fix it,’ she said. ‘Once Abu Ra’id had shown his true colours, he thought he had a hold over me. He thought now I was implicated in his beastly acts of terrorism, I’d bend over backwards to see he wasn’t caught, in case he revealed my involvement.’ A steely look came into her eyes. ‘He thought wrong,’ she said.

  A change seemed to come over her. She pushed herself to her feet and brushed down her clothes with her hands.

  ‘Very wrong, as it happens. You don’t get to my position without knowing a few people in government that have the Prime Minister’s ear. I dropped some hints, let them think it might soon leak out that Abu Ra’id was being kept safe for other purposes. Political dynamite. I knew it wouldn’t be long until they issued a kill order.’

  ‘So you needed a hunter-killer unit. Small enough to control, and small enough to eliminate when the job was done, in case they found out the truth when they caught up with Abu Ra’id.’

  She stared at him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘Buckingham spoke so highly of you. And if I didn’t bury my tracks, my children . . .’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Danny muttered. ‘Your children.’ He paused a moment. ‘Whose was the drone?’ he demanded. ‘British? American?’

  She shook her head. ‘Yemeni. I had access to the real-time data for your mission. It’s standard practice. I . . . I supplied the Yemenis with coordinates from your GPS units. Anonymously, of course. They didn’t want that training camp on their territory, any more than we would.’ She grimaced slightly. ‘But it seems you got the better of me.’

  Danny continued to circle around her, the snubnose firmly in his grasp. ‘I can’t see any reason why I shouldn’t just waste you now,’ he said.

  Victoria bowed her head. ‘Wouldn’t you do the same for your family?’ she asked finally. Then she looked up at him. ‘You’ve got to help family. It’s the only thing we have.’

  Danny stopped p
acing. Her words cut through him. He thought of Kyle. Of how his brother had begged him for help, and how Danny had turned him away. He found that, despite everything, he had a weird kind of respect this woman. She’d fucked up, no doubt about it. But she was a fighter. A kindred spirit.

  And anyway, now that he knew her secrets, he had some collateral.

  ‘I’m not going to beg,’ Victoria breathed. Her voice was shaking now. ‘If you’re going to do it . . .’

  Danny held the weapon up to her head. Point blank. His finger rested calmly on the trigger.

  ‘Do it quickly,’ she whispered.

  Danny stepped forward. He allowed the barrel of the gun to touch the back of her skull. ‘If I let you walk out of here,’ he said, ‘the first thing you’re going to is find Spud Glover. If he’s still alive, the Red Cross will have him in Eritrea. I don’t care if you have to use every last member of the military to do it. Whatever it takes, you get him back. Understood?’

  He watched the back of her head nod slowly up and down. Her shoulders trembled.

  ‘You’ve got twelve hours to square things for me with Hammerstone and the Regiment. I want to be able to walk into Hereford HQ first thing in the morning, and if I have to answer too many questions about how we disappeared in Yemen and cropped up in the UK, we might end up telling someone the truth.’

  Slowly, Victoria Atkinson turned. Her wide eyes were brimful of tears. Of gratitude or terror, Danny couldn’t tell. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. She clenched her hands against her chest. There was something pitiful about her. The smeared mascara. The mussed hair. ‘Thank you.’

  Danny scowled. ‘Get out of my sight,’ he breathed.

  She stepped backwards, her heel buckling slightly.

  ‘Thank you,’ she repeated again. She was unable to take her eye off the firearm, which Danny was still pointing in her direction.

  Danny lowered it.

  She turned. She upped her pace towards the exit.

  And then, suddenly, she screamed.

  Twenty-seven

  They had entered the room silently. Two figures. Balaclavas. Jeans and leather jackets. MP5 SDs – permanently suppressed submachine guns. Ideal for close-quarter battle. Quiet. Ruthlessly effective.

  Regiment? They easily could be. They held their weapons like pros. But that variant was not standard SAS issue. They might be pros, but they weren’t colleagues.

  Distance between Danny and the armed men: 15 metres. Victoria was bang in the middle. And Danny knew if he raised his snubnose just an inch, he’d be dead.

  A third figure appeared in the doorway. Just a silhouette, at first. He stood there in the shadows. Danny found he was holding his breath.

  ‘Interesting conversation,’ said the figure. An American voice. Slow. Kind of polite. Instantly recognisable.

  Victoria gasped.

  The figure stepped out of the shadow and further into the church hall, the moonlight lighting up his face. The two shooters stayed where they were.

  Silence. The water dripped at the far end of the hall. Victoria didn’t move.

  ‘Harrison,’ she whispered finally.

  ‘Victoria.’ Hammerstone’s CIA liaison officer inclined his head politely. Then he looked beyond her to Danny. ‘I think I told you once that our boys in Delta speak highly of the British SAS. Looks like they’re right. I’m impressed you’re still alive.’

  ‘I’m impressed you knew where to find me,’ Danny said, his voice cold.

  Maddox smiled. ‘Chrissakes, Black. We’ve got the full resources of the NSA behind us. We can find anyone, pretty much. We’ve been tracking you ever since you dragged one of our agents out of bed in southern Saudi Arabia.’ A confused look flickered across his face. ‘I gotta say, I was slightly surprised you didn’t think a guy would be operating a Cessna taxi from the Arabian Peninsular to East Africa without us at least knowing about it. Touching phone call to your brother, though. Very touching.’

  Danny didn’t let any expression show on his face. But he felt nauseous.

  ‘Not that we weren’t monitoring him, of course. And naturally we had eyes on your girlfriend. Sharp girl. I think she may have noticed our guy, but no harm done. We’ve even had surveillance on your poor old dad. Not that he can do much in that wheelchair, but there was always a chance you’d get in touch with him.’

  Danny felt the skin tightening around his eyes. He remained quiet.

  ‘Had to pull a few strings to make sure you got through immigration in Germany and Ireland, but it wasn’t too onerous,’ Maddox said. ‘We didn’t want you languishing in a Frankfurt jail. Not when there was a chance you had information we needed. Our intelligence networks are good, but there are always a few missing pieces of the jigsaw. Now do us all a favour and put that weapon on the ground, would you?’

  Danny kept hold of the snubnose. An exhausted look crossed Maddox’s face. He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Drop the fucking gun, Danny,’ he said. ‘We’ve kept you alive this far, but now you’ve given us everything we need on Mrs Atkinson here, it’s really no big deal for me to have one of my guys drop you. I’ve half a mind to let them do it anyway. If I didn’t have a younger brother in the military myself . . .’

  A pause. Danny considered his options. It didn’t take long. He bent down and put the gun on the ground.

  ‘Kick it away,’ Maddox said.

  Danny obeyed. The weapon skidded ten metres from his position.

  ‘Attaboy,’ said Maddox, as though praising an obedient pet.

  ‘What do you want, Harrison?’ Victoria said. She sounded waspish again, but couldn’t quite stop her voice from breaking.

  ‘Want?’ Maddox replied. ‘I want the same thing I’ve wanted ever since I made contact with yourself and those ridiculous lunatics Piers Chamberlain and Hugo Buckingham.’

  ‘What?’ Victoria insisted.

  ‘You.’

  He took a couple of paces forwards.

  ‘You’re in a lot of trouble, Victoria,’ he said. ‘In the days when you were feeding information to Gengerov, six American undercover operatives lost their lives as a direct result. It’s not something we take lightly.’

  He stepped two more metres towards them.

  ‘He was blackmailing me,’ Victoria whispered, but Maddox merely waved her away with an impatient flick of his hand.

  ‘Contrary to your belief, Victoria, we don’t just stick people in Guantanamo – or any of our other facilities – unless we’re very sure they did what we’re accusing them of. That’s why you’ve been walking free all these years. Oh, for God’s sake Victoria, don’t look so shocked. Why else would I muscle my way into your silly little cabal? I just didn’t expect to nail you so quickly. We’ve suspected you for some time now, of course, but we’ve never had the smoking gun.’ He smiled blandly. ‘Until now. A full confession, straight from the horse’s mouth, pardon the phrase. I’m sure the British would be very pleased to get their hands on you when they learn of your involvement in the bombings, but unfortunately for them, we got to you first.’

  ‘I can explain,’ Victoria breathed.

  Maddox smiled. ‘Really?’

  ‘Everything you heard me say was for his benefit.’ She looked round at Danny. ‘You can’t expect me to give the full story to an ordinary soldier. You’re cleverer than that.’

  Maddox held up one hand. ‘Enough, Victoria. I don’t want to hear your excuses. You’re a traitor to your country. Frankly, I can live with that. But you’re also an enemy of the United States. You know what that means.’

  Victoria’s knees buckled. A sob escaped her throat.

  Maddox addressed Danny again. ‘You’ll need to be on your way, my friend,’ he said. ‘I doubt this is something you’ll want to witness.’

  Danny stepped forwards. Slowly. Five seconds later he was standing between Victoria Atkinson and Harrison Maddox.

  ‘You’re making a mistake,’ he said.

  Maddox looked exasperated. ‘Say, what?’


  ‘She fucked up once, a long time ago. Since then she’s been blackmailed, twice – once by Gengerov, once by Abu Ra’id. She’s not your enemy. It’s more complicated than that. You know it is.’

  Maddox’s brow furrowed. ‘What the hell do you care? She tried to kill you.’

  ‘Lots of people have tried to kill me,’ Danny said.

  ‘Just get out, Black,’ Maddox said. ‘I don’t want my guys here to have to deal with both of you, but if you give me no option I’ll just say the word.’

  ‘No,’ Danny said. ‘You won’t. Because I’ve got three Regiment mates who know where I am, and if I disappear, they won’t let it lie. And trust me, we’re persistent.’

  Maddox stared at him. He looked momentarily unsure of himself. Then, without a word, he put one hand into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a mobile phone. ‘Since you’ve been staying off the grid, I’m sure you’ve been too cute to check your messages lately,’ he said. He punched a few numbers into the phone, then held up the handset. ‘Your journalists aren’t the only ones who know how to hack a phone,’ he said, as Danny’s voice echoed round the hall.

  This is Danny. Leave a message.

  His personal phone that he hadn’t even switched on for days.

  Maddox punched in another four-digit code to access Danny’s messages.

  A beep.

  A woman’s voice: Message received today at 12.42 a.m.

  About the time Danny was watching the White Witch stick a knife in her own guts.

  It was Kyle’s voice. He sounded bad.

  It’s me. You’ve got to call.

  Another beep.

  Message received today at 8.03 a.m.

  While Danny was conducting surveillance on the MI5 building.

  Fuck’s sake, Danny. I’m not pissing around. It’s important. Call me.

  Beep.

  Message received today at 7.55 p.m.

  While Danny and his mates were tracking the Hammerstone quartet around London.

  They’ve got her, all right? The fucking Poles have got her. His voice was slurring.

  High, or drunk, or both. Bile rose in Danny’s throat. I couldn’t do anything about it. It’s your fucking fault, you should have helped me out with them in the first place. If I don’t get them their fucking money before midnight, they’re going to . . .