Global Strike

by Chris Ryan

  Jesus, thought Porter.

  There’s enough firepower in here to start a bloody war.

  ‘They’re untraceable, of course,’ Stillman said. ‘All bought at gun shows down in North Carolina. Plenty of ammo there too.’

  Bald grinned at the array of weaponry. Stillman pointed to one of the pistols. A Glock 17 semi-automatic.

  ‘You’re familiar with this one, lad? It’s my latest addition.’

  Before Bald could answer, Stillman snatched the Glock from the door pouch, wrapping his hand around the textured rubber grip. Bald looked on in bemusement as the housekeeper pointed out the various details on the weapon. Like a teacher instructing a first-timer in gun safety.

  ‘We used these all the time when I was in the firearms unit. It’s fairly straightforward. Mag release button here, next to the trigger guard. Insert your clip, manually pull back the slider and release to load a round in the chamber. Like so.’

  He demonstrated to Bald. The guy’s movements were slow and clumsy, and Porter started to wonder how much Stillman had had to drink that evening already.

  ‘I always find that a two-handed stance is best for the Glock,’ Stillman went on. ‘Feet shoulder-width apart, arms extended into a triangle, knees flexed slightly to give yourself a solid firing platform.’

  Stillman took up the stance, aiming the Glock at an imaginary target on the bedroom wall. Bald stared darkly at the housekeeper, and Porter could sense his mucker getting angrier by the minute. He looked like he might punch Stillman in the face at any moment.

  This bloke is really pushing Jock’s buttons.

  ‘We’ve seen enough here,’ Porter said, cutting the demo short. ‘Why don’t you show us the comms kit.’

  ‘Sorry, fella. You’re in a hurry to speak to your handler?’

  ‘Just show us where everything’s set up.’

  Stillman replaced the Glock in the pouch and closed the safe door. He trudged out of the bedroom and made his way across the foyer, stopping in front of a door opposite the study.

  ‘It’s all down there in the basement. Comms kit, encrypted mobile phone, the works.’

  Porter nodded and turned to Cooper. ‘Me and Jock will head down. Make the call.’

  ‘Actually, I think I’ll come with you.’

  ‘What for? So you can listen to us getting bollocked by your mates?’

  ‘I’m good friends with both Nigel and Dom. I know how to deal with them. You’re going to want me in the room when you put in that call.’

  ‘What about him?’

  Bald pointed with his eyes at Street. The ex-spy had been quiet for most of the journey to the safe house. Now he just looked knackered. Which was understandable, thought Porter. Street had spent the past seven days on the run, watching his back. Right now, he was probably experiencing the world’s biggest comedown.

  ‘I’ll be alright,’ Street said. ‘Just a bit worn out, Terry.’ Cooper half-smiled at his friend. ‘That’s an understatement. Look, why don’t you wait in the lounge while we’re dealing with the chaps over at Vauxhall? I’ll brief you as soon as we’re off the phone.’

  ‘I could talk to them? I might be able to help fill in the blanks.’

  ‘No need. We’ve got this covered. Just put your feet up for now, old boy.’

  Street nodded uneasily. Cooper led him off to the living room. He emerged several beats later and hurried back over to join the others in front of the basement door.

  ‘Is your mate okay?’ Stillman asked.

  ‘He’ll be fine. He’s just had a long day.’

  ‘So have we all,’ Bald said.

  Stillman led them through the basement door. Down a creaking wooden staircase, into a brightly lit space with beige carpet and bare grey walls. They passed a recreation room cluttered with free weights and various exercise machines. None of the equipment looked as if it had been used in a long time. Which didn’t surprise Porter. Stillman didn’t look like the kind of bloke who regularly broke into a sweat.

  At the far end of the basement they reached a small office. An oak corner desk took up most of the room, with a pair of budget ergonomic chairs parked in front of it. There was a whole bunch of computer equipment on the desk, and underneath it. Wires, monitors, keyboards, printers. Two flat-screen monitors, both in screensaver mode. A separate bank of TV screens ran a live feed of the security cameras overlooking the grounds of the house.

  ‘This is it,’ Stillman said, patting the top of a shiny black box on the desk.

  The box resembled a clunky old DVD player. Blue lights flashed on the front and several long cables snaked out the back of the unit, connecting it to a regular landline phone. Next to the landline was a standard-looking BlackBerry mobile. Stillman nodded when he saw Porter eyeballing it.

  ‘Ghost phone. It’s installed with military-grade encryption. You can use it to make calls, send messages or use the Internet, without anyone knowing about it.’

  Bald pointed to the black box. ‘How does this thing work?’

  ‘It’s a voice-encryption system. You just make a call like normal, using the landline. The box encrypts your chatter, and another box at Six’s end does the same. Means no one can listen in to your call.’

  ‘Is it secure?’

  ‘When it works. It can be a bit volatile.’

  Bald planted himself down in one of the chairs. Porter took the other one. Cooper leaned against the side of the desk while Porter retrieved the contact number he’d been given from his burner phone. He was conscious of Stillman hovering in the office doorway.

  ‘Do you need anything else, fellas?’

  ‘Not at the moment,’ Bald said. ‘We’ll take it from here.’

  Stillman lingered for a moment, then tipped his head at the wound on Porter’s left arm. ‘Can I get you something for that?’

  Porter lowered his eyes to the temporary dressing he’d applied to the wound. In the rush to reach the safe house, he’d temporarily forgotten about the souvenir the Malinois had given him. The torn sleeve was stained with blood and his forearm throbbed dully.

  ‘A sterile dressing, if you’ve got one,’ he said. ‘Some painkillers. Whatever you’ve got.’

  ‘Right you are. I’ll be upstairs. Just give us a shout when you’re done.’

  Stillman turned and left, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Thank fuck for that,’ Bald muttered. ‘We’ve only been here five minutes, and he’s already getting on my tits.’

  Once the housekeeper’s footsteps had faded away Porter pressed the speakerphone button on the landline and tapped out the UK number he’d memorised from his burner. It took several moments for the call to connect. Then someone picked up on the other end.

  ‘John?’ Moorcroft said. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Porter responded. ‘It’s me. We’re at the safehouse. We just arrived a few minutes ago.’

  ‘Took you long enough. Jesus. I was beginning to wonder when you’d call.’

  Porter noted the time on the wall clock. 0026 hours. Almost five-thirty in the morning in London. ‘Don’t you ever sleep?’

  ‘Not when you idiots are fucking everything up. Are you alone?’

  ‘Street’s upstairs with the housekeeper. Jock’s here with me, and Cooper. You’re on loudspeaker.’

  ‘Perhaps you can begin by telling me exactly what the hell happened this evening.’

  Porter gave him the abbreviated version of events. Told him about how they’d identified the snatch squad as Russian mafia. About the retreat, the discovery of the FBI agents at the scene, the run-in with the good ole boys. The subsequent firefight, the diligent covering up of their tracks. He left out the part about Bald smashing the FBI agent’s brains in.

  ‘Well, that’s wonderful,’ Moorcroft said once Porter had finished talking. ‘Instead of carrying out a simple exfiltration, you fuckwits have killed a pair of federal agents, not to mention three rednecks who are probably on first-name terms with their local sheriff, no doubt prom
pting a state-wide manhunt.’

  ‘It wasn’t our fault,’ Bald protested. ‘Things got out of control. We did the best we could.’

  Moorcroft snorted down the line. ‘If that’s your best, I’d really hate to see your fucking worst.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Porter noticed Bald staring at the phone with balled fists. As if he might smash it to pieces.

  ‘What about the package?’ Moorcroft went on. ‘Is he okay?’

  Cooper said, ‘He’s badly shaken, but it’s nothing a good night’s sleep and a stiff drink or three won’t fix.’

  ‘He still has the dossier, I take it?’

  ‘Holding onto it as we speak.’

  ‘Do we think the Americans know about what’s inside?’

  ‘Charles doesn’t seem to think so. He thinks the FBI just wanted to speak to him about the incident with the Russians. They suspect foul play, but they don’t know any more than that.’

  ‘Good. We need to keep it that way.’

  ‘What’s the plan for getting us out of here?’ asked Bald.

  ‘That’s still to be decided. We’re weighing up various factors.’

  ‘We don’t have time for you to sit around debating shite. The longer we’re here, the more likely it is the cops will link us to the murders.’

  ‘I understand your concerns. But this is a delicate situation. We can’t be seen to be doing anything that might hint at our knowledge of this operation. If the Americans find out we’ve been tampering with a live investigation that resulted in the deaths of two of their agents, all hell will break loose.’

  ‘But you need to get us out of here,’ Porter said.

  ‘And we will. You have my word. But there are implications that need to be discussed before we can give the green light.’

  ‘Who’s “we”?’

  ‘Myself, Dom, the Chief, plus various other senior personnel. There’s a meeting taking place later this morning to discuss next steps. We should know more after that.’

  ‘When is this meeting happening?’

  ‘Nine o’clock, our time. But if you’re expecting the cavalry to come riding to your rescue, I wouldn’t get your hopes up.’

  ‘What the fuck does that mean?’ Bald demanded.

  ‘All I can tell you at the moment is that it’s very likely you’ll be heading to Canada. Once you’re safely across the border, we can put you on a private flight out of the country.’

  Porter said, ‘Canada? How are we supposed to get there?’

  ‘That’s yet to be decided. Our chaps are still looking at all the angles. As I said, I’ll know more after the briefing.’

  Nine o’clock, thought Porter. Four o’clock in the morning on the east coast.

  Three-and-a-half hours until the briefing.

  ‘Can’t you make it any earlier?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible. You two aren’t the only crisis on our radar, you know.’

  Bald said, ‘If we need to leg it across to Canada, we’ll have to leave as soon as possible. Once the FBI identifies us, we won’t stand a fucking chance.’

  ‘Nine o’clock is fine, Nigel,’ Cooper said quickly, before Moorcroft could reply. ‘We can hold on till then.’

  ‘We’ll reach you on the encrypted mobile,’ Moorcroft said. ‘Keep it on you at all times. One of us will be in touch as soon as the meeting’s over.’

  ‘How long will that take?’ asked Bald.

  ‘I can’t say for sure. It depends how the meeting goes. For now, just sit tight and try to stay calm.’

  ‘Easy for you to say. You’re not the one with a target on your back.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong. We’re all in this together. If Street falls into the hands of the Americans, my career will be on the line. So will Dom’s. We’ll get you out of there soon. Just don’t let anything happen to him before then.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The line went dead.

  Porter leaned over and switched off the loudspeaker. He stared at the phone for a cold moment, his stomach muscles twisting with anxiety, tying his bowels into vicious figure-of-eight knots.

  First the clusterfuck at the log cabin. Then the run-in with the good ole boys, and the narrow escape. Now the extraction plan has gone pear-shaped too, Porter thought. This op is several kinds of fucked-up.

  I could really use a drink.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Bald snapped, rounding on Cooper. ‘Telling Moorcroft that we’re happy to sit on our arses for the next four hours?’

  Cooper sighed. ‘We can’t rush them into a decision. That’s not how Six works. They’ll make up their minds in their own time. Or would you prefer them to cook up a half-arsed plan that lands us all in even deeper shit?’

  ‘I’d prefer not to be in this situation, full stop. I’d prefer not to have anything more to do with you and your mates at Six ever again.’

  ‘Calm down, man. We’ll be out of here soon enough.’

  ‘You’re not the one whose neck is on the line here.’

  ‘I’ve got just as much at stake as you, actually.’

  ‘Bollocks. If you get caught, you’ll just claim diplomatic immunity. The worst the Yanks can do is kick you out of the country. If they arrest us, it’s fucking curtains.’

  ‘That won’t happen. We’re going to get out of this.’

  Cooper spoke with a relaxed voice that Porter found puzzling. Again he cast his mind back to the log cabin, recalling the agent’s cool demeanour, moments after he’d shot the redneck dead on the porch. Again he wondered about Cooper’s background.

  Bald snatched the military-grade BlackBerry from the desk and stashed it in the side pocket on his cargo trousers. Then the three of them left the basement office and climbed the stairs to the grand foyer.

  Street was waiting for them in the living room. He sat on the sofa with his shoulders elevated and pulled tight, as if frozen in mid-shrug. His eyes were alert-wide, as if he expected the enemy to come crashing through the window at any moment. Fear and stress were consuming the guy, Porter thought, the stress of the past week catching up with him.

  The dossier rested on the cushion next to Street. A glass of water sat untouched on the coffee table while he absently watched the fifty-inch TV mounted to the wall. On the screen, a pair of photogenic news anchors with disturbingly white teeth were recapping the day’s main stories. Stillman was nowhere to be seen, although Porter could hear movement upstairs, floorboards groaning underfoot.

  ‘He’s getting the rooms ready,’ Street said, by way of explanation. He fiddled with the remote, putting the Ken and Barbie newsreaders on mute. ‘What did Six say?’

  Cooper said, ‘They’re having a meeting later this morning to discuss our options. They’ll call us back as soon as they’ve reached a decision.’

  ‘When will that be?’

  ‘A few hours. The meeting is at four in the morning, our time.’

  Street went pale. His shoulders pulled tighter with fear. ‘Why can’t we just leave now?’

  ‘It’s not that simple, Charles. Six can’t have their fingerprints on this thing. They need to make sure the escape plan is airtight. They won’t give us the go-ahead until they’re confident they’ve examined every option.’

  He flashed a reassuring smile at his friend.

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve got every faith in Nigel and Dom. Trust me. Twenty-four hours from now, we’ll be back in London and cracking open the bubbly.’

  He spoke in a soothing voice but Street obviously remained uneasy. I thought these two were supposed to be best mates, thought Porter. If that’s true, they’ve got a funny way of showing it.

  Street said, ‘What will happen? Once I’m out of the country, I mean.’

  ‘We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. But assuming all goes to plan, I imagine Six will want to debrief you. Probably at one of their domestic safe houses. They’ll want you to keep a low profile until this thing blows over.’

  ‘What
about my report?’

  ‘Six will pay you a finder’s fee for bringing it to them, I expect. Although it won’t be anywhere near as much as we might have got from Bill Prosser.’

  Street’s eyes drifted down to the envelope. ‘Better than nothing, I suppose.’

  ‘That’s the spirit, old boy.’ Cooper smiled again. ‘This is a win for you. It could have been a lot worse.’

  Street nodded slowly as heavy footsteps approached the living room. Stillman waded through the door, carrying a roll of self-adhesive sterile dressing wrapped in clear plastic, a pack of alcohol-free wipes and a bottle of Advil. He offered them to Porter.

  ‘This stuff any good?’ he asked. ‘For the wound?’

  ‘That’ll do fine, thanks.’

  ‘Guest rooms are ready,’ Stillman said to the others in the room. ‘There’s fresh towels, toiletries. All the basics.’

  Cooper looked towards Street. The guy didn’t appear to have heard Stillman. He was staring absently at the TV, his eyelids drooping with tiredness. Adrenaline giving way to exhaustion.

  Cooper said, ‘You should get some rest, Charles. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow. I’ll let you know as soon as we’ve heard back from London.’

  Street nodded again. ‘Okay.’

  He pushed himself up from the sofa and turned to leave the room. Cooper spotted the dossier lying on the spare cushion and scooped it up. ‘Here. You forgot this.’

  Street raised a weak smile. ‘Thanks, Terry.’

  He turned and followed Stillman across the hallway. Up the winding staircase, towards the guest bedrooms. Porter left Bald and Cooper in the living room watching the news while he headed for the downstairs bathroom.