by Mark Powell
Sterling had watched her leave Kimbala’s room later that evening. She had even dared to pause and wink at him before walking calmly away. Hours later, the commotion awoke him with news that Kimbala had been assassinated. A close range double-tap to the head had dispatched him with ease and spattered what brains he’d possessed up the bed head; Sterling knew it was her. It had her silent, clean, no-fuss style all over it. She was, despite her polished exterior, an ice-cold killer. Perhaps one of the best assassins around – at least she was, all those years ago.
‘So how can I help you, gentlemen?’ Sterling had decided he wanted to get on with it and open up the meeting. He took a detour to the back of the room; he had smelled fresh coffee and wanted some.
Flynn, the CIA Director, a thirty-two year old former Harvard man with way too much aftershave and polish on his teeth, spoke first. ‘Aziz has been terminated, we hear.’
Sterling held himself back for a few moments, finished preparing his coffee as if to deliberately ponder his response, and then returned to his seat.
‘The Somali Sanction is complete, yes,’ he confirmed, short and to the point.
‘Then you can call off your dogs,’ The Rain Angel reasoned.
‘Dogs! And who made you God overnight?’ Sterling rebuffed.
The half smile shot back in return was enough to let Sterling know he was playing with a snake, a snake he well knew could bite; it was just a question of when. ‘So touchy, Sterling. Perhaps you would like me to disclose your other plan?’ Her face darkened.
Sterling had also adopted a less cocky attitude.
‘Something you wish to share with us, Sterling?’ Becket, a rather rotund, red faced analyst asked.
‘No, nothing,’ Sterling bluntly replied, his face now intense.
‘Come now, Sterling, Madden is not being hunted by a ghost now is he?’ she continued, probing…
‘Sterling, what is she on about?’ Flynn had lost patience some time ago.
‘The British Home Secretary is being held by pirates, Aziz was behind it, so we have in fact done the Brits a favor,’ Sterling offered.
‘Yes we had heard about that. I agree the British should be grateful. So what’s your point?’ Flynn directed this question back to the Angel.
‘I heard that some folks may not want him to return…’ She eased her words out carefully.
Sterling took the offensive. ‘And you think I have something to do with this?’
‘No, just that you may know more than you are letting on.’ Her eyes drilled deeply into his.
Becket looked up. ‘Are you suggesting Sterling here is involved?’
She didn’t answer Becket. ‘Sterling can you state here and now that you are not in anyway involved? I have to inform MI6 that we are not behind this.’ She braced her posture as if to enforce her point.
Murmurs from around the table were followed by eyes falling upon Sterling. It was then he realized he’d been brought here to make such a statement – in front of these men it was tantamount to the Senate. ‘I see, so that’s why I am here.’
He sat back down and leaned forward on his arms. He had underestimated the power the Angel had, enough to convene a meeting of such men; her agenda, as he suspected, hidden, now clear…to draw him out.
‘Gentlemen, I have no idea of the agenda this lady implies; and you drag me across the globe to defend such waffle. Now, unless there is anything…’ He forced a laugh, got up and headed for the door.
Once the door had closed, each man looked to the other. Flynn gave his order. ‘Well there you have it, he claims nothing. You know what to do. The sanction is now invoked. I will notify MI6, they can take care of it for us’ Flynn had the devil in his eyes.
As Sterling waited for the elevator, a soft and disturbing voice told him: ‘You don’t have me fooled, Sterling.’
He turned to face the Angel. ‘You think you know me? You have no idea. Whose side are you on?’ he sneered through gritted teeth.
‘Not yours, and that should tell you something. God help you, Sterling.’
‘God? It’s Madden who needs a god. He’ll never be rescued. As for me you can’t prove anything…’ Sterling entered the elevator with a grim smile.
‘I know you wanted Aziz dead; I gave you that one. But Madden, you risk a political war, you fool.’
‘Its national security,’ Sterling reminded her. ‘Madden is collateral damage, nothing more. So, tell me who will doubt me over that?’
The doors closed and Sterling was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Outskirts of Hobyo
Leaving the LUP behind them, McCabe and Stowe, with their hostage in tow, moved eastwards along a fence line, heading in the direction of a small village. According to their hostage, who was now tethered like a goat, there was a drainage ditch 200 meters away, and it would lead them right to a small house, used as a storage shed at the east end of the village. It was here McCabe had been told he would find the Maddens. Stowe had already indicated to the man, should he be wrong, his throat would be cut. Given the man’s fearful reaction, Stowe had taken it that his threat had worked.
‘We have two hours until dawn’ Stowe muttered as McCabe reached the edge of the ditch and slid himself down into it.
‘That should be plenty of time for us to reach the village’ McCabe turned and looked up at Stowe.
‘What shall we do with him?’ Stowe tilted his head.
‘Truss him up and leave him, he’s no use to us now’ McCabe turned and started to move along the narrow ditch on his stomach.
‘Right then mate, end of the road for you’ Stowe regarded for a moment the man’s wide eyes looking back at him. It was as if he knew what would transpire.
Then with a swift movement Stowe brought the butt of his weapon jarring in hard against the left temple of the mans head. The deep-rooted thud and subsequent crack of his skull ended it. Then as if as simple as buttering his toast, Stowe drew the blade of his knife across the mans throat, sending a tide of blood into the sand. Taking a moment to contemplate his handy-work, Stowe turned and moved off after McCabe.
‘You secure our friend?’ McCabe asked, hearing Stowe come up behind him.
‘Yeah! He wont cause us anymore trouble’ Stowe’s half smile drew across his face.
‘Meaning what, you topped him’ McCabe realizing the intent.
‘Listen, we can’t take any chances, not when we are this close’ Stowe’s face stiffened to defend his actions.
McCabe held his gaze for a few moments, turned, drew himself up to a crouch and shuffled of down the narrow ditch, Stowe followed a few yards behind, popping his head up now and again to survey the terrain.
Having reached the end of the ditch, McCabe held up his hand to signal a halt. They were fifty yards short of the rear wall of a small white washed, single story house, its paint pealed and flaking. Dog barks rang out every few minutes as they went about the hunt for food in small packs.
‘Looks calm enough’ McCabe whispered out.
‘Yeah, accept for that guy over there’ Stowe gestured eastwards with the flat of his hand. Turning his head McCabe took in the silhouette of a man walking towards them, his attention focused on rolling a cigarette.
‘Okay, got him’ McCabe cowered down an inch or two back into the ditch.
Stowe followed the man with his eyes too within a few yards of their position, his face now clear as the emerging dawn light struck his face. McCabe observed that he was a young man, twenties, and skinny, dressed in a filthy brown shirt and jeans cut-off at the knees. Cradled in his arms was an automatic weapon. Turning towards Stowe, McCabe caught sight of him slithering backwards down the ditch like an over-sized snake on his elbows, and then after about fifty yards, sliding himself up and over the side and vanishing off into the bush. Snapping back his attention, the young man was almost on top of him, now, and fortunately focused on lighting his carefully rolled cigarette. As McCabe looked up, the young mans eyes widened, and locked with
his at the sight of McCabe cowered down in the ditch, the cigarette falling from between his fingers, as he started to grapple with his weapon. No sooner had McCabe sprung to his feet, Stowe came out of the semi-darkness, and within seconds, the narrow blade of his knife was being inserted upwards just behind the man’s ear. The other hand now muzzling any sound he attempted to make. It was as if the man’s life had just evaporated, his body now limp and lifeless.
‘Jesus, you into killing everything today?’ McCabe asked.
‘That’s nice, saved your arse didn’t I’ Stowe then let go of the man’s body, which dropped to the ground like a dead weight.
‘We could have interrogated him first’ McCabe started to pull the corpse into the ditch.
‘Okay! instinct sorry’ Stowe realizing the error of his ways.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
MI6 HQ - London
Harry Ogilvy regarded his jaded reflection in the elevator doors and questioned his sanity. He had aged over the past year and his eyes were beginning to bare his soul. Not to mention his hair was thinning. It was time to evaluate his life and why he did what he did. But today was maybe not the time or the place to reflect so deeply. By the time he reached the fifth floor, he had regained his focus. He wondered how McCabe would now extract himself, and had already decided he would go himself to Nairobi to meet him. He also knew he had a few rats to flush out, and that would be an entirely new war to fight.
Entering the boardroom, he quickly scanned each face in succession, as was his habit. All but one face, belonging to a man seated next to Brad Sterling, he knew. Hesitating for a second, he made a quick gesture and stepped smartly back out as if he had forgotten something. A young blond-haired woman in her thirties caught his attention behind a reception desk and he made his way over.
‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Sorry, but I appear to have left my meeting notes in the car and I need to know the list of attendees in the boardroom. Very poor form not to know who I’m addressing.’ Ogilvy then beamed a smile.
‘I’m not sure I can release that Mr.…’ She hesitated as if ruminating asking for some form of identification.
Ogilvy flashed his identity card.
After a brief pause and examination she said, ‘Okay, but make it quick else I’ll get shot.’ She beamed a smile in return and held up a list of names. Running his finger down the list, Ogilvy mentally checked off each name. John Todd, CIA was the name he wanted to find. Having thanked the woman, he made his way back to the boardroom and entered briskly.
‘Sorry about that, left my car headlights on,’ Ogilvy said easily. He strode to his seat at the far end of the rectangular table.
Morley leaned forward and whispered, ‘You expect me to believe that, Harry?’
Ogilvy held his composure and smiled back.
After taking a deep breath, Morley clasped his hands. ‘Very well, everyone – let’s get on with it. Harry here has an update; one I hope is good news. Harry over to you.’ Morley sat back to listen.
‘Good Morning, everyone. I think I know you all, except you, Todd.’
A surprised Todd looked up to meet Ogilvy’s stare. ‘You know me?’
‘Never meet a stranger whose identity you don’t already know, is my motto.’
Murmurs rippled around the room.
‘How smart you are, Ogilvy,’ Sterling declared, taking the opportunity to pass his first dig.
‘Indeed, which is why what I’m about to say is for the ears of British Intelligence only.’ Ogilvy now locked his gaze with Sterling.
Sterling’s cheeks flushed red. ‘Have you gone mad, Ogilvy? I’m a member of this group and you do not have the right to dictate to me.’
The PM turned to Ogilvy. ‘Harry, are you sure about this?’
‘Yes sir. I am. It’s highly sensitive and a matter of homeland security, which as I recall, gives us the right to veto any member of this committee, subject to the other members’ agreement.’
Sterling stood up out of his chair and pressed down his fists onto the table in anger. ‘Yes, it’s us, Ogilvy, not you.’
‘A vote will settle it. Gentlemen!’ the PM said and held up his hand to garner support. Ogilvy sensed that he, too, did not place much store on Sterling.
After a brief pause, hands slowly flicked upwards.
‘Seems we are outvoted.’ The Rain Angel, who had been observing from the other end of the table, stood up and made ready to leave.
‘Sit down, we’re not going anywhere,’ Sterling protested.
Her response was swift. ‘My dear Sterling, I respect the vote and we should allow our British friends to talk amongst themselves.’
‘I see, well if I leave, do not expect me back.’ Sterling made for the door.
Ogilvy sent him a parting comment. ‘I’m sure we can cope…’
‘You have burned a bridge, Ogilvy,’ Sterling spat. ‘And I will not stand for it, good day to you all.’ He turned and stamped petulantly out of the meeting.
‘Okay, let’s all settle down,’ Morley said. ‘Harry, you had better get on with it considering you have asked the CIA representatives to leave the room – and it had better be good.’
‘As of last night I can report…that Terry Madden has been rescued–’
Before Ogilvy could complete his update the room filled with chatter.
‘Gentlemen, please, your attention!’ Ogilvy shouted over the rumblings. ‘The team has yet to get him to the border, and I will personally fly out to Kenya to greet them. I need not tell you they still face a grave amount of danger and it is far from over.’
Ogilvy allowed the chatter to regain its pace.
‘This is excellent news, Harry,’ The PM said, his expression in accord with his sentiments, Ogilvy noted. His eyes scanned each face in turn to see how the news had been taken. Astor seemed neutral, which strengthened Ogilvy’s suspicions that he knew more than he was letting on. Morley, on the other hand, seemed as if he was completely behind the success of the mission and was now shaking the hand of everyone around the table.
Ogilvy cleared his throat. ‘May I have your attention, please?’ All eyes returned to him. ‘You will note that I asked for our CIA friends not to be present – here is why…’
Ogilvy stood up and slowly paced around the table.
‘I have it on good authority that his abduction was orchestrated by the CIA.’
Silence.
Ogilvy continued. ‘The team has evidence from the field to substantiate this fact and I will be investigating the reasons. If anyone in this room knows of this, I urge you to speak now.’ Ogilvy bore down on Carter-Jones as if to emphasize the fact no one was above suspicion of knowing something.
Carter-Jones twisted around to face him. ‘Good God, Ogilvy – are you saying someone in this room is behind it?’
‘Yes I am.’ Ogilvy stood back.
‘Harry, I need to speak with you after this,’ Morley said. ‘I was not aware of your suspicions.’
‘Indeed sir. That’s all everyone.’
Ogilvy returned to his seat and looked on as people stood up, muttered between themselves and exited the room.
‘Let me know if you need anything, Harry and keep me updated Morley.?’ The PM patted Harry on the shoulder and left.
‘Well out with it man, what on earth is going on’ Morley sat himself down and glared up at Ogilvy.
‘Sterling we know ordered the abduction of Madden, that much I know’ Ogilvy paused and started to pace around the room.
‘You can prove this?’ Morley wanted answers.
‘Put it this way, I have been asked to take out Sterling, had a call from Flynn late last night’
‘Flynn! That rat’ Morley sneered.
‘Indeed, but a rat with power. It means they are cleaning house. The question on my mind Sir, is who is the inside man’ Ogilvy stopped in his tracks and turned to face Morley.
‘Inside man?’ Morley showed his surprise.
‘Good god man you suspect one of us?’<
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‘Astor is top of my list Sir, someone had to convey Madden’s movements, no other way’ Ogilvy’s tone lowered, it was as if he had an edge of guilt, a liking for the old man.
‘Astor!’ Morley stood up.
‘Yes Sir Astor’
‘No, I can’t bring myself to think that, you best look again, and make no mistake Ogilvy, get this wrong and there will be no saving you’ Morley made his point.
‘I’m aware of the implications Sir’ Ogilvy dipped his head.
‘What about the yank’ Morley changed subject.
‘I say we oblige them, don’t you Sir?’ Ogilvy looked up.
Morley paused for a few moments. ‘Never did like the man. Very well get on with it. How you do it is up to you’ Morley was cold and unaffected by the order he had just endorsed.
‘I will take care of it’ Ogilvy headed for the door.
‘Ogilvy, let me know about Astor will you’ Morley’s eyes narrowed.
‘Yes Sir’ with that Ogilvy left the room.
Reclining back into the soft leather seat of his car, Ogilvy looked thoughtful. He then withdrew his phone and hit speed dial. It took only a few rings before the female voice greeted him. It was soft and polite as always.
‘Sterling is to be retired. Frankly I’m surprised Flynn didn’t just ask you directly. Would you like the honor?’ Ogilvy asked softly. The reply he got back took but seconds.
‘I’ll see to it. But would Mark not want that honor?’ She asked
‘I’m sure he would, but I can’t afford a vendetta killing, too messy’ Ogilvy new that if left to McCabe it would be a brutal affair, and with it way too much attention.
Placing the phone back in his pocket, Ogilvy knew that he had issued a death sentence. He also knew he had a far larger task ahead of him. But that would have to wait; his flight to Nairobi was all but a few hours away.
CHAPTER THIRTY