Avenger

by Andy McNab

  Elena stared at the rice cookers with their evil, slowly heating concoctions and said the first thing that came into her head. 'It's a burger. I brought it back with me, but it was horrible, I couldn't eat it. Actually, I don't feel too well.'

  'No? You want me to call a doctor?'

  'No, really, I'll be fine. I just need to sleep.'

  There was another pause. 'And you're sure about the room? I'll have to report it to my supervisor if I don't clean the room.'

  'I'm certain. Thank you. And thank you for your . . . your concern.'

  'No problem. Hope you're better tomorrow.'

  Elena stood up, went to the door and put one ear against it. She could just hear the cleaning trolley moving away down the carpeted corridor.

  As she turned back, she heard the BlackBerry ping. She picked it up and looked at the screen.

  Well done. Lets get on, shall we??? Time is tight!!!

  At that moment Elena knew for certain what she had suspected all along: Black Star was watching her. And listening. She punched some words into the BlackBerry.

  Ur watching me arent u???

  There was a pause and then Black Star came back.

  Sure I am. Im looking out 4 u! U ok with that???

  Elena smiled. She knew what to say.

  Yes. Im glad. Makes me feel better.

  35

  Herman Ramirez had never questioned or challenged his master during their long campaign of revenge.

  If ever the tiniest seeds of doubt about what they were doing crept into his mind, he would think of Chuck. He would, by now, have been twenty-two, through college and starting out on his career.

  Chuck had been a good-looking boy. There would have been girlfriends, parties, vacations. Money would never have been a problem, so the growing-up years of discovery would have been full and exciting.

  And then later Chuck would probably have married and there would most likely have been children. And Herman would have been part of it. He had looked forward to it all with huge anticipation when Chuck was alive. He had thought about it often then and he thought about it often now.

  Herman had never been part of anything until he had come to be accepted and adopted as one of the Pointer family. He had no recollection of any family of his own, having been abandoned as a baby on the streets of Mexico City.

  He had been taken into an orphanage but had run away as a nine-year-old and had lived on the streets, scraping an existence in whatever ways he could.

  As a child, a teenager and an adult, he had never encountered very much in the way of kindness. It didn't get any better after he made the decision to cross the border into the USA illegally, where his solitary existence continued to have no real purpose. Until the day he knocked on the door of the Pointers' house in The Hamptons to ask if the family needed a general handyman.

  Then his life had changed completely. For the better and for ever. It was good. It was better than good: it was more than he had ever imagined possible.

  Until September 11 2001.

  Since then there had been only one objective to life: revenge.

  There had never been a moment of regret about the bombing campaign, nor the slightest trace of sympathy for the victims. Until today.

  Herman had followed Elena all over Manhattan, watching her every move and reporting back to his master at each stage.

  She had looked forlorn and lost as she hurried closer and closer to her own death. And something about Elena's vulnerability and isolation had touched a raw nerve deep inside Herman.

  After he had watched Elena return to the Pennsylvania, he found himself a diner, where he sat and had a meal. He was off duty for a little while, knowing that Elena was in the hands of his master.

  And as he sat and ate, he began to wonder about the strange and unfamiliar thoughts that were troubling him. He made his way back to the penthouse apartment on East 96th Street – where he would change, ready to go and observe Elena's final act that evening – still trying to work out why he felt unsettled.

  It was only when he stepped out of the elevator and removed the keys of the penthouse from his jacket pocket that he finally realized what it was that had led to these feelings: Elena reminded him of himself as a small child, alone on the streets.

  That was all it was. He felt better now that he had worked out exactly what had been troubling him. There was no room in his mind for anything but what had to be done. He was focused again and could make his regular report to his master and continue with his preparations.

  He paused at the door to the penthouse, took out his cell phone and punched in a number.

  'Yes?'

  'I'm back at the penthouse now, sir, and will be ready in time to make sure she keeps the appointment.'

  He slipped the key into the lock, turned it and pushed open the door as he listened to the man he had always admired more than anyone he had ever met. The man he would willingly, even happily, die for.

  'Elena will be ready too,' said Charles Pointer II. 'I'm watching her now. Everything is on schedule.'

  Herman walked into the penthouse and pushed the door closed. 'I'll call when I am ready to leave. Are there any further orders, sir?'

  'No. Just do exactly as we have discussed. Just be there and inform me when she has gone into the building. I anticipate the television news will be broadcasting our success soon after. That is all.'

  Pointer hung up even before Herman had pressed the END CALL button on his cell.

  Herman slipped the phone back into his po cket and decided that he would take a shower to wash away the grime of a day spent walking around the city.

  Then, from the rooms on either side of the wide corridor, there were two flashes of movement.

  Before Herman could even register what was happening, a man and a woman were standing there, both with strange-looking, wide-barrelled pistols pointed at his head.

  'Don't move!' shouted the man, who was closest to Herman. 'Don't move one fucking muscle!'

  He slowly edged closer to Herman, making sure that the woman, who was a little further back down the corridor, had a clear view of the target so that, if necessary, she could get a head shot in.

  Herman watched the Pll pistol come closer and closer to his head, unafraid but intrigued by its strange appearance. He could clearly see the five chambers at the end of the barrel.

  He realized that the end of the pistol somehow reminded him of a tiny version of the Gatling guns he had seen in old western movies, with a US cavalryman operating a mechanical winder spewing out round after round at the enemy as a long belt of bullets was fed through the weapon.

  'Who's this "Sir" you were talking to?' shouted the woman, edging forward so that she could take the phone from Herman's pocket.

  The man moved the weapon even closer to Herman, until it was jammed hard against his face.

  If Herman could have smiled, he would have. He was content. At peace. His only regret was that he would not, after all, see the spectacular events of that night. He wouldn't be there now, but it didn't matter – he was only ever meant to be on hand in case of an emergency. But there would be no emergency. Elena would make her way there, just as his master had planned. She was completely in his control; Herman had seen that for himself throughout the day.

  And so Herman was ready, and his attacker had actually made it so much easier for him . . .

  Before Mick could pull back, both Herman's hands went up to his, grabbed them and forced his trigger finger backwards.

  One round was instantly fired with a dull thud, smashing completely through Herman's head and burying itself deep in the wall behind him.

  The only other sound was of Herman's body being hurled against the wall and slumping down onto the blood-spattered carpet.

  'Shit! Shit! Shit!' yelled Mick as he watched the Mexican's body writhe out its final death throes.

  'The phone!' shouted Fran. 'Get the phone! He was taking orders from someone else. He's not Black Star!'

  36
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  A brand new Xda, identical to the one Deveraux already had, was on the pale wooden tabletop in her suite at the Four Seasons. The hinged top was open so that the screen was visible.

  A technician attached to the British Consulate had just left the room after powering up the Xda and logging on to the website Black Star was using. Technicians – like couriers – were always in the dark when it came to helping out on an op. They just followed orders.

  It was vital that Deveraux's own Xda was free at all times for calls to and from her team, so the technician had provided an identical machine which would be permanently linked to Elena and Black Star's online conversations.

  The young and enthusiastic technician had begun to give Deveraux a detailed explanation of exactly how he had managed to hack into the system, using and processing the information downloaded from Elena's BlackBerry. But if he was expecting praise, he didn't get it. As soon as the machine was operational, Deveraux dismissed him curtly. She wasn't interested in how it worked, only that it did work.

  Fergus's skills with mobile communication devices were limited to making and receiving calls, so he had been provided with a bog standard but secure mobile phone like Danny's.

  Seconds after the slightly disgruntled technician left the room, the Xda was showing absolute confirmation of what Fran had reported in a phone call to Deveraux just a couple of minutes earlier: Herman was not Black Star because Black Star was still communicating online with Elena.

  Ok, Cola, we're nearly there. U made the mix real good, now u gotta go get some ice from the machine in the corridor. I no there is one, I checked it out. B careful when u leave the room. And get plenty of ice.

  Deveraux turned to Fergus. 'Ice?'

  Fergus's face had gone deathly pale. 'She's mixing. It's happening tonight – I should be there!'

  'We wait!' snapped Deveraux. 'We cannot afford to alert Black Star by bursting in on Elena!'

  The seconds turned to minutes as they waited for the next message to appear. While Deveraux stared at the Xda screen, Fergus got up and paced anxiously about, trying to ease the throbbing pain in his leg. A flight across the Atlantic in a confined space had done nothing to help the injury.

  'She's back,' called Deveraux, and Fergus moved across the room as quickly as he could to stare at the screen.

  Got the ice. Wot do I do with it???

  Go into the bathroom. Put the plug into the sink and pour in the ice. Then u need 2 pour the contents of the 2 bowls onto the ice. The fumes r gonna be a nightmare so u need 2 get out quickly and close the bathroom door. Wait 10 minutes, then go back and u should see yellow crystals.

  'That's it!' shouted Fergus. 'Those crystals are pure explosive! She's got another couple of hours' mixing and maybe three or four while the mix holds its detonating velocity. You've got to find Black Star soon or she'll be walking around the city with all that crap strapped to her body!'

  As the afternoon sun hit the darkened study windows, Charles Pointer frowned: he'd just heard a soft ping from his computer. It had happened on each of the last three occasions he had sent or received a message, and each time the pings had been slightly louder.

  During his career Charles Pointer had been a universally acknowledged master of computer technology and software development. Where he led, others followed. He had designed and built the system he was using now, and it was unlike any other in the world.

  His computer was his weapon of war, with unique defence software, his own form of armour plating in the event of an attack.

  He knew without doubt now that his system was under attack and that his armour plating had been pierced in some way. They were closing in on him. First there had been the break-in at the Winnebago, and now this. But there was still no need to panic; Pointer's computer was designed to turn defence into counterattack.

  Another message came through from Elena, and with it came the accompanying, slightly louder ping.

  Done it. It stinks, can hardly breathe in here.

  Don't worry, it will clear soon. Just keep the aircon working and let the ice do its work. U'll need 2 do this maybe 4 times 2 get the amount of yellow stuff we need. So go get more ice and b careful!!

  37

  Danny had had it with being patient. And he'd had it with following orders. He'd done exactly as Deveraux had instructed by leaving a 'DLB live' marker and a message in the DLB for Elena, but had got nothing in return.

  He had waited for more than an hour before revisiting the DLB, but there was no message from Elena. Her room was just down the corridor, and he desperately wanted to know what was going on in there, but he realized that if he went and knocked on the door he might very well endanger Elena's life.

  Danny knew that Black Star almost certainly had some sort of surveillance system operating in Elena's room. And although Deveraux had kept him strictly on a need-to-know basis as far as information was concerned, he had figured out for himself that Fran and Mick had somehow been trying to locate that system.

  That was why he'd been given the surveillance job, and he'd done it to the best of his ability. But now he was doing nothing again. And Danny hated doing nothing.

  He was back in his room, staring out of the window, down at the Manhattan traffic streaming past the hotel, trying to decide whether or not he should call Deveraux and his grandfather again.

  His mobile phone was in his hand and he was itching to punch in Deveraux's number. But somehow he resisted the urge. He turned away from the window and picked up the key card for his room. All he could do was take another look at the DLB.

  He decided to take the emergency stairs again, figuring that if he took the lift from his floor, it would look odd to anyone else when he got out on the eighth floor. The only reason for doing that would be if he knew someone on the eighth floor, and as far as any third party was concerned, he knew no one. SOPs were now almost second nature to Danny – when he decided he was going to stick to them.

  The stairwell was cold and draughty, and Danny counted the floors as he moved down, his trainers making virtually no noise on the concrete steps.

  He reached the eighth floor and paused, then looked through the wire-meshed, heat-resistant glass of the small rectangular window. He could see no one walking along the carpeted corridor. Danny pushed open the door and stepped through.

  Then he froze.

  Elena was standing at the door to her room. Clasped to her chest with one arm was what looked like two large paper cups filled with ice. She had just used her key card to unlock the door and was pushing it open when she glanced to her right and saw Danny.

  She stared at him, then smiled briefly and went into her room.

  Danny was still trying to work out if there was something more he could have done when his mobile phone rang. He pulled the phone from his pocket as he moved back into the stairwell and then answered the call. 'Yeah?'

  Fergus's voice was little more than a whisper. 'Danny it's me.'

  'Granddad! I saw her; she's OK.'

  Fergus was in the bathroom of Deveraux's suite, attempting to keep his voice as low as possible. 'Good news,' he said, relieved to hear that Elena was surviving the poisonous fumes which he knew would be filling her room. 'Now, listen up. She's mixing, so we've only got a few hours before the attack and Deveraux hasn't got to Black Star yet. I've got the powder with me; we have to try to get it to Elena. I know she's being watched all the time, but she might be able to add it to the mix. It's worth a go. So where do we RV?'