Sacrifice

by Will Jordan

  ‘I’m still waiting for that elusive point.’

  And just like that, Carpenter’s jovial attitude vanished. ‘You have a Shepherd team out here led by a man named Drake. He’s been poking his nose in where it doesn’t belong. I want him and his team gone, now.’

  Cain frowned. He had been briefed on the mission to find and recover Hal Mitchell, just as he was briefed on everything concerning Ryan Drake. The man had been a thorn in his side ever since the events of the previous year. He might have been neutralised for now, but he remained a potential threat.

  Cain had been happy for him to be sent to dangerous places like Afghanistan, where the chances of the issue resolving itself were infinitely greater.

  ‘That’s your problem, not mine,’ he countered.

  ‘It seems to me like Drake is everybody’s problem.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Come on, Marcus. We both know what happened last year. Don’t forget it was my company who supplied you with operatives for that job. And lost plenty of good men in the process.’

  Not that good, Cain thought to himself. Despite outnumbering their opponents two to one, Carpenter’s supposedly elite operatives had proven no match for the Shepherd team sent in to take them down. Cain suspected the man hadn’t brought his A-list players to the game that day.

  ‘You were compensated for your loss,’ Cain reminded him. ‘That’s what it comes down to in the end, isn’t it? Money?’

  ‘Don’t patronise me.’ His tone was icy cold. ‘Just because you wear expensive suits and do your killing from an air-conditioned office in DC, doesn’t mean you’re any less dirty than I am. We both made a deal with the devil, Marcus. Five years ago, Moscow. Ring any bells?’

  That stopped him in his tracks.

  ‘I wonder what would happen if your dirty deal with the Russians was leaked to the media? It’d be a feeding frenzy, I’d say. You’d be ruined, and you’d probably take the entire Agency down with you.’

  Cain’s grip on the phone tightened. ‘Is that a threat?’

  ‘A warning,’ Carpenter corrected him. ‘We both have things we’d rather keep private. It’s in all our interests to make sure Drake is … handled.’

  Cain could feel his heart beating faster, the blood pounding in his ears. Carpenter was right. He was an arrogant, dangerous, ruthless son of a bitch, but he was right. If the truth came out, everything he had worked towards, sacrificed and compromised for, would vanish in an instant.

  Cain exhaled slowly. When this was over, Carpenter would get what was coming to him. He would make sure of that.

  ‘I’m listening,’ he said at last.

  Chapter 35

  Bibi Mahru Hill, Kabul

  Overlooking the vast urban sprawl of the city of Kabul, and with panoramic views of the mountainous landscape that surrounded it, the sandy rounded hump of Bibi Mahru Hill had always been a popular spot for locals. Now, since the fall of the Taliban, it had become one of the city’s best-known tourist sites.

  The main attraction, as incongruous as it appeared in such arid surroundings, was the Olympic-sized swimming pool, complete with 10-metre-high diving boards. But like so many grand undertakings begun in this country, it had never come to fruition. The massive concrete shell had never been filled, the rusting diving boards never used for their intended purpose. It was another empty, decaying memory of the Soviet Union’s failed attempt to bring Socialism to Afghanistan.

  Its more sinister legacy was that it had been widely used by the Taliban to conduct executions. A 10-metre fall into an empty swimming pool had proven an ideal means of inflicting a slow, painful death on enemies of the regime.

  A small crowd of locals and foreigners were milling around the edge of the pool, watching groups of kids splashing in the cloudy unfiltered water that had collected in the deep end, their shrieks of laughter echoing around the concrete enclosure. In a country that had seen three decades of war and conflict, such sounds were a rare but welcome occurrence.

  Standing at the opposite end of the pool, Drake watched a group of young men posing for a picture in front of the rusted hulk of a Russian BTR-60 armoured personnel carrier, all grinning and giving Winston Churchill-style V-for-victory signs. Most of them probably hadn’t even been born when the Soviets pulled out.

  Making his way here hadn’t been easy. Avoiding the main roads and the endless checkpoints that went with them, he had instead travelled through the city’s unpatrolled maze of side streets and back alleys. He could almost sense the brooding hostility amongst many of the locals he passed along the way, though he had done his best to ignore it, simply keeping his head down and walking on.

  Nonetheless, he had eventually reached the crown of Bibi Mahru Hill unmolested. He was still perspiring after the long hike uphill in 90-degree heat, but nonetheless made the rendezvous on time.

  Now all he needed was Anya.

  A couple of Westerners with expensive-looking cameras were taking photos of the area, probably journalists looking for a new angle on an old subject. Drake was careful to stay out of shot, more from force of habit than fear of exposure. He had made sure his route from the drop-off point had been long and winding, and had worked a couple of street markets into his journey to confound anyone who might have been tailing him.

  His attention was drawn to one of the photographers who seemed to be heading in his direction. It was a woman, tall and statuesque, with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail and partly covered by a baseball cap. She was clad in the hiking boots, cargo pants and loose shirt combination that seemed to be regulation apparel for Westerners around these parts. Her eyes were hidden behind Ray-Ban sunglasses that probably cost more than most of the men by the pool made in a month.

  She was looking at him. Somehow he could almost feel her eyes surveying him, watching him intently. Only one person he knew had such an effect on him.

  Looking closer, he recognised the confident, self-assured walk, the lithe athletic physique and the faint, knowing smile.

  ‘I was starting to wonder if you’d show up,’ he remarked, surprised by how different Anya looked. A wig, a change of clothes and a pair of glasses could do wonders to alter one’s appearance.

  ‘I was hoping you would notice me,’ she countered, as if she were chastising him. ‘I have been here for the past ten minutes. You are not very observant, Ryan.’

  He decided not to rise to that one. ‘We need to talk,’ he said, reaching out to steer her towards a more secluded area of the hilltop.

  In one easy move she sidestepped him, avoiding his grasp. It was an instinctive move born from habit, but the message was clear. She went only where she chose to go.

  Walking together but slightly apart, they skirted the pool and headed for the eastern side of the hill, with Anya pausing to take pictures along the way.

  ‘Never had you pegged as an artistic type,’ Drake said, impatient at the delay.

  ‘I am here as a journalist,’ was her simple reply. She had no intention of breaking cover until she was out of sight of prying eyes. ‘Journalists take pictures.’

  Drake said nothing further, waiting until they had descended the eastern slope a little way before turning to face her once more.

  ‘Mitchell’s dead.’

  She nodded. ‘I saw the news report. What happened?’

  ‘You tell me,’ he suggested.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Bullshit. Ever since I got here you’ve given me nothing but bullshit,’ he said, jabbing an accusing finger at her. ‘I almost got killed yesterday, Anya. I’m staying in Afghanistan against direct orders, and I’m doing it all based on your word. I think I deserve some answers.’

  ‘No one forced you to be here,’ she reminded him. She removed her sunglasses. Her intense blue eyes were now brown, disguised by contact lenses, but what lay behind them was unchanged. ‘If you are afraid to take risks, Drake, I suggest you run home and hide under the bed.’

  Drake had to fight har
d to suppress the first response that leapt into his mind. He didn’t appreciate being patronised at the best of times, and at that moment, he was not in a forgiving mood.

  ‘Are you finished?’ he asked. ‘Or do you want to waste more of my time? Because unless you give me something useful, I walk away right now.’

  The older woman regarded him for several seconds in thoughtful silence, as if weighing up how much he deserved to know. ‘Tell me what you have learned, and I will answer your questions.’

  That was very much the Anya he knew. She conceded nothing without getting something in return. Still, she had still conceded. And if she said she would answer his questions, he knew she would.

  ‘Horizon are hiding something,’ he began. ‘We tracked the Stinger that shot down Mitchell’s chopper to a convoy out of Bagram. Horizon were running security. The Stinger never made it to its destination. Mitchell started asking questions about it, then … look what happened.’

  Anya listened carefully, her expression difficult to read. ‘Theories?’

  ‘I don’t believe in coincidences,’ he said. ‘Mitchell found something he wasn’t supposed to. It seems like we’re following the same trail.’

  ‘What else?’ she went on.

  ‘Kourash never intended to release Mitchell. He was long dead when we found him. I’d guess they executed him right after they sent the first video. Kourash wasn’t trying to use him as a hostage – he wanted him for something else.’

  ‘What, exactly?’

  ‘Me.’ Drake raised his chin a little. ‘Mitchell was bait. Kourash made sure he was clearly identified on the hostage tape so the Agency would send me in. I don’t know how he knew I was working for them, but he did. On the first day he tried to assassinate two of my team, then yesterday he tried to kill me. He almost succeeded.’

  She nodded slowly, apparently unfazed by his near-death experience.

  ‘Look, I don’t have much time,’ Drake persisted. ‘If you know something that can help, now’s the time. Tell me how all this fits together.’

  She lowered her head, and he heard a faint exhalation of breath.

  ‘Mitchell was working for me,’ she said at last, keeping her back to him.

  He felt as though he had been hit by a sledgehammer. ‘What?’

  ‘I had known him for a long time, from back when I was an operative myself. He was one of the few men inside the Agency that I still trusted, so I made contact with him six months ago. He was working a desk job by then. He was old, he had retired from field work and I knew he didn’t want to go back, but still he agreed to help me.’

  Drake was stunned. This entire thing had started with Anya, not Mitchell. He hadn’t been conducting some clandestine investigation on his own initiative, he had been working for her all along.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Drake fixed her with an angry glare. ‘Why didn’t you trust me? For Christ’s sake, my team risked their lives for him, Anya. As it is, I ought to beat the shit out of you for lying to me.’

  ‘I did not lie to you,’ she hit back, her eyes flaring. ‘I already warned you about the men who tried to abduct me. As for the rest, I expected you to be able to look after yourself, but maybe I was wrong.’

  She sighed and looked away, staring out across the ancient capital while her temper subsided. A warm breeze sighed across the hillside, lifting loose strands of her wig and carrying with it the distant drone of traffic.

  This was going nowhere, he realised. He didn’t have time to stand here trading insults with her.

  ‘All right. What did you ask him to do?’ he went on, speaking quieter and softer now.

  It took her several seconds to calm down, to master the emotions that had risen up inside her. ‘I wanted him to spy on Carpenter and Horizon.’

  ‘Why Carpenter?’ he asked. ‘Why does it always come back to him?’

  She didn’t say anything, but he could see the tension in her body, could tell her breathing had quickened. She was agitated, angry, filled with nervous energy she couldn’t use. Fight or flight, but there was nothing to vent her anger on, no place to run. No escape from the memories now whirling together inside her mind.

  ‘What happened, Anya? What made you hate him so much?’

  ‘It was a long time ago. It is not important now,’ she said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. He was beginning to realise that was her way of coping with feelings that were too strong to suppress and too dangerous to endure – she simply disconnected them as one might shut down a faulty machine.

  But she wasn’t a machine, and she couldn’t just remove those parts of herself that she didn’t want to deal with. More than most, Drake knew that. Sooner or later, it always came out.

  ‘You came all this way to bring him down,’ he said quietly. ‘It is important. To you, and to me.’

  She didn’t say anything for some time, but neither did she protest. Drake made no move to press the issue. Instead he waited, knowing she would speak only when she was ready.

  And then, at last, it came.

  ‘I was in Afghanistan, twenty years ago,’ she finally began. ‘Working as part of a covert Special Forces unit. You would know them as Task Force Black.’

  Indeed he did. It was the same unit that Anya had eventually ended up leading herself. The same unit that would be torn apart by a bitter power struggle between Anya and her protégé Dominic Munro.

  ‘I had been with them for three years. Living together, fighting together, trusting our lives to each other. They had become more than just soldiers to me. They were … a family. Together we were unstoppable. Nothing could stand against us.’

  Now that she had started, it was all she could do to rein herself in. It was like a dam that had been holding back a river for too long. And now that it was breached, there was no stopping it.

  ‘If the unit had become my family, then their leader was surely my father. His name was Luka; a Ukrainian, a defector like me. We were alike, he and I. We had both lost everything, been forced to start again. He protected me, gave me the strength to make it through training. He used to call me Dochka, the Ukrainian word for daughter.’

  Her voice trembled a little at the thought of him, and she had to stop for a moment to compose herself. Her real father, the man she had known as a child, was now just a vague and indistinct memory, a shadowy figure inhabiting the half-remembered life she thought of as Before. Luka had been as much a father to her as he, perhaps more so because the experiences they had shared had tempered and intensified their relationship in ways most people would never understand.

  ‘But things change,’ she said, taking up the narrative again. ‘Luka became colder, more distant as time went on. With every victory we won, every operation we completed, he seemed to wither away inside. He began arguing with Cain and Carpenter, refusing orders, breaking contact with our handlers. Finally he was relieved of command.

  ‘Not long afterwards, we were ambushed in Afghanistan by a Soviet Spetsnaz unit. It was no chance encounter – they knew we were there because someone had told them. We had been betrayed.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘It was terrible, one of the worst actions we ever fought. I volunteered to hold them off while the rest of the unit pulled out. It worked. They escaped … I did not.’

  She closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to banish memories she would rather have kept locked away. Drake couldn’t help thinking about the scars that crisscrossed her back; the ones she had been so reluctant to talk about.

  ‘By the time I returned to the States, I was … different,’ she said, putting extra emphasis on that word. ‘But I wanted to return to the unit. I convinced them I was ready, so they allowed me back in on one condition – that I dealt with the man who sold us out. I never could have imagined who it would be.’

  Anya’s hand was trembling as she held the weapon level, aimed right at Luka’s chest. Never point a weapon at anyone unless you intend to use it – that was what had been drilled into her from the moment she joined th
e unit.

  At such close range she could scarcely miss.

  The older man made no attempt to defend himself. He just stood there with his hands by his sides, his craggy, expressive face resolute.

  ‘I knew you would find me, Anya,’ he said in a tone of grim satisfaction. ‘I knew they would pick you.’

  ‘Tell me what they said was a lie,’ she whispered, her voice ragged with grief. She felt a warm tear trickle down her cheek. ‘Tell me, and I will believe you.’

  The man she’d come to know as a father said nothing.

  ‘Why?’ she pleaded. The tears were flowing freely now. There was no stopping them. ‘How could you do this to us? Betray everything we worked for?’

  ‘One day you might understand,’ he said. Then, just for a moment, his expression softened, and he looked on her the way he once had, with pride and love. ‘Dochka. My dochka. It’s all right, don’t be afraid. You’re doing what you must, proving your loyalty. You were always the best of us. Remember that.’

  Her finger tightened on the trigger.

  The older man smiled a little, gently encouraging her, then closed his eyes and exhaled. ‘I’m ready.’

  Driving all thoughts of remorse and compassion from her mind for just the briefest of moments, she pulled the trigger.

  ‘I did it. I killed him. The one man who would have done anything for me, who loved me like a daughter, and I killed him.’ She let out a ragged, shuddering breath. ‘I followed my orders … like a good soldier.’

  The final admission came out as a bitter, mournful lament.

  Drake had been watching her in silence the whole time, seeing the barriers and the layers of self-control slowly peeling away as she narrated her grim tale. The change that had come over her was startling. She was no longer the formidable, beautiful woman she had been only moments before. Sitting there with her head bowed, she looked tired, broken and desolate.

  ‘But being a good soldier was not enough. I did not learn the truth until many years later,’ she went on. ‘When I was put in Khatyrgan prison, there was a man there. A man whose face I never saw. All I heard was his voice, speaking to me day and night. He was my tormentor. He was the man who arranged my capture.’ Drake saw her fists clench as long-buried anger and hatred resurfaced. ‘He told me the truth, told me what really happened in Afghanistan. It was not Luka who sold me out, it was Carpenter.’