“PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS RAISED!” The policeman used the car’s radio and amplified his voice through a speaker built into the radiator-grill of his car. He spoke with more authority than he actually had.
Barry sighed. He didn’t have much of an option.
As though endorsing the sentiment, the policeman began to speak once again: “YOU ARE COMPLETELY SURROUNDED! GIVE YOURSELF UP AND YOU’LL BE UNHARMED!”
Uniformed officers cowering behind police cars made a show of steadying their weapons in Barry’s direction, bracing themselves for action, contradicting the policeman’s amplified assurances.
“Good luck, Sophie,” he whispered to himself, standing up and pointing the gun downwards, just ahead of him.
“NOOOOOOOO!!!!!” Sophie caterwauled.
Barry sighed, turning his head slightly in the direction of her voice. Sophie was close. Too close. He had hoped she would have run and put some distance between them.
The fact she hadn’t changed things. Oh Sophie, he pondered.
He lifted the gun up and took careful aim at the nearest police officer.
“STOP! DON’T DO IT!”
There was only one ending to this scenario. Before the neurons in Barry’s brain had connected to give the command, and the order had filtered through his nervous system to the muscles in charge of the hand gripping the gun, a barrage of bullets rained down upon him, stippling the exposed part of his body and blasting chinks and holes into the truck, obliterating the glass in the door, popping one of the tyres with a ‘bang!’ and peppering the red body-work with a dozen jagged holes the size of half-dollar coins. Translucent liquid leaked out beneath the vehicle in a fast flow.
Realising the gas tank had been punctured, the lead uniformed officer shouted into the radio: “CEASE FIRE!”
Barry collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, a hand clutching his chest where a bullet had penetrated and was lodged within his ribcage. He couldn’t comprehend the sensation... it was almost ethereal, like an ‘out-of-body’ experience. Around him there was a lot of movement. People charging about him, busy like soldiers in the thick of combat, doing what, he didn’t care. He could hear their voices, urgent, harried, though could barely understand what they were saying.
“Ah, jeez! Seriously? Wasn’t one bullet enough?” Despite the news reports about how ‘trigger-happy’ American policemen were, very few of them present had fired a weapon during active duty. This, Brayden surmised, was why, when the occasion required it, they felt the need to let rip.
Barry found his eyes focus on the newcomer running into his field of vision. Having dusted himself down, he was smart and tall, dressed in an official-looking suit. Barry recognised him from the brief encounter at the airport; the man was clearly in overall command.
“Get a medic here!” Brayden shouted urgently. “I need him alive!” The CIA agent removed his jacket, crouched down beside Barry and tenderly placed it under his head. “You just hold on buddy, d’you hear me? I’m not letting you off this lightly...”
Barry tried to speak. Instead of words, blood bubbled from his lips. He choked a couple of times. Inhaling was like fire burning inside his chest, and exhaling felt like he was trying to blow up a lead balloon with a straw.
“Hush... save your energy,” placated Brayden mildly, as though not addressing a wanted fugitive but a dying friend.
Barry closed his eyes, taking small comfort from the man’s words, and much more from the darkness that gradually drew him near and lovingly embraced him.
“I’M LOSING HIM!” were the last words Barry heard before consciousness deserted him.
Chapter Nineteen
Emily
It wasn’t out of the ordinary for MI6 to use ‘phone tapping’ under intelligence-gathering protocols, protected under law for the benefits of the country and the commonwealth; it was a fact that most people expected it.
However, it was rarely endorsed for use upon fellow members of the same intelligence service. Spying on spies wasn’t the ‘done’ thing, and not an action easily achieved. Most offices were regularly checked for listening devices.
With a dual headset enclosing her ears, Emily sat behind her desk and selected the file on display within the surveillance interface software − a live feed was available, but hardly relevant; all conversations within a five metre radius of the ‘bugging device’ were recorded for analysis, which made it easier. That way, one could skip through all the unnecessary waffle and blather.
Pressing the play icon, Emily listened as she recognised the two voices playing out a conversation within her ears:
“I spoke to Sophie,” she recognised herself say.
“I did wonder...” It was Ryan.
Emily had planted the listening device a moment before the recording had begun transmitting − whilst Ryan had his back turned for just a moment. Although she trusted the man, Sophie had earlier planted a small grain of doubt within her mind, which continued to gnaw at her, even now. It was this doubt which prompted her to spy on her boss.
“I gave her the location of her father’s locker. She’s on her way to Fresno as we speak.” She pressed the fast-forward icon, whizzing through the conversation and watching the audio progress bar, green spikes denoting talking on a black background. They flurried by until flat-lining, which Emily interpreted − correctly − as silence. The timer counted through the minutes in mere seconds.
Emily pressed the play button whenever a spike of green reappeared. A new voice filled her ears:
“I told you your pilot would be okay.” Although faint, she could just make out the female voice spoken over a phone line. She adjusted the volume setting to a point where the voices could be heard clearly, but with the added annoyance of an electronic drone.
“If unconscious and beaten black-and-blue is ‘okay’, yeah...” Ryan replied. “You said you wouldn’t call. Damn it, Jennifer... it’s too dangerous... I can’t get involved!”
“Jennifer Ratcliff?” Emily whispered to herself. She quickly surveyed the room to see if anyone had heard her. Nobody had. There were only two analysts working at that moment. Mac and Rafe. And they were preoccupied with their own tasks.
“YOU ARE INVOLVED. Anyway, your MI6 phone lines are secure,” Jennifer continued.
“Not secure enough,” muttered Emily presciently, listening carefully.
“Just thought I’d let you know, the boys are settling in.” Jennifer again.
“I don’t want to know. If anyone finds out...” Ryan sounded nervous.
“They won’t. Not from me... no one should suspect.”
“The CIA might.”
“CIA?”
“The Prime Minister has agreed to welcome our American counterparts to work with us to hunt Dominic. They’re a little peeved by the attack on Area 51 and have named him as Enemy Number One, and Sophie as an accomplice. They’ve probably had a pack of cards printed with their images...”
“You’d better make sure they do not succeed in finding him... for yours and Emily’s sakes. If we go down, I’m taking you there with me.”
“Is that a threat? Listen... we’re in this together. I gave you what you wanted, and we have an agreement. It’s for the best, for our futures. Now leave me and my family out of it. Or else!”
“Family? Huh, and else what, Ryan? Now who’s making the threats?” Jennifer was chuckling; it sounded like the scrunching-up of a paper bag. “Just keep to your word; we’re a partnership, and we’ll be fine.”
“And you remember your promise. Just don’t call again.”
“No promises. Don’t forget who you are dealing with, Ryan. Say hi to Emily for me...”
“Straight back at ya, Jennifer...” Emily murmured. The green oscillating spike soon vanished, replaced by a red flat-line th
at hovered at the base of the audio progress bar. Emily fast-forwarded again, speeding through more than an hour’s silence before more conversation occurred. She proceeded to listen before dismissing it. A chat between Ryan and his secretary revealed nothing of interest, nor did the next call (Ryan phoning for a lunch order − whatever strain he was under clearly hadn’t affected his appetite). She pulled the headphones free, ran a hand through her deep-auburn dyed hair and scratched the nape of her neck nervously. What should I do with this? She pondered.
Before she could give it any further thought she received an interruption.
“Emily... I think you ought to see this.” Mac, a geeky-looking analyst with long black hair and designer glasses, stood up from his workstation and was speaking across an island of desks that partitioned the room. Emily turned around to see Mac changing the channel on the large flat-screen TV hanging from the wall.
ABC30 News came onto the screen, a ‘breaking news’ banner scrolling beneath a split transmission showing live footage from an event occurring at Fresno International Airport, together with a broadcast by a female news anchor reporting from behind a desk within a Californian studio.
Mac was pointing a remote control, increasing the volume. The newscaster’s voice played over the live broadcast of police officers and FBI agents milling about, some looking serious, whilst others were perplexed, some scratching their heads absently, oblivious to the viewing world watching on.
“...more strange goings on in the business district of Fresno today after the events affecting Washington’s Dulles Airport earlier in the week. Conflicting reports are reaching us about an attack on a Boeing flight from Miami, followed by a good old American stand-off within the Fresno Yosemite International Airport between an unseen assailant and a joint operation conducted by Fresno PD and the FBI, which saw guns fired and the deployment of FBI SWAT teams. Things appeared to turn ugly as the action spilled out into the streets of Central Valley, concluding in law enforcement’s favourite pastime of ‘police chase’ which was soon brought to a bloody end. No law enforcement officers are purported to have been injured, but one of the ‘attackers’ was shot multiple times and is reported to have died at the scene.” A male newscaster appeared on the screen, replacing both the woman and the live pictures from Fresno Airport. “We’ll have more from that story as it progresses. Now, let’s get the rest of the news...”
Mac turned the volume down. “You said to let you know if we hear anything ‘big’ happening in Fresno. You can’t get much bigger than this...”
“What about the person shot dead at the scene? Do we know who it is? Is it ours?”
“Male. Caucasian. Mid-twenties. Riddled with bullets,” replied Mac, attempting humour. “That’s all I’ve managed to glean from our contacts. However, contrary to what is being reported, I don’t think he’s dead. Critically injured, yes, but he’s hanging in there. It’s been suggested that he may be one of ours...” Mac left it hanging.
Emily didn’t progress the colloquy, smiling appreciatively. “Thank you. Keep me posted.” She sat and reached down for the phone. Plucking up the receiver, she punched in Sophie’s mobile number and waited for the long-distance call to connect.
Unsurprisingly, after just one ring the call was connected to Sophie’s mobile answer service. Impersonally, it was the pre-set factory answer message rather than a recording of Sophie’s voice:
“The person you are calling is unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message after the tone...”
“Sophie... I’m sorry how our last call went. Please call me when you get this. I’m worried. It’s urgent.”
Nervously, Emily sat at her workstation biting her nails, gnawing at them almost to the point of bleeding. Over an hour had moved on since Mac had shared the ABC30 news report, and despite ‘tapping’ into Ryan’s comings and goings, nothing of further importance had arisen, giving little to distract her from the anxiety bubbling in the pit of her stomach regarding Sophie.
The telephone on her workstation began to ring and she snatched it up too quickly, failing to grip it. Instead, she knocked the receiver, which bungeed from its coiled wire to clatter noisily off the desk to the floor.
“Sophie?” Emily hadn’t checked the caller ID, failing to notice the small LCD screen indicated the incoming call was internal.
“No, it’s Ryan.” Inwardly, Emily groaned. “Can you step by my office? We need to talk...” Ryan’s tone sounded solemn and hard-edged. Emily assumed he’d heard about Fresno.
“I can’t Ryan; I’m expecting a call from Sophie...”
“Forward your phone to your mobile,” Ryan was insistent, then went quiet for a moment, as though struggling to come to terms with something. “It’s important, Emily,” he said.
“Okay... sure.” She sighed. “Give me five minutes.” Emily replaced the handset slowly and leaned back into her chair. Something felt wrong. She’d been listening to almost all his conversations over the past couple of hours (up to the last fifteen minutes); there had been very few visitors to his room, and most of the conversations overheard took place across the phone. Nothing of much import had been gleaned after the Jennifer Ratcliff revelation, and nothing in his tone or inflection had given any clues as to the sudden change of mood. It had to be an outside factor.
“What’s going on Ryan?” She whispered the question to herself, picking up the headset and slipping it atop of her head. With the mouse, she pressed the play icon on the audio file still displaying in front of her and fast-forwarded the minutes up to a few jagged spikes of verbal activity that occurred just prior to Ryan’s call to her a moment ago.
“...what the... ?? someone’s bugged my room...” crackling and rustling sounds followed, along with a few harsh bangs. Emily could tell, just by the background noise, that the listening device had been discovered and that Ryan was removing it. She visualised Ryan holding the small microphone between his fingers.
A loud ‘pop’ later and the transmitted sound ceased, the audio file came to an abrupt end.
“I guess that’s what’s going on,” she answered herself, nervously removing the headset from her head and placing it down next to the VDU and keyboard. Checking over her shoulder to ensure she wasn’t being observed, Emily speedily tapped a few buttons on the computer keyboard and deleted the audio file in an attempt to cover her tracks. “Okay... let’s get this over with.” She locked her computer terminal by selecting ‘Ctrl’, ‘Alt’ and ‘Delete’ and stepped away, heading for the sliding exit door.
Two nervous minutes later and Emily felt like a schoolgirl facing expulsion outside the Headmaster’s office. Anxiously, she rapped her knuckles hard against the polished wooden surface of Ryan’s solid office door and waited a moment to compose herself before entering.
Thinking the visitor needed an invitation, Ryan called “Come,” impatiently from the other side.
“What’s this about, Ryan?” Finding strength, Emily walked in assertively, hiding any signs of the uneasiness she felt or the foreknowledge for her brusque summoning.
“Sit down, Emily,” he said snippily. Before she had managed to take one of the seats ahead of the desk, Ryan had presented the small black bugging device. It looked like a strange pill.
No bigger than the size of a five-pence piece and only thick enough to contain a watch battery, the item looked tiny in the man’s hand. He made to give it to Emily. “I think this belongs to you,” he said quietly. He half-turned his hand so that the small item fell to the desk. It bounced a couple of times before coming to a stop just short of reaching the desk’s edge and a few inches before Emily.
“Ryan...” she started to talk, shaking her head apologetically. A surge of guilt overcame her.
“You’re not going to deny it then?” There was pity in Ryan’s voice.
Emily closed her eyes. Involuntarily they started to
moisten up. She slowly shook her head, accepting her fate. “No,” she added quietly.
“How could you?” Not waiting for a response Ryan pressed on. “I trusted you. You’re like a daughter to me...”
Emily looked down sheepishly. For the first time she noticed how short her fingernails were from biting and started studying them. When did I chew them? She hadn’t realised that she’d been doing it.
“Are you listening to me?”
Ryan had talked some more but Emily had momentarily blocked out his voice. A strange feeling seeped into her and before she knew it, she was speaking. “Why did you have Sophie’s father killed?” It surprised even herself. By side-stepping Ryan’s questioning, she’d thrown him off-balance with one of her own.
“What?” Shock and confusion flushed Ryan’s face. “What d’you mean?”
“Come on Ryan...” feeling suddenly emboldened, she went on: “Cut the crap. Mitch Youngs killed George Jennings on the instructions of Marty Heywood. You and I know Marty was following your orders...”
“Where’s this coming from?” Ryan spoke meekly; he looked distant as he tried to comprehend what was being implied.
“I didn’t want to believe it Ryan... but then... I heard it for myself. You and... Jennifer Ratcliff!”
Ryan clasped his head in his hands, forlornly accepting defeat. “It’s not what you think,” he said after a long moment, his voice steadily growing as he pulled himself away from his placating fingers, finding resolve. “I can explain Jennifer... but George? I didn’t have him killed, that wasn’t for Marty to sanction. Oh sure, I wanted him dead, it’s no secret... but not like that! Not at another person’s hand.” Ryan banged fisted hands defiantly onto his desk. “He was mine to kill!”
The Whisper of Persia (The Girl in the Mirror Book 3) Page 14