Redemption

by Will Jordan

  ‘So what happened?’ Drake pressed.

  ‘Same thing that happens to most people when they’re pushed too hard, I guess.’ Cain smiled, but it was more of a painful grimace. ‘She snapped. Four years ago she went dark during a mission in Afghanistan, severed all contact with us. The last we heard, she was heading to Iraq. We tried to intercept her, but the Russian FSB found her first. You might say they had unfinished business.’

  Drake could guess why. The FSB was the post-Communism incarnation of the old KGB – the ruthless and formidable Soviet intelligence agency that had terrorised the West for decades. He imagined they hadn’t forgotten a woman like Anya, especially since she used to be one of their citizens.

  ‘Anyway, however it happened, we’d lost her,’ Cain concluded. ‘Most of us thought she’d been executed. Hell of a way for someone like her to end up, but shit happens as they say – and it happens in this job more than most.’ He raised an eyebrow, his eyes reflecting memories of countless other such stories. ‘But as it turned out, we were wrong.’

  Apparently so, Drake concluded. ‘So why the sudden rush to bring her home?’

  ‘This is where the waters get muddied.’ The director sighed, reached into his shirt pocket and put his glasses on, then started tapping away at his laptop. ‘You know what a Predator drone is, I assume?’

  ‘Of course. It’s an unmanned recon aircraft. We’ve got dozens of them flying over Iraq and Afghanistan.’

  More than once he’d been on the receiving end of the vital intelligence provided by Predators. They were invaluable guardian angels circling overhead, all-seeing and all-knowing. They allowed troops on the ground to track enemy movements, spot ambushes, vector in air or artillery strikes, plan counter-attacks. He could scarcely imagine how many lives had been saved by the deceptively unassuming aircraft.

  ‘Right. At least, we did.’

  Drake looked at him curiously. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They’re grounded. All of them. Our entire inventory.’

  For an instant, Drake thought he was joking. Such a suggestion was so preposterous that it could only be made in jest. But one look at Cain’s expression was enough to convince him otherwise.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Three days ago we lost contact with one of our Predators in northern Iraq. Then, when it came back online, we saw this …’ He turned the laptop around for Drake to see.

  The image on the screen displayed a devastated urban street. One entire side of a big three-storey building had been demolished, rubble and twisted wreckage lying scattered across the surrounding streets.

  The image was instantly familiar to Drake, though it took him a few moments to place it.

  ‘I saw this. On CNN the other day,’ he said. ‘A Predator did this?’

  Cain nodded grimly. ‘All three of its Hellfire missiles deployed straight into a crowded city street. It’s a goddamn nightmare.’

  Drake wasn’t about to argue. And yet, he wasn’t seeing the connection between the two explanations Cain had just given. ‘So how does Mar … Anya fit into this?’

  Cain turned the laptop around to resume his work.

  ‘Our working theory was that someone seized control of the drone remotely, found a way to bypass its encrypted firewall.’ He paused for a moment, clicking the mouse a couple of times to access a new file. ‘Then we received this.’

  Once more he turned the laptop around, allowing Drake to see the video file that was starting up.

  Staring out from the screen was a Caucasian man, perhaps in his late thirties or early forties. His skin was tanned, his hair dark and unruly, his jaw darkened by several days’ growth of beard. Drake supposed he could have been called handsome in a rugged kind of way, though there was something about his eyes that wasn’t quite right.

  His left was pale blue-grey, focused and intense, while the right was a little off colour, and appeared oddly glazed and inexpressive. It took Drake a moment to realise it was a prosthetic.

  The camera was focused in tight on his face, showing very little else except that he was standing against an olive green background.

  ‘You know who I am.’ He spoke with an American accent, his voice low pitched and gravelly. ‘And by now you know what I can do. The explosion in Mosul was no accident, and believe me, it can happen again. I have the ability to take control of any Predator drone anywhere on earth, at any time. If you don’t want this to happen again, you’ll do exactly as I say.’

  He exhaled slowly before going on. ‘A former operative of yours is being held in Khatyrgan Prison in Russia. You knew her by the code name Maras. You will find her and bring her back to US soil, alive and unharmed within five days, after which you’ll be given further instructions. This deadline is not negotiable, and I will not discuss terms with you. If you fail to comply with this demand, I will leak detailed information on how to hack the Predator’s control program to every major terrorist group in the world. I will cripple your battlefield surveillance capability for years. Time’s ticking, so I suggest you don’t waste it.’

  As the file came to a stop, Cain sighed and leaned back in his chair, appearing suddenly old and weary. ‘Now maybe you’ll understand our sense of urgency.’

  Indeed he did. Drake never could have imagined there was so much at stake. ‘Who is he?’

  The older man rubbed his eyes. ‘His name’s Munro. Dominic Munro. Ex-Green Beret. He used to be one of our operatives, but he left the Agency seven years ago.’

  ‘How does he know Anya?’

  ‘She’s the reason he left,’ Cain explained. ‘He was Anya’s protégé, her star pupil I guess you’d say. They served together in Task Force Black.’

  Drake frowned. He’d never heard of such a group.

  ‘There are levels of secrecy even within the Agency, Drake,’ Cain explained, noting his confused look. ‘I can’t go into all the details, but I can tell you that Task Force Black was a paramilitary unit formed back in the mid-eighties. They did a lot of clandestine work for us, and did it well. So well in fact that by the end of the nineties they had their own intelligence networks, their own logistical base, even their own funding. They were practically an organisation within an organisation, and Munro and Anya were running it all.’

  Drake had no idea. He’d been a young shit-head in the Parachute Regiment while all this had been happening. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘They “fell out”. I never did get the full story, but apparently Munro tried to have her assassinated. Needless to say, he failed.’ Cain adopted a pained expression. ‘Anya tracked him down and took his right eye as punishment.’

  That explained the prosthetic, at least, Drake thought.

  ‘She was never the same after that. She handed Munro over to us, close to death, and made us promise to lock him away for ever. We threw him in a military prison for life. Then, about six months ago, he disappeared.’

  Drake frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He was being transported to Fort Leavenworth, but he never made it. They found the truck he was in – no sign of the guards or the driver, and no sign of Munro. Like I say, he just disappeared.’

  Drake was stunned. ‘And you didn’t think that might be a problem?’

  Cain fixed him with a hard glare. ‘Of course we did. But Munro was trained at escape and evasion – trained by Anya, as it happens. If men like him don’t want to be found, they won’t be.’

  ‘So he’s doing all this for revenge?’

  The older man shrugged. ‘Who the hell knows what’s going on in his head? But right now, he’s got us by the balls, plain and simple. We’ve been forced to ground all Predator flights worldwide until we can resolve this, and you don’t need me to tell you what a dangerous position that puts us in. Our troops in Iraq and Afghanistan are fighting virtually blind.’

  ‘My God …’ Drake breathed, stunned by what he was hearing. It didn’t take a genius to see Cain’s plan. ‘So you need Anya’s help to find him.’

 
Cain removed his glasses and stared at Drake across the desk. ‘She trained him, taught him everything he knows. She’s our best and only shot at stopping him. But she’s angry, paranoid, and probably scared. Frankly, I don’t blame her, but someone has to talk her round.’

  And so they’d come down to it. ‘Why me?’

  ‘I saw the video footage from the plane, Ryan.’ When Drake’s eyes lit up, he held up a hand to forestall any protests or explanations. ‘It’s a standard precaution on jobs like this. But I saw how she acted around you. She let you in, she let her guard drop, even if only for a moment. I think she might trust you, Ryan. And believe me, that’s a rare thing.’

  Once again Drake recalled the look in her eyes when he tried to reach out to her. She hadn’t exactly bared her soul to him, but there had been something. A flicker of vulnerability, the tentative beginning of trust, of humanity in those cold blue eyes.

  ‘I won’t fuck her over,’ he decided straight away. ‘Whatever her history, she didn’t deserve to end up in that place.’

  ‘I agree,’ Cain said. ‘And nobody’s going to fuck her over. We’ve got a Presidential pardon signed, sealed and delivered. If she helps bring Munro in, she can walk away. We’ll keep tabs on her, of course, and she won’t be allowed to leave the country at first, but in all other respects she’ll be free.’ He looked at Drake frankly for a long moment. ‘As hard as this might be for you to believe, we’re not monsters here. We look after our own, even if they go astray.’

  He looked down and swallowed, as if struggling with himself. To Drake’s surprise, there was genuine emotion in his voice when he spoke again. ‘However she ended up, there was a time when Anya was very special. I considered her a friend, and I don’t forget friends easily. I’ll make sure she gets what she needs, but first she has to help us.’ He looked up at Drake again. ‘So what do you say, Ryan? I’m all out of options here. You’re my last shot.’

  Drake eyed him hard. If he was lying, he was doing a pretty good job.

  But it was more than that. The image of Anya on that photograph, with her haunting blue eyes, remained burned into his mind.

  The answer came almost before he realised it.

  ‘I’ll talk to her.’

  Chapter 29

  ANYA SAT ALONE in the holding cell with her hands on the table, savouring the quiet darkness and the novelty of being safe. She was in a clean, comfortable, heated room that contained no threats or dangers. If she wanted food or drink, she had only to ask and it would be brought to her.

  She had showered – a long, hot, luxurious shower that she could have spent hours standing under – and changed into clean clothes. With her long blonde hair smelling of shampoo for the first time in years and her skin scrubbed clean, she was actually starting to feel human again.

  Not long before, she had eaten her first hot meal in four years. Roast beef, potatoes, steamed vegetables, bread, butter, fruit and chocolate. Simple food, but more delicious than anything she could remember.

  She shifted position a little, getting comfortable. She knew she was being watched constantly by video cameras and by people on the other side of the viewing mirror, but she didn’t care. Let them watch.

  For the first time in a long time, she didn’t have to be on constant alert. She didn’t have to worry about survival. No guards were going to come storming in. No ominous thumps, no slamming doors, no heavy footsteps announced another visit from Bastard.

  She smiled inwardly, thinking about the violent, brutal death she had inflicted on him. It was unprofessional to lose control like that, but she didn’t really care. It had pleased her beyond measure to watch him die at her hands.

  Her only regret was that she hadn’t made it last longer, made him suffer more. She didn’t normally take pleasure in needless cruelty, but for him she would have made an exception. Sadly there hadn’t been time for it; it was more important to ensure he died.

  The question now was what was going to happen to her. She wasn’t afraid of what the future held – she had come too far, endured too much to feel fear now – but she was curious why Cain had gone to all this trouble after four long years of doing nothing.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the harsh buzz of the cell door. She looked up as the door swung open, and felt a moment of surprise as Drake walked into the room.

  He had changed clothes since the last time she saw him, discarding the black paramilitary fatigues, webbing and body armour in favour of plain blue jeans, walking boots, a black T-shirt and a grey zipped jumper open at the neck. His dark brown hair was damp and dishevelled; he’d either showered recently or been outside in the rain.

  Rain. She hadn’t felt rain on her skin in four years.

  For the first time, she really looked at him, seeing him not as a fellow soldier, a source of information or a potential threat, but as a man.

  He was tall, she realised. Taller than herself, perhaps an inch or two above 6 foot, and well made. Not bulked up and barrel chested, but possessing instead an efficient, athletic physique that balanced both strength and agility.

  It was obvious from the way he carried himself that he was a man accustomed to physical danger, to trusting his life in his own hands. He didn’t strut or swagger, but there was an easy confidence in his manner that came from living an eventful and self-reliant life.

  She should know.

  His age wasn’t easy to guess. He wasn’t old and weathered, but neither was he young and boyish. His face was lean and tanned, the features hard and definite, with a certain intensity that only came with age and experience. His nose was straight and narrow, his jaw firm and determined, tapering down to a well-defined chin.

  His eyes, vividly green she noticed, were focused on her, filled with an odd mixture of wariness, curiosity and most of all, surprise.

  Surprise wasn’t the word for it. Drake was astonished by the change that had come over the woman.

  Gone were the grimy bloodstained clothes, the ingrained dirt and filth. Her skin, though still pale from years of darkness, was scrubbed clean and glowed with renewed vigour. Her long thick blonde hair, once greasy, matted and tangled, had been thoroughly washed and combed, and was tied back in a simple ponytail.

  The plain white T-shirt she wore left her arms bare, exposing pale skin and lean sinewy muscle. Yet her gender was clearly evidenced by the curve of breasts beneath the T-shirt, the sensual fullness of her lips, the finely sculpted cheekbones and the clean, graceful line of her jaw. Despite everything she had endured, she remained a strikingly attractive woman.

  He pushed these thoughts aside, feeling almost guilty for allowing them in. He was here to debrief her, not to gawk at her.

  ‘Hello, Anya,’ he said, taking a seat without asking permission.

  It was her turn to look surprised, though her reaction was quickly masked. ‘It has been a long time since I heard that name.’

  Drake shrugged. ‘Cain was good enough to fill me in on the details.’

  Anya’s expression didn’t change. Only her eyes betrayed her feelings, and Drake was perceptive enough to spot it.

  She said nothing for the next several seconds, and neither did he, content to let the silence stretch out. He had watched a replay of Franklin’s clumsy attempt to debrief her, and recognised a few of her tactics. She was a soldier, trained to find her enemy’s weakness and exploit it. Poor Dan had been easy prey.

  ‘What do you want, Drake?’ she finally asked, a slight edge of irritation creeping into her voice.

  ‘What do I want?’ he repeated. ‘What I want is to go home and do my best to forget this mess. But we don’t always get what we want, do we? I came to give you a message.’

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a folded piece of paper and slid it across the table. Frowning, she unfolded it and read, her icy blue eyes quickly darting across the page.

  ‘Let me save you the trouble. It’s a signed Presidential pardon, granting you full immunity from prosecution, and a guarantee that you’ll
be freed when this is over. It’s already been confirmed by the Attorney General. You can start a new life, buy a house and a dog … whatever you want.’

  Her eyes were on him again in an instant. Were her hands trembling?

  ‘There are conditions, I assume?’

  He nodded. ‘The Agency wants your help.’

  ‘With what?’

  Drake leaned back in his chair. This was the critical moment. ‘Does the name Dominic Munro mean anything to you?’

  The flash of recognition in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. Still, she remained stubbornly silent for several seconds.

  When it became obvious that Drake wasn’t going to move on without an answer, she at last nodded. ‘He was a student of mine. Our relationship ended badly.’

  ‘So I heard,’ Drake remarked. ‘Apparently our friend Dominic likes to hold grudges. He escaped from prison, and three days ago he hijacked a Predator drone and used it to kill a lot of innocent civilians in Iraq. Now he’s holding us to ransom unless we deliver you to him.’

  One corner of her mouth lifted in a crooked smile. ‘I see. You broke me out of prison only to hand me over to a terrorist? A Presidential pardon isn’t much use if you are not alive to collect it.’

  ‘They want your help in finding him, that’s all. They don’t expect you to hand yourself over,’ Drake explained. ‘You taught Munro everything he knows, according to Cain. You can out-think him.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Of course, if you’re not up to it …’

  The look in her eyes even gave him pause for thought, and it was a few moments before the look of anger and indignation abated. ‘If you were in my position, would you agree to this?’