Redemption

by Will Jordan

  ‘So, we have him making entry,’ he agreed. ‘What next?’

  Frost selected another video file. ‘Skip forward four minutes and twenty seconds, and we have …’

  And just like that, a silver saloon emerged from the parking lot. Hesitating a moment at the junction while the driver waited for a gap in the traffic, the vehicle turned right and took off down the street. It was travelling away from the camera, which was unfortunate, but it was a lead; the first they’d had since the hunt began.

  ‘Looks like a Ford Taurus to me.’

  ‘Correct. A 2003 model as best I can tell. It’s the only vehicle that entered or exited the parking lot during our time frame,’ Frost explained. ‘The tactical teams arrived less than a minute later. It’s got to be them. I hate to say it, but your hunch just might have paid off.’

  Dietrich felt the first stirrings of excitement since this whole thing began. Still, he wasn’t about to break open the champagne. A four-hour-old CCTV image was a small step, not a giant leap. ‘Can we get a licence plate?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not from here. I sent the raw data files back to the image processing lab at Langley to see what they can do with them.’

  He nodded, struggling to order the thoughts racing through his mind. Everything felt like an immense effort in his current condition. ‘Notify all agencies of the vehicle make and model. And see if you can cross-reference with any traffic cams in the area. Maybe we can get a better shot.’

  It was akin to searching for a needle in a haystack, but if anyone could do it, the woman in front of him was likely their best chance.

  ‘Already on it.’ She turned to leave, then thought better of it. ‘By the way, you all right? You look like you’re about to keel over.’

  He made a dismissive gesture. ‘Painkillers. They don’t agree with me.’

  She hesitated, as if poised to say something else. There was a dubious look in her eyes that he didn’t like one bit.

  ‘Will there be anything else, Frost?’

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  As she strode off, he glanced over at the tactical team leader. ‘Ramirez! Pack everything up. We’re pulling out.’

  They had done what they could here. Forensics could finish up with the vehicle, but right now he wanted to be back at Langley.

  Pulling into the motel forecourt, Drake killed the engine and switched the lights off. They had pushed on south for most of the afternoon, crossing the state line into North Carolina. Again they were spurred onward by the threat of police pursuit, and wanted to put as much distance between themselves and that gas station as possible.

  The logical thing to do after leaving the gas station would have been to change direction, which was exactly why he had maintained the same heading. He hoped his pursuers weren’t smart enough to predict this move, or stupid enough to assume he would just carry on his way as if nothing had happened.

  He was just grateful that Anya hadn’t killed either man. As it was, the incident might be treated as nothing more than aggravated assault, with limited police follow-up. He didn’t imagine the men involved would be eager to advertise the fact that they’d been hammered by a woman half their size.

  Either way, they had encountered no further incidents throughout the day. In fact, nothing much of anything had happened.

  They needed a place to hold up and plan their next move, so here they were, parked outside a cheap motel on the outskirts of some backwater town called Shannon. It was a bland, single-storey affair that looked as if it had seen better days judging by the flaking paint and cracked windows. Still, the neon sign above the entrance advertised vacancies, and that was good enough for him.

  ‘Stay in the car. I’ll check us in.’

  ‘Better if I do the talking,’ she countered. ‘Your accent will draw attention.’

  He looked at her as if she were mad. ‘And yours won’t?’

  She spoke impeccable English, but a trace of her native accent remained. She would stick out like a sore thumb, especially in this neck of the woods.

  She managed a faint smile. ‘Trust me.’

  Sighing, he pulled his door open. It was a hot, damp, uncomfortable night, the humidity oppressive. Straight away he could feel it clinging to his skin. The chirp of crickets in the long grass on the other side of the parking lot mingled with the distant drone of traffic on the main highway.

  Anya went first, walking with sure, easy strides towards the glass doors leading inside. With little choice but to trust her, he followed her lead.

  The check-in desk was manned by an overweight woman in her fifties, wearing a floral patterned dress and a look of casual disinterest. A TV sat to one side, tuned to a local news channel. The air conditioners were cranked up to maximum, making the place feel like a refrigerator compared to the stifling heat outside.

  She looked up as Anya approached the desk, pasting on what she probably thought was a professional smile. ‘Good evening. How’re y’all doin’?’

  Keegan would have been right at home here, Drake reflected.

  ‘We’re just fine, thank you,’ Anya replied, speaking in an accent that perfectly mirrored the woman’s own. It was all Drake could do to stop his mouth hanging open. ‘You got a room we can stay in for the night?’

  ‘Sure thing. Just one night?’

  It took a couple of minutes to sort them out with a room key, the process made even quicker when Anya paid in cash. This was the kind of place that didn’t ask too many questions, and Anya was a perfect customer – polite, relaxed, cooperative and charming.

  A 50-dollar security deposit? No problem.

  Check-out at 10 a.m.? Sure thing.

  What brings us here? I grew up in Atlanta. Just heading down there to visit with family for a few days, thought I’d show my boyfriend some of the scenery along the way.

  The woman gave Drake an indulgent smile as she handed over the room key, by now completely at ease with Anya.

  ‘You two enjoy your stay,’ she said. ‘Any problems, dial hash on your room phone.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ Anya replied, then stopped just as she was turning away. ‘By the way, y’all got a place we can eat around here?’

  ‘There’s a steak house a couple hundred yards down the road,’ the woman said, pointing. ‘The food’s pretty good.’

  Anya flashed a dazzling smile. ‘Much obliged. You have yourself a good night.’

  Drake waited until they were outside and well beyond the woman’s line of sight before voicing his thoughts. ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, feigning ignorance.

  ‘Where did you learn to speak like that?’

  She shrugged. ‘Movies, mostly. And just listening to people.’ She had lapsed back into her normal accent as if removing a pair of uncomfortable shoes. ‘It is not so hard once you get a feel for the rhythms and speech patterns. But I’m glad she didn’t want to talk for long.’

  Like a lot of motels, the rooms were laid out in a long block facing straight out onto the parking lot, with a wooden roof extending outward for protection against bad weather. Their room was at the far end of the block, which suited them fine.

  Then, halfway across the parking lot, Anya stopped in her tracks.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Drake asked, scanning the shadows.

  ‘Wait,’ she replied, slowly turning her face up to the sky. ‘Be quiet.’

  A few moments passed and nothing happened.

  Then, suddenly, something landed on his shoulder. He was about to speak when he felt a wet splash on his cheek, and another on his forehead. Turning aside, he ducked under the covered walkway as the heavens opened in a sudden deluge, massive droplets hammering on the roof and bouncing off the tarmac.

  Anya didn’t move. She just stood there in the middle of the parking lot with her eyes closed and her face turned upward, letting the rain soak her. Was she smiling?

  ‘Anya! Come inside, you bloody fool!’ he called, his voice almost drowned out by the rain
’s onslaught.

  It was another thirty seconds or so before she opened her eyes and walked over to join him, soaked to the skin, her long hair hanging in wet, limp strands around her face.

  ‘What was the point in that?’ Drake asked as he unlocked their door. ‘You’re soaking.’

  Again he saw that faint, wistful smile. ‘Do you know how many nights I dreamed of feeling rain on my skin?’

  That gave him pause for thought.

  ‘You should move to England, then,’ he suggested, trying to lighten the mood. ‘You could live the dream every day.’

  Their room was a cramped, spartan affair – a double bed opposite the door, a closet set into the wall to the right, a bathroom with shower to the left, and a small chest of drawers next to the door with a TV on top. The carpet was pale green and threadbare, the mattress thin, the chest of drawers battered, scored and ringed with coffee stains.

  Still, it was a roof over their heads. Drake had slept in worse.

  Grabbing a towel from the rail in the bathroom, he threw one to the woman. ‘Here. Dry yourself off.’

  Without waiting for a reply, he began hunting for a remote for the TV. Unable to find it, he concluded that it was a get-up-and-do-it-yourself job, and pressed the power button. It took a good five seconds for the old unit to warm up, displaying a slightly grainy picture.

  He flicked up through the channels until he found a local news broadcast, wondering if there might be anything about them. The fight at the gas station certainly wouldn’t make the news, but Cain could have leaked a story about them. Dangerous killers on the loose, or something similar.

  But it seemed no such thing had happened. The focus of tonight’s broadcast was some kind of protest against cuts in government subsidies for local farmers. That was the kind of news he could live without, he thought, turning the volume down.

  ‘So what now, Drake?’ Anya asked, perching on the edge of the bed. The old mattress springs creaked under her weight.

  ‘Now you’re going to tell me all about Munro, what happened between you two, and everything about your source in Iraq.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Then I’ll decide what the hell I’m going to do next.’

  ‘What we’re going to do,’ she corrected him. ‘I am not baggage to be dragged around. We work together or we don’t work at all.’

  Drake couldn’t help but smile. ‘All right. What we’re going to do.’

  ‘Better,’ she agreed. ‘But first, we eat.’

  For a moment he actually thought she was joking.

  ‘Out of everything we have to deal with, that’s the most important thing you can think of?’

  ‘Survival is our first priority. Anyway, I work better on a full stomach.’ She looked at him. ‘So, we are going to go to the restaurant she told us about, you are going to buy me dinner and then we will talk.’

  Drake looked at her in dismay. ‘Would you like to catch a movie too?’

  Anya said nothing, but the look in her eyes made it obvious she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  ‘Fine, we’ll eat.’ He glanced at her sodden clothes. ‘But I’m not taking you anywhere looking like that. You’re a mess.’

  She picked at the wet hem of her shirt. ‘I don’t care how I look.’

  ‘But other people do. They’ll notice you, they’ll remember you, and that’s not what we want, is it?’ He felt as though he was dealing with a petulant child. ‘So … stay here, dry off, I’ll bring dinner back and then we’ll talk. Deal?’

  She eyed him as if he were a car salesman trying to pitch a bad deal.

  ‘Fine,’ she conceded.

  Chapter 40

  THE TEMPORARY COMMAND centre set up by Franklin was in reality just a general purpose conference room; one of many scattered throughout the Agency’s vast headquarters building. Still, it had everything they needed to run an investigation like this – phones, fax machines, computers with high-speed network links and pots of coffee on standby.

  There was also a group of six technicians and signals analysts whose job it was to collate the vast influx of field reports, briefings, situation updates and false sightings, and condense it down into a format that Dietrich and the others could get their heads around.

  From this room they could marshal an awful lot of technology and human resources. The trouble was, Dietrich had no idea where to direct it.

  ‘Tell me something, Keegan. If you were Ryan, what would you be doing right now?’ he asked, forcing down a mouthful of cheese sandwich. He didn’t feel hungry in the slightest, but he knew he had to eat something. At least the nausea had abated for now.

  The older man thought about it for a moment. ‘Praying,’ he decided. ‘He’d have to know the kind of resources we can throw at this one.’

  Dietrich sighed wearily. ‘He’s been one step ahead of us so far. He must have a plan.’

  ‘Hell if I know,’ Keegan said, then took a slow, thoughtful sip of his coffee. ‘Can’t say I’d want to be in his shoes, travelling with that woman day and night.’

  Dietrich was inclined to agree. He remembered the look in her eyes when they had faced off against each other in that dingy stairwell in Khatyrgan. She would have killed him in a heartbeat if she’d had the chance.

  In his opinion, she was completely unhinged, either because of her ordeal in prison or as a culmination of years of fighting and killing. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would be willing to risk their life for her.

  ‘Sir, I think we’ve got something,’ one of the technicians called out. He was a gangly young man with dark hair who Dietrich vaguely remembered as Sinclair.

  Both men were by his terminal within moments. ‘Talk to me,’ Dietrich ordered without preamble.

  Sinclair gestured to the laptop in front of him. ‘We just got a report in from Virginia state police. Sorry it took so long, but we’ve had a lot of incoming sit reps to deal with …’

  Dietrich waved his arm impatiently. ‘I don’t care about the details. Just tell me what you found.’

  ‘We’ve got an aggravated assault report at a gas station near a town called Jarratt. The suspects were a female with blonde hair and a male matching Drake’s description. Both of them left in a silver Ford Taurus.’

  Dietrich’s eyes opened wider. He couldn’t believe it. Were they really that lucky?

  ‘Where are the two victims?’

  ‘Southern Virginia Medical Center, a few miles south of Jarratt.’

  ‘We need to be there right now,’ Dietrich decided, off and moving within moments, and doing his best to hide his limp. ‘Keegan, get your gear. We’re heading to Emporia. And tell Franklin what we’re doing.’

  ‘Wait. Shouldn’t you be the one to tell him?’ Keegan protested.

  ‘Yeah. But I don’t want to talk to him,’ he called over his shoulder.

  Struggling to balance his load of shopping bags and takeaway cartons, Drake booted his motel room door twice, waited a couple of seconds then followed it with a single knock.

  A few moments later, he heard a click as the lock disengaged, then the door swung back. Anya had showered in his absence. She smelled of soap and shampoo, and was wearing only a towel wrapped around her chest. Her hair was still damp and slicked back.

  Faint wisps of steam billowed from the bathroom.

  ‘You were gone a long time,’ she remarked, moving aside.

  Drake gave her an irritable look. ‘Your new best friend can’t judge distances for shit. Must be a woman thing.’

  The steak house which was apparently a ‘couple of hundred yards’ away turned out to be more than a mile distant, situated right in the centre of town. It was obviously a favourite stopover for truckers and labourers, because everywhere he looked he’d seen guys the size of polar bears tucking into plates piled high with meat, gravy and mashed potatoes.

  Still, one advantage of the location had been the twenty-four-hour convenience store opposite. While waiting for his order, he’d wandered over and stocked up on
everything he could think of – toothpaste and brushes, deodorant, hair combs, a disposable razor, bottled water, chocolate and bagels for breakfast, and a couple of bottles of beer for tonight.

  He’d also bought a jar of multivitamins, a pair of sunglasses and high-factor sunscreen for Anya. He’d noticed her screwing up her eyes when the sun was out. No wonder – she hadn’t seen it in years.

  He threw the carrier bag full of supplies on the bed, then laid down the takeaway food boxes more carefully. ‘I didn’t know what you wanted, so I kind of ordered a bit of everything.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Food is food.’ She walked back into the bathroom to retrieve her clothes, unwound her towel and casually dropped it on the tiled floor at her feet.

  Drake stopped, unable to keep from staring.

  He had met plenty of people in life who kept themselves in good physical shape, either for professional reasons or for sheer vanity. But there were a few people, a very few, who he could only describe as looking right – people who weren’t struggling against their weight or trying to shape their body into something it wasn’t. People who looked the way they did because that was exactly what they were meant to be.

  Anya was such a person. Lithe and strong and finely made, the contours and lines of her body were moulded and sculpted in elegant harmony, all combined together in a form that embodied both strength and uncompromising beauty.

  She was tall for a woman, perhaps 5 foot 9. But there was no hint of the gangly awkwardness that often came with such height. She stood confident and unselfconscious, shoulders back, chin up.

  Her physique was lean and muscular, partly because of the deprivations she had endured during her imprisonment. But more than that, she remained physically fit, with taut, sinewy muscle visible beneath her skin as she moved. Her stomach was flat and hard, her arms and shoulders sculpted by years of physical activity.

  Her body possessed the compact, efficient musculature of a gymnast or a dancer, combining both strength and agility. He had seen for himself the bursts of sudden, explosive speed she was capable of, and their devastating effects.

  But for all her deadly strength, she remained unquestionably female. His eyes were drawn inexorably to the soft curve of her breasts, the nipples pink and erect in the cooling air. Her long and shapely legs gave way to firm, rounded buttocks, swelling a little at the hips before dipping in to a narrow waist.