by Will Jordan
It might have been the same woman, but she bore little resemblance to the uniformed tactical operative she’d been then. Her civilian clothes were torn and ripped, her skin cut and bruised, while a blood-stained dressing covered the right side of her torso.
She was armed with a short-barrelled revolver; the kind of antiquated weapon a 1930s New York policeman might have wielded. And yet there was no denying its deadly effectiveness, as the body lying between them proved.
‘You’re Alex Yates?’ she began.
Alex had no answer for her. He was still trying to understand everything he’d just witnessed, and coming up short.
‘It’s okay,’ the woman said, lowering her weapon. ‘I’m here to help. My name’s Olivia. I’m… a friend.’
Alex stood his ground, though he was uncomfortably aware that one strong gust of wind might well blow him right off the parapet to his death. ‘You didn’t look like a friend back in Norway.’
She nodded grimly. ‘Things change,’ she remarked, pointing to the bloody improvised dressing at her side. She was clearly in pain from the injury, and breathing hard after her ascent up the stairs, but remained defiantly on her feet.
‘What happened to you?’
‘The people I work… worked for, aren’t who I thought they were. Neither are you, if I’m right.’ She glanced at the ledge on which he was now balanced precariously. ‘You might want to step down from there. Be a shame if I went through all this for nothing.’
He eyed her dubiously. ‘Why should I trust you?’
Her answer was as simple as it was heartfelt. ‘Because I want to kill those sons of bitches as much as you do.’
Chapter 46
Advancing down the row of now silent servers with the assault rifle up at his shoulder, Hawkins glanced down at the two dead bodies of his men. He spared them only a glance as he picked his way between them, feeling no grief at their loss. He’d expected casualties, taking on an operative like Anya, and he could always find replacements.
The years spent in prison apparently hadn’t dulled her skills, not that it made much difference now. The discarded M1911 lay nearby, its empty breech confirming she had run out of ammunition. And judging by the spots of blood on the ground, she was injured.
One of his shots must have hit home.
The blood trail was leading towards the end of the row. She couldn’t get far without him seeing or hearing her. He had her trapped.
‘Just you and me now, Anya,’ he said as he edged forward, his senses now painfully alert. The gas was slowly dissipating, allowing him to perceive his surroundings more clearly. Her advantage of concealment was almost lost. ‘This is what you live for, isn’t it? Honour amongst soldiers and all that shit.’
As he crept forward, he became aware of something. A noise, crackly and distorted. A radio receiving an incoming transmission, coming from the same direction the blood was leading. Hawkins backed up next to an equipment rack, taking a deep breath to calm and focus his mind.
‘You know, I almost feel sorry for you. You worked so hard to get the answers you were looking for, it’s a shame you were asking all the wrong questions. You’re so desperate to find out what happened to you, you never thought to question why it happened.’ He smiled, imagining what his next words were going to do to her. ‘You wouldn’t believe what the Russians gave us to get their hands on you.’
Rounding the corner, he raised his weapon to open fire, his eyes eagerly probing the crimson gloom for a target.
None presented itself. But he did see the source of the noise. A portable radio unit was lying on the floor just a few feet away, its transmit button held down by a piece of duct tape to create a low, crackling hiss of static.
Bait.
Crouched in the narrow space between the server racks and the basement ceiling, Anya looked down on the man intent on ending her life. Blood dripped from her arm where she’d intentionally pulled open the bullet wound she’d received in Norway, creating the blood-trail her enemy had been so diligently following. So focussed was he on tracking her down that he’d failed to anticipate the trap she’d set.
It would be the last mistake he ever made.
Gathering herself up, she leapt down from her hiding place to finish him. She possessed no weapons other than her bare hands, but that would suffice. She had killed armed men with them before and would do so again today.
But even as she landed on the ground behind him, he whirled around to face her, reacting with the speed of a man who had been expecting this very thing. Dropping the unwieldy assault rifle that would only slow him down in a close quarters fight like this, he swung a crushing left hook that she barely managed to raise her arm to block. The impact caught her off balance and sent her crashing against one of the server racks. Plastic shattered and the metal framework buckled as she hit.
Ignoring the pain of the impact, she pushed herself off the rack and circled her opponent, her fists raised and her body tensed up, ready to throw herself back into the fray.
‘You didn’t really think I’d fall for that, did you?’ he taunted, smiling at her. He was just standing there, making no move to attack. ‘Come on, you can do better than that, Anya.’
Only then, facing off against him, was Anya at last afforded a proper look at her adversary. Only then was her subconscious mind able to compare his face to the vast reservoir of identities stored away in her memory and deliver a single, chilling conclusion.
She had met this man before. A long time ago.
A potential candidate for the clandestine field unit she had once led, he had sailed through every physical and mental test they could throw at him. In most respects he’d been the perfect soldier, the perfect addition to her task force, but she had overruled the selection process and reject him.
She had done it because she’d long since learned there was more to being a soldier than the ability to hit a certain target, run a certain distance or solve a certain problem. It needed something more – a certain restraint and understanding of the grave responsibility they wielded, the ability to be more than just a weapon, but to think and question. She had sensed this was one trait the promising but arrogant young recruit would never possess, would never understand. She had no place for such people.
Little had she known at the time that this same man would find a new home where such traits were actively encouraged and sought out, and that he would one day return to take bloody revenge on the woman who had once shamed him with her rejection
‘Jason,’ she gasped, her mask of focus and self-control slipping aside.
‘So you do remember. Been a long time. About . . .six years, as I recall.’
Such was her shock and disbelief that it was almost possible to forget she was fighting for her life against this man. The possibilities and implications whirling through her mind were a maelstrom of different emotions that she couldn’t begin to control.
‘The Agency… they sent you to capture me in Iraq?’
His look was that of a teacher regarding a slow-witted student. ‘What do you think?’
Her breath was coming in gasps, her heart beating wildly as the implications sank in. ‘Why give me to the Russians? Why not just kill me?’
At this, Hawkins chuckled in amusement and shook his head. ‘You still don’t get it, do you? You weren’t a target, you stupid bitch. You were a trade. You and your task force.’
A trade for what? her mind screamed. What had her life been worth? And who amongst the Circle had made the decision to give her up?
‘For what it’s worth, I’d much rather have killed you myself back then. I guess nobody expected you to come back from Russia. Then again, nobody expected you to come back from Afghanistan either.’ Hawkins rolled his shoulders, preparing himself for the attack that he knew was about to come. ‘Lucky for me they’re taking no chances this time.’
*
‘How the hell did you end up in this?’ Alex asked as he leapt down the stairs, heading for the building
’s security room. It was the only place he could think of that might allow him to help Anya.
‘I was… part of an investigation team,’ Mitchell replied, struggling to keep pace with him. Her breathing was laboured and her steps heavy. She was forced to clutch at the railing for support. ‘When…those agents were murdered in the UK… we were brought in to find the killers. We thought… you were a terrorist.’
‘How did you know I wasn’t?’ he asked, unable to help himself.
Despite the obvious pain she was in, she managed a dry, brittle laugh. ‘You don’t look like the type. Anyway, Hawkins, the man… sent to catch you, was as bad as any terrorist. When I questioned him… he had me thrown off the investigation. I tried following my own leads… but he turned on me, killed my partner, tried to kill me too. The man doesn’t care how many people… have to die… to end this.’
It seemed that killing innocent people was becoming a habit for this Hawkins, Alex thought as he shoved open the door at the base of the stairwell and hurried along the corridor to the security room.
The first thing he saw when he unlocked the door was the guard lying in a pool of blood on the floor. By the looks of things, he’d taken a round to the head.
Strangely, Alex felt almost nothing on beholding such a gruesome sight. He’d witnessed so much death over the past few days that his mind felt like it had reached saturation point. He just didn’t have anything left.
‘I’m starting to see what you mean,’ he remarked grimly as Mitchell entered the room behind him. She was really struggling now, swaying on her feet and trembling with exhaustion. The arduous climb up to the roof must have taken it out of her, and the descent had only made things worse.
Still, Alex could do little for her right now. Turning his attention to the bank of computer monitors, he selected any available cameras in the basement and brought them up on screen. It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for.
‘There she is!’ he exclaimed, pointing at one monitor in particular.
It was a black-and-white wide-angle shot, but nonetheless he was able to make out Anya’s distinctive silhouette. Somehow she was still alive and on her feet, though how long she would remain that way was dubious at best. By the looks of it, she was facing off against a far larger and more physically powerful opponent.
‘Hawkins,’ Mitchell managed to say, her voice heavy.
‘We have to help her,’ he said, abandoning the monitor bank and heading for the door. ‘If you want to kill this arsehole, now’s your chance.’
Mitchell tried to follow, but her strength was failing. She managed one unsteady step before her legs gave way and she sank down to the floor with a painful, exhausted groan.
Alex hurried over and knelt down beside her. The dressing around her torso was soaked with blood which was now leaking down her side, smearing the floor.
She shook her head, teeth clenched against the pain. ‘I can’t… I can’t go any further,’ she managed to say. ‘Get out of here… Alex. Take the files… release them across the internet if you have to. Just don’t… let Hawkins get them.’
The young man hesitated, torn about what to do. ‘What about Anya?’
‘She was… willing to risk… her life for this. It’s worth more… than all of us. Take it… and get out of here.’
Deep down he knew that her suggestion was the prudent, logical course of action. If he left now he could escape into Istanbul’s maze of backstreets, make his way to safety and release the Black List to the world’s media. Encrypted or not, someone would eventually find a way to open it, and then all the dirty secrets that men like Hawkins were willing to kill to protect would be exposed to the world. The Circle, the Agency… all of it would come crashing down.
At least then, all of this wouldn’t have been for nothing. At least he’d survive. Perhaps one day he’d even be able to make a new life for himself.
But Anya would still be gone.
Just for an instant, his mind flashed back to that day years earlier. The day he’d walked away from a childhood fight he shouldn’t have. The day he’d allowed a good friend to take a beating to save his own skin. The day he’d never stopped regretting all his adult life.
I don’t even have the good grace to feel guilt or remorse. All I feel is relief.
Relief that it isn’t happening to me.
Relief that I’m safe.
It took him all of three seconds to realize he could never live with that. Not this time. Not after everything he’d been through. Anya had risked her life on countless occasions to protect his, and he’d done nothing in return but get in the way and disappoint her. She needed his help now, and even if he was unprepared and untrained, he was all she had.
For once in his life, he couldn’t walk away.
‘No. I won’t leave her behind,’ he said, easing the revolver out of her grip. He’d never fired a weapon in his life, but this one looked so simple that even he couldn’t fuck it up. ‘I’ll take care of it.’
She tightened her grip on the gun. ‘Hawkins is a killer,’ she warned him. ‘Are you sure you want… to do this?’
‘Nope, but I have to.’ Alex swallowed hard, rallying what meagre reserves of courage remained to him. ‘Just… stay here and get your breath back.’
‘What… about you?’
Turning his attention to the dead body on the floor, Alex rolled him over and removed the walkie-talkie from his belt, then helped himself to another unit that was plugged into a charging station on the desk.
‘Take this,’ he said, handing one to Mitchell and attaching the other to his belt. ‘If you can, watch me on the cameras. I’ll need you to open the security doors from this station. Can you do that?’
The woman nodded, her eyes hardening with fierce resolve. She would see this through no matter what.
‘I’ll come back up and get you once Anya’s safe,’ he promised.
Mitchell hesitated a moment, then reached out and gripped his hand. It was an unexpected but nonetheless genuine expression of respect.
‘Good luck.’
Alex simply nodded, not knowing what else to say. Never in his life had he felt so unprepared, so overwhelmed, so alone.
Taking a breath and rallying whatever reserve of strength and courage remained to him, he rose to his feet, adjusted his grip on the weapon and hurried out into the corridor beyond. Leaving Mitchell alone.
Chapter 47
Ignoring the pain of her growing list of injuries, Anya pushed herself off the wall and launched herself at Hawkins once more, trying for a kick to the stomach that would double him over. Yet again he seemed to be ready for her, and twisted aside so that his flank absorbed most of the force of the hit.
Hawkins was unlike any opponent she had ever faced before. True, he was bigger and stronger than her, but she had faced and overcome larger adversaries in unarmed combat before. It was more than that.
She couldn’t read him.
Anya had been born with an ability that few others could understand. An intuition, a heightened sense of perception that allowed her to notice tiny shifts in posture, movement, even facial expressions that most others were blind to. It was this same ability that warned her when someone was deliberately trying to deceive her, and more importantly it gave her a distinct advantage in hand-to-hand fighting.
In essence, she could sense what people would do before they did it, could sense the tiny muscle twitches that signalled the beginning of a punch or a kick. But not with Hawkins. He was different, and that difference had robbed her of her advantage.
Before Anya could recover, he had seized her leg with one arm, preventing her from breaking free, while his other hand yanked a knife from a sheath across his chest and swiped it at her throat. Reacting on instinct, Anya leaned back, allowing the deadly blade to sail past her exposed throat by mere inches.
Attempting to use his strength and momentum against him, she gripped his hand before he could reverse his swing, and shoved it even harder in
the direction of travel, causing the blade to lodge in the narrow space between two server racks.
She had to take the knife out of play.
Exerting all the force she could command, in one sudden, violent heave, she yanked the knife towards her. There was a moment of taut resistance as the steel blade flexed with the tension, followed by a dull snap and a sudden release as it sheared off.
Releasing his grip on the now useless weapon, Hawkins snapped out a short, vicious punch to the face, hoping to break her nose and disorient her. It took all of Anya’s strength to parry the short-ranged strike and twist his arm aside, though doing it left her head unprotected.
She saw him lean back, saw his head come rushing forward to meet hers, and suddenly a lightning flash exploded across her eyes. She was no stranger to taking hits, but even the toughest fighters in the world can still be knocked out with a single well-placed blow.
Such was the case now. Vaguely, through the fog that seemed to have enveloped her brain, she was aware of being lifted off her feet and thrown backward through the air. There was a moment of curious weightlessness, and then suddenly the concrete floor rushed up to meet her. Her world was engulfed in pain once more as she landed hard, sliding several yards across the smooth surface before bumping against an equipment rack.
Anya was in trouble and she knew it. She’d underestimated Hawkins, believing she could overcome him like any other opponent. Never had she expected a fight like this.
A fight she was losing.
‘You know, this almost makes it worth the trouble it took to get you here,’ Hawkins said, closing in to finish her off. He was taking his time, making his fun last a little longer. ‘Almost.’
*
Alex was verging on exhaustion by the time he staggering to the bottom of the stairs, his breath coming in strangled gasps that brought a fresh stab of pain with every inhalation. The fatigue of ascending and descending the full height of the building, combined with the various injuries he’d sustained over the past few days, was taking a heavy toll on his already depleted reserves of strength.