Black List

by Will Jordan

  ‘Anya, you don’t understand—’

  ‘No,’ she said, her wavering resolve suddenly blazing to life once more. ‘I do understand. You’re not interested in saving me, Marcus. Just as you weren’t twenty years ago. You’re interested only in saving yourself. Well, this is one fight you can’t run away from.’

  She heard a sigh on the other end of the line. The weary, resigned sigh of a man finally acknowledging a painful truth.

  ‘You know what this means,’ he warned her. ‘You know there’s no going back.’

  Anya reached up and wiped away the tear that had so briefly stained her cheek, pushing aside the weakness and the doubt. She was herself again. Strong, capable, determined, and set on her course no matter what.

  ‘I hope you’re ready, because I’m coming for you,’ she promised. Tossing the phone on the ground, she brought her booted heel down on the device, crushing it.

  Chapter 51

  Hungary – 17 May 2009

  ‘You are sure you want to do this?’ Anya asked, nodding towards the winding mountain road stretching out before them. Somewhere up ahead, perhaps ten miles or so, lay the border with Austria.

  She had driven him up here in a battered old 4x4 that she’d bought at a local dealer for less than the price of a new TV back in the UK. The vehicle might not have looked pretty, but its rust-streaked chassis was still solid and the engine rumbled with a throaty growl that defiantly belied its age.

  Alex followed her gaze, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

  ‘Nope,’ he admitted. ‘But isn’t that what makes it fun? Not really knowing.’

  Anya said nothing to that. No doubt she entertained her own thoughts on such matters and felt no need to share them, but he was used to that now. Indeed, he’d grown used to a lot of things about her since the tumultuous events in Istanbul a week earlier. They had travelled together, lived together, even fought to survive together. He wouldn’t exactly call their relationship a friendly one, but somehow it seemed to work.

  Their journey had taken them from Turkey across the border into Bulgaria, through Romania and into Hungary. There, Anya had been able to provide him with a new passport and identity, courtesy of a forger she had known and worked with many times before. As far the European Union was concerned, he had everything he needed to travel from Lisbon to Helsinki.

  And now that he had his new identity, the time had come for them to part ways.

  ‘Where will you go now?’

  He shrugged. ‘I was thinking of taking a career break. Never really got around to travelling, but… maybe now’s my chance.’

  He certainly wouldn’t be going near a computer for a while. With warrants still out for his arrest in the UK and US, he intended to lay low and live ‘off the grid’, as they were so fond of saying in cheap action movies.

  ‘Will you be all right?’ Anya asked, looking and sounding a little less sure of herself. It was the same thing that always happened when she had to deal with any of the interpersonal stuff that so rarely entered into her normal life.

  ‘Well, let’s see. I’ve got no job, no home, no friends, no money and no prospect of changing that any time soon.’ He grinned at her. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt better.’

  It might have been a facetious remark, but there was nonetheless a grain of truth in his words. He felt more alive, more optimistic, more determined now than he ever had in his so-called life before this all began. He didn’t know what the future held for him, but it was a hell of a lot better than what it had offered before.

  And for once, he felt ready for it.

  Anya shook her head in bewilderment. ‘And I thought only Americans were lunatics,’ she remarked. ‘Still, maybe I can help you with one of those things.’

  Reaching into the glove compartment, she handed him a plain brown envelope, thickly packed. Opening it, Alex found himself confronted by a large wad of euros; far more than he could easily count.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked.

  ‘Payment for services rendered.’

  ‘You don’t have to do this,’ he said, feeling like he’d taken far more from her than he’d given in return.

  ‘That was the agreement I had with Arran,’ she informed him. ‘One hundred thousand pounds on completion of the deal. I would say you’ve earned it.’

  Alex sighed, her generosity only serving to highlight their failure. Halvorsen’s betrayal had weighed heavily on both of them since that day in Istanbul. His only consolation was the knowledge that the man apparently hadn’t lived long enough to celebrate his achievement. An online news report from Turkey had confirmed that Halvorsen had been found dead in a patch of waste ground just off the man highway, apparently having committed suicide.

  As for Sinclair, there was no sign. For now at least, the man had vanished.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, not sure how else to phrase it. In truth, he wasn’t too proud to take the money. It would at least buy him a place to stay for a while, and perhaps the time he needed to get himself together. ‘What about you?’

  She looked away, staring off into the distance but seeing nothing. ‘I started this looking for answers. I will find them, even if I have to do it alone.’

  ‘Not alone,’ he corrected her, though unaccountably he felt himself blush as he said it. ‘Well, what I mean is, if you ever need a hacker with bad aim and worse taste in films, let me know, yeah?’

  He guessed she wouldn’t have much trouble finding him if it came to it.

  He didn’t imagine such an offer would mean much to someone like Anya. And yet, to his surprise, her face lit up with a smile. The kind of smile that seemed to wipe away the years of care and pent-up anger she carried with her, and that once more offered a glimpse of the woman he’d watched peacefully sleeping that morning in Norway.

  He watched as she reached out and took his hand, her grip strong and her gaze searching. ‘Remember what I said to you on the balcony in Istanbul?’

  You are stronger than you look, Alex. Maybe even stronger than you realize.

  ‘Yeah, I remember,’ he said quietly. Those words would stay with him for the rest of his days. However long that turned out to be.

  ‘I meant it.’ Releasing his hand, she settled herself in the driver’s seat once more. ‘Good luck to you, Alex.’

  And that was all she had to say; all she needed to say. As with everything else in her life, there was no desire for emotional farewells. Alex watched as she swung the car around and drove off back down the road at a steady, unhurried pace, leaving only a faint cloud of dust in her wake that was soon carried away by the fitful breeze.

  As the throaty rumble of the engine receded into the distance, he caught himself wondering if their paths would ever cross again. Anya’s arrival in his life had changed him beyond all recognition, had destroyed nearly everything he’d once had. And yet, part of him hoped he would see her again.

  Adjusting the straps on his rucksack, he turned and surveyed the road ahead. It was a long walk to his next resting place, but that was just fine with him. Plenty of time alone with his thoughts.

  As he started forward, his boots crunching on the little rocks underfoot, the sun beating down on him, an unknown future lying ahead, Alex couldn’t help but smile.

  *

  Anyone who saw me walking along that dirt track must have thought I was a lunatic; a man walking alone in the middle of nowhere grinning like a fool. Anyone who knew me before this all started would have questioned what on earth I had to smile about.

  But none of that mattered any more. For the first time in my life, I was making my own way, following my own path.

  I’m not a normal guy. I don’t have a job, or a car. I don’t pay taxes, I don’t even know where my next meal is coming from. And that’s fine with me.

  This is happening.

  This is me. This is who I am now.

  Strange the things that flash through your mind when you realize you have a reason to live.

&
nbsp; Epilogue

  She was alive.

  She was alive, and she was moving.

  Even through the haze of painkillers and sedatives, Mitchell was vaguely aware of movement. She could feel the bounce and rattle as her hospital gurney was wheeled down a busy corridor, slowing down occasionally as it was steered past staff and patients.

  She was surrounded by sounds. Ringing phones, beeping life-support machines, whirring printers and most of all the clamour of voices. Voices everywhere; so many of them merging and blending together that they became little more than a background hum, no more distinct than the drone of a thousand bumblebees.

  And yet even amongst this background din she was able to discern a conversation close at hand. A conversation in English.

  ‘I have told you, the patient is still in a dangerous condition. She can’t be moved yet.’ A doctor’s voice, tense and agitated, filled with concern.

  ‘I understand, sir.’ This voice was cold, precise and clinical. To her surprise, it was a woman’s voice. ‘But she isn’t secure here, and we have our own team of doctors on standby. She’s to be extradited to the United States. As of now, you’re relieved of professional responsibility for this patient.’

  With some effort she forced her heavy eyes open, seeing nothing but the hospital’s cheap, intense overhead lights sliding by. She blinked, tried to reach up and rub her eyes, only for her hand to be jerked back.

  Something cold and metal was shackled around both wrists. Handcuffs.

  With a fleeting sense of disappointment, she at last realized what was happening, who her mysterious new carers were. The Agency had come for her.

  She’d known it would happen of course. The moment she awoke for the first time several days earlier in a clean and sterile hospital room, she had felt that same disappointment. Disappointment that the doctors had fought so hard to save a life that was doomed anyway, disappointment that she couldn’t have slipped away peacefully on her own terms. Disappointment that they would be the ones to end her life.

  The trip didn’t last long. An ambulance was waiting for her in the parking lot outside. Mitchell made no effort to protest or cry out for help as she was loaded onboard. It would do no good anyway.

  The doors slammed shut, and the woman who had helped load her into the ambulance took a seat. A young woman, Mitchell noted with vague surprise. Couldn’t have been more than thirty years old. Short and slender, with spiky dark hair, pale skin and a nose piercing.

  Christ, I’m going to be interrogated and executed by a fucking kid, she thought.

  ‘If you’re going to kill me, you might as well get it over with,’ she said, straining to sit up straighter in her gurney. ‘I don’t regret anything I did.’

  To her surprise, the young woman with the piercing smiled at her. There was no animosity, no hint of malice in her smile. ‘Relax, Mitchell. We’re not here to kill you.’

  She frowned, a little less sure of herself now. The effort of holding herself upright was starting to tell. ‘So what do you want?’

  As she watched, the ambulance’s driver twisted around in his seat, his vivid green eyes flashing in the afternoon sunlight. ‘It’s lucky for you we have a mutual friend,’ he explained. Bizarrely, he spoke with an English accent. ‘We’re here to get you out. We’ll take you to a safe place until you’re recovered enough to travel. That all right with you?’

  Mitchell’s heart was beating faster now. She had resigned herself to the ignominious fate that awaited her, had made peace with it, but this sudden and unexpected change in her fortunes had shocked her into silence. More than that, it had kindled the wild, inexplicable hope that he might be telling the truth.

  ‘Who are you people?’ she managed to say.

  ‘My name’s Drake, but you can call me Ryan,’ he said, then nodded to the young woman sitting in the back. ‘And this is Keira Frost, part of my team.’

  ‘Team?’ The name Frost was familiar, but in her confused state she couldn’t place it.

  ‘Shepherd team,’ he explained, and suddenly a big piece of the puzzle fell into place. ‘You’re in good hands, Mitchell. For now, at least.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘Well, that’s up to you. You can run and hide, and hope none of this catches up to you.’ He shrugged. ‘Or… you can stand with us, and maybe do something about it.’

  With that, he turned around and started the engine.

  ‘Like what?’ she asked, unable to help herself. ‘What can you do against people like that?’

  She caught those intense green eyes in the rear-view mirror once more, set with a resolve that was almost frightening.

  ‘We’re going to war, Mitchell.’

  Read on for a sample chapter of Will Jordan’s Redemption, also available now…

  Republished with kind permission of Century/Cornerstone Publishing.

  Prologue

  Iraq, 13 May 2007

  This is how it ends.

  Lying there with one hand loosely pressed against the bullet wound in his stomach, he was alone. His strength was exhausted, his reserves gone, his blood staining the dusty ground. A trail of it led a short distance away, mute testimony to the desperate, feeble crawl he had managed before his vision swam and he collapsed. He could go no further. There was nothing left to do but lie here and wait for the end.

  A faint breeze sighed past him, stirring the warm evening air and depositing tiny particles of wind-blown sand across his arms and chest. How long would it take to cover his body when he died? Would he ever be found?

  Staring at the vast azure sky stretching out into infinity above him, he found his eyes drawn to the contrail of some high-flying aircraft, straight as an arrow. Around him, the sun’s last light reflected off the desert dunes, setting them ablaze with colour. It was a good place to die.

  Men like him were destined never to see old age, or to die peacefully in their sleep surrounded by family. They had chosen a different life, and there would be no reward for them.

  You know your problem, Ryan? You’re a good man.

  Had she been right?

  Could he look back on his life honestly and say he’d been a good man? He had made mistakes, done things he wished he could undo, and yet his final act had been one of trust and compassion.

  That was the reason he was lying here, bleeding to death. That was his final reward.

  A low, rhythmic thumping was drowning out the sigh of the wind. The pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, slowly fading as his lifeblood flowed out between his fingers. He might have slowed the bleeding, but he couldn’t stop it. Nothing could.

  He was dying.

  You know your problem, Ryan? You’re a good man.

  However he had lived, he knew in that moment that he would die as a good man. And that had to count for something.

  A faint smiled touched his face as the thudding grew louder. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the growing darkness that filled the world around him.

  Chapter 1

  Seven days earlier, Mosul, Iraq

  ‘Come on! Get out of the way!’ Nassar Alawi growled, honking his horn in frustration.

  His efforts did nothing to hurry along the rusty, dilapidated white saloon in front of him, its rattling exhaust spewing grey exhaust fumes as the driver revved the engine. Like Alawi, he was trying in vain to fight through the narrow streets and thronging crowds.

  They were approaching one of the many open-air markets that dotted the city, and traffic was always heavy there. Ancient stone buildings festooned with satellite dishes and drying laundry leaned precariously inward as if they might collapse at any moment.

  Alawi leaned back in his seat and ran his forearm across his brow. He was hot and uncomfortable, his open shirt already damp with sweat. The van’s air conditioner hadn’t worked in years, and rolling down the windows meant allowing in the relentless wind-blown sand, the fumes of other cars struggling to run on cheap gasoline, the reek of animal shit and countless other unsavoury
odours.

  He was a builder and electrician by trade; a source of great pride for both him and his family most of his adult life. A skilled job, a trade to be proud of. Now there was even greater demand for his services, both in Mosul and many of the surrounding towns. Everything that had been bombed and destroyed in the chaos of the invasion had to be painstakingly rebuilt.

  A man like him could make a fortune in just a few years. Enough to provide for his wife and for his two young sons until they became men and followed in his footsteps, enough to live in comfort, enough to escape the grinding poverty that his peers endured.

  If only he could get where he needed to be!

  He honked his horn again, and at last a gap began to open up. The beaten-up white saloon started to trundle forwards, exhaust rattling. He stepped on the accelerator as well, eager to keep their momentum going.

  Relieved to be on the move again, he reached for the packet of cigarettes lying on the passenger seat, tapped one out and held it to his lips as he fished his lighter out of his pocket.

  Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all, he thought as he clicked the lighter.

  The sudden flash of light up ahead was so unexpected that he didn’t even have time to react to it. The cigarette fell from his mouth as the white car in front disappeared, consumed along with everything else by an expanding wall of orange flame that rushed forward to meet him.